#kinda sorta soft

[lunaroftales]

Search and Destroy

Ships: none, Implied BoomerBot (Brimstone x KAY/O)

Words: 855

CW: nothing explicit, implied death and memory extraction, talks of grief

Notes: this is a teaser of another series i want to start on AO3! once i finish the mainstay fic, i want to make ones of all of my favorite ships!! this is one that’s super near and dear to my heart, so i hope you love it as much as i do!!

“I want you to destroy it.”

KAY/O couldn’t bring himself to do it, holding the small device in his hands much like a small child would hold a lightning bug; with a gentle curiosity that produced nothing but destruction. 

It was one of Killjoy’s personal thumb drives, painted with little splatters that looked eerily like Raze’s abilities. He was handed it after being dragged here for “privacy reasons”, before the girl locked the door and began to divulge its contents; a trove of memories from the man that he technically was.

The memories of Alpha Earth’s Tariq Porter.

Apparently, Alpha’s KAY/O never got out of testing due to his “violent nature”. They still destroyed this man and took his memories, only to scrap his life’s work because of a testing flaw.

“Don’t you want to see who you were here? You can’t meet your Alpha Counterpart, but you have his memories!” The young girl’s concerned enthusiasm was almost endearing, had it not been for her subject matter.

“Killjoy.” Whether he sighed through his voicebox or took a moment to compress the steam out of his chassis, she will never know. “I have no reason to see his memories.”

“You are Tariq Porter, and I know that.” She crossed her arms. “The Tariq I knew was always so kind, and it’s such a shame that he died for this before I could step in to stop it.” According to Kingdom files, the project had been started immediately after First Light, and his memories had been extracted only months after. 

This was many months before Killjoy was promoted to take over Research and Development, but she still had not forgiven herself for his death. “This is just as much for me as it is for you.”

“His memories do not matter to me.”

There was some kind of pull from within him, but he pushed it aside.

“I know that’s a lie.” The atmosphere in the room quickly soured.

He would frown if he could. He hated seeing her hurt, something in his servos would ring and jitter every time, but he knew that this was going to be bad. He already had to partition his memory logs to deal with Brimstone, he couldn’t do this to himself again.

He turned to walk out of the room, but stops to look back at her for a moment.

“I want you to destroy it.”

He could see this pierce through her heart as they locked eyes and he nodded heavily.

“Not until you look at the memories. Until then,” she smiled fondly. “I miss Tariq!” Her smile dissolved into a chuckle, “so I’m going to scrub through them.”

“What are you looking for?” His body turned back to face her. “What do you know about him?”

“Tariq was like Brim,” she smiled. “There’s so much I want to tell you about him, but I need you to watch this with me. There’s something there, but I can’t tell you why without it.” 

He took a moment to think about this, morbid curiosity taking over. What was it that he needed to know about this universe’s Tariq? Was he not just the same man on a different path? Killjoy took this moment of contemplation as a confirmation that he was willing to go through with her plan as she dragged him back into the heart of the room, encouraging him to sit down.

“Wait!” She beamed brightly. “I need to have a third here for viewing non-mission Kingdom files, I’ll go get Brim!”

That felt too on the nose, and he needed to push. “Why him specifically?” His head cocked to the side as his display changed to a question mark.

She stopped for a moment and breathed lightly, seeming to collect her thoughts.

The silence continued to stretch before she blurted out her thoughts. “He’s important, especially in regards to Tariq.” The girl patted his head lightly, almost awkwardly. “Who was he to you, in Omega?”

“He was…” He had to stop himself, this wasn’t hers to hear. Even if she couldn’t know, she still needed to know. For her sanity and his partitioning. “… He is very important to me, and my purpose on Omega Earth.”

Her voice and face softened. “Well, he was very important to our Brimstone too.” The heaviness in the air seemed to dissolve as she smiled fondly. “He’d want to see these. He never got to say goodbye, I don’t think.”

“Did you?” His response was so quick, he almost didn’t even catch it. The young girl did, however, and almost looked offended at the question.

“Of course not!” Her harsh laugh broke through the still-slightly-precarious air. “He ‘went missing’ while I was still an intern, and…” She seemed to choke up a bit. “… and it really hurt both Brim and I. Tariq was like another dad to me, like Brim is, and having to grieve the loss of him and watch my father figure grieve the loss of his-“ Her voice stopped softly as she took a step back. “I’ve said too much, I’m going to get Brimstone.”

[pallanophblargh]

Another desperate strike at the art block and a tribute of sorts: super rusty linocut to reinitiate me into the world of printmaking. It’s not as attuned to my working style as intaglio was, but this is fun, tactile, and enough of a departure from my way of thinking that is super welcome.

It’s nothing special and definitely technically lacking (over-inked block and such) but it’s something, which is a big deal lately. Also it’s my favorite species of fish and we all know Kuhli loaches deserve all the tributes we can give.

[shimmershy]

Chara Week Day 2: Gold

[wisteriagoesvroom]

WIZ ITS ELLIE. soft + landoscar please?

Oscar doesn’t know why they’ve found time to sneak down to Oakleigh. Or how, exactly. Just that he had a contact of a contact, and they were always going to welcome him back here. And they’ve given the both of them some race suits, free run of the track, and a “go have fun”.

They’d found this place, like a shared secret. Clattering through the gates and sneaking away from their handlers. Each making an excuse about quiet time. Nobody questioned either of them about it, chalking it up to the general air of celebration after Albert Park. That’s the beauty of being golden children, you see. When you win. Standing in the sun, silverware in your hands, in front of a camera. Oscar hadn’t even needed to pretend at all - he beamed at Lando because he really meant it. P3, P4. For the team. Nothing to do with the way Lando’s smile creeps into him like sunlight. Nothing like Oscar’s own reflection staring back at him from the dish, gently held in Lando’s hands.

Besides, Oscar knows he’s hungry. He wants more. But it’ll be his time.

And right now, he gets to relive his memory of karting, on the track where he started. Growing awkward into his limbs that didn’t work how he wanted to yet, a fierceness that he hadn’t tamed, conscious of the knowledge that there were boys always faster, faster, faster than him. And chasing people like them, chasing Lando, was like driving towards an apex and knowing you would hit it — it was just a matter of time. How fast you could launch yourself at it, come close to bending time. Oscar has tried, and he will try still. There is something in him that will not be sated, and it is in Lando, too.

But for tonight: they rest. Just him, and his teammate. The floodlights. Boisterously loud crickets. Their own helmets, in their own hands. Two karts. Back to the beginning. Except the beginning is here, it’s when he was seven years old and dad helped him climb into the kart. It’s him in an airplane with one stop going to a cold and wet country where vegemite has the wrong name. It’s Rokit and Prema and Alpine and lawsuits and loud chatter and media distractions.

It’s a sea of eyes assessing him, but only one person’s that he cares to remember. Blue-green eyes, daring to ask the question without words: who are you? what will you become?

Oscar knows, because he has looked into the mirror and asked himself the same, too.

Those blue-green eyes search his own now. Then they steady.

The two of them. Same height, barely two years between them. Same dreams.

Then Lando smiles. Eyes the colour of soft streaking sky, the way it is when Oscar’s in the car and has a chance to look up.

“Ready for me to kick your arse?”

“You won’t.” Oscar says, easily back.

It’s taken them a year, but Oscar thinks he gets it. Talking to Lando is like holding a bird in the palm of your hand. A fluttering thing, fast.

And he thinks of the journeys birds take. Of comings and goings, of the silent effort of flight. He thinks of being two years behind and too small, and looking at the boy in the go kart, on the screen of his phone, who believed in himself enough to do it too.

Oscar zips up his race suit. And he grins. Lando’s eyes glitter with promise.

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[peasunflower]

you have kind eyes, the softest really. The kind that can melt someone. The kind that droops a little when you're sleepy but they droop in the most perfect of curves. The kind that scrunch up a lil when you're happy. you have really kind eyes.

[astoldbychae]

San Myshuno's It Girl 🍒

The icon. The Legend. The moment. Your favorite Simfluencer's favorite Simfluencer Trendsetter: Persephone Lorraine McCoy, formerly known as Penny Pizzazz.

I've got big plans for my lil sweet pea. Her life is literally about to be a movie. I spent 2 hours and 38 minutes on her in CAS. Crazy thing is it only took 23 minutes to "make her"...the other 2 hours and 15 minutes was dressing her up. 🙃 I still need to make/update her family & decorate her condo...and spin her around in cas some more! Lol.

[mmmleckerlecker]

I just… *clenches fist* love preds who, as a personal rule, don’t ever let their prey out once they’re in their stomach. like physically they COULD, but they just… won’t

and it isn’t even a malicious thing. they have plenty of prey friends that they have never and WILL NEVER touch… unless the prey gives the go-ahead. and a lot of times the prey friend doesn’t even really comprehend what they’re getting into like…

“are you even really a pred? I’ve never actually seen you eat someone one,” friend 1 asks.

“oh, I definitely am,” the pred answers without even looking up from their phone.

“yeah?” friend 2 prompts. “could you do a little demonstration to prove it?”

that gets the pred’s attention. “what? on one of you?”

friend 1 shrugs. “yeah sure. if you can even do it.”

the pred is already sliding their phone into their pocket. “and this is what you really want?”

“yes, definitely,” friend 2 confirms. “I’ve known you for years. I’d really like to see you try.”

“well,” the pred says as they reach for friend 2, “if it’s what you really want…”

and within a minute, friend 2 slides smoothly down the pred’s throat and fills out their stomach. “told ya,” is all the pred has to say.

the pred gives friend 1 a few minutes to run their hands over their belly in awe, feeling friend 2 within curiously poking about their new surroundings. eventually the interest wears off and the pred sits back down, returning to their phone.

“aren’t you going to let them out?” friend 1 asks after a moment.

the pred squeezes absentmindedly at their stomach’s new occupant and only spares a distracted glance at friend 1. “ah sorry, no. I’ve never let a prey back out before and I’m not about to start now.”

the form within them begins to shift about a little more uncomfortably.

“but… but they’re your friend?” friend 1 can only stutter.

“yeahhh, they are,” the pred agrees looking genuinely a little sympathetic. “but you guys said you were cool with it and I’m not about to change how I do things now. again, sorry.”

by now, friend 2 is in a panic trying to escape, but the pred seems unbothered. they merely knead their prey back into submission with one hand and continue typing on their phone with the other.

at a loss, friend 1 can only stand there and gape. the rest of the day they’re forced to watch the pred’s belly get smaller and softer, knowing friend 2’s fate is partly their fault and they themself were only spared by pure chance. they try not to flinch every time friend 2 gathers what strength they have left to fight back, but their struggles grow weaker with each passing hour. friend 1 never challenges the pred’s abilities again.

or… OR the prey knows EXACTLY what they’re getting into, or so they think. they’ve been dating the pred for a long while now and have been considering offering themself as a meal lately. the idea of being made one with their lover is very appealing to them. but they also know it’s very permanent so it’s taken months to build up the nerve to take that one last leap of faith. finally they find the courage to ask.

the pred raises a surprised eyebrow. “really?” they question in disbelief. they aren’t opposed to the idea, they just never would have expected it from their lover.

the prey nods sheepishly, cheeks growing bright red.

the pred immediately drops everything and gives their partner their undivided attention, expression deadly serious. “you know it’s a one way trip, right? this decision is final.”

“I know,” is all the prey answers. “I’ve always known.”

the pred nods, satisfied. without further ado, the take their partner into their mouth. they ever so slowly swallow them down, giving them plenty of opportunity to change their mind. but they don’t. a few minutes later, the prey is sealed within their final resting place.

to keep things romantic, the pred puts on their partner-turned-meal’s favorite movie while they digest. at first, it’s just a tingling sensation for the prey. but then it’s an all encompassing burning. suddenly, this is far less romantic than they’d expected. their pred partner had always been so sweet and gentle, but then inside of their stomach is absolutely brutal and unrelenting.

“I’ve changed my mind,” the prey suddenly gasps, fighting against the crushing walls. “I don’t want this anymore. please. let me out.”

the pred just gives their belly a few comforting rubs. “sorry, love. but you already know that what goes into my stomach doesn’t ever come back out. you’re just going to have to stay right where you are.”

this isn’t what the prey wants to hear. they quickly turn to begging, then bargaining. finally they’re reduced to sobbing. it all falls on deaf ears as the prey massages their lover throughout the whole process and continues watching the movie. by the time the film is over, the prey has given up on escape. the only signs of life the pred can feel as they get ready for bed is the occasional twitch or shiver from within. when they crawl into bed and curl around their belly, they make sure to wish their partner one last goodnight. the only response they get is a weakened kick. the pred smiles as they drift to sleep.

[galactic-drops]

*comparing Ruin Eclipse to what I have written for Eclipse in Heart, Mind & Soul* Yeah, no I can work with this.

[bonetrousledbones]

whenever i try to draw alphys its like im walking a very fine line between her and sonic the hedgehog. turns out trying to base her on a very spiky lizard does not help

[amygdalae]

im not the kind of person who pays too much attention to weed strains but the strain wedding cake is probably my favorite of the ones i bother to keep track of

[odinsblog]

.

I'm really feeling some kinda way (ngl, a lil bit salty) at the people disparaging Rihanna's Super Bowl performance as low energy?? Like, sis was a whole ass 12 months pregnant and performing on platforms suspended dozens of feet in the air ... and "lackluster" is the adjective some of you class-A heathens, haters and rejects decided to use?? Really?

I could almost be heated over it, but I know she did her thing and is now probably chilling and enjoying her life, her husband, children and her billions

Nah, you know what? I fuckm hate people who stan for famous people so hard you'd think they're best friends irl or something.

If you didn't like the performance, that's your business. Do you, however that might be done.

But I really dO gotta say, I've seen other Super Bowl performers lazily phone it in and not have their performances criticized nearly as much. I could go on and say how it's funny that it's usually Black women who get overly criticized, but I won't get into that rn.

It was a damn good medley, rife full of all the little things that make Rihanna, Rihanna (pausing to do her makeup with her own brand? Iconic. And lmao, she still can't wink to save her damn life), and after watching it, I realized I had no idea just how much Rihanna has contributed to our music over the last two decades.

I enjoyed tf outta the performance. It was a nice stroll down my adolescent memory lane

[cxpperhead]

Copperhead is very much a tea drinker. Coffee and energy drinks gives him way too much of a buzz which is detrimental to his line of work and alcohol tends to bring back bad memories unless he's trying to drown them.

[artdumpss]

Text Me⭐️

⭐️Call Me

I Just wanna Talk with You⭐️

[bcneheaded]

HI HELLO if anyone's wondered where I've been....... its been either work kicking my ass lately OR.... elden ring. JJFJDFSD

[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Original - Concept art

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: The Stanley Parable

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: Mob Psycho 100

Thursday:

2:30 PM: MP100

Friday:

2:30 PM: Star Control II - Helix

Saturday:

2:30 PM: Dragon Quest IX

Sunday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Helix

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)

[thefanciestborrower]

Haha lol Ice Emperor goes Brrrr part 4

Whispered voices filled the dungeon. Quiet, their words traveled only so far as an arm could reach, the murmur of something dark echoing in rolling waves that masked the truth of the matter.

A smile filled the dark, jagged.

In the same moment, a key jingled in a frozen steel lock.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The life of an Emperor was difficult. Any mistake could be fatal for either his warriors or himself. He had to be on guard eternally, for usurpers would not miss the chance. So, it was a surprise when he drifted off, systems powering down one by one until the world faded into the background of routine system maintenance that he didn’t even remember ignoring. Caches of information were completely wiped from his memory, unneeded in their triviality.

It was mid reboot when the pain hit. It crackled up his circuits and splintered into spiderwebbed cracks, bleeding something sickeningly thick onto the ice of his throne even as he stood, one hand finding the blade of the weapon and halting it in its tracks. His vision returned in staticy, flickering images, glitching at the sides and blinding him to the identity of his attacker.

When the usurper hissed, The Emperor snarled a mangled word in return, ice blazing from between his teeth and rising in sharp, arching spires that hit the ceiling of the hall with such a thunderous noise that the sky may fall from the force of it. “Traitor!” The second attempt at speech walled off the entrance to the hall with a thick sheet of ice so dark that it blocked the light from beyond.

His assailant fell back, skipping down the steps with light feet and snapping vitriol at him in echoes of noise. Noise. Too much Noise.

The static faded in patches as he followed them down, ice cracking and breaking in his wake as his rage fueled the staff to spread his power. His gaze landed on the form of his attacker.

A woman. He remembered her as one of the formlings he’d imprisoned for questioning not days ago. Older than the girl the Boy brought with him by far, she was wrinkled in her age, tales of her adventures written on her skin in a mural painted in sunspots and creases.

The Emperor’s staff hit the ground, and it was over. Too slow to move, the woman faced the full brunt of a shard of ice. It hit her mid-chest, and from his perch atop the last step to his throne, he heard something crack. When the first drop of blood fell, he turned to sweep a harsh eye over the destroyed main hall.

Frozen spires raised high, burying themselves into the ceiling and sending shards of wood down upon him in flakes. Dark ice blocked every entrance, blocking off his army and shadowing the entry hall unpleasantly. The Emperor exhaled in a short, tense hiss.

A tiny hand pressed itself into his stomach, followed quickly by another as a soft voice not yet even broken by age piped up from his middle. “What happened?” He almost forgot. The Boy. A check at his side, and the removal of a blade the length of his own forearm revealed a gash crumpling the metal of his body. Sparks bled out in short, quick bursts, following the trail of an oozing, blue liquid. “Z—uh—Ice Emperor?”

“A traitor.” The weapon hit the ground with a sharp clatter as the ice softened, melting into nothingness as The Emperor stalked down the rest of the climb to his throne. “Nothing of your concern, Boy.”

“You’re bleeding.” Then, quieter, “I didn’t know you could bleed.” It wasn’t meant for The Emperor, he was sure, but the very concept of it made him quicken his stride some, turning down the winding corridors his personal quarters laid in. To some extent, he was glad his past self had the forethought to make the palace grand, yet not overly large, as he managed to reach his quarters in less than a minute by his internal clock’s timing.

Still, he managed a quick, raspy “don’t touch it” on his way, even as his pain sensors ran wild with their alarm.

Squirreled away in his locked room, he struggled out of his armor and shirt, grimacing at the blue fluid that dripped in sluggish pulses from the rupture in his side. The vague idea to simply open his front panel and retrieve the child was a dangerous one, he decided after no more than a moment’s contemplation. He had no idea what the blue fluid could do to the Boy, though he knew it served some purpose as a way to prevent his temperature regulation liquids from freezing, what the compound would do to a human was beyond him.

So, with the voiceless warning of his synthetic stomach cinching along its base to prevent any contamination, The Emperor arched his back and gagged, forcing the Boy back into his throat, despite his yelping protest. From there, it was a simple reversal of the process of swallowing, made infinitely easier and far less disorienting when his systems weren’t fighting him for it.

The Boy rolled into the back of his teeth with a squeak, The Emperor’s tongue holding him in place while he raised a platform out of ice from the ground, and, upon giving it a second more to think, placed his already-ruined shirt on top for good measure. The Emperor promptly tore his mouth guard off and dropped the Boy directly onto the platform, having to take care to not raise his blue-stained hands to help stabilize him.

He tried to ignore the little hiss of a sharp breath as the Boy looked down at the dripping gash along his side, instead turning to examine it with a sharp eye.

The metal was completely crumpled, for one. Pressed inward until it couldn’t dent any more and creating harsh, jagged edges where it broke. Inside, scores of wires sparked and sizzled when they made contact with each other, and it was only his built-in redundancies that left him mostly functional after so many had been severed.

Far in the back, hidden between plating, and protected by most of his other life functions, his synthetic stomach oozed blue near its base, dripping sluggishly from a single tube cut clean through. The Emperor clicked his teeth, frustrations leaking through the sides of his mouth in the form of cold mist. The wires were an easy fix—he still had some of the black adhesive he’d awakened with, and though he may need to find a suitable replacement soon, it would be enough to last him through at least another year.

The slit lining of his stomach, however, could pose a problem. For the moment, though, he busied himself with bending his metal skin away from his far more delicate insides.

“Are you okay?” The Boy’s teeth chattered when he spoke, but The Emperor could hardly work with him taking up his mouth. It would be a distraction. He didn’t look up, something in the back of his processor telling him it would make him feel bad for the child.

His front panel was beginning to ooze blue, as well, though he didn’t have a shirt on to ruin, so he supposed it didn’t matter. What bled would simply trail down his armor to be cleaned later. “I am fine.” In the corner of his vision, the Boy shifted, The Emperor’s discarded clothing pulled up to his shoulders as he quivered.

Right. He wasn’t supposed to look.

The Emperor turned back to himself, producing a roll of adhesive strips from a chest compartment before taking the time to slowly weave the braided wires back together, wrapping the entire thing when he finished. It left the things notably less flexible than before, and they tugged painfully where they were anchored if he moved too quickly, but he would need to have more copper thread manufactured before he could fix it properly.

He bent the last piece of metal skin back into place, and his front panel opened in the same moment. Wires and functional components cleared away at a hand’s push, revealing the oozing synthetic organ that sent warnings blaring in The Emperor’s brain. A slice ran from a quarter of its width, slit straight through the metal mesh that allowed it structure, and eviscerating the important tubing within. His mind, however, lingered little on that idea, instead forming a new one quite quickly. A few more inches, and the blade could have very well skewered the Boy. 

He found words spilling from behind his teeth, quiet and… soft, almost as he all-but hummed. The nigh-noiseless atmosphere of the room was too much for him to break. “You may leave here.”

“Huh?” From the sound of it, the Boy jolted when he was addressed, the shift of cloth filling the otherwise-empty room as The Emperor scowled at his hemorrhaging stomach. This would not be a simple fix. He could feel it in the way his mind interpreted its warning signs as burning, searing pain that flared up his side in flickering waves. In the way the metal mesh and silicone combination laid in manufactured perfection.

He would have to burn it closed.

“I would not chase you down. An emperor’s palace is no place for a child.” Something made it feel right. A memory, perhaps. Buried deep. Someone he knew. “You are no threat to me, Boy. I do not think that you ever were, really.” For now, The Emperor staunched the bleeding with his ice, freezing a column up through the dripping tube. It was difficult. The liquid resisted freezing enough for frost to form on the surrounding pieces before it stopped, and the resulting cold was enough for his system to raise a plethora of new warnings. He did his best to ignore them when he turned back to the Boy. “You may leave.”

The Boy did little more than stare at him. For long enough that The Emperor wo—debated—if he’d frozen solid, the Boy’s only action was to stare.

Then, as if the Boy had lost any sense at all, he spoke as though he wasn’t facing an Emperor, flippantly replying “Nah.”

A huff of frost that crystalized along the Emperor’s newly-replaced mouth guard, light enough that it couldn’t spill over the edge. His irritation at a child could only go so far… well, this child. “You will not find your friend here.”

The Boy shook his head, and when he stumbled to his feet, he drug The Emperor’s stained shirt (currently being used as some combination of blanket and cloak) with him. His expression wrinkled his nose and raised a brow, almost as if he found The Ice Emperor silly. “I’m not looking for him anymore.”

A head poked out of his door was enough to call a servant for spare clothes, and only after the footsteps had faded did he turn back to the Boy, brow raised. “Why is that?” There was no way he could have simply given up. The Boy had too much drive behind his voice for that. Did he plan to break the prisoners out?

“I just don’t think I need to look for him.” The Boy’s smile was wide—all sharp teeth and closed eyes. The Emperor detected no lie in his voice. “I’m okay here.”

It was an effort to freeze the blue liquid off his hands… what had seeped under the gloves, at least, but once it had crystalized, it was a simple matter to remove. The Boy, however, cringed at the sound of metal on metal. “I suppose I cannot begrudge you that.” He could, actually. He was the Emperor, and his palace was his to rule. He simply… didn’t want to. A novel feeling, really, when it came to the inclusion of someone so… purposeless to his army.

A shirt and a new pair of gloves slid under his door atop what likely used to be a semi-decorative serving platter. Serving platters, however, had little use for a hungerless leader. The thought let something uncomfortable settle in the back of his mind. He decided not to think too much on it, and instead slipped back into his normal attire, armor and all. The weight of it was heavy across his shoulders, but in a way that was something… comforting, even if it did make the most horrendous clanging noises when he moved too quickly. “What’s your name, Boy?”

Why he asked the question, he couldn’t tell himself or anyone. Really, it slipped from him on a whim. The bright—soft. Kind—smile the boy sent him in return, however, was more than enough motivation to not regret it.

“Lloyd.”