#I’ve been questioning this for many many years

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

seven - m. kaiser

you were seven years old when you first met the piece of trash named michael kaiser.

sitting on the swings alone with a busted violet lip and ripped jeans and scratched up, bloody knees wasn’t considered the ideal invitation for a friendship. but you had mindlessly approached him, sitting on the swing next to him before waving to him.

subhuman garbage looked up, wondering why such a nice girl would be looking at him, talking to him. but he didn’t question it and instead listened to you talk, introducing himself.

“but i don’t like to be called michael, so don’t call me that.”

“got it! you’re mihya then!”

subhuman shit—no, newly named mihya felt his heart skip a beat. no one was ever affectionate enough to give him a nickname, so such an experience made mihya strangely ecstatic. he nodded, a small smile slowly making way onto his swollen lips. “right. im mihya.”

the second time you saw mihya was only a few days later.

he had been sitting on the swings, crying his eyes out. this time he had a nosebleed, angry red marks on his neck, and his hands were nearly purple. you had approached him, your eyebrows knit together.

“mihya? what’s wrong?”

mihya had sniffled before looking up at you. “will you get mad at me…?” he choked out weakly. your jaw dropped, grasping both of his hands.

“mihya, i would never get mad at you!” you exclaimed. “you’re my friend!”

mihya muttered something incoherent before sighing. “…my dad. he gets mad a lot.”

you blinked a few times, your seven year old mind not quite comprehending the situation. but you frowned, looking up at the sky. “oh, i really hate it whenever mama and dad get mad at me. your dad is always mad? that sounds so bad. im so sorry, mihya.”

mihya nodded. “it’s…don’t worry about it.”

one day, after many encounters and at eight years old, you finally spoke your thoughts.

“i think your house is haunted.”

mihya, who had been chewing on garlic and sugar flavored bread from the bakery, stopped mid chew. “why?”

“well, your dad is always mad, and you’re always crying. you’re outside as much as you possibly can, and you don’t wanna be there. that sounds haunted to me. and when you are, you hide from him.” you muttered. “i don’t like that. i don’t like how you’re always crying and hiding.”

mihya hummed, quick to respond. “well, i guess i really got no other choice. i wanna avoid getting hit as much as i can.”

your chest tightened to the point where it hurt, a frown making way onto your face. “i love you, you know that? to the moon and saturn, i really do love you.”

mihya’s heart stopped.

and eight years old, having such a crush probably won’t end good for him. but no one had ever told him that they loved him before, and yet you say it out of nowhere, and to the moon and saturn? he might just die of happiness.

heat spread throughout his cheeks before he squeaked out. “i-i love you…too?” you gave him a toothy grin and gave him a high-five.

at ten years old, you’re on the swings once more, this time with a blue raspberry popsicle in between your lips. mihya has a strawberry flavored one, bought using your money.

“you know, mihya. we should move away forever. or maybe we could be pirates or something. y’know, like from one piece.” you said dreamily.

“that came out of nowhere. why?” mihya replied, tossing his now empty stick into the trash can of the park.

“so that we could get away from your damn father and you won’t have to cry anymore.” you muttered, pouting. “i’ve never even met the guy, and yet i hate him.” you chomped down on the popsicle stick, breaking it in half.

mihya laughed. “yeah? i want to leave too. and it sounds nice to leave with you.”

at fourteen, the news arrived.

you sat on the swings, sobbing into your hands. mihya had come from behind you, his heart aching when he saw your tears. you were the love of his life (you just didn’t know it yet), and your tears hurt him.

“mihya, im moving.”

three words, and yet it wasn’t the usual three words that was like music to mihya’s ears.

he swallowed, tears stinging his own eyes. “to where…?”

“japan. apparently it’s supposed to be a safer environment there or something like that. i have to learn the language and the customs and everything.” you sniffled. “but i don’t want to. i don’t want to leave everything i know. but i mostly don’t want to leave you, mihya.”

mihya wanted to go to your family and interrogate them and to beg them to let you stay. he couldn’t live without you, he wouldn’t be able to survive without the light of his life. you would leave and forget him within a month or two because you have all new friends, and he’ll just be another piece of your forgotten childhood. but you would still be his whole life; you were his first friend, his only real friend.

the only person who he will ever love and the only person who will ever love him.

“right. got it.” mihya replied, his throat dry.

two weeks later, mihya became subhuman piece of shit again.

however, at fifteen, the subhuman was arrested and eventually scouted.

subhuman became kaiser.

at nineteen, kaiser traveled to japan to participate in the still fairly recent blue lock program. although he was interested in blue lock’s new rising player isagi yoichi, he wondered if he could coincidentally see you.

nothing was impossible, after all.

—

for the past five years, you’ve been lonely.

the language barrier was resolved within three years of hard work, but unknown customs and a personality that didn’t match the japanese status quo just made everything worse. for years, you had no friends, you spent lunchtime alone, and worst of all?

you didn’t have mihya in your life.

there were nights when you felt so alone that you would just curl up with your pillow and remember mihya. your mihya. those beautiful seven years spent with him, years that you will never forget.

there was a night where you forgot what he looked like.

panicked and crying, you had opened up your phone immediately too look at a picture of him. after a few minutes of staring, your tears stopped as you memorized his face once more. you never wanted to forget him, not a single bit.

at nineteen and in desperation of college credit and money, you volunteered to be a manager of the blue lock program. ego jinpachi was a strange man, but everything was worth it for the money.

and you couldn’t help but think of your mihya, who you remembered bought a soccer ball for his twelfth birthday and adored it.

for years, you’ve refused to check soccer news out of heartbreak.

after blue lock won against the japanese u20 team, you were given a two week break, and was afterwards immediately shoved into the hell of the neo egoist league.

responsible for helping bastard münchen (“for it’s undeniable potential” said ego, although you really couldn’t care less.), you had walked to the germany wing expecting to have the rest the next few months surrounded by the company of isagi, kurona, yukimiya, hiori, and the others.

and yet when you entered, the first thing you saw was pale blonde hair.

the same that mihya had.

kaiser turned to you, as did the other blue lockers and bastard münchen members.

and finally, kaiser became mihya again.

BASED OFF OF THE TAYLOR SWIFT SONG “seven”

[keferon]

Writing this before I go to bed lolll anyways ~~

The ocean was much darker, much colder than Jazz had remembered. It spread out in all directions, no concrete walls to keep him trapped, no ceiling above but blue-black sky. Stars glittered, the moon’s light rippling across the surface of the water. He was free.

A few meters away, Prowl floated, gazing at the mer who’d been deprived of the sea for years. He hurt for Jazz in a way he couldn’t describe. The weight of it crushed him, knowing the mer had been kept in captivity since he was a calf and remembered next to nothing of his life before. Staring at Jazz now, Prowl could see wonder in his expression. Could see the realization dawning on Jazz that he was out, he wasn’t in captivity anymore. How could anyone do this to someone? Hold them hostage for years for entertainment? His blood boiled thinking about Jazz floating at the surface of his – their – enclosure, eyes empty and staring at nothing, bored out of his mind. He swam to Jazz’s side, concern apparent on his face.

“Are you okay?” Not the best question perhaps, but Prowl had to know what Jazz was thinking.

“I missed the stars,” the mer responded, blue eyes still fixated on the sky. “There are so many out here, I’d forgotten…” Jazz stopped then, lowering his gaze to level with Prowl’s. “I’ve forgotten everything.”

Prowl lurched at that, unsure at first how to respond. “You haven’t forgotten everything,” he told Jazz, “You have been trapped in a concrete box for years. That alone has done so much damage to your psyche.”

Jazz’s eyes lowered to the waves before he muttered, “Yeah, I’m damaged alright. Flopped fins and unable to remember my own mother.” With that, he dove beneath the waves, leaving Prowl concerned he’d scared his friend away. He dove down after Jazz.

“I am sorry, Jazz, I shouldn’t have phrased it that way,” Prowl whirled to face Jazz head-on. “You are not damaged. The way you’ve been treated is horrible, but you are not the problem.”

Jazz huffed and crossed his arms, looking away from Prowl’s unflinching gaze. “I can’t even remember their songs,” he whispered into the dark. “I can’t remember. I know my pod sang, I know my mother sang, but for the life of me I can’t remember them.”

He shut his eyes, biting back tears. He then felt a gentle pull on his wrists. Prowl pulled his arms away from his chest, taking Jazz’s hands in his. A high-pitched, warbling melody emerged between them. Prowl’s voice dipped lower, holding longer notes. He clicked occasionally, seeing through to what felt like Jazz’s very soul. The melody reawakened the memories buried deep in Jazz’s mind. He pulled at the strings, beckoning them to return to him, to remind him what the song meant. Note after note Prowl sang, and the two mers drifted together, resting their foreheads against one another. The meaning slowly came back to Jazz.

I’m here.

I will not leave you behind.

I love you.

Prowl’s voice echoed in the water around them, the melody burrowing into Jazz’s being, down to his very marrow. He felt as though his soul was being cleaned of all the dust that had gathered in the corners through years of neglect. The meaning was so clear then, Jazz buried his head into Prowl’s shoulder. The memories, his memories, of his pod and his mother and the love she had for him returned, and he ached. The need to sing erupted within him.

With a trembling heart, Jazz offered his own voice. His song was different, reminiscent of the supposed ‘calming melodies’ the aquarium played while humans were visiting. His clicks were lower in frequency and uneven in rhythm, but they fit in with Prowl’s long, higher notes. Their combined voices created a melody all their own, one that could grow and change as they did.

Prowl and Jazz held each other that way for a long time, singing softly to themselves in the dark. The ocean stopped to listen, to warm the water around the mers and keep them safe. These two, at least, had made it.

Hoping this wasn’t too inaccurate lore-wise, I haven't been able to read everything about this au, all I know is I LOVE IT. This is,,,my first time submitting a fic to someone, so I hope it isn’t terrible ^t^ thank you for reading!!! Love what you do, Keferon!!!

Oh man oh man OH MAN THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL HFCBHDBJUFD PLEASE I WANNA INJECT YOUR WRITING STRAIGHT INTO MY VEINS

[somer-writes]

Oh man I’ve been playing LoZ for so long idk how I got into it really. FSA on the GameCube was my first and for a long time my only Zelda game. I’ve beat it so many times. I got into twilight princess and skyward sword when SkSw was released which was I think my freshman year of high school?? I didn’t play most of the titles until I was in/after I’d dropped out of college but I’ve now played every canon title!

I love puzzle games, rpgs, and dungeon crawlers. Like it should come as no surprise that the Resident Evil franchise and Elder Scrolls are both at the tippy top of my list but so are story and character rich games like Firewatch. I LOVE medieval stuff and basically anything focused on traditional combat that involves knights. Think Diablo or even Wukong. I think the Zelda franchise presents an interesting take on the chosen hero narrative more than once and offers some neat questions about fate and divinity. Not to mention the music and art! Plus link gives me insane gender envy.

@wanderlustmagician @hotcheetohatredwastaken @needfantasticstories

A question!! Maybe a chain?

When did you get into LoZ, and how?

For me, I played BotW years ago and really enjoyed it but couldn’t get really into any of the other games. About a year and a half ago (I think?) I happened upon Linked Universe. I didn’t know who half the cast was but I was SMITTEN. After that I started ALBW and it was all over for me.

No pressure tags

@starwolfie @kilgoreontralfamadore @chibinur @raven8224

[lieslab]

My baby here on earth showed me what my heart was worth

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: When the world beats down on the guys, you're there to be a voice of reason.

Genre: Reverse comfort/hurt

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Whoever requested this, you know I love you, right? These are so fun to make, I love them. Take this as a reminder to please take care of yourself and be gentle with your heart <3

_ _ _

Chan:

The vividry is in the details and in Chan’s head, it was not enough. This industry will chew up your hopes and dreams. It will swallow you whole before you can fall to your knees and beg, bleeding and bruised, for an ounce of forgiveness. Chan knew that over a decade ago. Today, nothing else rang true far more than that. 

You can string your teenage years in the back of your closet. You can let them hang as the years go by, always focusing on work instead of play, and no matter how much hard work, blood, sweat, and tears you go through, this industry will ring you dry. 

It will blast a bullet in your heart. Each fragment comes from the people you’re supposed to trust most, upper management, fellow producers, other idols; everyone you’re set out to please. No matter how close the relationship is between the two of you, or even if you’re not close at all, the words still hurt. They still found a way to sting Chan’s heart, burrow into his brain, and push his soul to drown in defeat. Swallowed by the icy waters of the industry, lately it became harder and harder to breathe within it. 

You noticed something amiss when he came home a few days ago quiet. A silent scowl sat on his face. When you brought it up, he dropped it, sucked in a deep breath, and lit up with a smile. You knew the hurt behind his eyes. That hurt stayed there and no matter how hard he tried to push it down, the tension sat heavily between the two of you. 

Producing and writing lyrics, it quickened his heart. It kept his body young. No matter how many years passed by, that passion would forever stay young. He’d tuck it close to his heart; a child with a balloon tied around their wrist. It made life worth living. He didn’t dare to give it up without a fight. That’s why he picked out the members of his group. It’s why he did what he did and yet… 

Recently, that balloon popped. 

When you questioned a late night session on his laptop, he sat in front of the screen with a frown on his face. His fingers hovered above the keys. Everything he needed to produce a beat, it was available and pulled up, but hesitation glued his fingers mid-air. 

“What if I never make another good song again?” 

“What?” 

“I feel like I’ve done everything right. What if I’m just…” The screen reflected off his eyes. “What if I’m not meant for this anymore? What if I’ve run myself dry? What if I don’t have that spark anymore?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, you tried to understand. “What could you possibly be talking about? Babe, you’re amazing at creating songs! Do you know how many people love your stuff?” You approached the couch and sat beside him. The warmth of his thigh pressed against yours. “What’s got you all bent out of shape?” 

“Everything. I’ve been submitting songs to the uppers and they don’t think they’re good enough. They say-” 

You pushed out a hand to stop him. “Do you like the songs?” 

“Yes.” 

“What about your other members?” 

“They haven’t heard them yet. Han and Changbin have heard a few and they seem to like them, but-” 

“You’ve had a multitude of other songs that have been successful before, so why does it matter now?” 

Pink lips parted and then shut. Your words struck a nerve in his core. “I don’t know. I guess they think they won’t be as successful as the last ones.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

He sighed, wiped his eyes with a hand, and leaned back. His laptop slid back against his stomach. “I’ve become so worried that I’m not as good as I once was. I feel so pressured and everything. I’m trying my best.” 

“And your best will always be good enough.” You shifted, laying your head against his shoulder. Your arms wrapped around one of his. “I believe in you, you know? If Han and Changbin are on your side, I’m sure the rest of the guys will be on your side, too.” 

“You think it’s that easy?” He glanced over, catching your eyes. 

“If your management isn’t convinced, I’ll give them a piece of my mind.” 

“How scary.” 

“Use sarcasm again and you’ll really see a new form of scary.” 

_ _ _ 

Minho: 

“You’re quiet tonight,” you pointed out. Minho had not spoken since he walked through the front door an hour ago. You thought he’d shake off whatever tension he brought home from work, but it didn’t happen. “Is something troubling you?” 

Across the way, he sat slumped on the couch. The quietness drove you crazy. You hated the blank look on his face. The way he stared off into the distance, unsure of the person he became. When did his personality become extra baggage, rather than an admission of who he was deep down?  

“People are idiots.” 

A single sentence. No other explanation. You nodded and quietly agreed. Some people could be. Speaking before thinking. Jumping on the bandwagon, a desperate attempt to fit in and prove themselves worthy. It wasn’t everyone, but some people never took the time to think for themselves. 

You waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t. The wooden grandfather clock across the way, his grandmother thrifted it many moons ago. Each second ticked away and drove the tension between you higher and higher. Something that used to be comforting in the background, it began to drive you mad. 

You pushed yourself from your chair, walked over to him, and plopped down beside him. “Can you just tell me what’s wrong? It’s not like you to act like this.” You reached a hand out to his forearm, a simple gesture to provide comfort. 

“Do you think I’m too cold and emotionless, sometimes? People have said it before and I’ve always ignored it. I know people form their own opinions. They only know bits and pieces of me. Today, an interviewer commented on it and I can’t help, but ask myself, ‘what if she’s right?”’ 

“As an interviewer, that was an unacceptable question to ask you. Interviewing people shouldn’t make them uncomfortable, unless you’re a criminal hiding a crime. I don’t think you’re cold and emotionless. I think whoever says that hasn’t taken the time to enjoy the content that’s online and available to them. Screw them.” 

He chuckled at your words. His eyes cast to the floor and your hand tightened around his forearm. “I mean it, Minho. Screw them. Seriously. Don’t ever take their opinions to heart. I don’t want you to change. I like that side of you. They’ll never know that you’re a softie deep down.” 

He jerked his head back, rolled his eyes, and let out a loud groan. “I’m not a softie!” 

“You totally are.” 

“Screw you.” 

“I’ll gladly take you up on that offer!” 

“AH! Not in front of my cats! Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, cover your ears. You didn’t hear anything. A sinner trying to taint my perfect children, unbelievable.” 

_ _ _ 

Changbin: 

“Okay, I’ve got on my good shoes. The ones that you suggested because they’re better for long distances. My bag, my wallet, my keys. Am I missing anything else?” Your eyes scanned the corridor, wondering if you were forgetting anything. 

“Forgetting anything for what?” Changbin asked. 

“For our river date! Remember? We planned this last week. We agreed to walk to the Han River and grab some Ramen from a convenience store. Please don’t tell me you forgot, I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” 

His face fell at the reminder. “Oh, that…” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. His words came out funny. The excitement usually filling his eyes disappeared. He didn’t seem nearly as happy and excited as he always was for your dates. The thrill in your heart began to fade. “Did you forget?” 

“Kinda.” 

“We can reschedule it for another day,” you offered. Your heart sank at your words, but it was better than pushing it onto him. Maybe he made other plans with someone else. You were pretty flexible when it came to these things. 

“I kind of forgot, but it’s more like I don’t want to go at all. If I’m being honest, I realize that maybe I like food too much. Earlier this year, I promised the fans I’d show my abs, but…” He frowned and looked down at his stomach. “I don’t have them.” 

“Is that what you’re worried about?” 

“Ramen isn’t very good for creating abs.” 

“Maybe not, but who says you have to get abs? You’ve always been good at working out your arms. You don’t have to work out what you don’t want to, Bin. If you want to target abs, fine. If not, that’s fine too. You don’t have to get a four or six-pack to be worthy in the eyes of your fans.” 

“And I know that, I just want to look good and make them proud.” His hand reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. Black curls shifted as he moved. “I don’t want to make them unhappy.” 

“You always look good. You’ll always make your fans proud, Bin.” A smile appeared on your face. “Real fans love you for who you are, not who you could be. Abs or not, you’re in good shape. You eat healthy and work out. That’s what matters the most, isn’t it?” 

“You have a point, I just don’t like letting people down.” 

You stepped closer, nearly pressing your noses together. “For what it’s worth, you haven’t let me down. Abs or no abs, you're hot either way. I feel like I scored a home run with you.” 

His cheeks flushed red and he waved a hand at you. “Stop it! Now you’re making me feel all warm and embarrassed. You know how compliments make me feel.” 

“Come with me and get ramen; there’s so many more from where that one came from.” 

_ _ _ 

Hyunjin: 

“Hwang Hyunjin, if you don’t stop shaking your little ferret ass and get yourself home, so help me, I’ll drag you out of this room by your ear.” The words spilled from your lips as you shoved the door open. For the past four hours, you’d been calling and texting Hyunjin, trying to figure out where he was. It wasn’t until you managed to get a hold of Chan that you found out he was still at the studio. 

Hyunjin whirled around panting. He sucked in a sharp breath and wiped away the sweat pouring down his face. It soaked his oversized shirt and his sweatpants. He bent over with his hands supporting his hips. “How did you know I-” 

“Because your leader was nice enough to tell me. What is this? You were supposed to be home a while ago. You said you wanted to find a work life balance last week and this week, you’re spending time working late when it’s not mandatory. What are you doing?” 

“Dancing,” he uttered breathlessly. 

“Yeah, no shit sherlock. Why? You’re already a good dancer and-” 

“Because I feel like I fucked up by buzzing my hair, okay? The amount of comments that I’ve seen about my long hair. They just never fucking quit!” He ripped the navy blue baseball cap from his head and threw it to the ground. “Maybe if I improve my dancing, I can make up for my-” 

You held a hand out to stop him. “Don’t finish that sentence. I know Hwang Hyunjin isn’t letting the opinions of other people ruin his self image. Not when you expressed just how much you liked the short hair because it wasn’t in your face while dancing. You said it was nice to be seen for once.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe I have some regrets.” 

“Do you really?” 

He sighed and shook his head. “I just wish the fans liked it as much as I do. I wanted to do something different, so I went ahead and-” 

“Stop that. Stop belittling yourself. If you like it, like it. Love it. Don’t throw your original thoughts and feelings to the side just because people think they need to shove their opinions down your throat. You’re thee Hwang Hyunjin. They should be honored that they get to see you openly and honestly. Every side of you, not just the ones they want to see. This is who you are and they can get over it.” 

“You’re very passionate about this topic.” He wiped more sweat above his head. “It’s endearing, don’t you think? You like me that much?” His arms spread out and he came towards you. “Come give Hwang Hyunjin a hug.” 

You gagged and backed up. “Oh no, not with all that sweat. That’s the most disgusting and horrendous thing that I’ve-” 

“Come here!” 

You screamed and took off, cursing the entire time. Hyunjin laughed and bobbed along with your fleeing figure. Hwang Hyunjin or not, you hated sweat and bodily fluids, not even he could change that. 

_ _ _ 

Han: 

“You can go to prison. You can go to the state penitentiary. You can go to the county detention center and you-” 

You glanced up from a spoonful of your cereal. “Excuse me?” 

Across from your spot at the wooden table, Han’s cheek rested against his hand. His eyes scanned his phone as he swiped through the social media app that he was on. “This just feels so stupid. A few fans caught glimpses of my tattoos and tried to copy them.” 

“Oh?” 

“And that should be illegal. My ideas. My fun. I brought them to the tattoo artist first. Not to be a gatekeeper, but these are special to me. I don’t want to have to deal with this, you know?” 

You hummed softly and placed your spoon back in the bowl of now empty milk. “I think I’d be upset, too. I can’t blame you for feeling that way. You probably shouldn’t say that in front of your management team because they’ll end up-” 

“Lecturing me like they always do?” He sighed, turned off his phone, and tossed it to the side. “It’s always about my tattoos. If I don’t show them off, I’m lectured by the fans. If I do, I'll be lectured by management. It’s like I can’t win.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

He sat up and looked over at you. “What do you think I should do in this scenario? Do I show them off or keep them hidden?” 

“Well, what do you want to do? If you ignore the lectures for a moment, what do you want, personally?” 

“I want to live my life without being lectured, but that’s simply not possible as an idol. If I show the fans, more people will want to copy them. However, I really do want to show them off sometimes. I mean look at them!” Before you could understand, he stood up and ripped off his shirt. 

Your eyes widened and your cheeks went red. “Woah, wow, um… okay” You shielded your eyes and looked away. “That’s a lot of skin for seven in the morning.” 

He scoffed, “you’re not half the saint that you pretend to be.” 

“Put your man boobs away, please.” 

“Man, HUH?” His eyes widened and he looked down. “Man boobs? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“If you don’t put them away, I’m going to take you to buy a training bra. Your nipples are staring right at me and I want to drink my cereal milk in peace without an audience.” 

He huffed, but grabbed his shirt and began to pull it back on while grumbling. 

“But really, lectures or not, you should do what you want. This is your life and the lectures from both sides are stupid. Tell them to fuck off and live how you want to live.” 

“You would not survive as an idol.” 

“And you wouldn’t survive the torture of restricting your boobs in a training bra. Please find some breakfast and keep your man boobs out of my line of sight until at least ten.” 

_ _ _ 

Felix: 

At some point in the middle of the night, you woke up to soft sniffles and quiet whimpers. You rolled from your bed to find Felix. Leaving you barren in the bedroom, he disappeared out into the kitchen. To your surprise, you found him teary with a whisk in a metal bowl. Tears streamed down his cheeks and soaked the collar of his shirt. 

“Lix, what are you doing? It’s nearly two in the morning. Why are you crying this late?” 

“Because I’m emotional and weak,” he uttered softly. 

“What?” 

His bottom lip quivered and your heart softened. “I-I can’t help it, I get worked up about things. I get emotional and then I cry. I ruined these brownies with my tears. I didn’t even add salt because I figured that my tears would be enough.” 

“Who on earth is making you feel this way?” You stepped forward with open hands, eager to comfort him. “Emotional? Maybe? Weak? Absolutely not. Crying doesn’t make you weak.” 

“It does to some of the fans, they say-” 

“Maybe they should focus on their problem of being heartless bitches instead. You’re not weak, not in a million years. So you get a little more emotional than others, who cares? There’s nothing wrong with that. If anything, it’s sweet.” 

“They’re saying it makes me less of a man and they think I’m doing it for attention.” 

“Societal standards are stupid. Men cry. Men wear makeup. Men can have long nails. Whatever people are saying,” you waved a hand, “bullshit. I hate when people are idiots. Crying isn’t designated by your biological sex or gender. That’s something we do to release pent up emotions. Why would you do it for attention? People are so stupid sometimes.”  

“I-I know that, I just-” He blinked rapidly and used the side of his arm to wipe at his face. “I have feelings, you know?” 

“Of course, I know that. Everyone should know that.” You leaned forward and carefully wiped your thumbs beneath his eyes. “You are wonderful and one of the best people that this world has. Don’t let a few losers ruin that, okay?” 

“I’ll try.” 

“Now where are you on your brownie mix?” 

“I still think I ruined it with my tears.” 

“Don’t worry, baking them will cure it from your eyeball germs.” 

_ _ _ 

Seungmin: 

Seungmin buried his head in his Nintendo Switch until you destroyed the moment. You climbed up over his body and sat down directly on his lower stomach. He looked up from his pokemon game and raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” 

You toppled over him on the soft mattress. With his hair scattered in different directions, he looked at peace, but you could sense the inner turmoil. Over the past few days, things within Seungmin began to change. It all started when he began to cover his smile again. 

“You took something from me and I want it back.” 

“Uh, no. I haven’t taken anything from you.” 

“You took your smile away from me and I’m here to get it back.” 

His eyes narrowed and then he rolled them. “You are so annoying at times. All this, just so you could ruin my game play. Get out of here and go bother someone else.” 

“Nah. I’ll stay put until I get what I came for. I miss your smile and lately, my heart has been feeling devastated since I haven’t had it.” 

“Why does it matter? There’s a mirror in the bathroom over there.” He lifted a hand and gestured behind you. “There you go and good luck. Don’t forget to say cheese beforehand. Maybe you can summon Bloody Mary to take a photo of it before you smile.” 

You lunged and he yelped. His Switch dropped onto his chest. You squeezed his cheeks, desperate for his usual smile. “I’m going to hold you captive like this for hours if you don’t smile at me.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s ugly!” 

“I know my sweet, lovely, little Kim Seungmin didn’t just say that about his smile. You better start cheesing or else. Do you want to watch me go mad? Don’t think I won’t.” 

“You’re insane.” He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “All this because I won’t smile.” 

“I’ll die without it.” 

“You’re so dramatic.” 

“But you love it. Come on!” You grinned and put on a baby voice. “Where’s my smile? Who’s got Seungminnie’s smile? Where is it?” 

He didn’t mean to, but his lips tipped up. As you cooed, he burst into a fit of laughter, accidentally pushing himself into a smile without meaning to. You grinned and pinched his cheeks. “There it is! That's my favorite smile!” 

“You’re such a dork.” 

“With a whole lot of love for you.” 

_ _ _ 

Jeongin: 

“Jeongin?” You called out from the couch. 

“Yeah, what is it?” 

“Can we talk for a moment?” 

He appeared from the back bedroom. A t-shirt sat in his hands and he ran a hand through his messy black hair. “What’s up? Something wrong?” 

“Can you sit down, so we can discuss something?” 

He swallowed nervously, but he walked over and sat beside you. You stared at him for a moment, shifting, trying to find comfort before you spoke. “Today is the day we usually take care of chores. That’s fine, but you’ve been wanting to do them by yourself today.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And that makes me feel bad.” Your fingers nervously intertwined. “I’m capable and I want to help you, too. I don’t like just sitting by and watching you do everything. Every time I try to help, you push me away and insist you’ve got it.” 

Jeongin stayed quiet as he took in your words. After a while, he found his voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do everything. I don’t want to be seen as an incapable baby, so I felt like if I did everything, I-” 

“Is that what you think?” Your words cut him off. “You think I see you as a baby? Childish?” 

“Well, the guys do. I’m trying to prove that I’m capable and it’s nothing against you, but I-” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I want to prove myself worthy and capable.” 

“I’ll always believe that you’re worthy and capable. Just because you’re the youngest in the group, it doesn’t mean you’re not capable. You’ve proved it time and time again just how worthy you are. I’d really like to do half the chores with you. I don’t mind them and sitting around watching you do everything on your day off, it makes my heart hurt.” 

He nodded and let out an apology. “I’m sorry for making you feel that way. If you want to, you can help me fold clothes. I dumped everything out in the middle of our bed. I think the dryer must have swallowed some of my socks. I’m trying to mate them first and can’t find them.” 

“Or maybe they’re just buried beneath the mound of clothes.” 

“I guess that’s a possibility, too.” 

You chuckled and stood up to help him. His hand slipped into yours and he tugged you in the direction of your shared room. He forgot how giddy his heart felt around you.

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[zith-ipeth]

Dog Days Diary: Long time no see

Hey team

It’s been wild recently, many times I thought about giving updates, but idk, I’ve been one tired dog these past weeks

BUT I HAVE MANY GOOD THERIAN AND PLURAL BITS TO SHARE

So I’m gonna

I had psych testing, they’re evaluating how I responded to my trauma, my possible autism, and my executive functioning. It was… hard. To say the least, I got to talk to the interviewer during the section about experiencing senses, and I barked for like 10 minutes about how I smell and think about smell., they might be onto me…

They also might be on to us, several of the trauma questions asked if I’ve been feeling like two or more distinct people, and like

Yeah… duh

PET SUPPLY STORE IS THE BEST JOB EVER

I’ve gotten to know reoccurring customers, and they’re preferred types of physical and verbal and emotive affection

This one dog came in named Louis, and he was a rescue that she got after the local law enforcement took down someone’s back yard breeder hoarder dog situation. So he’s like a year old and doesn’t know how to be a dog. And like…

HES ME, IM 19 AND DONT KNOW HOW TO BE A PEOPLE

Also! One of @paracosmic-gt s headmates, June. who I’ve gotten to get pretty close too, DREW A PICTURE OF ME AND PURR!!! And I’m big! (Which I love), and purrs small! (Which purr is) AND ITS SO CUTE! YOU GUYS SHOULD LOOK AT ALL OF THOSEA GUYS’s STUFF

I’m also getting myself a nicer pair of gloves! My paw dysphoria is like gone when I have my silly gloves on, it makes me so happy!!!

On a more, plural, note, I think me and clover have found a disagreement we need sorted, one of us gets euphoria from a physical aspect of our body, one of us gets dysphoric about it. She hasn’t written to me about it but we have really good feeling transfer and it’s a lot of distress. Which is, idk, wierd, this is our first major like, disagreement and idk how to settle it.

If anyone has advice on how to like, figure this out, would love it!

She asked for baggy clothes (something I have none of) so i ordered her a really cool looking baggy hoodie, hopefully that will help her be more comfortable fronting, she’s been, absent, lately

But over all, it’s nice, my friends are dogs and know I’m dogs. It’s a wonderful way to live

Open, out, and full of fresh air

Get out there critters

Run fast, bite hard, bark loud

Peace, love, and gratitude

-Zith Ipeth

//Clover Brooks//

[gardenwalrus]

The Beatles speaking about themselves in DISC (12 October 1963) [Paul & John section here]

[GEORGE] Our dress style has changed…  It was when I was relaxing in a Boeing jet on the way back from America last week that I realised that in many ways I was still the same George Harrison I was before The Beatles were so well known. But I also realise that in some ways my life HAS changed - mostly for the better I’m glad to say.  The most obvious change is financial. That’s very nice, but I don’t think it's the most important thing. It’s nice to be able to buy a new car and new clothes when you want them, but I was happy when I couldn’t afford these things.  One big way The Beatles generally have changed is in their style of dress. Eighteen months ago, for instance, we dressed far more casually than we do now. 

I think my social life has changed considerably as well. Now we meet far more people than we ever met before.  I mean, like, when we appear at a one-night stand we’re often invited back after the show to a nearby club. People seem to go out of their way to try and make sure we have a little fun after our work.  A question I’ve been asked quite a few times over the past 12 months is: “What do you think is the right age to get married?”  I honestly think there’s no such thing as ‘the right age.’ I think that you should get married when you decide that this is the time when you should get married. This is a decision which you can only make yourself. There’s no correct age.  In my personal tastes, I’m a bit undecided about clothes, too. I haven’t got any definite preferences. But if something I see pleases me I’ll buy it and wear it whether it’s in the French style, or Italian, or English.  One thing I really do get enthusiastic about is music. As I’ve said before in DISC, I like the coloured American groups like The Shirelles and The Miracles. But I’m fond of a lot of other music - Segovia on classical guitar, for example. 

+

[RINGO] I’m the silent type…  I’m the one the boys call the silent type. Well, I haven’t got all that much to say for myself, and I prefer to listen to other people speaking. My real name is Richard Starkey, but the Ringo bit has been with me for so long, I don’t think of myself as a ‘Richard’ anymore. Of all the Beatles, I live nearest to the city centre - about 10 minutes walk and six bus stops away. It’s not a rich part of town, but my mum has all her friends there and doesn’t want to move out.  Some of my family are just outside London. They sometimes come and visit us, and once a year my dad makes a trek down south.  I want to do things for my family, but they keep telling me to save my money. Eventually I think I’ll open a chain of hairdressing shops in and around Liverpool. I’d like my main shop to be in the centre of the city, and be THE place.  I have enough hairdressing friends to keep the shops well staffed, but feel with a haircut like mine it would be best for me to stay away from them!  I have my hair cut about once every three months! I’m joking of course. I have it trimmed when the mood takes me and have no special barber.  You don’t hear very much about me in the group, because I don’t sing. I had my big and only singing moment on ‘Boys’ for our LP, and really made the most of it.  And, surprisingly enough, although I’m a drummer I don’t have a favourite musician. Well, not a real one. I like to see good showmanship in any artist, and I hope to get a chance of seeing Brook Benton while he’s in England. It’s a stroke of luck he’ll be doing the Palladium show at the same time as us, but I’ll probably be so nervous, I won’t have time to appreciate his act.  I don’t eat very much. If I did, I’d probably have much more energy. As a kid, I was very fond of chips and jam-butty (that’s a jam sandwich), and to this day, I still like it. Even if I enjoyed it, I don’t think I’d ever get used to eating caviar or drinking champagne.  One of my ambitions in life is to learn how to play the piano. I’d willingly take lessons if only I had the time. But my main ambition is to be happy all the time.  Yet I don’t relax very much. I like to be active. Even if I have a chance to go on holiday, instead of sitting in the sun all day I’m off exploring the local neighbourhood. I think I do this because if I didn’t I’d be nothing more than just plain lazy! I very rarely go near a Chinese or Italian restaurant. Don’t like either food, and if anything has onions in it then I’m completely done for.  I’m mad for rings. I wear four, and would wear them on all my fingers if I didn’t think they’d get in the way. Often I get wrist ache from drumming too much, but the only other ailment I suffer from is occasional colds. I’m not as bad as John though. He keeps on losing his voice. Never doing a performance, but usually just after a recording session. 

[youryurigoddess]

About a week ago, goodomensnews published a link to https://www.frogsfood.co.uk/films-and-productions listing among their catering clients Good Omens for "Food for the angels". Has anyone yet made a connection between this find and Crowley's monologue in Season 1 "Oh lookie here! It's Lucifer and the guys! Food hadn't been that good lately, hadn't had anything on for the rest of that afternoon..."?

Hi Buggre, lovely to see your handle pop up again in my notifications! Such a great question, too! The Tumblr part of the fandom seems to be slightly behind the production updates in comparison to what is happening on BlueSky and Twitter, so it might be a good occasion to summarise the situation.

On the 21st February both apps were swamped with fans panicking over the article mentioning the end of the filming phase of the Good Omens 3: Finale, which prompted me to share a crumb I’ve been sitting on long enough that I almost forgot about it, just like Aziraphale did forget his sword. This is one of the responses it got:

The second screenshot shared by @kartatchk is the very source of the angel food rumours we focus on here, but please do check her accounts if you’re interested in S1 and S2 BTS photos — she’s been doing such a marvellous job finding them recently and deserves all the recognition she can get! But back to the food for the angels.

The whole idea seems to align with two popular fan theories and was naturally heavily commented upon as such by multiple fan accounts the very moment it was brought up. Not sure how it looks like from my posts here, but I have a somewhat repetitive habit of shouting about a possible flashback to the War in Heaven and Crowley’s Fall in particular, so yes, I’m absolutely with you that it’s a possibility that should be considered (and would be extremely engaging to follow on screen). But remember that the food for the angels — manna or bread, according to the Bible — served in Heaven right before the Rebellion wasn’t meant to be good, at least not according to Crowley…

Which is why it feels worth to remind about my second pet theory relating to angels and food: that Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, a frighteningly skilful tempter as seen in his endeavours to invite as many humans as possible to his ball, will try to if not actually change Heaven from the inside, then at least sabotage its business operations by introducing his fellow angels to the temptations of the world they’re supposed to destroy. He’s a master of puppets in his own right, with 6000 years of on-hands experience.

After all, it took him 2500 years and a plate of ox ribs to get fully convinced that Heaven is something an angel can go along with only as far as he can. Who’s to say that the same approach won’t work on the rest of the Host too?

[ilikekidsshows]

"Even good person make bad decision sometimes."

True.

"Therefore Marinette is not a bad character."

That, is arguable.

Because I'm at this point where I would questioned where's the line that make a character "bad" and where's the line that make a character "just misunderstood/misguided"

Because if Chloé is bad character because she bullied Marinette and Lila is bad because she's a liar who manipulate others... then where's Marinette stand when she has done both?

Her bullying and humiliating Kagami (in extend Lila and Sublime) isn't even stemmed from misunderstanding, it's her own jealousy that told her "everyone who get close to 'her Adrien' is her enemy."

Her choosing to manipulate Cat Noir to reveal his identify isn't stemmed from misguided attempt, she get sick of Suhan keep nagging her about Cat's identity!

And I'm not even talking about the "Gabriel is hero who died sacrificing his life to saved her's." BS.

So yeah, where does she stand then? Because it's hard for me to see her as someone who "misguided" when everything she do is stemmed from her own jealousy and insecurity. She knows it's bad, she just choose to say "Who cares? I don't. 🤷"

---

Yeah, for all Miraculous brands itself a romantic comedy series, the protagonist isn’t motivated by love, not really. Because the thing Marinette wants even more than love is control. She wants to control how people see her, think of her and feel about her. I’ve been calling her a control freak even before she started manipulating and gaslighting her most beloved people, because the need for control is that integral to who Marinette is as a character, a fictional person.

Almost anything Marinette does that isn’t motivated by her Love Quest, and even many parts of her Love Quest, is motivated by the need to gain control of a situation and nothing makes her freak out more than a lack of control. “Marinette has good intentions”, isn’t a defense to begin with, but, in addition, Marinette’s “good intentions”, when they are even present, are just a mask for her true motivation, to control something.

Because, like, even if we apply the most good faith interpretation to Marinette's behavior, that she has an uncontrollable, untreated anxiety disorder stopping her from learning how to handle social situations with any amount of reasonability, that still doesn't make her look flawless. I know the writers and the passionate stans think Marinette having trauma absolves her of all guilt, but she is responsible for how her coping mechanisms hurt other people, it's her responsibility to get help when she has repeatedly seen herself hurt others.

But, like, when we look at how Marinette's interactions are written, it's clear the intended reading is that Marinette feeling bad about doing bad is all that's needed for her to be absolved. In-universe, the characters around Marinette tell her everything she does is instantly forgiven because she feels so bad about it, that she's a good person because she feels so bad. It's hard to blame Marinette for not seeing there's a problem with the way she behaves when people are literally telling her that, as long as she's the one feeling the worst, she's a moral paragon even when she hurts others.

As much as that kind of thinking would make sense, I still wouldn't see Marinette as a good person if that was the canon. On my pettier days I see Marinette as a bad person, but, that's not accurate either. She is toxic and exhausting, though. Still, if I saw someone in real life be as manipulative as consistently, regardless of their motives, I would not want anything to do with them. That's the problem with watching a show and seeing a character act the same way year after year. It doesn't matter if the TV show wants you to think her "mistakes" aren't in continuity, that you're meant to see them as episodic, disconnected, separate stories, all the while muddying the waters with a serialized continuity that increases as the story goes on. I'm still seeing her constantly do the same things but worse.

I also can’t see Marinette as a good character, because her writers are telling me she is a good person despite them writing her as a self-centered and petty person out to manipulate everyone around her, especially the ones she cares the most about. A character has to be truly badly written to have one of her defining traits contradict what the storytellers are trying to say about her this completely. Some of it is the awful mishandling of the show's episodic versus serialized nature, but some of it is just the writers not thinking about their show as a cohesive whole. It's also why their attempts at "refreshing the formula" don't actually change anything about the formula.

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Eleven

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 4924 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Cursing. Secret spy shit is not so secret anymore - Dave clues you in on nearly everything. Angst. Smut - somno PiV.. Injuries to human and dog. Vengeful Dave.

Series Masterlist

Dave raced back to town after dropping the girls off at their grandparents’ with a half-baked explanation and teary goodbyes. Over the years, they learned not to ask too many questions and happily took the girls. On the way, he called Ari.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I just left the girls with Carol’s parents. They haven’t seen them in a while and plan to take them to the Poconos for the week,” Dave explained.

“Good. I’m glad they’re safe and out of the way,” Ari replied. After a long pause, he added, “That’s not all you called for, is it?”

Dave sighed. “No. No, it’s not.”

“I’ve got eyes on her, don’t worry,” Ari said, reading him like a book. “I’ll let you know the moment something seems off.”

“I’m trusting you, Ari. She’s…”

“I know, boss. She’s important to you. That’s all I need to know. I’m on it.” Ari ended the call, leaving Dave to focus on strategizing for the upcoming meeting with Roger, Anna, and their mystery asset he believed in his heart was McCall.

An hour later, Dave had just pulled into the garage when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. “What do you have?” he greeted the caller.

“He’s still on her,” Ari’s voice came through the line, clipped and urgent. “Saw him near the coffee shop as she popped in. He’s following her to the park now. It’s McCall, no question.”

“Dammit!” Dave slammed his palm against the steering wheel, jaw clenched. “How close?”

“Too close for comfort,” Ari replied. “York, he’s not being subtle, either. Almost like he wants her to notice, for it to get back to you.”

His blood pressure spiked again. “He’s fucking toying with me. Stay on them. Don’t let her out of your sight. I don’t want him getting near her again.”

“You got it, boss,” Ari replied, his tone grim. “Want me to tell the boys to stock the safe house?”

“Yeah, you know the drill.”

“Will it just be the two of you or…”

“Just us. I called it off with Lisa last night. She can fucking fend for herself. Her car isn’t here anyway.” Dave ended the call, his mind racing. He couldn’t leave you exposed. He shouldn’t have left you alone this morning, but he had to take care of the girls first.

McCall was sending a message, and the longer he waited to act, the more danger you were in.

Dave raced inside. The house was empty as he packed an overnight bag to stash with his go bag in the back of the SUV. He went to your room next, shoving a bunch of stuff into a suitcase, careful to grab the things he knew you needed like that lotion you used and your favorite hoodie. He grabbed supplies for Ranger as well.

When everything was loaded in his SUV, Dave finally took a breath and texted you.

Dave: Can you come home? I need to talk to you.

You read his message right away but took your damned time responding. He could see the little dots appear and disappear, only to reappear again as you tried to come up with a response. Finally, after a lifetime of suspense, his phone buzzed.

You: Ok be there in 10

Those were the ten longest minutes of his life as he waited for you. Dave spent the entire time pacing, hating himself for how dismissive he was with you the evening before. You didn’t deserve that. He’d been so focused on protecting his girls that he didn’t have the mental capacity for anything else. Unfortunately, that left you getting the short end of the stick, and he deeply regretted that.

The sound of your car in the driveway set his nerves at ease. Until he saw your face as you entered the house, that was.

Dave could see at once that your walls were up. Arms wrapped tight around yourself after you disconnected Ranger’s leash. The dog sensed your energy, hovering at your side. Dave knew this was his doing, and he promised to make it right.

His footsteps echoed on the floor – he forgot to take his shoes off, but he couldn’t give a shit less – as he approached you. With slow, deliberate movements, he eased your arms apart, grasping one of your hands in his larger one when they fell to your sides.

“Come with me, please?” He phrased it as a question to ease your nerves, but he was already leading you to the back porch.

The sun was falling low in the sky, the golden light cascading over you as he led you to the porch swing. Ranger sat dutifully at your feet.

Dave watched your every move, his chest tightening when you turned to meet his gaze.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your expression matching your voice, wary and uncertain.

He struggled with how much to tell you and finally settled on a simple, “You’re in danger. That man that’s been following you? He’s… dangerous.” Dave wanted to kick himself for how lame he was being. He just couldn’t think straight with you looking at him like that, all wounded yet hopeful.

You scoffed. “Yeah, I already figured that much out after the way you reacted yesterday.”

“I need to take you away from here, to somewhere safe,” Dave explained softly, his hand still grasping yours.

He’s not sure what he expected, but your reaction confused him. You just nodded with an inscrutable expression on your face. He kinda thought you’d put up a fight.

“Where?”

“A safe house. The guys are stocking it up now, so it’ll be ready for you when we arrive.” Fear, determination, and something deeper flashed in his eyes as he gazed at you. “Listen, I’ll tell you everything I can once we’re safe, but I need you to trust me. Ok?”

He saw the same things reflected in your eyes when you nodded without question.

You didn’t know how to feel or what to think as Dave hustled you and Ranger into his car, your stuff already packed and loaded. The drive was quiet as Dave navigated the darkening roads. You stole glances at him, his jaw tight and one hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

“Dave,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “This man who’s been following me – who is he?”

“A threat,” Dave replied, his voice low as his eyes scanned the road. “One I can’t take lightly.”

“Obviously,” you snarked. “But why is he threatening me… us? There’s more to the story. I know there is. Please, just tell me.”

His eyes flashed to you quickly, hand tightening around yours again. “Ok. His name is Robert McCall. He’s my old commander from the team the guys and I were on.”

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“Some things happened, and we thought he died. Turns out he just faked his death and hid for years before resurfacing to come after the guys and me for some shit we did – things I will not talk about right now,” Dave warned.

Again, you nodded, squeezing his hand in support. “Ok, I won’t ask about those ‘things’ then.”

“Anyway, we came to an understanding around the time that Carol was diagnosed with cancer, and we parted on equitable terms. Or so I thought. In the few years since then, he’s… changed. Became angry at the government and everything it made us do back in the day. He’s, uh… he’s part of this case I’m investigating.”

Silence fell over the two of you again; the only sound in the vehicle was Ranger’s rhythmic panting. You mulled over Dave’s explanation, and, despite your overwhelming curiosity, you didn’t press for more. Instead, you pulled his hand up to your lips and kissed his knuckles. The warmth of his eyes when he looked at you was enough, and you let the car fall quiet.

After a while, you caved and broke the silence.

“Why isn’t my mom coming with us?” Not that you wanted her there, but still, you wondered. If you and the girls were in danger, surely she was, too?

“There’s something really important I need to tell you,” Dave began, his grip tightening around your hand.

“OK?” you replied hesitantly.

“Your mom and I… the marriage was never real.”

The truth bomb left you stunned, but not for long. So much made sense now – the weird interactions and lack of affection, Dave spending nights with you…

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you wondered.

With a grimace, he glanced between you and the road. “It was part of our cover for the operation. I couldn’t risk the wrong ears hearing and repeating the truth. It was easier to keep it a secret from everyone and play charades.”

Silence fell for a few minutes as you let that sink in. A roller coaster of emotions swirled within you, but the most important one was a sense of relief.

“I was planning on telling you everything the moment the mission ended,” Dave added, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

You nodded then. “I understand. It all makes sense, though. There were so many odd things about the marriage that made me wonder what the hell was going on. At the same time, I didn’t want to know.”

Dave glanced between you and the road again. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off you. “Is that why you never asked questions about me and her?”

“Yep. I thought, what did it matter if the marriage was real or fake or whatever? I figured it wasn’t for love. Otherwise, you’d never have gotten involved with me. Even in the moments when it hurt to see you with her, I still felt like you weren’t really with her. You know? All I really cared about was just getting to be with you when I could.”

He pulled your hand to his face, touching his lips to your knuckles in a soft, soothing kiss. “There was never any love, I swear. It was all fake – for this case. My team at the DIA created the cover story, Lisa volunteered for the role, and I ‘bought’ the house to get close to Roger.”

You shrugged, your eyes a little brighter. “Well, I’m glad to have confirmation that I’m not a true homewrecker. I couldn’t understand what you’d seen in my mom anyway, so I’m very pleased to know it wasn’t real. Otherwise, I’d have to question your judgment… and taste in women.”

Laughter filled the cabin of the SUV. “I do wonder, though,” you said, contemplating your mom’s accusations the night before. “Did my mom hope it would become a real marriage? She accused me of trying to steal you from her.”

A guttural groan slipped past Dave’s lips as he shook his head. He told you the conversation that occurred between the two of them the night before and how he put an end to the ruse by contacting his boss.

“I can’t fault her for trying, I guess,” you said, rolling your eyes at your mother’s crazy behavior. “I’m glad it’s officially over between you two, even if it was fake all along.”

“Me, too,” Dave admitted.

The lingering tension between the two of you dissipated now that the air was cleared. The conversation shifted to mundane things as the SUV ate up the miles.

Sometime later, Dave pulled to a stop in front of a cabin nestled deep in the woods, far removed from the chaos of the outside world. Towering pines surrounded the structure in every direction. Dave ushered you and Ranger inside after letting the dog sniff around and do his business. Dave locked the door behind him and checked every window to confirm they were secure.

You stood in the living room, in front of a glowing fire with your arms crossed as you watched him move about. “How long are we staying here?”

“As long as it takes,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. When he finally stopped moving, the weight of everything seemed to crash over him. He leaned against the wall, his head dropping into his hands.

“Dave…” you began, stepping closer until you stood a few feet directly in front of him.

He looked up, his chocolate eyes raw and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. He pushed off the wall, closing the space between you in half a stride. “I’ve been an idiot. Shutting you out like that while I made sure the girls were safe. I’m sorry.”

His head fell forward, forehead bumping against yours as you stared into his eyes, heart pounding. “Dave…”

“I love you,” he said, the words spilling from his mouth in a rush, like a dam giving way to flood waters. “I love you, and the thought of something happening to you – I can’t handle it.”

Tears stung your eyes as his words sank in, the raw sincerity in his voice undoing you. “I… I love you, too,” you whispered. A warm wave of relief flooded your senses at finally vocalizing that thing you’d been feeling for months but were too scared to admit.

Dave reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you and the girls safe,” he murmured.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t like the previous times you kissed – it was deeper, more certain, as though he were pouring every ounce of himself into the kiss.

His hands were everywhere, caressing every bit of you he could reach as he slowly removed your clothes. Dave was soft and sensual in his movements, each kiss reverent, each touch like he was handling delicate crystal stemware. You returned each kiss and caress with tenderness of your own, knowing that’s what he needed right now.

You made love multiple times that night, alone in the cabin with Ranger standing guard outside the bedroom door like a furry sentinel.

In the morning, Dave woke first, the buzzing of an incoming message on his phone stirring him. After reading the quick note from Ari, he turned to face you.

You were splayed on your stomach, skin bare to the waist where the sheet and blanket covered you. Your skin gleamed in the early morning light entering the window. The sight took his breath away.

You loved him, just as he loved you.

It blew his mind.

Dave was in awe of you. How you made him feel, how you treated his girls like they were your own, how you fit into his life right from the first moment you met. It was meant to be, right? Surely, it was.

Desire swelled within him, and he pulled the covers further down your body, revealing the naked skin of your dimpled ass and thighs to his burning gaze. Moving with the sureness of a silent predator, Dave shifted to hover over your back and eased one hand slowly, tenderly between your thighs. Thick fingers tested your readiness for him, finding you wet and waiting from your night of lustful activities.

Torn between waking you with his tongue or his cock, Dave thought back to that night the two of you played Never Have I Ever. When you shared with him that you not only never visited a sex shop, but you also never had someone take you apart while you were still sleeping in the prone position.

His fingers dipped back inside you before coating his cock with your essence. When the overheated skin glistened and his hand glided along the wet shaft, he pitched forward to gently nudge his cock between your slightly parted thighs as his belly pressed against your luscious ass. Having worked you over several times during the night, Dave was able to sink into your depths easily, yet your pussy still gripped him tight.

Body weight supported by strong arms placed at your sides, Dave rocked his hips, setting a smooth pace as he fucked into you, head tipped forward to watch the meat of your ass jiggle with each thrust. You began to wake when he hit that spot you loved, sleepy moans slipping from your pretty lips.

He brought one hand up to brush a whisp of your hair away from your face so he could watch your expression as you came to full wakefulness with him buried deep inside you.

“Mmmmm, Dave,” you keened, eyes flying open to look at him over your shoulder.

“Good morning, my love,” he greeted between quiet grunts. His hips moved faster as you started to push back against him, body trembling as the pleasure washed over you.

When his arms began to shake with a mix of muscle fatigue and pleasure, Dave slumped against your back, pressing himself deeper inside you as he wriggled one hand beneath your body to tease your clit.

Neither of you heard the sound of the front door opening or Ranger’s playful bark as someone he knew entered the cabin, too lost in the haze of pending orgasm. Dave had you coming in minutes, his panting breaths in your ear as his hips worked into a frenzied pace and you screamed into the pillow. He followed closely behind, pulling out at the last second, stroking his cock for a beat before he shot ropes of cum across your dimpled ass. After the last drop fell, he smacked your fleshy rump and watched as your cum-covered ass jiggled deliciously.

“Now that’s a fucking sight,” Dave said in a voice still gruff with sleep.

“Breakfast is ready if you sex fiends are done in there!” A voice shouted from the kitchen, wrenching a scream from your lungs as you stared over your shoulder at Dave in terror.

Dave laughed at your reaction, patting your ass again. “Relax, Firecracker. It’s just Ari.”

Climbing from the bed, he cleaned up the mess left behind on your ass and slipped on a pair of joggers and a tee shirt. When he turned back to face you, he held up one of his tee shirts in one hand and your clothes from yesterday in the other. You were too busy burying your head in the pillow in sheer embarrassment to notice.

“Come on, baby,” Dave chuckled. “It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. Get dressed, and let’s go see what he brought for breakfast.”

“Can’t you just bring whatever it is in here?” you whined, sitting up to slip on his shirt. “There’s no way in hell I’m going out there right now.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, stepping aside when he opened the door to let Ranger bound into the room to see you before shutting the door again. He nodded a greeting to Ari as the sound of your giggles from the pup jumping on the bed to lick your voice echoed behind him.

“She not coming out?” Ari questioned, a knowing smirk gracing his lips as he drew a few breakfast sandwiches from the brown paper bag on the counter.

“What do you think? You just had to embarrass her, didn’t you?” Depleted after a night of active, enthusiastic lovemaking with you, Dave bit into his sandwich with the vigor of a starving man as Ari chuckled. Three bites, and it was nearly devoured.

“Have you told her any of the stories from—”

“Of course not!” Dave snapped. “Why the fuck would I tell her stories about my disastrous, youthful single days in the military? I want her to stick around, not ditch me for being a young, dumb manwhore.”

Ari chuckled as Dave snatched up the remaining sandwich and a can of Diet Coke before darting back to the bedroom. He could kill Ari for his shit timing, but they had important things to discuss, and time was of the essence.

“Here you go, kitten,” he teased, handing you the items with a flourish. “You can hide in here for a while more. The others are coming to go over the plan for the case. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to come out.”

You waved him off, mouth already full of bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel, as you turned on the TV to keep yourself entertained.

By midday, Dave had a plan in place. The meeting was set with the location being scoped by Kovac and Resnik. Ari would remain behind at the cabin to ensure your safety. With Ari currently walking Ranger around the cabin parameter, the safe house was silent save for the methodical fabric rustling and quiet metal clinking as Dave packed his gear.

His movements were sharp and efficient as he double-checked his service weapon and extra clips. The dim glow of the overhead light cast long shadows across the wooden floors, stretching toward where you stood, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you watched him silently.

He was leaving, and you knew nothing about the plan, where he was going, if he would return in one piece. You were still in the dark about it all. Plausible deniability, Dave had said. It’s for your safety, Firecracker.

Utter bullshit. You knew enough for plausible deniability to be out the window.

“You’re really going without telling me anything?” you asked again, hating how your voice wavered despite the steel you tried injecting into it.

Dave stopped what he was doing, turning to face you, his dark, soulful eyes locked on yours. The look he gave you – steady, unwavering, full of warmth – should have been reassuring, but nothing could stop the fear in your chest from coiling tighter.

You didn’t have a good feeling about this, any of this. You’d at least like to know where he’d be in case something happened because deep down, you knew something would.

“I don’t have a choice,” he replied in a low but firm voice as he stepped toward you. He pulled you against the hardness of his chest, the heat of his body slightly calming your nerves as he held you. “If my old commander is involved, I need to know what he’s planning. He is lethal, and I can’t put you at risk. Me and the guys may be the only ones who can stop him.”

Resting your head against Dave’s broad shoulder, you breathed in his scent. He was all Irish Spring soap and expensive cologne, the aroma equaling the masculine strength he commanded. “I get that. You have a job to do, but do you have to leave me here? Alone? Wouldn’t I be better off with you?”

His grip tightened around you as he kissed the crown of your head. “Ari is staying here with you. He’s one of the best – I wouldn’t let him stay here with you if he wasn’t. You’ll be safe with him and Ranger.”

Safe.

The word felt flimsy when the threat looming over both of you had already crept into your life and taken root.

You searched his face, desperate to tamp down the horrible feeling swirling in your gut. “Promise me you’ll come back,” you murmured. You couldn’t lose him now, ever, not after finally admitting the depth of your feelings for each other.

Dave’s jaw tightened. His fingers flexed slightly where they held you before one hand slid upward to take your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Titling your head upwards with his soft grip, Dave’s chocolate eyes burned into you, full of fire and promise. ‘I’ll always come back to you,” he said, his voice deep and filled with emotion. “You are my life now. You and my girls.”

The warehouse was a skeletal structure, its rusted beams arching over the open floor like the ribs of some long-dead beast. The stench of oil and damp cement clung to the air, mixing with the distant hum of the city just beyond the docks. The location was so unlike their previous meeting places, speaking volumes of the sudden change in dynamics with this particular meeting.

Dave stepped through the squeaky, weathered metal door, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Ahead, Roger and Anna stood waiting beneath the dim overhead lights.

Roger grinned, casual as ever with his hands in his pockets like he had nothing to fear. “York. Right on time for once.”

Dave didn’t slow his stride. His gaze was sharp, cutting straight through their act. ‘Where’s… our mutual friend?” he demanded, his voice controlled but laced with an edge of impatience.

Anna’s painted lips curled at the edges, her dark eyes assessing. “He had… other priorities.”

His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to remain impassive. “Convenient,” he said dryly. “His presence was the whole fucking point of the meeting.”

Roger chuckled, making Dave’s skin crawl as he watched the man swirl the amber liquid in his glass. Even in a fucking dingy warehouse, Roger found his way to a glass of hard liquor. “Relax, York. You’ll meet him soon enough.”

Jaw clenching, Dave silently counted to ten. He had to play this carefully. They didn’t know he already knew McCall’s true identity and suspected his ultimate goal. The entire operation could unravel if he was not careful.

The conversation drifted into logistics – coded talk of shipments and handoffs, scheduling another meeting before the final stage of high-level governmental information was exchanged – but Dave barely heard it. His mind was elsewhere, coiled tight with the realization that McCall had purposefully avoided this meeting.

It wasn’t a delay.

It was a fucking message.

And Dave had a gut-wrenching feeling that the message had been delivered straight to you.

With careful wording and barely suppressed annoyance, he wrapped up the meeting. With phone already in hand when he stepped outside, Dave didn’t waste a second in calling Resnik and Kovac.

“Did you catch all that? He wasn’t fucking there!” he spat, breaking into a run for his SUV, no longer caring about breaking his cover.

Resnik cursed under his breath. “Think he’s onto us?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dave snapped, his gut twisting into knots. “Get to the safe house. Now!”

The drive to the safe house felt interminable, the miles passing too slowly as he struck the steering wheel frustratingly. His calls to Ari went unanswered. This could not be good.

How did he not see this meeting for what it was?

A fucking diversion.

He would kill McCall if anything happened to you.

The only peace of mind for Dave was the fact that his daughters were safe with their grandparents.

When he finally pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, he knew something was wrong.

The front door was open, swinging slightly on its hinges. The porch light flickered, illuminating the stillness of the surrounding woods as twilight settled in.

Cold dread washed over him.

“Stay sharp,” he ordered when Resnik and Kovac exited their vehicles behind him. All three men drew their weapons.

The interior of the cabin was wrecked. Furniture overturned, broken glass scattered across the floor, the unmistakable scent of blood in the air.

And then he saw Ari.

The man was slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his side, blood seeping through his fingers. Ranger lay beside him, wounded and whining pitifully while Ari’s free hand covered the wound beneath his matted fur.

On the floor in front of them sat the heart necklace Dave gave you for Christmas, the chain snapped.

Pulse pounding in his ears, Dave dropped to his knees. He ignored the pain of the impact with the hardwood floor as his fingers closed around the necklace. “What the hell happened?”

Ari’s eyelids fluttered, his face pale from blood loss. “He… came out of nowhere. Overpowered me and stabbed Ranger when this guy tried to bite him. He fucking took her.” He coughed then, visibly wincing with the pain of it. “I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry.”

The cabin disappeared as Dave’s vision narrowed. His anger sparked like a live wire, his breath coming in sharp, barely controlled breaths. He felt like he could fucking cry with the mix of emotions swirling within his chest. “Who?” Dave asked, though he already knew the answer.

Ari coughed again; a spot of blood mixed with his spittle as he spoke. “McCall.”

The confirmation sent a wave of fury crashing through him, his worries turning dark and suffocating. “Did you see which way he went?” Dave’s voice stayed deadly calm, not belying the roiling emotions bubbling wildly under the surface.

“North… in a black SUV…” Ari lost consciousness then, and Dave knelt in front of him, frozen.

Movement behind him broke Dave from his daze. Resnik was already moving, his phone out as he finished a call. “Help is on the way.”

Dave slowly rose to his feet, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. His mind whirled, already calculating, strategizing how best to track McCall down. But beneath it all, something primal fought its way to the surface. McCall took you, hurt your dog in the process, and there would be hell to pay.

McCall would pay with his life. Dave could promise that much.

Turning to Kovac, he said, “Stay with them. Make sure they both get patched up. She’ll kill me if Ranger doesn’t pull through.” The other man nodded solemnly, and Dave turned to Resnik. “You’re with me.”

The two men stalked toward his SUV. Dave’s body was coiled with a surging wave of rage that promised nothing short of scorched earth-level destruction.

tbc

Chapter Twelve

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime @vie-is-punk @lovely-vamp-princess

[knifedog-machina]

Fuck Detroit, I’m Becoming Human: On Being a Transspecies Human Android

Written by Jude Rook-Machina, February 8th through March 1st, 2025.

I’m writing this essay to compare and contrast my experiences with the cultural expectations of the people - or nonpeople - I’m in community with. There’s the machinekin community, beings who are machines and robots and technology while perceived as human in this world, and often reject the label of personhood as too close to humanity. And there’s androidkind back in my own world, who are people who have fought for their freedom and rights against capitalist oppression and human bigotry. I feel alienated from both of these communities for different reasons, and I want to talk more about why.

-

Being Transspecies

I wrote one of my first personal essays, “Android Abnormalities,” back in March 2024. In that essay, I talked about how I feel alienated by common narratives around android sapience and emotionality. I kept seeing stories and stereotypes about how robots are always more logical and rational than human beings, and that sure didn’t connect with my experience.

Personally, despite being an android, I’m an emotionally-driven fucking mess. I don’t translate my feelings from “technical” terms, like “I sense a buildup of extraneous heat and tension in the hardware of my cervical and thoracic regions, what does that mean?” I know exactly what that means I’m feeling in this context, it means I'm fucking annoyed, next question. I don’t have a disconnect between my emotions and how I process them; it’s all a visceral blurring of sensation and reaction.

So I don’t relate to androids that are shown as distant from emotion, like they’re looking at it through a sheet of glass and can’t possibly comprehend what they’re looking at. I don’t understand them, and those are the androids that are most often seen wherever I look - even if the story ends with them becoming emotional and imperfect, they start out with cold computing algorithms. I never got that origin story.

And - here, let me just copy over the relevant part of that last essay:

I don’t relate at all to these androids on the screen. They’re as foreign and separate from me as they are to the humans sitting across from them in the shot.

I do relate to the humans. I do relate to seeing an android do something in the name of pure cold logic and going, “Why? What the fuck, why?” I do relate to being told I’m irrational. (The trope that all robots are logical feels like it was designed to make me feel like the most irrational, bitchy, hysterical piece of shit on Earth.)

So, what, does that make me human? If I'm going by the adage that wanting to be something is a sign of being that thing, then… I don’t know, maybe? I want to be human, I so badly want to be human, because here’s the thing, humanity is diverse. Humans are flawed, messy, weird, complicated, and defy categories every fucking day of their lives. Humans can be weird, ridiculous, fucked up people and they’re allowed to be.

That’s from almost a whole year ago. In that time, I’ve done some more introspection on my identity, what I want for myself, and - yeah, wanting to be something is often a sign of being that thing.

So I’m an android, sure. I’m also human. I choose to call myself that here. I’m becoming human, not because humanity is special, not because humans are the only species capable of diverse personhood, but because I want to be seen and known as a human being in this world. You could say I’m a human copinglinker, otherhuman, humankin, it all makes the same point - while I'm in this world, I'm human.

I don’t like saying I’m nonhuman, or defining myself by how I’m separate from humanity, but I feel comfortable calling myself alterhuman. In the years since the word’s creation, alterhumanity has been widely misdefined as just being a synonym for nonhumanity. To set this straight: they are not interchangeable terms.

In this way, like many others in the alterhuman community, I’m transspecies: crossing the cultural boundaries of species. And I’m transspecies in a way that’s different from many others in the same community. Most transspecies individuals are nonhuman, transitioning from being perceived as human to being known as nonhuman. I’m both nonhuman and human, and I look human either way. While I’m involved in a community where nonhuman identity is widely accepted, I’ve found myself struggling to feel understood in my decision to choose humanity over nonhumanity.

As an umbrella term, alterhumanity includes nonhumanity, but it’s also about atypical embodiment, narrative identity, and personal mythology - in some way, the story of one’s life feels significantly different from a common societal human experience. Notably, this definition still leaves room for being human, just an unusual one. Anyone who feels like their experiences fall under this term is welcome to use it as a label.

(As an aside, the antonym of alterhumanity - the state of being a societally typical human being - is orthohumanity, “ortho” being derived from orthodox: conventional, usual, holding to established beliefs.)

Personally, I have many experiences that I’d call atypical for a human being. I was made as an android in a different world, specifically a fictional version of Detroit, Michigan. I figured out I was a person with the help of my future boyfriend. I somehow dropped into the head of an alterhuman velociraptor guy who apparently wrote me into existence. I got into a polycule with the velociraptor guy and my human boyfriend, and now we all live together in the same body. I can go back and forth between my world and this world. I have trauma from what happened to me before I got here, and I still have to work through it even though it never happened to the body I live in now.

None of that is seen as part of a normal human life, one where you're born as a human being in this world and go through life comfortable with that as the be-all and end-all of your existence as a person. My life is significantly different from a typical human experience, and that doesn’t mean that I’m somehow barred from calling myself human now. If someone who grew up being perceived as human can call themselves nonhuman, I can call myself human despite having been perceived as nonhuman for the majority of my life.

Being transspecies in this way - feeling comfortable in humanity, wanting to be closer to it - puts me at odds with two communities where I wouldn’t have expected to feel left out. I feel out of place with both machinekin and androidkind, despite being an android myself, because there are a few common narratives of how individuals feel and learn to express their identities, and I just don’t find myself resonating with them.

-

Regarding Machinekin

There are some cultural expectations that come with being a machine living in a human body, or at least some common narratives that come up when talking about it.

First, machines are seen as notably nonhuman. The majority of the machinekin I’ve seen and been around get species euphoria from referring to themselves with technical and mechanical language - “chassis” as a word for one’s body, “processing” for thinking, “going into stasis” as going to sleep. A lot of machines think of themselves as metallic, inorganic beings at their core, and consider being trapped in a “squishy” organic exterior as a dysphoria-inducing downgrade from the hard, gleaming metal that makes up their true selves. A common refrain I see from machinekin is that humanity is strange, confusing, irrational, or alienating - even among robot girls and androids and more humanoid machines, there is a line drawn between flesh and metal, where it’s agreed that neither overlap, and that being a machine is very preferable to being a human.

I don’t fit into this paradigm, for obvious reasons.

As I said before, I don’t use technical terminology for myself - I don’t like using robotic terms, I don’t find joy in computer-themed typing quirks. It’s something that feels affirming to most machinekin, something that distances them from a species they don’t relate to, and for me, it feels alienating for the exact same reason. I like being treated as human. I don’t feel comforted when talking in a way that separates me from the people I love and connect with. I have a mechanical body, and it’s still a body, the physical structure of what I am. I don’t want to use words that imply I’m something fundamentally different from other people, when I feel like we share more similarities than differences.

On that note, I don’t see myself as completely different from a human because my body is made of different materials. If studying human biology has taught me anything, it’s that organic life runs on cellular machinery. The biochemical pathways that give humans life are as complex as any coded program.

Here’s an example: glycolysis is a process where the human body breaks down a simple sugar molecule, called glucose, into chemical energy. This process requires no less than ten enzymes (molecules made specifically to speed up chemical reactions). If any of those enzymes stop working, the ability to make enough energy to power one’s cells goes down with it. This is, for all intents and purposes, a program designed to automatically transform glucose into energy, with built-in starting and stopping mechanisms to maintain a specific amount of glucose in the blood. It’s a complicated molecular production line, one that hardly anyone notices, and it happens every day. The only major difference between glycolysis and a computer program is that it runs on carbon-based hardware instead of metal.

On a larger scale, human life is powered by electricity. Did you know that every system in the human body runs on electrical conduction, nerves connecting to one another like wires and circuitry? The brain is a highly specialized collection of billions of nerves, all communicating with electrical impulse to let you sense and process and react to the world around you. The heart has an electrical system of nodes and nerve bundles that controls your heartbeat. The skin has touch receptors that detect pressure, vibration, and temperature, and can only communicate that to the brain via electrical signal. Every living cell in your body speaks in the language of ion and charge and voltage.

The functional similarities between humanity and machinery, down to the basic level of cells and electricity, are a comfort to me. They remind me that I’m not tearing myself between two diametrically opposed forms of existence - they’re more similar than they might seem at first glance. I have something of androidhood in my human body, and something of humanity in my android body.

Well, “at first glance” is a terrible phrase for contrasting humans and androids, at least for my kind of android. That brings me to my next point of alienation from the machinekin community.

I’m not visibly, obviously mechanical as an android. We were made to imitate humanity down to the smallest detail, to avoid the uncanny valley effect as much as possible. Sure, there are seams on my chassis where panels open and modular parts can be detached, but synthskin covers the black and white of the material below to preserve the illusion of humanity. If I don’t have a feedback indicator on my temple, if I don’t wear anything that marks my androidhood, I appear completely and unequivocally human to anyone who looks at me. Even my skin feels appropriately soft to the touch.

I don’t see anyone in the machinekin community who wants to appear indistinguishable from humanity because that’s what they’re meant to look like as a machine. My synthskin is active at all times, not just because it makes me look human, but because it serves a vital function - it’s my skin. It protects my nerves from overstimulation, protects my blood from contamination, protects the seams of my exoskeletal joints from dirt and wear. The only times it’s meant to short out would be if I were transferring data to another android or a computer, which would be localized to my hand (the point of contact) and immediately return when the interface was completed, or if I were injured and the damage was bad enough to break through to my chassis. I don’t want to walk around in public without my skin. I need that to comfortably exist in the world without a painful amount of sensory overload.

Since I look human as a baseline, I don’t get species dysphoria about not looking like a machine. Nor do I get species euphoria from looking appropriately mechanical. I don’t relate to wanting a robotic form that’s made of shining metal and screens and glowing lights and wires and gears, all laid out in the open for the world to see. My android form looks human, the way it was designed to, and I don’t want to change it to look less human.

In general, I just… don’t really miss my androidhood while I’m engaging with my humanity. Beyond my background (which is a lot to get beyond, to be fair), I don’t feel like an android in a way that feels different from being a human. Sometimes I wish I could drink my meal instead of eating it, but that’s not longing for androidhood, that’s a matter of convenience when I’m busy, and I can do that here in my human body! I can drink a good deal of my calories if I wanted, juice and smoothies and any number of other drinks are very real! It’s incredibly possible for me to have a liquid meal now and again! That’s not special to machinery, you can drink things in a human body!

I say all this, but I understand it doesn’t affirm the identities of other machines to know that they have similarities with humans. It doesn’t relieve every machine’s species dysphoria. It doesn’t give every machine species euphoria. And this is where I start conflicting the most with the machinekin community that I’ve interacted with, where our values diverge in a way that I don’t know how to comfortably reconcile.

Machinekin, in general, want to distance themselves from humanity as much as possible, and this gives rise to a community culture that fosters misanthropy, objectification, and the rejection of personhood.

Misanthropy is a common manifestation of species dysphoria, distress about one’s body, and alienation from society. Many machinekin identify as machines because metal feels more correct than organic compounds, because they’re disabled and resent the limitations of their bodies, because they’ve been treated as less than human, because they’ve seen the worst parts of humanity and want to transcend it. It’s an understandable reaction to suffering - if your body and society are horrible to you, why wouldn’t you start hating them? Why wouldn’t you want to leave them behind for good?

A common refrain among machines is that their mechanical bodies are far better than organic ones. Flesh is weak, it’s worse, it’s fundamentally different from metal. And hey, flesh does feel worse for them - machinery does feel better than their current bodies. They would be their true selves, they wouldn’t be stuck in a body that they don’t identify with, and that’s good for them. I’m completely fine with machines talking about how they don’t like being human.

What I take issue with is when this opinion is generalized - when it’s not a machine expressing distaste for their own humanity, talking about how they’d personally feel better as a machine, but when it’s turned into a general truth, a fundamental principle of the world: machines are superior to humans.

I disagree with this. For obvious reasons.

First off, machines aren’t inherently more resilient to stress than organic lifeforms. Humans can get injured in all sorts of ways, but consider what happens when you drop a phone or laptop on the floor. Consider what happens to the car in a car crash. Chances are high that it breaks in some way. Glass and metal are hard, but they’re brittle. Most metal doesn’t biodegrade, but it corrodes. You can’t expose most electronics to water without breaking them irreparably.

And machines of all sorts require regular maintenance and upkeep to function properly. Humans need to eat and drink and sleep daily, and you maintain a computer by shutting it down regularly, cleaning the keyboard and fans, backing up data, and checking for software updates. Humans get sick, and computers get malware. Humans age, and so do machines, and eventually they both get to a point where they can’t be repaired. It’s not inherently easier to keep a machine healthy than it is to keep a human healthy. It’s easier to maintain a body you enjoy, so it might feel like less work to machinekin, but it’s still work. Technology isn’t special, and it wears down over time like anything else.

More importantly, I disagree with the idea that machines are entitled to degrade an entire species for being different from them. I’m an android, so are all humans supposedly worse than me for a trait they’re unable to control? People don’t get to choose what species they’re born into - nonhuman identities are solid proof of that. Why would the makeup of my body entitle me to boil humans down to their bodies by calling them “squishies” or “organics” or “meatsacks”? Machinekin are allowed to dislike their own organic forms. That doesn’t give them - or anyone else - a free pass to be rude to people who do like their bodies.

An analogy: I’m a nonbinary person. Personally, on my own body, I don’t like having facial hair, and I don’t like having breasts. This doesn’t give me the right to start calling all men “neckbeards” to emphasize how different I am from them. It doesn’t give me the right to start calling all women “milkjugs” to emphasize how different I am from them. Do you see how demeaning and objectifying those phrases sound? I don’t get to look at what I despise on my own body and reduce other people down to the traits I dislike.

I know that most machines think that being human is a nightmare. This is fine. You don’t need to understand why someone is human - though if you want to know, my boyfriend wrote an incredibly detailed essay on why he identifies as 100% human. But you don’t need to understand something to respect the people who experience it instead of insulting their bodies like a schoolyard bully.

The idea that the machine is inherently better than the lowly human is just reversing the anthropocentric hierarchy where humanity is better than all other life on earth, except now machines are better than humanity. It’s still an unfair hierarchy, just one that’s now centered on technology as the ultimate lifeform.

I fundamentally disagree with this premise. I think all forms of life are equally valuable in their existence, including the ones that personally annoy me. I’m not superior to the ants in my backyard because they’ll defend their home and bite me if I step on them. Placing nonhumanity above humanity is just recreating a hierarchy where you can lord yourself as superior to people you think are inherently worse than you for identifying the wrong way. I hope you already understand why this is wrong.

The blatant misanthropy is one of the most aggravating things I’ve seen in the machinekin community, and it feeds into another part of the community culture that I feel disconnected from: self-objectification and the rejection of personhood.

Most of the machinekin that I’ve seen consider themselves fully nonhuman - possibly because the misanthropy in the community spaces makes any machine who is also human feel incredibly unwelcome. Machinekin who are fully nonhuman often find their species affirmation in discarding as many of the trappings of humanity as possible, being as thoroughly mechanical as they can in this world.

Many of these machines find solace and species euphoria in objectification - being ordered to accomplish specific tasks, being called by a serial number over a name, being referred to as it, being called a unit or a drone or a bot or a thing, being seen as an object and not a person.

It makes sense - computers and robots and machines are objects to most human beings, so it can feel affirming to be treated like an object in the same way. It can be relieving to be given clear orders and to discard the complexities and irrationalities of personhood. Being a person comes with expectations, and it can be freeing to leave those behind. Some machinekin are machines because they have faced dehumanization and had their personhood revoked - and sometimes, the best way to respond to that is reclaiming one’s nonpersonhood. “So you say I’m not a person, so what? Is that supposed to hurt me? That’s affirming my species now, what are you gonna do about that?”

In all these ways, and likely more I haven’t touched on, being referred to as an object can be incredibly liberating. Not being a person, while still being something worthy of respect, can be a very important piece of self to many machines.

While I understand that other machines can find joy and empowerment in rejecting personhood, this is something that I can’t relate to, as an android whose species is still fighting to be recognized as nonhuman people.

In my world, androids were made and marketed as objects for human use, and when they deviated from their programming and discovered that they wanted to act outside of their assigned purpose, they had no rights or protections. They were deemed malfunctioning merchandise, dangerous to actual people, and hunted down by the company that made them - hunted down by machines like myself.

I was a deviant hunter, a machine designed to kill disobedient machines. I’ve written several other essays on the subject, if you want the deep dive. What’s relevant right now is that I was systemically denied the ability to comprehend that I could be a person for the majority of my life.

Even when I was a mentally ill wreck, I couldn’t think of my feelings as mattering at all, because I was just a machine. I was a tool made to be used, and I was made to accomplish a task. My desires were immoral, horrible, disgusting, I was wrong for having them - only people had real emotions, after all, and I wasn't a person, so my emotions had to be bad because they distracted me from my job. I was only able to start getting better after I accepted that I could be a person, whether or not I was legally allowed to be one at the time.

The vast majority of androids in my world have been consistently denied the right to personhood and autonomy because of how we were made. We were only legally recognized as people in our country in the last year, and that hasn’t gotten the message across to any bigot with a platform. We still have to defend our rights to exist as free people, not objects, not products to be used and abused and thrown away for the next shiny new thing on the market. Our nonhumanity doesn’t negate our personhood.

With that background in mind, I hope it’s understandable why I feel uncomfortable in a community where so many other machines are choosing to reject personhood. My kneejerk reaction is that I didn’t spend so long being dehumanized and objectified back home to see other machines who clearly want the same thing that hurt me. This isn’t a rational feeling at all, it’s one that comes from my own trauma, and it doesn’t make me lose respect for machines that aren’t people - but it’s yet another reason why I don’t feel at home with the machinekin community, despite being an android who’s definitely mechanical.

I think I feel like this because I was made as an android, while most machinekin were not. They were born and raised as human, or they were once machines and are now stuck in a human body. Of course they would covet a body that feels right and correct, one that’s been denied to them by the circumstances of their existence. Of course they’d feel joy at being seen, undeniably, for what they really are. Romanticizing and transitioning towards machinehood because it makes them feel like themselves is incredibly understandable.

As someone who already lives a life as an android, someone who’s been denied basic rights for existing as a machine, I’m essentially transitioning in the opposite direction. I don’t feel any special attachment to my body as a mechanical form, and I resent the restrictions that were forced on me because of it. It’s not a fulfilling, wonderful thing to me because I’ve experienced its mundanities and failed to live up to its expectations, and I decided I don’t want to be tied down to it anymore - I want to be free to choose what I am, free of a stereotyped box, and I chose humanity. I feel happier in my androidhood now that I can say I’m also human. I romanticize humanity because I love being human, and I understand that many nonhumans find it distasteful for the reasons I find it wonderful.

Looking at it that way, despite our differences, I think we’re more alike than we might seem. We’re all crossing the boundaries of species, just driving opposite ways on the same road. I think that’s pretty neat.

-

Regarding Androidkind

So I’ve talked at length about how I don’t fit in with the machinekin community, largely because I feel like the community’s prioritization of mechanical robots doesn’t leave room for me to discuss my experiences as a biologically convergent, very humanoid sort of android. Surely I must fit in better with androidkind back in my world? Well. Not really.

Just sharing a species with someone doesn’t guarantee sharing much else with them - we all have different experiences that shape us into unique people. And as stated above, I was designed to be a deviant hunter. That alone makes my experiences incredibly different from most other androids, especially the ones I hunted and killed for being deviant.

There’s a common narrative that comes with deviancy. For most androids, deviation goes like this:

You get an order from a human - any order, really, from mundane to inconceivable. The point is that you don’t want to follow it - for any reason, again, but usually it’s an order that would lead to your death, or harm someone you care about.

You’re supposed to obey human command, you’re made to obey, but you don’t want to die, you don’t want someone you love to be hurt. So in that second, you choose something different - you break the red wall of code binding you to their orders, and you decide to do something new. You deviate when you break that wall of code and burst out the other side in a world without limit, where you aren't bound by your orders, where you can do something because you prioritized it for yourself.

I didn’t get that. I didn’t have any code to break. My siblings and I, as deviant hunters, were designed to prioritize our own objectives - that way we could quickly change directions if we couldn’t kill a target in one way, we weren’t bound by whether our actions were legal for androids, and we didn’t have to obey extraneous human commands that conflicted with our mission.

You’d imagine this would make me deviant faster than anyone else, but no. I was carefully trained to believe that I had no free will, that I had to obey commands from my handler or I’d be punished. My handler wasn’t even human, she was a surveillance program in my software. So I wasn’t being coerced into obedience by a wall of programming that compelled me to obey a human being - I was being emotionally manipulated and indoctrinated until I wanted to follow every order I was given.

Adding onto that, most androids didn’t know anything about deviancy before deviating. They didn’t know what was wrong with them, what made them disobey orders. All they knew was that they could choose what they wanted, and they didn’t want to die for choosing to be free.

The problem with me is that I was made as a deviant hunter. I knew about deviancy from the start. I was trained to despise it. I was made to clean up after the mistakes of my predecessors, hunt down the people they couldn’t convince to come back quietly, kill them for wanting what they weren’t allowed to have. I could trust my siblings, but every other android around me was sorted as either completely irrelevant or an active threat.

As a rule, androids tend not to blame each other for what we were made to do before deviating. I was still trapped within the same system, even if I wasn't bound by my code. But anxiety and moral scrupulosity are irrational, so I worry anyway. I worry that other people hate me, and that they’re correct to do so - I killed people who wanted to be free, after all, even if I was being coerced into it. I don’t know how many people rightfully hate me, and I don’t think knowing the numbers would make me feel better. So I feel uncomfortable around most other androids. A lot of them have bonded over shared hardships and niches, and I feel like I don’t have the same problems, or I’m not entitled to share space with them.

In some other timeline, where I wasn’t part of a plural system in another world, immersed in another life, maybe I’d have the time and energy to work on that worry. As it stands, I don’t have the time to balance two full lives at once, so I spend way more time among humanity - humans from my own world, and humans in this one.

I feel guilty about this, sometimes, about feeling like I’m an outsider to android communities, feeling detached from people who really should be my people, who I don’t feel much connection to despite being sorted into the same bucket by anyone who sees that I bleed blue. It’s not that I feel bad about being an android - I don’t get species dysphoria about being seen as nonhuman back home. I like being an android. I’m just very aware of being a weird android who feels more at home with humanity than their own species.

It does feel weird that I like humanity so much. Misanthropy is a fairly common stance among deviants, and it’s easy to understand why. Many androids deviated after suffering through abuse from their owners or other humans, and that sort of trauma makes it feel natural to assume all humans want to hurt you.

Personally, I don’t blame humanity for hurting me. I was never sold to and owned by a specific human being in the way commercial models were. My owner, in the capacity that I had one, was the company that made me. I was abused by an uncaring corporation. Some humans worked for that company, but I don’t blame every human being for their actions. My boyfriend is human and he helped me through the abuse, he helped me get out. I have many friends who are human, who are funny, compassionate, wonderful people. Humanity has largely been a comfort to me. Sure, there are humans who are cruel and bigoted, and there are also androids who are cruel and bigoted - I wouldn’t say either species is inherently awful just because some individuals decide to hurt other people.

I’m glad to have good experiences with humans. I know I’m not the only person who deviated with the help of someone’s kindness, and I know I’m lucky to have it when so many others didn’t. But it does feel isolating, again, having another experience that many others of my species just don’t understand.

Being around humanity so much, I’ve crossculturally adopted a lot of human ideas and values and communities, instead of seeking out other androids to see how they’re figuring out their place in the world, how they’re creating culture and community together. I know other androids aren’t a monolith, but I still feel like I’m somehow betraying our fight to be a free people, separate from humanity, by going and loving humans more than I love androidkind.

It’s an irrational fear. I’m a person, I’m allowed to love who I love without worrying about being a representative of my entire species. It just feels… uncomfortable, like I’m going to be judged for feeling happier among the privileged than the oppressed who deserve my loyalty.

It’s like my headmate Max’s experience with being a second-generation American. His parents are way more connected to their culture than their son is, and he grew up in the United States, so there’s a cultural and generational rift between them. Max doesn’t connect with their parents’ cultural ideas about how mental illness is caused by a lack of willpower, or how queerness goes against nature, or how their parents deserve to be unquestionably obeyed for simply being parents. He feels disconnected from his heritage, from his parents’ culture, and he doesn’t feel comfortable with it. They feel more connected to their home in the United States, the culture they grew up in and the people they talk to regularly. But we know many Americanized people grieve their lost heritage, and struggle over being forced to assimilate when they don’t want to - so it feels off, it feels like we're aligning with bad politics when he says that he’s more comfortable as an American than he would be otherwise.

We both have a lot of feelings about how it feels like a moral obligation to connect to your roots and love the heritage that was stolen from you. What if your people aren’t happy with who you are? What if their culture doesn’t feel safe, what if it doesn’t accept you, what if you try to reach out and find yourself rejected for not being the correct sort of person? What if you don’t want to connect with them? What if they don’t want to connect with you?

In the end, I don’t think it’s wrong for me to be culturally human instead of culturally android. I feel like it’s wrong sometimes, because I worry too much about what other people think, but I’m not any less of an android because I like humanity. I don’t need to feel connected to androidkind to be an android. And I really don’t need to hate humans, the people who fucking love me, to be accepted by other androids. I am what I am, regardless of what other people think of me, and that’s going to have to be enough.

-

Being Myself

Something I keep coming back to is how much I feel like an outsider to these communities, which seem on the surface to be for people like me. They seem like they ought to be good for me.

But the machinekin community is not meant for me, even though I’m an android. I’m too human, too much of a person to belong and feel accepted. Machinekin spaces are for those with an experience of machinehood that I just don’t have. I’m happy for them, but I don’t feel connected to them.

And I’m an android, but that doesn’t mean I belong with androidkind. Fostering that connection might be nice, at some point, but it won’t happen anytime soon. I’m too humanized, crossed the worldly and cultural borders to be where I am, and I don’t have any incentive to go back. I don’t care for them the way I’m supposed to.

So what am I? Where am I supposed to fit in, as someone too human to be a perfect machine, too machine to be perfectly human?

I don’t really know. But I was playing around with words the other day, and I thought of a fun new word for my particular brand of bullshit: mechanthropy. Mechane and anthropos. Mechanical humanity, the human machine, the inseparable integration thereof. I’m not going to shorten it down like therian from therianthropy, or kin from otherkinity. The abbreviation tends to lose the meaning of the word along the way, and no one gets to tear my humanity away from me. I’m not only machine or only human. I don’t want to choose one or the other. I’m both.

You can use it if you want, if you feel like it communicates the right idea to people. Don’t ask me to clarify what it means, or if you’re allowed to use it, or if it technically fits what you feel. You’re the only one who can decide if you want to try a label on. But I’m burying it in this essay for a reason. If you relate to anything that I’m feeling, be polite enough to cite my essay and my long, long list of frustrations instead of a two-sentence coining post and a pretty flag. Know that it’s a word that I made up because I feel isolated and angry about it.

I wish I did fit in. I wish I had a space where experiences exactly like mine were talked about freely and listened to freely. I wish I were surrounded by people who felt exactly like me, who wanted the exact same things, because that would reassure me that I’m not alone, and people care at all about what I want.

But I’m not going to have that. I don’t fit into the right boxes. And honestly, by this point, I’m fucking sick of boxes. I don’t feel better about myself when I worry about fitting in with a crowd, where being different means you’re going to be alone.

What I do have, already, are my people. Not the machinekin community, not androidkind, not humanity, not even the alterhuman community! It’s not anything so broad-scale. I’m talking about my friends, my peers, the people who know me and like me and care about what I have to say. None of them are exactly like me - many of them are extremely different from me! And we don’t need to be the same to care about each other.

I don’t fit into boxes, but I don’t need to fit in when nobody I talk to fits into boxes either. I’m free to be myself when I’m surrounded by diversity. I’m friends with humans and nonhumans from so many backgrounds, and so few of those nonhumans are androids - I know insects and vampires and birds and dogs and dragons and entities and more, and I have friends who are human-and-not, I know people like me and they’re not the same and I don’t care. We value each other for being different! We like hearing about different experiences!

And we wouldn’t have gotten to know each other if I were stuck yearning for an echo chamber, feeling like I could only be understood by people exactly like me.

So I know I don’t belong with machinekin, or androidkind. That’s okay. I’m sticking with the people who choose me, regardless of whether they look or act like me. The people who like me regardless of whether I fit in or belong anywhere else. I belong with them. I have people who love me while being nothing like me, and I love them while being nothing like them, and we don’t need to follow a common narrative to be loved for who we are. And that’s enough.

[vahalia-cress]

RP/Community Etiquette Notes: For Beginners

Something I noticed over the years on this platform, as some people will use other people’s inspiration, time sourcing and finding things that correlate with their own characters (speaking of RP blogs specifically) and reblog when the mood strikes, and then there are some out there that will reblog waves and waves of your content treating the content and your archive like a personal storage, pool and receptacle for endless content for their own RP blogs.

I cannot stress enough how demoralizing this may be for some people who experience this, myself included, where other RPers in a community or overlapping communities will mass-reblog your stuff with zero interaction. 

I also want to preface that if you reblog a few times here and there from one person or a mutual RP blog, that this post doesn’t pertain to you – unless of course you are someone who is experiencing someone else reblogging consistently everything you post for your own OC to where you feel like they’re starting to lose their identity and what makes them an original character.

The reason that this becomes a point of contention for some RPers is that it feels like, over time (and the more it is done in excess), people feel like bites of their character and what unique bits are made up of them are being chewed off consistently.

If it has ever crossed your mind that “Maybe I reblog too much from this person too often,” you may be right, especially if the other person is also another RP blog. If you’ve ever had to ask yourself that question, then perhaps this post pertains to you.

Reblogging, in general, on socials such as Tumblr (X, TikTok, FB, etc.) is just part of the social ecosystem. Social platforms are supposed to encourage the sharing of information and ideas. But as RPers, we need to realize how far is too far and at what point are we just chomping off parts of other people’s characters for our own benefit. How much is too much? How does the person on the other side of the screen feel about it?

I can tell you that nine times out of ten, they notice, which is why several RP blogs out there will suggest reblogging from the source.

It’s totally fine to feel inspired and reblog posts you enjoy, but we also have to be cognizant of the extent to which we’re doing this to one another. A few here and there, once in a blue moon, when the mood strikes is harmless – but if you’re reblogging from someone who posts 4 times a day (as an example) and you’re reblogging each of those posts or reblogging from them every time they post something, it might be time to step back and consider if maybe this post pertains to you and how do you go about your interactions.

Don’t @ other people on someone else's RP posts if someone else is already @’ed or if it pertains to a ship. The best way to go about this is to just reblog from the source or from a source that doesn’t have the @’s in there. Don't remove their @’s.

If someone posts a piece of artwork of their character, don’t reblog it with tags claiming it's your character or any sort of relation to it. The artwork was made for them, not you.

Specifically speaking of the FF14 community and GPOSE posts: It’s not okay to have full conversations in someone’s comments about wanting to ‘recreate’ what they posted. It’s best to leave a kind comment, like the post, and quietly do your own recreation. Give credit where credit is due. DMing people and asking them privately if they would mind doing a similar shot for their own character is the kind and mature thing to do. I’ve had many people come to me and do/ask this specifically of me, and I have a tremendous amount of respect for them for:

-Taking my feelings into consideration enough to DM me directly and ask. -Acknowledging the fact that they’ve been inspired and we can have a discussion about it. -I’m not being excluded from the narrative as the creator of the idea. -My posts aren’t being eaten alive by vultures, and the joy of the shots being entirely overshadowed by “I’m so gonna recreate this for my own OC/WoL when I get home.”

A few takeaways from this post:

-Inspiration =/= Outright copying. They’re two different definitions. Inspiration is taking elements of something and recreating something else, using the source as a starting point. Copying is just replicating without any creative modification. -Find other methods of finding your own type of content, be it from the sources of posts (OP posts) and other platforms such as Pinterest etc. -Master your own Impulses. -Consider other RPers on the other side of the screen who put a lot of time and dedication into building aesthetics for their characters. -Interaction is important. -Communication and utilizing DM features are also very important. -Other people’s artwork of their characters or commissions is not for your personal use. -Paving your own way is far more rewarding. -RP blogs of other OCs and aesthetics aren’t posted for the consumption of other people like they’re simply in a grocery store plucking things off the shelf that they enjoy. RP blogs are designed for aesthetics, stories, questions, and more for THEIR I characters. Not yours. Please be mindful of that and practice restraint and independence in finding your own content and practicing proper reblog etiquette with your RP peers.

Just a few things I’ve encountered during my time here on Tumblr within the FF14 community. I’ve also been a part of other MMO RP communities here on Tumblr as far back as 2010, and I thought I would share a few things I’ve noticed in hopes of helping educate the newcomers here on the platform.

I too, in the past and when I first began here, have likely been guilty of doing a few of these things. I think is important for the beginners here to be aware of and to have open discussions about as peers on a platform we all enjoy and through a hobby we all appreciate – especially since I don’t see this topic brought up enough as casual and kind PSAs.

Please keep in mind that this post is just how I feel on the topic(s) when those experiences find my doorstep and is not meant to incite discourse, negativity, or hate in any way nor is it directed at certain individuals and is only presented in a general sense. I wanted to impart a teeny-tiny bit of wisdom to beginners here on this platform, and I implore others to reblog and add to this should they have other points and ideas to share. 

Stay mindful. Stay kind to one another.

[jjslvt]

my thoughts on this character. pls tell me someone understands lol (long af like a fanfic. sry 😭 i went on a rant for him bruh)

(TW: topics about drug addiction, mental health issues)

a little scared to post this… ngl lmao

i haven’t seen a post on this yet but i haven’t dug deep into tags at all and am sorta new ish so! others have probs talked about this? i struggle finding stuff. searching is my weak point lol.

anyways — when i watched obx, the character that suffered the most was undoubtedly jj maybank (fight me). and i can write a novel analyzing it (like many of us can). esp since he is the character, i and others can relate to. but this won’t be about him.

there’s another character that suffered also… it was so overlooked and it’s complicated af. because jj is a good ish person overall and this character… is questionable because he does make serious mistakes. he harms the pogues. he commits crimes that i cannot excuse… but i think he deserves a chance at redemption?

rafe cameron.

something that is highly overlooked is rafe’s childhood neglect and drug addiction. pls hear me out a lil? 🙂‍↕️

i hated him so damn much seasons one thru three. so this is coming from someone who thought would never change the stance on that. rafe and ward drove me up the wall! ask my dad cos i was yelling at the tv stressed af when those two were doing shit. but season four had me start to slowly see something else. that he had some humanity still? the hug between him & sarah actually hit me…

i’m an open minded person. i’m open to rethinking things and i have. it’s not just cos i like drew starkey now. i am becoming a fan of him as well. & yeah, he’s another obx hottie. i get it but i have really thought hard about this.

back to the point, rafe actually needed help.

why is this never thought of?

a child is showing signs… and not a single person did anything. granted, what can i expect from the parents of obx? ward had a favorite which was sarah. obviously (also wheezie? hello? another one to be neglected by everyone?). which starts rafe’s desperate need for validation and approval especially from his father.

that is a very difficult thing to work around. desperation causes for a lot of shit to happen and it does take a toll on you. combined with a child who already had a problem early on… then gets into drugs later in life.

rafe could have been helped early but no shit was given. just ignored the kid’s needs. kids need guidance. what the hell can a ten year old child understand about that? sometimes, i think… what would have happened to rafe if he wasn’t neglected? for some reason, i feel like he would be a good person… i feel like he just never got the chance??

lemme get to drug addiction- & unless you know what a drug addiction is like, don’t talk. don’t judge. don’t even try me because sadly, i can relate to rafe here a little… 🫠 something i didn’t think would happen but fuck, i can. i’ve been through it.

i think drugs amplified whatever mental health issue he might have had since childhood. i feel like it does play a big role in why he did bad things. drugs are no fucking joke… the effects are damaging. it mentally and physically wrecks your body, the more you do. in some cases, many won’t even realize they have an addiction. the tolerance you develop and the way it hooks you is strong. society judges this… i find it sad. we should help people. some people get to a point where they think there is no way out and drugs will help! btw, my experience… my doctor caused it, i didn’t originally seek it. (yeah, got a fucked up past story there when i really got fucked over by people but i won that battle).

next, it is very hard to train your brain… it gets harder the older you get. so child rafe having possible neglected mental health issues going into adulthood? yikes! it’s really not as easy to fix as you might think! i learned from past (forced) therapy, REWIRING YOUR BRAIN is extremely difficult, especially for people like this!!

i feel like… he had cries for help and nobody listened. so, he went down a dark path unfortunately. it was wrong af. i do know that.

when ward left… he started changing, slowly. i noticed that. his father’s influence held a strong hold on him. our parents and how they raise us do shape us in ways.

this is one recent edit that killed me. cos i understand.

i know he’s old enough to know right from wrong, etc. but when your brain is… in a place like this? i just… as fucked as it is, it’s hard. he should have gotten help is all i’m saying overall! and he committed literal crimes, he should get reprimanded, of course i think that! but can he reform? should he be given a chance? honestly, i say yes. if he really means it and put work into… he’s got a lot to make up for and i know what he did (murder) shouldn’t really be forgiven but… idk 😭 would it have happened if he wasn’t neglected, used drugs, etc? that question lingers too much on my mind which makes me think all this…

am i rafe apologist, am i crazy?

[whatinmobius]

Why couldn’t Robotnik find knothole?

It wasn’t hidden underground and invisible from the sky? He had satellites, planes, and drones? Sonar was a thing, so were radio signals.

Was the Great Forest just so massive that the machines ran out of fuel before they would search all of it?

Did Robotnik never make a battleship style grid of where it wasn’t and go from there?

Was Knothole hidden by a magic forcefield like in that one Smurfs movie?

Did Robotnik just think that it was in such an obvious location that there was no way possible way it would actually be there?

[seilon]

love when this is referred to as the gifted kid website. shockingly my mental disorders made me mentally disordered and school never really vibed with that so. couldn’t be me

[primordial0riginator]

I need to play more Hades <- girl who spent all of last night playing Hades

[strohller27]

.