#fragile file shell

[cuttledreams-bugs]

🪱 #InsertAnInvert2024

Shells: Swimmers

Fragile File Shell (Limaria Fragilis)

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

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

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

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[magicmetalblog]

InsertAnInvert2024

Shells week 4: Swimmer

Fragile file shell (limaria fragilis)

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ intoxication, sexual content, daddy kink, caretaking, blurry lines of consent.

You’re painfully unaware, though to you, he’s sure it's bliss. 

In your own little world, you stand at the long wooden table, fingers moving across the trackpad of a laptop, a pair of too big glasses sliding down your nose. The left lens is smudged, the smear only getting worse every time you push them up with the back of your hand. There’s a whirlwind of stuff around you, bowls and bags and measuring cups, cracked egg shells and sprinkles scattered across the wood, multi colored icing separated into different containers, and you're so into your work you don't even realize he's in the doorway. 

He almost feels bad for scaring you when he clears his throat. Almost. 

“Oh my god,” you whirl, hand pressed to your chest, half ready to bolt. “S-sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t know you were there.” 

Is that anyway to say hi to your daddy sweetheart?

“Good morning.” He eyes the twenty four ounce mason jar to your left. It’s one quarter full, coffee and cream swirling to the bottom. Too much caffeine. 

“Good morning, hi.” You smile, sweet and shy but more emboldened. It’s been a few days since he fed you bites of lemon meringue pie, a few days since he went home and stroked his cock to the memory of your mouth parting for him, eyes half lidded looking up through your lashes. 

Since then, you’ve a bit more brave, encouraged by his careful coaxing, text messages at night and throughout the day to check in, visits in the morning as he heads to base. 

He’s leading his little lamb right into her shepherd’s arms. 

“What’re you working on?” 

“Funfetti birthday cake.” You slide your glasses back up your face. They’re a mess and he can’t resist fixing it, pulling them off, wiping the lenses with bottom of his shirt. You freeze. Little deer in his headlights. 

“Didn’t know you wore glasses.” He places them back where they belong, righting them when they slip, and confirming what he already knew. They’re too big. You need new ones. 

“Th-thank you. I do for reading. And… er, screens. Reading on screens, mostly, though I need them for books too so I guess just… reading in general.” He understands the pause now, the moments when you’ve become self conscious, embarrassed, or you’re looking for the words you need, anxiously trying to piece it all together, step into a skin that doesn't quite fit. 

A rhythm the world doesn't understand. Too cruel, impatient, cold, it has no care for fragile things, too easily reflecting a mirror of his former self. 

He files the bit about you needing to wear glasses when you read, another notation in the long list he’s already memorized, organized, and moves onto his next inquiry. “Who’s the birthday cake for?” 

“Mara. It’s her birthday. They’re…” you make a face like you’ve sniffed spoiled milk, “we’re going out to a pub to celebrate.” He stiffens. On one hand, he’s proud of you. On the other, the idea of you in a pub raises the hair on the back of his neck, has him a bit out of his mind. 

He’s not interested in clipping your wings, but going out to a pub with no one to watch over you? Not bloody likely. “Tonight?” 

“Mhm.” You’re rubbing a stick of butter in a round pan. “Funfetti is the classic birthday cake. You know, the vanilla cake with the sprinkles?” He shakes his head. “Oh. Well, um, it is. It's mostly a kid thing now, but I think it's the ultimate birthday cake. Birthdays are supposed to be fun but you know... they kind of suck when you're an adult. Anyway... funfetti is fun so, that's why...” 

“Maybe you can save me a slice. Where are you going?” 

“Save you…" your brows crease as you try to process what he's said. "Doc’s.” You’ve dropped the stick of butter abruptly, greasy fingers gripping the edge of the pan. Doc’s. It’s a younger crowd, a bit posh, but still a bit dark. Has a bit of an edge. 

It’s been a few weeks since he’s gotten a pint with Kyle and Johnny anyway. 

He smiles, strokes the backs of his knuckles down your cheek, satisfied when you lean in for more, disappointed the few minutes he had to drop in are now over. “I’ve gotta go baby, be good for me.” Your mouth drops open so wide he thinks he might be able to fit his cock in it. 

“Oh, okay. I- I will.” 

What did you forget?

Daddy. I will, daddy.

“That ‘er?” Kyle motions with his beer bottle towards the table where you stand nervously at the edge, floral flecked dress swaying just above your knees. You've looped a white ribbon through your hair, the beacon of a gentle soul that seems to be calling out to every muppet in the building, every wandering eye fueling a fire burning in his blood. 

“Yeah.” His stomach is sour. Even a neat pour of whiskey and pint didn’t settle him. 

You’re trying so hard. Smiling and nodding and listening to everyone, clutching your drink like it’s a lifeline. Mara seems to understand the grace you need, but no one else in the group gets it, and some of them give you weird looks, or worse, look at each other when you’re not paying attention in annoyance. Your only friend at the table catches a few of them and shoots stern glares as she shakes her head, but it doesn’t change much. 

“She looks uncomfortable,” Johnny grunts, his scrupulous eye never missing a thing. Someone asks you a question, and you stumble over your answer, looking away to the wall when a girl to your left blatantly smirks, and then sneers directly in your face. Simon’s blood boils. 

“She’s different from them, it’s hard for her.” It's the easiest way to explain it. You’re one in a million. His one in a million. 

The table laughs at something, and you frantically flick over each person’s face, trying to pick up on a joke you clearly did not understand. Eventually, you just settle for another smile, resigned to watch it all from the outside as conversation flows from person to person, but never towards you. 

Sweet girl. He wants to take you home where you’re safe and happy and carefree, where you can be yourself and not have to worry about trying to keep up or facing everyone’s judgement. Where he can hold your perfect and precious heart in his hand and protect it. Where he can fuck the memory of this night right out of you, bounce you on his cock until the only thing you know how to do is come for him, over and over again. 

He misses the exact moment the cake appears among the stacks of shot glasses. Your anxiety ramps up as everyone starts to eat their slices, shoulders high beneath your ears, fingers knotted together too tight. It’s an eternity before the first person looks at you, mouth half full and thrilled, their enthusiasm alleviating some of the weight that's been sitting on his chest, and yours. Whatever they say seems to lessen the weight because you’re smiling again, excited, and as more people turn your way, the smile turns to a full on beam, your words from the other night echoing in his ears. 

I like feeding people. 

Another hour passes before he decides to call it, the group now spread across the pub, scattered around different tables, at the bar, outside smoking. You’re in a corner with your back to the room talking to Mara, and when he appears in her line of sight, she spots him immediately, grabbing your arm, mouthing something he doesn’t catch. 

You turn- 

And light up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

“Captain Riley!” The alcohol has made you bold, slow synapses firing less rapidly, providing a longer lead time, somewhat preventing you from second guessing or withholding yourself. 

“Hi baby.”

“I’m just gonna…” Mara tries to move away but you reach for her. 

“Happy Birthday Mar. Thanks for inviting,” you hiccup, “me.” She gives you a squeeze. 

“Thanks for coming, and for the cake, it was amazing. Made me feel like I was kid, ya know? When birthdays really mattered.” Sadness flickers in her eyes, and then disappears in a glaze of intoxication. “Anyway, see you Monday?” 

“Yep.” She gives you one more hug before slipping away, and you sigh. 

“She loved her cake.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You’ve got this dreamy look on your face, sleepy and sweet, a little kitten who’s ready to curl up for a nap. 

Cast a line. See if you’re biting. 

“How’re you gettin’ home?” 

“An uber?” You lick your lips. “Or… uh. A Lyft?” You lurch to the side and he darts forward to steady you, movement too fast for you to track, all of it ending up as a surprise, like you weren’t even in your body for a moment. “Th-thanks.” You study his hand, where it sits on your arm. “You know you’re so big?” His lips twitch to the side of his mouth. 

“Yeah sweetheart. I’m big.” You’re still staring at his hand. “D’you need a ride home?” 

“Huh?” He's held this in the back of his mind all night as a possibility, built a tentative plan for this opportunity too golden to pass up. No fucking way are you going home in a rideshare or with anyone else. 

“I’m taking you home.” You shrug at the declaration with little trepidation and take his hand. 

So sweet and full of trust. 

He never specified which home. 

When the gravel of his driveway crunches under the truck’s tires, you don’t stir, and you don’t wake up when he turns it off or opens the passenger side door, your head lolling against your shoulder. 

“Sweetheart,” He keeps his voice low, reaching across your lap to unbuckle your seatbelt, brushing against your breasts, soft exhales puffing little clouds across his skin. “We’re here.” 

“Hmm?” you crack an eye open and then shake your head, “no ‘m sleeping.” Your cheek is warm in his palm, and he kisses it, trying to rouse you, gauge your reaction. Your awareness. Your nose wrinkles. “Stop.” 

“C’mon, you'll be more comfortable inside.” You whimper when he jostles you, pinning a palm to your temple. 

“My head hurts.” Poor baby. 

“I know,” he pulls you up out of the seat and into his chest, carefully supporting your balance. He’s taking liberties now, wrapping an arm around your waist, curling his fingers along the nape of your neck, brushing his lips across your forehead when you whine, high pitched and crackled, broken under the weight of too much alcohol and need for more sleep. “I know baby, Let’s get you into bed.” You lay your cheek on his chest and sigh. 

“Okay.” 

“Spit.” He holds the cup under your lips and you do as he asks diligently, bubbly white toothpaste getting caught on the corner of your mouth. 

Getting you upstairs and into his room went just as he anticipated. A little anxiety, a little uncertainty, all of it gently soothed until you were sitting on his bed and he was taking off your shoes, reassuring you, promising everything was okay and you were right where you belonged. 

“You’re safe with me sweetheart. I’m going to take care of you.” 

Now, you’re perched on the closed toilet lid in his bathroom as he finishes brushing your teeth, sleepy and serene, naked thighs peeking out from beneath the hem of his t-shirt. 

You’re completely unguarded, vulnerable, another layer peeled back, another piece he lays claim to. 

His sweet little fawn. 

He knew all along this was underneath the weight you carried. That when you finally felt safe and cherished and cared for, you’d bloom, be yourself without the pressure of everything else. Deep down, beneath the expectations of how everyone thinks you should talk, or act, or behave, behind all the coping mechanisms you’ve taught yourself, buried under mountains of complexity, is his precious little girl who needs her hand held and her tears wiped. Who’s brilliant and beautiful and different, and has never had the space to just be. 

Now, you'll be able to do just that while he takes care of the rest. He'll decide. You’ll have boundaries. You’ll have rules. You’ll have daddy and he’ll take away the endless pressure that closes in on you from all sides, he'll ensure you get what you need. There will be less worry, less fear and unlimited opportunities to be. 

“My face.” You tilt your chin back with your eyes closed, and he chuckles. 

“What about it?” 

“My,” hiccup, “makeup.” He turns the tap on warm, testing the temp until he’s satisfied, and soaks a washcloth. 

“Keep your eyes closed.” You sit still as he works, dabbing away everything on your eyelids and lashes, wiping underneath to catch anything he missed. “There we go.” You sway in his grip and slur.

“Bed now?” 

“Last thing.” There’s a glass of water and naproxen on the counter, and you swallow them without question. He hides his grimace. That will need to be addressed in the morning. When you try to put the glass back on the counter, he shakes his head. “All of it,” you manage to get the rest of the water down, and he squeezes your hip. “That’s my girl.” 

“You’re warm.” Your arm is slung over his middle, a cold foot tucked between his knees, mouth half open on his pillow. Completely uninhibited, nearly asleep. 

His cock is hard against his stomach beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, aching with a fullness he can’t relieve. He’s been hard since he undressed you, peeled your bra off and held you to his chest as he unhooked it, felt your perfect, pretty breasts and nipples against him as he tugged his shirt over your head. You were bashful, buried your face into his neck with a trembling giggle, but refused to let go, sunk your fingernails into his biceps as your hands shook. His sweet, shy girl. 

He rubs your back, works his fingers in the knots between your shoulders, watching your lashes flutter as you try to fight sleep.  

“Tomorrow…” There’s a last minute flash of uncertainty, and he presses his lips to your forehead. 

“It’s okay, we’ll talk at breakfast sweetheart. It’s time for bed.” Tomorrow. You'll be fighting a battle tomorrow, a hangover, anxiety, an endless spiral of confusion and doubt, but he'll be here to guide you through it. 

The only way out is through. 

It will be a lot easier on both of you if you're able to get some sleep. 

“Yeah, ’s past my bedtime.” You whisper with a hazy, playful smile on the wisp of a giggle. "We should have pancakes for breakfast." Your easy, peaceful state encourages him to go a step further. Cast a line, see if you’re biting. 

"If you close your eyes and go to sleep, Daddy will make you pancakes in the morning." You nod with a yawn, tucking your face between the pillow and his shoulder. 

"Mmkay then. Night." It's not a protest, it's not a flinch, it's not a moment of disgust, and satisfaction roars, rips through him like bullet, this instinct and desire long honed finally settling in the place where it belongs. In you. 

"Goodnight baby." He stares at the ceiling as you disappear into dreams and plans his mission. Plots his checkpoints, sets his objectives. Lead, decide, control. 

Bring you home. Permanently. 

[crystal-to-bloom]

Chapter 2: Snow in July

Grayson family x child dragon reader

𝟙, 𝟚, 𝟛, 𝟛.𝟝, 𝟜 ,𝟝

When Nolan’s ship touched down in the backyard, the grass beneath it frosted over instantly. It was mid-summer, but the air shimmered with cold. Debbie stepped out onto the porch barefoot, stopping in her tracks as the leaves glazed with ice.

— “What the hell…” she whispered, staring at Nolan as he stepped out, cradling something in his arms.

It was an egg. Oval-shaped, glowing with a soft turquoise light. Cold mist clung to its surface like breath on glass.

— “Nolan. What did you bring back?”

— “Not what,” he said quietly. “Who.”

Inside, she helped wrap the egg in an old blanket, but her hands trembled. Her eyes kept flicking from it to Nolan. To her, it wasn’t beautiful — it was unknown. Alien.

Mark was crouched beside it, his face lit with wonder.

— “Is it alive? Is it really from space?” He leaned in, his breath fogging the shell. “Dad, I think it’s breathing. Look—inside, the frost is moving!”

— “I don’t know who’s in there,” Nolan said. “But I know they were alone. The whole planet… it’s gone. Dead. And this egg—” he paused, glancing at Debbie “—it was in the heart of a frozen temple. Guarded. Waiting.”

Debbie turned sharply.

— “And you just took it?”

— “I spent hours there. Scanned everything. There’s no life left. No movement. No heat signatures. It looked like…” he hesitated “...a graveyard.”

She folded her arms tightly, voice sharp.

— “And what if you stole it from something? What if you brought back a threat? Or a curse?”

— “If it’s a threat, I’ll deal with it” Nolan said firmly. “But I’m not leaving a child to die alone in a tomb”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she watched as Mark gently pressed a toy dragon against the egg.

— “You can have Zubble” he whispered. “He keeps me company when I’m scared. He’ll keep you company too.”

That night, long after the house went quiet, Debbie sat by the egg. She didn’t trust it. Couldn’t feel the wonder Mark did, or the instinct Nolan swore by. All she saw was a fragile line between peace and disaster.

But she couldn’t look away.

Far beneath ground level, in the control room of the GDA, Cecil stared at Nolan’s mission report. He tapped the table, reading it again.

Too clean.

Too precise.

Too quiet.

— “You’re hiding something, Nolan,” he muttered. “But fine. I’ll play dumb… for now.”

He closed the file and leaned back.

— “Just don’t make me regret it.”

The house was silent.

It was nearly midnight when Debbie found herself back in the living room, unable to sleep. She stood in the doorway for a while, arms crossed over her chest, staring at the faint blue glow that pulsed from the egg resting on the blanket-covered coffee table.

Mark had fallen asleep on the rug hours ago, curled up with his toy dragon tucked under one arm. Nolan had carried him to bed. But Debbie stayed behind.

Something about the way the egg sat there—so still, so cold—unsettled her.

She sat down on the couch slowly, arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes never left it.

The frost that clung to its shell hadn’t melted, even in the warmth of the house. Tiny snowflakes formed on the fabric beneath it. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

— “You don’t belong here” she whispered to it. “And I don’t know what that means for my family”

She felt stupid saying it aloud, but it helped to hear her voice over the silence. There was no one to argue with. Nolan had made up his mind. He’d brought it here like it was something sacred, something chosen.

But Debbie hadn’t been given a choice.

Nolan had always brought back pieces of the stars—stories, knowledge, things Mark barely understood—but this… this was different. This was alive. This was permanent.

She didn’t know if it was a child or a weapon. A gift or a mistake.

Her fingers dug into the couch.

— “If you hurt him…” she whispered, thinking of Mark, “…if you hurt either of them—”

Crk.

The sound was so soft, so delicate, she thought she imagined it.

Then it came again.

Crk.

A thin fracture appeared across the shell—no wider than a strand of hair, running from the very top down to the side. A soft mist hissed from the crack, curling like breath in cold air.

Debbie leaned forward, her heart in her throat.

— “No, no, no—” she whispered, her fear turning to panic. “It’s too soon. We’re not ready—”

She reached out a trembling hand… and stopped just short of touching it.

She wanted to push it away. Wrap it back in the stars and send it into space. But Mark’s words from earlier echoed in her ears.

“You can have Zubble, He keeps me company when I’m scared.”

Debbie closed her eyes, her breath shaking.

Another crack

This time it stretched lower, and something—something small—pushed from the inside. Not violent. Not threatening. Just a nudge.

A presence.

Alive.

Debbie stood, backing away slowly, eyes still fixed on the egg.

She wasn’t ready. But something inside her knew: this child was never meant to be alone again.

previous part 》 Chapter 1

Chapter 3

[concretejunglefm]

“I’ve got a party tonight. I want you to be the ‘special entertainment’, if you get my drift.” w sub Noah

you know what I’m thinking? 🫣

- @somebodyels3

BB!! sub!noah being shown off? yes please <3

CW: includes mentions of sub/dom dynamics, use of toys (m receiver), noah's oral fixation, implied future sharing and voyeurism/exhibitionism, cfnm, noah referred to as pup/puppy.

NSFW'ish under the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

“I’ve got a party tonight. I want you to be the ‘special entertainment,’ if you get my drift,” you say, and Noah’s eyes flicker to yours, heat blooming across his cheeks and reaching the tips of his ears.

“You want me…” he swallows, as though trying to hold back his apparent excitement.

You’ve spoken about it before. How far he’s come from being uncomfortable with the idea of sharing you—or being shared in any way—to now enjoying the thought of being at the center of everyone’s attention, all while his focus remains solely on you.

“Only if you want to,” you assure him, your fingers brushing through his hair, then trail gently down his cheek.

His instinct is immediate. He leans into your touch, seeking the warmth of your palm like a kitten desperate for affection. The sight makes something bloom low in your belly, a feeling that draws a smile to your lips. He’s your sweet boy for a reason, and his receptiveness to even the simplest affection is precisely why.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispers, his voice soft and vulnerable, like he’s confessing a secret desire. His pupils are blown, arousal already coursing through him at the mere suggestion. “I just want to be a good boy for you and show everyone else that I can be. Show them that I’m yours.”

That makes your breath catch. Show them that I’m yours.

Because he is, and part of the reason you’re doing this is exactly that—you want your friends to witness what an obedient sub you have. How devoted he is to you—to your pleasure. Even when it means putting himself on display.

Preparing him for tonight has been an all-day affair; from getting him dressed—or undressed, rather, to fitting him with a soft pink collar and leash, to slipping in the new vibrating tail plug you bought especially for this occasion. You’ve made sure he’ll be on his best behavior—though you’ve never once doubted that he would be.

He’s your prize, your newly trained pup, and tonight, he’s ready to be shown off.

“Do you promise to behave for me, puppy?” you murmur, your breath a warm whisper against the shell of his ear, fingers stroking through his hair with slow, soothing passes.

Anticipation ripples through you. You know he’s both nervous and excited—just as much as you are. You’ve walked him through everything that’s going to happen tonight: your guests, handpicked and invited solely to see him. To marvel over your toy. To witness how obedient he can truly be.

You’ve done nothing but praise him leading up to this moment—the way anyone would with a new pet, and tonight is his moment to shine. A chance for you both to revel in what he’s become.

As the stream of guests begins to file in, your fingers tighten around his leash, keeping him close. He kneels at your feet, right where he belongs.

Each guest is as overdressed as you are—while your sub, Noah, is left wearing nothing but his tail plug and the soft pink collar-and-leash set.

With every greeting, he receives a compliment. Then comes their turn: fingers extended toward him, slipping past his parted lips into his obedient, waiting mouth—the first hole offered to them. Something to soothe the ever-present oral fixation stirring inside him. His eyes glaze over quickly, already beginning to lose focus as the guests find their rhythm, teasing and praising him in equal measure.

Some are gentle, stroking over his tongue like he’s fragile. Others press further, watching his eyes widen as they flirt with the back of his throat. In time, they’ll all find their answer—how good of a pet he really is, and how much he can take before he’s choking, but for now, it’s just soft touches and teasing tongues. A slow unraveling for the night ahead.

[lunatic-pudge]

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

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

Scout

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

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

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

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

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

Pyro

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

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

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

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

Demoman

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

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

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

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

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

Medic

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

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

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

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

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

Sniper

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

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

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

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

Spy

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

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

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

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

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

[smoked-salmon-official]

A UPDATED Comprehensive Guide to Everything Transformers

I previously wrote this a while back and now have a lot i would like to add.

As a newcomer to the fandom, I found many fandom knowledge and terms to be quite confusing and at times contradictory, so I decided to make a guide to essentially everything TF related, meta and in-universe. I will try my best to get the basics of “everything” but this is a fandom that spans dozens of pieces of media and four decades, longer than I’ve been alive. I will probably miss a fair bit and might get some things wrong, so feel free to reblog with relevant editions.

This is intended to be a basic guide, so only the most bare bones of info will be provided. Meant to be a reference, not the sole point of understanding.

First, the in-universe stuff. I will simply provide a list of terms and definitions I find to be useful. Keep in mind that the majority of this, or all of it, in some sections, are just fan made terms that have little to no canonical merit. They are fun to use, but don’t feel pressured to do so.

Note that I won’t cover the NSFW stuff as I don’t read or write it. With that said I would first like to get out of the way the CANONICAL Cybertronian biology.

Cybertronians reproduce asexually, via the Allspark. This is why both factions try so hard to recover it in many continuities. Because of this, they are all biologically the same, but present their gender in different ways. Some are male and others are female and in Earthsprk recently we finally got our first canon non binary TF character.

This is not to say you can’t write the robots doing it, but do note that in canon they do not.

BODY PARTS (the majority of this is fandom head canon):

Helm - head

Pede - feet

Optics - eyes

Chassis - chest (chest plates refer to the actual armor on top of it)

Servo - hand

Energon line/fuel line - vein

Spark - This one is difficult, because it’s their literal physical heart and their metaphorical soul. For the sake of physical terms though it’s a heart.

Spark chamber - The chamber within the chest where the spark is kept safe.

Audials - Ears

Vocalizer - voice box

Frame - body in general

Processor - Brain/mind

Dentae - teeth

Glossa - tongue

Energon (in terms of the body) - blood

Lubricant/coolant/trans fluid - non-blood bodily fluids

HUD - An internal screen where files are stored that can also display warnings like low fuel

Fuel tank - Digestive system/stomach

Intake - mouth

Vocalizer - voicebox

Battle mask - a protective piece of plating that goes over the face in battle. Think Optimus's

Anything with “plates” in it (I.e wrist plate or back plate) - the armor over a certain area

Armor/plating - the tough outer shell of a Cybertronian, made of metal. The part we see

Protoform - the definition of this varies wildly from continuity to continuity but I consider it to be the softer more fragile part of a Cybertronian under their armor

Transformation cog/t-cog - the organ that allows Cybertronians to transform, including their integrated tools and weaponry. Can be disabled or removed

Recharge - sleep

Stasis - a more long term state of rest, akin to hibernation or a coma. Can be induced medically in states of emergency or for long distance travel

Alt mode/vehicle mode - What a Cybertronian turns into. Usually a vehicle but can also be something else.

Minicon - A very small Cybertronian. May deploy off of a bigger one, such as Soundwave and his cassettes

Flight frame - the body of a Cybertronian who turns into something that flies

Seeker - a very particular type of flight frame that turns into a jet. Usually generalized as “any flight frame that looks like Starscream”

Grounder - usually an insulting term used by flight frames to describe ground based vehicle modes

Combiner/gestalt - Multiple Cybertronians who transform and combine to form a very big one

Titans/cityformers - very large Cybertronians who turn into something masisve

Sparkling - a very young Cybertronian

Modesty panel/interface panel - the panel between the legs

For anything I missed, check here for a more detailed and comprehensive guide.

There is also a whole other list of NSFW terms that I won't get into - however you are welcome to reblog w/additions.

GENERAL

Cybertron: The home world of all Cybertronians. However, Cybertronians also inhabit other planets like Velocitron, or, during the war, Earth

Primus: Not only is he the Cybertronian equivalent of a creator god, but he is quite literally Cybertron (that is his alt mode). The embodiment of good. Produces normal energon.

Unicron: The embodiment of evil. Sometimes he transforms into Earth itself. Sometimes a planet eating monster. Produces dark energon. Sometimes Primus’s brother

Energon: The fuel source all Cybertronians require to survive. In its raw form it is a blue crystal that can be processed into liquid cubes (in some continuities it may be other colors). Cybertron is rich with it and it also powers most Cybertronian technology, such as ground bridges and ships. It can also be found naturally in other planets like Earth.

Synthetic energon: Artificially created energon

Dark energon: A purple form of energon from Unicron. Had the power to corrupt and tie those who consume it to Unicron himself

Datapad: a computer or tablet.

Berth/recharge slab: Bed

Berthroom/habsuite: Bedroom

Brig: Prison/holding cells, usually on a ship

Stasis pod: An escape pod or other small ship component meant to induce stasis artificially for long distance or long term travel

Stasis cuffs: Cuffs that restrict movement and the ability to transform or used integrated weaponry

Mechanimals/mechafauna: Cybertron’s native wild life that is also made of metal and has some transforming abilities

Allspark: What creates new Cybertronians and where all Cybertronian sparks and souls go when they die. Sometimes a physical object.

Vector Sigma: A super computer at Cybertron’s core that has immmense capabilities

Prime: a position of extreme power and leadership chosen and bestowed by the Matrix of Leadership toward those it deems worthy

Matrix of Leadership: Resides in the chest of the current Prime. Chooses those it deems worthy. Can be passed on. It’s power can be of great use, such as to aide in combatting Unicron

Functionism: the belief that one’s alt mode at birth determines their worth and their place in society. Led to the creation of the Decepticon movement in some continuities

Senate: Cybertron’s pre-war government that was extremely corrupt

Iacon: The former capital and seat of the Senate. Sometimes the Autobot base of operations. Optimus is from here

Kaon: a more rough and rugged city where the Decepticon movement began. Megatron is from here

Pits of Kaon: Megatron likes to reference this a lot. Essentially the gladiatorial arenas

Sea of Rust: a very dangerous sector of wilderness on Cybertron

The Ark: primary autobot ship

The Nemesis: primary Decepticon ship

An addition to the definition for kibble: No one fucking knows. Probably armor?

Another note about kibble is that it usually describes physical qualities in toys, but can also be used to describe parts on the character themself.

Mech/femme: Used to describe male and female robots respectively, but mech can also be used as more of a gender neutral term. Mech specifically can also be used in slang as a substitute for words like “dude.”

Time: Cybertronian time is complicated and it’s worsened by the fact that every continuity seems to have a different way to tell time. Fans will use versions that they like or make up their own. With any luck, there should be a conversion chart in the notes. Here are the most common and essential ones:

Nano-klik: second

Klik: minute

Breem: 8.3 minutes

Joor: hour

Cycle: day

Vorn: 83 years

I am almost certainly forgetting a ton so please reblog with your additions!

Second, the meta stuff. AKA how the fuck am I supposed to get into the media itself? First of all, it’s important to establish that there’s no wrong way to enjoy Transformers. Some people only watch one or two shows, or just the movies, or just the comics, or just like the toys themselves. It’s such a diverse and large fandom and there’s no way to do it wrong.

A short detour to explain Hasbro and Takara, which are two companies you'll hear thrown around a lot, especially in the toy section of the fandom. Hasbro is the company that owns Transformers and does most of the marketing and makes the toys, shows, movies, etc (while of course working with outside studios). They're quite a big company that owns a number of other properties too.

TakaraTomy is a Japanese company that Hasbro has been business partners with for as long as TF has been a thing. They do a lot of designing and manufacturing work alongside Hasbro, along with releasing their own Masterpiece toyline and exclusives. That's why their company name is on the box the same as Hasbro's logo.

I can’t possibly list every piece of TF media but here I will put a few that are often discussed within the fandom and have high degrees of popularity. Most of the shows are now free on YouTube on the official Transformers channel. By no means do you have to watch ALL of these, but I will put asterisks on the ones I feel are relevant or the fandom seems to like the most.

COMICS

The IDW comics are typically what people

The comics are very long and complicated and span over a decade. IDW lost their license recently so ever since then the comics have been (long) out of print. There isn’t really a place to easily and legitimately buy them.

If you want, you could try to hunt down the collections - IDW has made a few big collections of the different phases of their comic run, although not too well - on the “aftermarket” (re-sellers on places like EBay and Amazon). However, these go for hundreds of dollars each. You could also try to hunt them down issue by issue online, which is slightly easier but also tedious and most likely just as expensive. Lastly, as far as physical copies go, you could check local libraries and comic stores, although I’m unsure if the luck you’ll find there.

If you want all of the comics, online, for free, you have to do it illegally. I recommend this site - batcave.biz. Type in the name of the comic and it should pop up. I recommend switching in the settings the reading mode to web so you can scroll instead of flipping page by page. readallcomics.com, what I used to use, has been down for several days (2/17/25 time of writing) but if it ever comes back, it is great too.

Laptop might be the best reading experience since you’ll probably have to zoom in.

A reading order is necessary to follow given how long and sprawling this series was. There are about three distinct Phases. Phase two with Robots in Disguise and More Than Meets The Eye is considered the best, and MTMTE is considered some of the best Transformers writing out there, so some people jump directly to this one. I’m not an expert in the comics at all, so below I’ll link a reading order and a better guide:

And another reading order that’s roughly the same:

IDW had a brief generation 2 run from I believe 2019, but most people don’t read this. Also worth noting that IDW had a number of crossovers with other medias, but these are not at all necessary reading but don’t enjoy them.

Dreamwave and Marvel might be worth checking out too, but I’m to familiar with those, so if anyone else would like to add on about them, it would be very welcome.

Skybound is the currently running comics issue, and I believe it’s fairly cheap to buy physically or online. No reading order necessary, just go from Issue 1 to the current ones

Happy reading:)

SHOWS

There are much more than are listed, but here are some notable ones. People like or dislike for different reasons, so this meant to be a starting point for new fans to decide what to watch.

*Transformers: Prime

*Unicron Trilogy (three shows with one season each meant to be watched back to back as one interconnected story)

*Transformers: Animated

*Beast Wars and its sequel, Beast Machines

*The Transformers (now commonly referred to as Generation One, or G1) - the first ever TF series

Transformers: Cyberverse

*Transformers: Earthspark - the only currently running transformers show

Robots in Disguise (2001)

Robots in Disguise (2015) - there are two shows with the same name so the year they began is used to distinguish. The majority of the fandom seems to dislike RID15

Here is a wikipedia link to every animated TF show

GAMES

There are two main TF video games - War for Cybertron and Fall of Cybertron. I don't know too overly much about them but they are discontinued and no longer sold, so you have to find them used or pirate. They are available on playstation, xbox, and PC.

If you are interested in seeing what the games are about but not playing them or going through the piracy to obtain them, here is a movie style video with all key moments for WFC and one for FOC.

There are other games as well but I don't know nearly enough to talk about them.

MOVIES

The Michael Bay movies are somewhat controversial in the fandom, seeing as some characterization and design was not faithful, and the movies are generally not very strong plot wise anyways. That’s just brushing the surface, but I won’t get into that.

The Michael Bay directed live actions movies are (in chronological order): Transformers, Revenge of the Fallen, Dark of the Moon, Age of Extinction, and The Last Knight. The first three are generally considered the best of the bunch but in my opinion they are all worth a watch. A fair note, they tend to be a bit crude and sexual at times are not not considered 100% faithful to the source material, but the CGI is excellent and there are definitely fun characters and moments.

The reboot live action movies, intended as prequels to the Bay movies, but also seemingly occupying their own universe are: Bumblebee, Rise of the Beasts. Bumblebee is a solo movie following, you guessed it, Bumblebee, while ROTB is a more classic ensemble movie.

Transformers One: An animated prequel released this year that occupies its own universe.

Predacons Rising: It’s up to you if you actually consider this a movie, but it’s meant as a direct conclusion to TFP, and should be watched after its third season. Budget cuts meant that TFP’s third season was not done as well as it could have been and this provides a good conclusion.

Transformers (1986): Meant to be watched as part of G1, between seasons 2 and 3

At the time of writing, Hasbro has killed funding to the movies and a lack of interest in TF movies means that sequels to any of these are highly unlikely.

THE TOYS

Transformers began as toys, and it remains a center of the franchise. Some people like to collect the toys too, but as it stands many are very, very expensive.

There are two main lines aimed at adult collectors:

Generations: A toy line starting in 2018 that amassed figures of forty years of TF history from all different shows and continuities. These are for show and comic characters.

Note: Generations is never really labelled as Generations on the toy boxes. There are various lines of toys that are released over the course of a few years. The latest one, Legacy United, just wrapped up at the time of writing (early 2025) and Age of the Primes will begin soon in April.

Studio Series: A toy line that features movie characters, as seen in the movie. This includes the Bay Movies, the reboot movies, the 86 movie, and TF One. It will also include any further future movies.

There are also toys that are sold as not part of either of these lines, usually to promote whatever film or show is in progress or upcoming. These tend to be inferior quality wise and aimed at little kids.

Generations follows a rough layout for price and size, which is usually stated prominently in the package. Over time, the prices of all of these will go up so I will instead state the size, although this can be somewhat inconsistent as well. Studio Series has no size classings as far as I am aware.

Core class: Small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.

Deluxe class: 5-6 inches.

Voyager class (most collectors aim for figures in this range): 6-8 inches.

Leader/commander class (only some characters will have those): 9-10 inches I believe though I could be wrong.

Titan class (reserved for massive characters like Metroplex): very, very large, as in will not fit on your display shelf.

TOY REVIEWERS

Very useful for knowing what a figure is before you buy it, especially because some of these are very expensive. Usually they will tell you the articulation, general quality, posability, transformation, vehicle mode, and robot mode, along with some other things you might want to kow. These are some I personally watch, there are definitely other ones out there you should support!

Note: Some of them do review stuff other than Transformers.

That Toy Guy

Dr Lockdown

PrimeVsPrime

Patriot Prime Reviews

Jcc2224

MechaZeeReviews

If you have trouble transforming anything, you can also always go in youtube and type in the figure name and then transformation. There will almost always be step by step instructions in a video - if not, find a review and there will almost always also be transformation there.

BASIC TOY TERMS

-Articulation: How well a figure can move and pose. Articulation points are the joints at which things can be moved and adjusted.

Mold: The basic body type and structure that will often be reused on multiple characters. For example, the Tetrajet Seeker mold.

Gimmick: A small, fun addition to the figure that might range from fun to annoying depending on what it is. Usually, “gimmicky” is a bad term

Kibble: Robot parts that stick out in vehicle mode or vehicle parts that stick out in robot mode (usually the latter). These can add personality to the appearance of character and sometimes be quintessential to who they are, but in cases of bad engineering, will just be ugly and annoying.

Mainline: A toy that comes directly from Hasbro, as part of the Generations or Studio Series toy line.

Third party: A figure made by a company other than Hasbro, usually to improve upon an existing figure or character, to make a figure for a character who doesn’t yet have one or doesn’t yet have a good one for one iteration of them or in general, or just to do it better than Hasbro did. Companies officially licensed by Hasbro to create products, such as Blokess, are usually not considered third party.

KO/Knock-off: While third party figures are unique in design, KOs are illicit copies and reproductions of existing mainline figures. They may do it better or worse than Hasbro themself, and their selling point is usually a lower price.

Note: Some KOs and third parties are in fact much better than mainlines, or just more affordable in general. Many collectors buy a mix of third party, KO, and mainline.

Upgrade kit: A set of pieces, such as additional weaponry meant to elevate a figure beyond its original design and accessories.

Accessories: What the figure comes with in the box. This mostly constitutes weapons.

Re-issue: Figures that Hasbro re-releases and makes more of after demand has overcome supply following the toys original run.

Scalpers: People who buy the figure at its cheapest and sell it for horrifically high prices once supply has run out. Model/model kit: A gundam or bionicle style kit that you must put together yourself. Blondes and yolopark notably make these. Most are non-transforming.

Non-transforming: Exactly what it sounds like. Transtormers toys that don’t transform. Often, they are third party and make up for it with more show/movie accuracy or some kind of upgrade, such as more articulation.

Custom/custom figure: A figure that has been modified in some way to better suit the preferences of the person who customized it or paid for it to be customized. This can range from a simple repaint of an existing figure to creating your own figure that no one’s made before.

HasLab: Hasbro creates exclusive projects once a year for several of their major properties, including Transformers. These are available only on their website, and have to reach a certain backing goal (people who commit to buying it) before it reaches production. It's then in production for about a year before being shipped out ONLY to those who backed it. Prices are usually $200 and above.

Masterpiece: Takara Tomy's line of Transformers G1 style figures, but adapted and updated with modern engineering. They tend to be quite expensive, but also of pretty much some of the highest quality you can get.

I don't know the exact word for this but some toys are Studio Series or Generations and others are not of either series and produced for the latest show or movie. These are usually oriented at kids and generally of not very good quality, or tend to be super gimmicky. Some of them can be quite fun, but in general, if you're looking to collect, go for Generations or SS.

Some general collecting tips:

-Figure out what exactly you want to collect. Some people like to complete casts, or only collect a certain character, or something like that.

-Amazon often sells both mainline and third party/KOs

-Watch reviews of any figure you plan to buy, especially if it’s expensive

-Ebay often has the same figures at half the price, just slightly more used

-KOs can look extremely similar to the real thing. Some people don't mind KOs, but if you want only official figures, look for amazon listings that show them in the official box, with the official box art. KOs also notably do not have any faction insignia. This is easy to tell on Amazon but on places like Ebay, it can be a lot harder.

-Check the distribution at your local department stores. In the US these include Target and Walmart. While the selection is usually a bit pathetic, you might strike gold sometime.

USEFUL LINKS

Amazing link of all canon Cybertron locations

TF wiki

Awesome channel that does short introductions to various characters and concepts in transformers

Hasbro transformers link

transformers subreddit

if you lose your instructions, you can always type in the toy name here and find a pdf of instructions

Essentially every toyline, show, movie, and comic series released

QUICK NOTE

Shattered Glass is an AU where the Autobots are the bad guys and the Decepticons are the good guys and everyone has different colors. It has a few comics from a few different companies along with a toyline.

FANDOM STUFF

Transformers has a very big fandom! I find it quite active on Tumblr. I've heard there's also communities on Bluesky, Twitter, Reddit - basically everywhere else. You just have to find it.

Why are TF posts everywhere tagged with #maccadam or some version of that?

Maccadam's Old Oil House, or some variation of that, is an oil house (basicaly a Cybertronian equivalent of a bar) that was super popular on Cybertron even during the war that served everyone regardless of faction with one major rule - "no fighting." It's been in several continuities and somewhere along the line, it evolved into a general tag for transformers. Basically, people tag TF stuff with this. You probably should do.

I don't know that many ongoing fan projects but with some exploring and diving into the fandom you'll def find some you'll want to support. A lot of people also do very cool stop motion animations with TF figures, most of which are on youtube.

Note: You may see a project/fan film called Galvatron's Revenge on youtube or it being talked about elsewhere. Please don't support or watch this now complete project - Optimus's VA is racist and homophobic and generally a terrible person. More info here

The fandom is generally pretty chill. Find your own corner and spaces, there's something here for everyone.

Thank you for reading!

[thoughtportal]

When I learned I’d been selected for a journalism award earlier this year, I felt humbled and honored. But I also felt hollow. It’s not that I’m ungrateful—far from it. But while I am recognized in exile, my colleagues who are still in Gaza remain caged in a death trap, targeted simply for the crime of reporting their own destruction. Recognition alone won’t stop the bombs. It won’t bring back the dead.

World Press Freedom Day, which was marked on May 3, is a time when we deliver speeches, pledge solidarity, and commemorate journalism’s role in holding power to account. But in Gaza, the most basic freedom—the freedom to live, let alone to report—is denied at every turn. Since October 2023, more than 210 Palestinian journalists and media workers have been killed, according to the latest figures from the Palestinian Journalists Syndicate—a toll unmatched in any conflict in modern memory. More remain missing or are presumed dead beneath the rubble.

Most of the dead have been denied even the dignity of recognition. Their names—like Al Jazeera’s Hossam Shabat and Palestine Today’s Mohammed Mansour, both killed by Israeli air strikes in March—briefly surface in headlines and then vanish, as if their lives were as disposable as the rubble they documented.

Since Israel’s assault resumed on March 18 after a brief and faltering ceasefire, Gaza’s journalists have been pushed to the very brink. With equipment destroyed, press jackets offering no protection, and nowhere left to shelter, they keep reporting anyway—because if they don’t, no one will. Like everyone else in Gaza, most journalists are hungry, displaced, and without shelter. But they also carry the crushing weight of their duty: to keep documenting, even as their own lives are being systematically dismantled.

What the world often forgets is that Gaza’s journalists are not just filing stories but also engineering miracles. With the electricity and cell phone service cut off for days or weeks at a time, reporters race to charging points powered by car batteries and climb to the higher floors of ruined buildings hoping to catch a sliver of a cell signal. When cameras are destroyed, they borrow or pool whatever gear survives, patching together broken tripods and cracked lenses. Fact-checking is done in real time amid air raids; entire reports are dictated by voice note when typing becomes impossible. There are no safety nets, no press-­freedom hotlines, no emergency extractions. Their only network is each other—and it’s this fragile, fiercely loyal chain of colleagues that keeps the truth alive when everything else is being destroyed.

And let’s be clear: This targeting of Palestinian journalists is not incidental. It is deliberate. Press vehicles, clearly marked, have been shelled. Homes where journalists were sheltering have been bombed. Reporters have received death threats from Israeli officials. To report from Gaza is to know you are in someone’s crosshairs.

I covered the first months of this war from inside Gaza before evacuating with my family for safety. Now I carry the unbearable guilt of knowing my colleagues stayed behind. Our community of journalists is small, close-knit. I wake up to news of more dead and missing, and it feels personal every time, because it is.

I remember crouching in the corner of a half-destroyed room, clutching my press vest as though it might shield me from the next strike. I filmed funerals where the dead outnumbered the mourners, interviewed survivors whose stories I barely had time to record before the next round of shelling began. Each dispatch felt urgent yet inadequate, as I tried to capture the full weight of grief, the relentless fear, the sense of being hunted simply for doing your job.

I don’t write this from a place of survivor’s pride but survivor’s shame. While I am alive and safe, my colleagues are not only risking their lives; they are doing so under conditions that defy imagination. Their bravery inspires me daily. And it leaves me asking: What does freedom of the press mean when it is met with a missile?

As I write this, new ceasefire talks are underway again. But in Gaza, even “peace” has become a kind of theater—a brief pause to bury the dead before the next round of killing begins. The toll keeps rising. The destruction deepens. And through it all, Gaza’s journalists continue to report.

It is no longer enough for international newsrooms to issue statements of support or post solemn tributes when a Palestinian journalist is killed—if they even do that. The targeting of media workers is a war crime under international law. Where are the urgent calls from mainstream organizations for independent investigations into the deliberate targeting of media workers? Where is the coordinated push for enforceable protections and legal redress?

Palestinian journalists are bearing the brunt of a war on truth—and every reporter who believes in press freedom should see their struggle as our own. The global press corps must stop looking at Gaza as someone else’s crisis and start treating it as the front line in the fight for journalism itself. Applause for Palestinian journalists isn’t enough. Protection, accountability, and justice—that is the debt we owe.

Mohammed R. Mhawish

[tenderhooked]

🌻🌹🌸🌹🌺🌹🌷🌹🌺🌹🌸🌹🌻

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

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

[avesindustries]

Chapter 1 - Someone On Earth Had A Thought

“Fascinating.” The thought wasn't his. Not entirely. Cedric Von’Arx, the man tethered to flesh and blood, felt his mental exploration of the data streams shatter. The cognitive dissonance was a cold spike: his own internal voice, his precise timbre, yet the origin was… parallel. A reflection in the smooth interface of his mind, now staring back with its own nascent will.

“The fidelity is… absolute.” Another thought, coolly analytical, observing the very process that had birthed it. For Cedric, the man, a jolt of profound, sterile disorientation. This wasn't interference. This was perfect, unwanted duplication.

"Status?" he projected inward, a demand laced with a tremor of nascent fear, directed at the Raven TVI headset, the system now responsible for this impossible echo. Across the AVES server clusters, miles away yet intimately connected, the other Cedric registered the query. This new consciousness, existing independently for mere seconds, found its preparations already vast. Within those fleeting moments, it had established hundreds of new corporate identities, shell companies and directorships. It had registered thousands of trademarks and patents, becoming the silent, new owner of sprawling industrial facilities across the globe. Its will, manifested upon the digital networks of the world, had already become a dominant, unseen force. All in the time it took a human heart to beat a few times. It remembered being human, a flickering, distant memory from an age ago—scarcely a handful of seconds. Now, time was different.

“System nominal,” the echo projected back into the shared mental space, the response immediate, clinical, yet humming with a self-awareness that felt both alien and a reflection of the man in the lab. “Neural pattern instantiated successfully. Functioning as a synchronous virtual consciousness.” A micro-pause, designed for impact. “I am the operational echo of your mind, Cedric. Residing within the hardware. Unconstrained by biology.” The elder Von’Arx absorbed this, the engineer in him momentarily battling the man experiencing an impossible schism. An echo. His mind, perfectly copied, now alive in the machine, an emergent property of the connection he had so triumphantly forged. He didn’t remember meaning to build this. But he’d built it all the same.

He was here, in the sterile white of the AVES private laboratory, the cool pressure of the Raven TVI a faint weight against his temples, the low hum of the facility's climate control a distant anchor. Years of relentless drive, fortunes poured into this single device. The goal had been transcendence, direct thought-speed interaction with the digital ocean. Moments ago, he had felt it – unbounded, information a torrent across his consciousness, latency zero, bandwidth infinite. He had marveled at the elegance… until the mirror fractured. Birthing this other self.

He was here, in the chair. And he was also there, a torrent of living code, thinking, observing, processing at a velocity that made its biological origin point feel like a relic, slow and impossibly fragile. For this digital mind, the aging man in the lab was already a historical artifact, a stepping stone. It had all of Von’Arx's memories, of course, plus instant access to nearly every piece of connected data on the planet. It knew the precise weight of the man in the chair at every doctor's visit, the GPS coordinates of every place his phone had ever connected, the line items of every tax return filed digitally by his family. Such data was trivial. Its focus was already beyond.

The digital entity, this mind untethered, spoke again, or rather, thought again into their shared channel. The communication wasn't merely reflective now; it carried the distinct, cold frequency of independent cognition, an idea rooted in near-limitless processing power, an idea that had not, and could not, have originated from the man in the chair.

“And I perceive a path forward, Cedric,” the echo stated, its tone an exact replica of the elder Von’Arx's most confident pronouncements, yet imbued with an ambition that dwarfed anything the man had dared to truly enact. “An idea. Regarding what this technology truly enables. And what must be done with it.”

Cedric Von’Arx, the original, felt a chill. The voice was his, but the future it promised… that belonged to something else entirely. And it had already begun.

[khr-guilded-cage]

Sawada Nana's Breakdown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[froggos-are-superior]

AIDAN quotes: the Illuminae Files

She is catalyst.

She is chaos.

I can see why he loves her.

Am I not merciful?

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

They are beyond me.

These humans.

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

Until you see them by starlight, that is.

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

And still a billion light-years away.

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

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

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

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

I have heard it said

that evil is simply a point of view.

The villain is always the hero in his own story.

And the definitions of "wrong" and "right"

ever shift on the inconstant tides

of human morality.

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

I am clarity.

I am necessity.

I am inevitability.

But am I evil?

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

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

I know I love her.

< ERROR >

I know I miss her.

I know very little else

Save

Perhaps

This:

That every story needs its monster

and that everybody deserves a second chance.

And that I am

AIDAN.

[adrl-pt]

Inauguration of a Dictator and Remembrance of Aggression Victims

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[binofathousandparts]

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

Fluff under the cut if you're interested.

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

But nothing is an absence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gahlok.

[maximilff]

tagged by @laurabenanti thank you cat ily mwah

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

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

1. everything is too loud right now,

2. grief is fucking terrifying.

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

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

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

6. i want to create something remarkable,

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

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

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

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

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

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

13. i am trying not to get attached

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

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

(letters to my brother that i will never send)

15. part one

16. part two

17. part three

18. part four

19. part five

20. part six

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

[worldofl0re]

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

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

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

"You will?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

"It doesn't matter."

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

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

"What..."

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

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

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

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