#Will I recognize it when it comes? No. for some reason.

[bloomshroomz]

As a trans man in a relationship with a cis man, I'm not really digging this message. The idea that "cis men are inherently more dangerous" and "trans men are inherently safer" is still a bioessentialist message. Yes, trans men and cis men are treated differently under the patriarchy, but it's up to the individual how they internalize that.

There are trans men who are misogynistic, abusive, and even transphobic. Being trans does not automatically exempt any of us from that. Plenty of trans men will even lean into toxic masculinity because they think it will make them fit in with other men better, as gravityofsouls mentioned, and that toxicity isn't always grown out of.

There are also cis men who are open minded and accepting. There are cis men who are loving, gentle, caring, and willing to learn. There are cis men who were raised well. There are cis men who were raised poorly, but recognize that they need to unlearn things, and do so.

I understand people being T4T for a plethora of reasons, such as wanting a partner with the shared experience of being trans, wanting a partner who can understand being trans on a deeper level, etc. But advertising trans partners as the inherently "safer" option comes with some problems. What happens when your trans partner is abusive?

I knew a trans guy who was very hesitant to date other trans guys, specifically because of negative experiences he had with other trans guys. On the other hand, I was very hesitant to date cis men because I thought that I would never find one who respects me as a man... And then I met my cis boyfriend, who advocates for me as a trans man better than anyone else in my life.

So when cis women praise trans men as "a good substitute" for cis men because we're all supposedly "safer" than them... I think that's wrong. Date trans men because you like us, not because you think we're "a safe substitute" for cis men. Because, at the end of the day, whether you're a cis man or a trans man, what you think and how you behave is in your hands. Some people will choose to be good people, and some people won't... That isn't inherently tied to gender modality.

Cis women who advertise trans men as an ‘alternative’ to dating cis men and just emotional abuse their trans man partners are going to be tortured forever in the torture pit. The cis women making posts saying shit like “trans men are like if a man was written by a woman” are going to the pit first.

[theuniverseisscreaming]

Eddie as an Unreliable Narrator

I want to expand a little on something I talked about over on twitter, which is the concept of Eddie as an unreliable narrator and how this has kept him from confronting his sexuality.

Before the inevitable “Eddie said he was heterosexual, he’s a straight man,” in the comments, I’ll just say that we already know gay Eddie has been a consideration from LFJR confirming it was originally going to be Tommy and Eddie together, never mind all the queer coding to date in Eddie’s general storyline. If you choose to take Eddie’s words at face value, that’s fine, you do you! This post will get into why I don’t. 

Eddie tells Father Brian that he doesn’t believe that he deserves to be forgiven, so when he sees him again, he recognizes Eddie’s decision to pick the healthier, less fun beverage for what it is: Eddie depriving himself of one of the small joys there are to be found in life. He confronts him on this, asking why he changed his mind, and Eddie looks genuinely perplexed. “…decided I wanted water?” 

“See, I think that you were punishing yourself. I think that you were denying yourself because you don’t feel worthy right now.” You can tell that Eddie thinks this is a crock of shit and that the priest doesn’t understand him at all - right up until he says Eddie doesn’t feel worthy of joy. 

Eddie tries to deflect by saying he doesn’t have a lot to feel joyful about, and in doing so he is denying the accusation by saying it’s not about what he feels he’s worthy of. There just isn’t a lot of joy in his life to be had right now. The priest challenges this perspective by putting a positive spin on all of the negative things Eddie lists, and in doing so, removes the excuse Eddie is using to avoid confronting that this is about him punishing himself. That he has been punishing himself, and it’s not clear yet how far back this behaviour actually goes. 

Because here’s the thing: Eddie thinks the water is just water. He doesn’t understand the subconscious compulsion behind it, because this is something he has been doing for so long it no longer feels abnormal. At some point, he started depriving himself of enjoying the little things in life as a way of punishing himself whenever he felt like he wasn’t living up to expectations, whenever he thought he was failing someone. The question is, when did it start, and what was the first thing he felt he deserved punishment for? 

When Father Brian identifies the mustache as a disguise he asks Eddie what he thinks he’ll see when he looks in the mirror without it, and Eddie says he thinks he’ll see a failure, a man who doesn’t deserve the joy he’s been depriving himself of. In a way, he is trying to become someone else to avoid confronting the person that he actually is, and the reason he feels he’s failed. 

This isn’t really something new: Shannon dies, and Eddie joins an illegal fight club where physical pain becomes an outlet for the anger and frustration he’s feeling. Chris is afraid of losing another parent, so Eddie deprives himself of the job that gives his life meaning outside of being Christopher’s dad rather than trying to find another solution. None of this is even taking into account the relationships he forces himself into because he feels he needs to find a replacement mother for Chris, and how forcing himself into that box he so clearly does not want for himself is just another way of depriving himself of joy. 

Father Brian tells Eddie that God has already forgiven him for his mistakes, but here’s the thing: Eddie doesn’t give a shit about God’s forgiveness, not really. The forgiveness Eddie is trying to earn isn’t even just Christopher’s - it’s his own, too. And he doesn’t know how to do that, because he doesn’t know how to love himself. The only part of himself he’s ever tried to love - being a father - has been irreparably damaged in his eyes. So how does he come back from that? How does he get back to a point where he feels deserving of being Christopher’s dad again? 

What’s interesting to me is that I do believe Christopher is the one bit of joy Eddie’s allowed himself up until now. His birth is the only time during Eddie’s entire marriage with Shannon that we see him actually happy, and this is one of the first examples of Eddie being an unreliable narrator that we have in the show because he acts like this wasn’t the case. 

Yet he was visibly unhappy for every part of his marriage we were shown, and by his own admission joining the army was just as much about running from it as it was about providing for his own family. He is unable to define what Shannon means to him, and he says he loved being married to her rather than saying he loved her. But in Shannon’s death, Eddie has romanticized her image so much that when Kim asks if she was the love of his life, he says he thinks she was. 

If Chris represents one of the sole joys Eddie has allowed himself in life, then Shannon is the reason he has received it, and the guilt he feels for letting her down - for not loving her the way he should, for not being able to be there for her, for not being able to save her despite that being his job - is so immense he can’t possibly imagine atoning for it. And to understand his guilt, we have to confront the reason he wasn’t able to be the husband he felt she deserved. 

See, we could maybe argue that Eddie didn’t initially try to reconcile with Shannon while she was alive because he felt guilty for pushing her away, except when he has a moment to get back together, he chokes. He can’t answer her when she asks what she means to him, and the fact that she even has to ask tells the audience that she isn’t sure of his feelings, even though they’ve been actively sleeping together again and spending time together as a family. He is only able to make an offer of commitment when she thinks she is pregnant again, a repeat of how they got married in the first place, and I think that’s what ultimately answers her question. She is the mother of his child, not the love of his life, but to Eddie, Chris is the real love and joy of his life, so the two kind of feel like the same thing. 

We have seen in Bobby’s storyline a widow with a tremendous amount of guilt move on and find his happily ever after. Bobby actually plays a role in the death of his wife and children, and he grapples with his guilt and suicidal tendencies because of it, but he is still able to heal as much as one can from such a trauma and fall in love with Athena. 

In contrast, Eddie shows no interest in finding another relationship until he is prompted by others. When he does try to date, he has to fake his way through two separate relationships where he just couldn’t love them the way he thought he should. He tried to - he wanted to. It would have been easier for him, and for Chris, if he could have. 

There’s nothing objectively wrong with either of the women, he seems to enjoy their company and he finds them to be pretty, but it just isn’t enough. On top of that, he admits dating has always felt like a performance, which you can especially see in his relationship with Ana where he just doesn’t seem entirely like himself. He’s the image of the man he thinks she wants him to be, because he doesn’t want another repeat of his relationship with Shannon where he always fell short of what she wanted and needed. He’s the “perfect boyfriend,” except for the part where he doesn’t feel the same about her at all. 

Marisol is a little different. While her development is limited, she’s got a more laid-back personality that is closer to Eddie’s own, and arguably she should be a good fit. Marisol feels a bit like what Eddie’s idealized relationship with Shannon was like, and that’s what makes it so very interesting when Eddie blows it all up by going out with Shannon’s doppelganger. Their relationship is an emotional affair, and Eddie admits it isn’t sex that he wants with her which is interesting because we know he and Marisol are no longer being intimate. The truth is, he doesn’t know what it is he wants from Kim, or frankly Marisol - just like he didn’t know with Shannon. 

Unfortunately, before figuring it out he pays for his sin of lying to everyone - to Chris, to Buck, and to Marisol - by getting caught in the worst possible way and traumatizing Chris in the process. We know this is how he feels from his actual confession to Father Brian, and I think to him it is the worst of all the sins he feels he’s committed because the only way he has been able to make up for everything else up until now is by being the best parent he possibly can. In a way, he has been trying to heal his own childhood trauma by breaking the cycle of toxic parenting, and giving Chris the life he never got to have.

So to Eddie, traumatizing Chris is his greatest failure, and he doesn’t know how to recover from it because he still doesn’t understand why he got involved with Kim in the first place. It’s not just that he missed Shannon, or he would be able to explain that. It goes back to what Eddie says to Kim moments before Chris walks in - that he feels broken, and like he can’t fix it. This feeling is only compounded by the fear that he has ruined his relationship with his son forever. 

The conversation with Father Brian tells us that Eddie is hiding from himself and that he is denying himself of his desires as some kind of penance. The priest recognizes this and he recognizes that Eddie doesn’t want the cop-out of being forgiven on behalf of God. He is someone who needs to feel they have actually earned it, and that’s okay - just as long as he remembers that in order to take care of others, he has to take care of himself, too. More than that, he’s directed to do something fun just for himself, and those Catholic rituals that are still part of him even if he doesn’t believe in them take over and allow him to do just that. 

There’s something really beautiful about the same institution that led to Eddie and Shannon getting married too young being what kick-starts his journey of self discovery. It was never about rediscovering religion - he was never religious to begin with. It was always about going back to that old wound and finally healing from everything that followed. It was about reclaiming the childhood he lost from growing up too fast. But mostly, it was about being told he is allowed to focus on his needs sometimes, too. 

[anonymous-existences]

DCxDP Prompt 10 :

Death Defying Ship. Danny and Dick are childhood friends where the Fenton's would often bring Danny and Jazz to the circus to hang out with their old friends the Graysons, where Danny and Dick are very close and do dumb kid stuff but jazz is there to watch them so they won't get into too much trouble when the parents aren't looking.

In there Danny learns from the Graysons some basic Gymnastics and Dances that require two people and all that brings them all closer.

Dick and Danny lost touch after the tragic incident with the Graysons, Many years later the story progresses as usual. Danny moves to Gotham to pursue his pursuit in getting a Professional Engineering Recommendation to W.E. with a Bonus Dani that appears every so Often and Dan a normal Mechanic that's acting as his older brother.

Sam Manson happens to be once again forced to attend a gala but this Wayne Gala was Unique because of it's setting as a Masquerade Ball. Sam is thrilled as she can add spice to her gothic aesthetic clothing with a more gothic mask, Danny is being dragged along as because of BFF code, (if I get to suffer, you suffer too.) thus Danny is also wearing an almost as gothic clothing that matches Sam.

Dick and Danny meet there but ofcourse they don't recognize each other, a specific song plays and Dick ever so playful tries to dance a specific routine that only He and Danny knows as they both made it as kids with the help of Jazz. Dick is surprised that Danny is keeping up, Danny is ecstatic and pacing faster as both are in full rhythm and sync in movements.

They don't even realize it but they've become the center of attention as they danced right in the middle of the ballroom. The song comes to a halt and Danny and Dick are breathing heavily, both smiling in excitement until Sam grabs Danny in a headlock and drags him away, scolding him for ditching her for another man.

Dick tries to stop them but was immediately blocked by many who wanted to converse or get his attention as he loses sight of Danny in the crowd of people.

Danny and Dick only ever meet in a gala but something keeps pulling them away from each other, both unable to get each other's names, Dick is totally mesmerized by Danny just as much as Danny is too. Sam finally tells him at some point that he's Dick Grayson. Danny's memories of their past flooding in but Danny didn't want to tell Dick about that because what if dick doesn't remember? What if he asked Dick and he didn't remember him? So Danny kept quiet until he can finally give Dick his name but that moment never came.

Danny is forced to go back to Amity because of the GIW and their Plan to once again destroy the Ghost Zone and Declare War, Danny is captured by the GIW and Sam in desperation with Tucker finally found a way to bypass the GIW firewalls and Break through to connect to the JL.

In the process of saving the captures ghosts with the help of the Justice League in infiltrating and dismantling the Anti Ecto Laws for going against the Meta Protection Rights. Dick doesn't recognize Danny as Phantom, they save him and all that process through Frostbite's help.

Jazz immediately recognizes Dick even as Nightwing and calls him 'Robin' and Dick immediately recognizes her because she is the big sister he always had and wished he kept. Jazz doesn't blow his Identity as expected but she does tell him about Danny as Phantom and Dick as A Wayne once again is processing all of those information in the Manor, Jazz had reassured them that Danny would visit at some point once he is fully healed and Dick waits everyday, waiting for Danny to call or text him that he'll visit.

Dick realizes he's fallen deep in love with Danny with his desperation and also everytime they've met and interacted with each other even for brief moments in the galas they've attended. Danny become the sole reason he'll force himself to attend a gala as he wanted to see the man, his best friend and his first love.

Danny eventually visits Dick and from then you can tell the story goes that way, it's sweet fluff with angst and Dick and Danny gets their happy ending.

[endangeredrandomfanfics]

"A Mother's Secret and the Witches' Road"

Agatha x Rio x Child!Reader

Summary: Agatha raised you well she took you everywhere she goes, sometimes making you do things to lure witches to her, but a question that's been bugging you makes you ask her - Chapter II

Chapter I

Chapter III

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The forest was hushed as dusk settled over the trees, casting long shadows across the ground. Agatha held her child’s small hand in hers, guiding them along the winding path through the dense woods. The child—now nearly eight years old—looked up at her with curiosity, their eyes reflecting both trust and the flickering embers of questions.

“Mama,” they asked softly, tilting their head up to her, “why do you… take the magic from the witches we meet?”

Agatha’s heart ached as she looked down at them. She knelt to their level, brushing a leaf from their shoulder, trying to find the words that would protect their innocence while keeping the truth veiled. “Some things in life, my love, are not easy to explain,” she began gently. “There are moments when we must do difficult things to keep safe those we hold dear.”

The child’s brow furrowed, their young mind working to make sense of her words. “But… what do they do that makes you need to stop them?”

Agatha sighed, brushing a stray curl from their face. “The witches we encounter,” she said slowly, “have chosen to use their power in ways that can harm others. They carry magic that, if left unchecked, could bring harm to the people around them. So sometimes, I have to step in and… take that power away.”

The child seemed to consider this, their small hand tightening around hers. “And if you didn’t, would they… would they hurt us?”

Agatha’s breath hitched slightly, but she kept her voice calm. “I do this so they can’t hurt anyone—including us, my love. It’s my way of making sure we’re safe.”

The child nodded slowly, though Agatha could sense the unspoken questions lingering in their gaze. They didn’t yet need to know the true reason she drained these witches—to keep Rio, their other mother, at bay. She knew that one day she’d have to explain the full story, but for now, she could still protect them from that burden.

“Come on, my little one,” she murmured, standing and taking their hand once more. “Let’s head back before the night gets too dark.”

They walked hand in hand along the winding path, the silence of the forest wrapped around them like a heavy cloak. After a moment, Agatha began to hum softly, a familiar tune that seemed to carry through the trees, filling the space between them with something warm and comforting.

Recognizing the melody, the child’s face brightened. It was their song—the “Witches' Road” ballad they had made up together, a tune woven from whispered secrets, dreams, and countless nights spent by the fire. Without missing a beat, they began to hum along, their small voice joining hers.

Agatha smiled, squeezing their hand as she continued to sing, her voice gentle yet filled with an ancient, bittersweet strength.

"Walk, walk, walk the road"

"I walk the wind-y road....

"Walk, walk, walk the road"

Their voices mingled, carrying through the stillness of the forest. Agatha could feel the weight of the song deep within her, each note a reminder of her vow to protect this child—her child—from the dangers lurking in the dark.

"I walk the wind-y road...

The child’s voice grew a little stronger, the words they had crafted together filling the air with an innocent wonder.

Agatha watched her child as they sang, her heart swelling with pride and love. Despite the shadow that loomed over them, they had somehow found a way to fill their life with light, with hope, with songs and stories that bound them together.

Oh. You walk this road alone, do you?

They reached the last verse, and Agatha’s voice softened, carrying a tenderness that echoed in the child’s bright gaze.

"Walk, walk, walk the road"

"We walk the wind-y road"

"Wherever it may bend

The child looked up at her with a small, content smile, their voice trailing off as the song came to an end. Agatha felt a tear prick her eye, quickly brushing it away before the child noticed. She knelt down once more, her hands gently cupping their face, her voice a tender murmur.

"I'll be there at the end....

“You are my light, my love,” she whispered, a fierce promise woven into her words. “No matter what happens, I’ll keep you safe. Always.”

The child reached up, placing their small hand over hers. “I trust you, Mama,” they replied softly, their eyes shining with innocent faith.

Agatha pressed a gentle kiss to their forehead, feeling both the weight and the beauty of their trust. And as they turned back toward their hidden haven in the forest, Agatha couldn’t help but sing the melody once more under her breath, knowing that as long as she could keep Rio busy on her path, she would continue walking this road with her child—protected, safe, and bound by the song they had created together.

===============================

A/n: shall I make it longer?👀 How's the fic any suggestions? Comment or you can ask me?

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Workplace

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Nightwing x (f)reader

Tags: NSFW, secret identity, vigilante reader, office romance, fingering, kissing, biting, wounds, penetration, slightly toxic Dick Grayson,

"Holy shit, y/n?" A gruff voice called your name from across the police station. You turned away from your papers and in the direction the address was coming from, meeting a bloodshot wild gaze of a man who looked around your age. You didn't recognize him, who was currently in the middle of being escorted into a cell.

You didn't respond, assuming he confused you with someone else. He called you again, though. "Y/n! It's Spencer Van! We were in the fifth grade together-"

You met his crazy gaze again, raising your brow in question.

"Ms. Strums class!" He added.

You blinked, recalling the name of your fifth grade teacher. You began to recognize him. And your mouth twisted in disgust. You didn't remember much other than him being a piece of shit; bullying the smarter kids, and constantly interrupting your teacher during class. Not a person worth remembering.

Your grimace didn't deter him, though, as his gaze slowly studied you up and down. You began to regret your earlier decision to discard your blazer when his gaze landed on the undone top buttons of your blouse.

You hated going to the police station for this exact reason. The staff were nice, but the people they brought in... different story.

"Damn," Spencer groaned, his tongue sliding across his teeth. "You grew up gorgeous."

The blood drained from your face, and you felt nauseous. Now definitely swallowing bile. Detectives and staff were looking between you two as you took in a steadying breath and tried to avoid glaring at him.

"You like me like this?" Spencer continued, grinning a dirty, crooked smile and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You like seeing me in handcuffs?-"

Before he finished his sentence, he was brutally shoved into the cell. The sound of the slam echoed throughout the station.

The detective who shut him up, Dick Grayson, stood towering, muscular, and gorgeous in his uniform, and your secret crush on him only grew. Dick barely broke a sweat while Spencer bounced off the wall and was now wheezing, struggling to get back up.

"You son of a bitch-" Spencer choked. "You fucking broke my rib!"

"Yeah?" Dick challenged. "Press charges when you're done serving ten years for drug trafficking. Prick." Then he slammed the cell door shut.

The rest of the room fell back into routine, the sounds of phone calls, walkies, filing papers, and conversations filling the air once more. Grateful for the change in pase, you returned to your documents.

"Ms. L/n, are you alright?" A low masculine voice you instantly recognized spoke behind you. You turned to see the detective. Sharp features and ocean-colored eyes pierced through your thoughts, catching you off guard. Your breath hitch at his size towering over you, while the smell of beachy cologne invaded your senses. His uniform hugged his body so well that you could almost see the defined muscle under the material.

"Yeah, thanks for hitting him." You stammered, your shoulders rising slightly.

"Sorry I didn't do it sooner." He frowned, his gaze flicking to Spencer, who still groaned in his cell.

You gathered your files. "Should we sit down to look over the Falcone case?"

"Yes, right." Dick gestured for you to take a seat at his desk. It was the only one in the room that wasn't covered in a million papers. Just his computer, a notepad, pen, and calculator lined up against each other in a tidy order, with a half finished cup of coffee sat on the corner. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

You shook your head. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?" Then, at his raised brow, you rushed to add. "I'll need to share some sensifitive information."

He nodded in understanding and got up, leading you down the hall. Your heels clicked behind him as he opened the door to a filing room lined with shelves. A single table and two chairs sat in the middle of it, illuminated by warm toned lights. The noise died down as he shut the door before pulling out your chair.

He spoke up as you sat down. "Late nights at the office, huh?"

You blinked, trying your best to look confused, also trying to cover the blush on your cheeks. "N-no. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, offering you his signature joking smile. "From our email exchanges, you were originally supposed to come here yesterday. I was just curious why the last-minute change."

You shook your head, rushing. "Nope, I just... I wasn't feeling well."

"Oh no." Dick said, his brow creasing. His tone of worry hid a chuckle that was desperately trying to escape. You were such a bad liar. "I'm glad you're feeling better then."

"Yes, well," you took your seat, pulling out a series of photographs from your folder and placing them on the table for him to see. "Falcone met with the owner of MacKenzie Buildings in his club two nights ago."

Dick made a big show of studying the photographs, which he took himself two nights ago. "Hmmm."

You continued. "Yesterday, as you know, MacKenzie was found dead in his apartment."

Dick nodded along to your words, picking up a photograph to study it closer before frowning. His brows furrowed as he looked at the picture. "How'd you get these? Did you hire a P.I.?"

"Not exactly." You lowered your voice, eyeing the locked door behind you.

When you turned around, his blue gaze was narrowed at you. Questioning.

"I'd like to keep the source confidential."

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Two nights ago.

"I need to go use the ladies' room." You spoke over the music before getting off your date's lap. He grinned and nodded, barely acknowledging you as he was distracted with a pair of girls dancing on a tabletop.

You matched with the man on a hookup app an hour ago, suggesting this club to meet uo, and he was more than happy to go - probably thinking he was going to get lucky. In reality, it was just a cover.

As soon as you walked off the main floor, you headed for the back of the club and out to an alleyway behind the building. Unwrapping a balaclava from your wrist, you tied it around your face, hiding all of it, save your eyes.

Taking quiet steps in your combat boots on the gravel, you grasped at the bag slung across your shoulder as you spotted your opening. With a running start, you jumped up, grabbed onto the latter, and began to climb.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Nightwing followed you for the fourth week in a row. This time, your escapades brought you to Falcone's nightclub, with some creep who wouldn't stop running his hands over the open back of your corset top. Dick had half a mind to knock him out there, and then each time you stiffened from his hand, brushing against your skin.

Wearing an all-black outfit which helped you blend in, you hiked your makeshift mask covering your face. You used the railings to scale your way up the roof with practiced ease.

Either gymnastics or calisthenics - if Dick had to guess. Or the mandatory self-defense classes at Gotham Law had incorporated parkour. Brushing his chin with his fingers, he perched casually on a nearby rooftop.

Silently lifting yourself up and positioning yourself on a rooftop that overlooked a large window, behind which Falcone and his men were gathered around a table. Dick watched you pull out a camera from your bag and begin to snap pictures. Like you were some kind of private investigator.

Dick watched patiently. He's seen you do this several times now. He was curious where this was heading this night.

Silence and the howl of wind replaced the club’s thumping bass, and for a moment, you felt utterly alone - until you heard the faintest shuffle above.

Instantly, you rolled out of the way just as the guy's fist came down to the spot where you just were. You got up, hid your camera in your bag, and assessed the assailant. Only one. Good. That you can handle.

You dodge the following blow as well, dropping to your hands and swiping your leg under both of his, knocking him off balance. He went down fast, and you took out the taser you always had in your pocket, bringing it to his neck and activating it until his body began to shake. You held it long enough for him to pass out. Then, you held your hand to his neck, making sure you found his pulse, ensuring he was still alive and walked on, taking your camera back out. As you were snapping the pictures, what you didn't see were the two other bodyguards approaching you on the roof.

Good thing he did.

Out of nowhere, you were grabbed around your waist and flung onto a higher up rooftop, and away from the meeting. "Hey!-"

"Quiet." A deep voice growled against your ear.

When you two landed on another rooftop, you stumbled and caught yourself on the rubble. You turned around, facing your new assailant.

Momentary shock took over as you were met with THE Nightwing. The protector of bludhaven, glowering down at you with a disappointed look under his mask.

"Nightwing!" You choke out.

"The one and only." He confirmed.

You've never seen him in person, never mind standing inches away from him. Your initial shock wore off to make room for anger of your own. "Look... thank you for saving me, but I don't need your help."

He smirked like you just made a joke, then gestured behind you, tilted his chin. "Turn around."

Tentatively, you turned and faced the street, away from him.

"Look down, down at the alleyway." He said. "See those guys patrolling outside the club with their M16's?"

You strained your eyes, trying to see what he was referring to. "No..."

"Exactly." He came to stand side to side with you, taking something out or his utility belt and holding it up to you. Upon initial inspection, you concluded it was a lens of some sort, and you brought it up to your eye. The lens did show a pair of bodies walking back and forth behind a brick wall. Heat sensors.

Embarrased, you handed him the lens. You took a breath, steadying yourself under his intense gaze. Heart pounding, you wondered why his presence felt just as dangerous as comforting.

"It sucks. Doing what I do. Not everyone can." He said.

"I'm not trying to do what you do." You defended yourself. "I'm no vigilante."

"Why do you need these pictures?"

You follow his gaze down to the camera clutched in your hands. "That's confidential,"

He then stood face to face with you. Or rather, face to chest with his frame dwarfing you. "Are you a P.I.?"

"No." You huffed, hoping your raised brow will stop any more questions. "Thank you for saving me. See you around." Then you hopped down the rails and to the ground.

You pushed open the door to your apartment, stepping in still in your club clothing. The corset top was dirty and pulled out of your leather tights, which tore at some point during your escapades, and your feet were in immeasurable pain from walking in those boots all night. You were tired as you tossed your keys into a bowl and locked the door.

A man cleared his throat behind you. "So this is where you live," Nightwing stepped into your living room.

Your voice hitched, and you jumped, rushing to switch on your lights. You stumble over your heals and nearly fall. He caught you around your waist and stabilized you.

"What were you doing at Falcone's club?" He asked, eyes searching your apartment.

"Did you follow me?" You asked, tone incredulous.

"Didn't have to," he pulled up a piece of paper and held it to you.

Your eyes widened. "Is that my car insurance?"

"Mhmm," he nodded, walking to your kitchen and flipping through the papers on your counter. "Pro tip: when you go on patrol, don't bring ID. Otherwise, the mask becomes obsolete." He grinned and picked up an envelope. "Ah cute, your children's hospital donation went through."

You snatched the envelope from his hand. "Give me that! And get out of my house!"

He tisked and shook his head. "Not before you tell me when you were doing following Falcone."

"I- I already told you-"

"You told me fuck all." He interrupted. "Now, I know exactly who you are, miss. L/N I know everyone you've ever met and how to find them. Easily."

He stalked closer, the shadows of your dimly lit room casting sharp angles on his face. “Now ill ask you one more tim. What were you doing at Falcone’s club?” His voice was low, the threat behind it unmistakable, and for a moment, you wondered if Nightwing was as dangerous as the people he fought.

You gulped, straightening your neck. "Look, nightasshole-"

"Weak." He snorted.

"You're breaking and entering." You continued. "I could call the cops on you."

He grinned, wondering if he should let you, only for his phone ring when you dialed. Then, he set the idea aside. "That building you were on when you were snapping your pictures belongs to Falcone. You were on private property without permission. I'm sure a lawyer would know what the name for that is,"

Your shoulders sagged as you lowered your gaze. "Trespassing."

"Very good." He said. "So go ahead and place that call, y/n." He shrugged. "Tell them that Nightwing, identity unknown, address unknown, broke and entered into your house." You approached you, his tone sharpening. "Meanwhile, I'll place my own call. About Y/n L/n, from apartment 2a on 21 Nelson rd. For trespassing on Carmine Falcone’s private property. We'll see how long you get to keep your license."

Your eyes widened in shock. Would he really ruin your career over this? And all of a sudden, the mantle of "protector" became subjective in your mind. You swallowed nervously, regarding him with unease.

In a sudden move, you raised your knee, aiming straight for his groin, hoping to take him by surprise.

He was way ahead of you, and he dodged your knee along with the follow up attacking from your punches and kicks.

You were backed up against the wall, one of his hands easily held both your wrists above your head.

"Cute," he murmured, his voice mockingly soft, as though you're struggling amused him. "Should I be insulted that you think you can fight off Blüdhaven’s ‘protector’? Those defense classes they make you lawyers take get worse and worse each year -"

You collided your forehead with his nose.

"Shit!" He swore, then huffed a laugh, raising his free hand to wipe at the trickle of blood trickling from his nose, and looked down at his hand. The distraction you hoped for wasn't effective as you struggled against his hold, which was rock solid.

"I think you broke my nose." He said as a matter of factly. "How's your head?"

"Fine!" You snapped at him, fighting to keep your vision from blurring at the edges. That was the wrong angle to use, you thought, cursing yourself for forgetting the lessons you got from your self-defense training.

"Yeah?" He sounded doubtful. "Not throbbing anywhere? Like over here," he gave a gentle tap to your temple.

"Ow!" The point he pressed shot excruciating pain throughout your head, and your vision blurred even more.

"Yeah, valiant effort on your part." He commented, his voice growing more and more muffled as you struggled to... to...

He snapped his fingers in front of your eyes. "Hey, hey, no. No falling asleep. You gave yourself a concussion."

"Get... out of my home," you slurred.

"Can't do that either." He sighed. "I'd be leaving you for dead." He grinned. "That wouldn't be very heroic of me."

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Well, this is certainly the most creative way he had to keep a woman up all night, Dick thought to himself, bringing the smelling salts up to your nose.

"Ah, christ!" You exclaimed, jerking away from the violent stench. "Why do you even have these with you?"

"You'd be surprised how often head injuries can occur in my line of work." He explained, putting them away. "I've had to keep myself awake after a lot of brawls."

You nodded, eyeing him wearily. It was so odd how casual he was acting about this entire situation. You felt like you were a prisoner in your own home, with him as a friendly warden.

"How's your nose?" You asked, your hands rubbing your temples to try and ease the pain.

"Eh," he shrugged, looking at his reflection on your phone. "I've had worse."

He demanded on staying until he confirmed you were better. When the throbbing stopped, he did a quick assessment of your vitals using some kind of gadget you've never seen before.

The following afternoon, you came back to a package resting on the pile of mail on your kitchen counter.

There was a note on top, scrawled in sharp, hurried letters: "Thank me later."

Suspecting who it might be from, you carefully turned the folder over, spilling its contents—a stack of photos showing Carmine Falcone in a close conversation with Owen MacKenzie, the owner of MacKenzie Buildings.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Present Day

"Let me guess," Dick said, arms crossed as he leaned against his desk. "You’re suggesting there’s a connection between MacKenzie’s death and his meeting with Falcone."

You nodded. "Just speculation for now, but it’s no secret Falcone’s been after those developments. I think he made MacKenzie an offer he didn’t like, and the next day…"

Dick’s gaze narrowed, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of his desk. "So, what do you need from me?”

"You have access to the autopsy report," you replied, leaning forward. "If we can prove it was murder we can keep those properties out of Falcone’s hands.”

He studied you, scratching his head. "That’s making a lot of assumptions."

“Which is why I came to you,” you pressed, holding his gaze.

He raised a brow, lips quirking in mild amusement.

"If we’re right, we could keep dozens of families from getting pushed out onto the streets," you said, more earnestly.

After a long beat, Dick sighed and nodded. "I’ll see what I can do."

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Later That Night

Either that concussion affected your memory, or it dulled your self-preservation instincts, Dick mused as he watched you. He couldn't fathom why you kept diving headfirst into life-threatening situations.

You climbed the scaffolding at an abandoned construction site, slipping past rusted barriers until you reached the eighth floor. Perched on a narrow ledge, you crept toward a makeshift office in the corner—little more than a desk and chair surrounded by half-finished walls. Kneeling, you pulled out a lock-picking set and made quick work of the drawer, glancing over your shoulder once before opening it.

A low chuckle sounded behind you. "Not a shred of self-preservation in that little body of yours."

You jumped, heart pounding, and spun around to find Nightwing leaning casually against a support column, arms crossed over his chest.

"God," you muttered, trying to steady your breathing, "I thought you were a -"

"Bad guy?" He chuckled, tilting his head. "What exactly would you have done?"

"Maybe tase you," you shot back, turning back to sift through the documents in the drawer.

In two strides, he was beside you, looking over your shoulder at the papers. "What are we looking at?"

You glanced up at him, momentarily struck by his proximity. It took a beat too long for you to refocus, the sheer size and quiet intensity of him throwing you off balance.

"I’m looking for a ledger or a blueprint - anything tying this site to MacKenzie."

Nightwing raised a brow. "The project’s been transferred to Falcone. Announced just this morning."

"Do you believe that?"

He sighed, arms crossed. "Alright, trouble. Enlighten me - what’s your theory?"

"You really need me to spell it out?" you asked, arching a brow.

He smirked. "You think Falcone’s behind MacKenzie’s death."

You nodded. "A friend in Blüdhaven is working on getting me his autopsy report, and - "

"Oh, a friend?" he interrupted with a teasing tone. "Must’ve gone through all the right channels to get that, yeah?"

You frowned. "Of course."

He leaned in, the playful spark still in his eyes. "You know, a real friend would’ve gotten it for you just cus. No questions asked."

"Did anyone tell you." His voice was lower now, softer. "You have pretty eyes."

You stifled a blush, hoping your mask hid the heat rising in your cheeks. His gaze softened as it lingered on you, just a shade too long, his lips curling in a way that made your pulse quicken.

You were overcome with a need to defend Dick after Nightwing’s comment. "He's more noble than you," you said.

And oh god, if the irony alone didn't make Dick want to burst out laughing. Pull yourself together, he said to himself.

Thrown off, you glanced away, muttering, "Just… let me know if you see anything with MacKenzie’s name on it."

A low ding from the far end of the floor interrupted your sentence. You both froze, watching as the elevator doors slid open, and heavy footsteps echoed into the hollow silence. You quickly locked the drawer and put everything back in place.

Before you could even react, Nightwing’s arm was around your waist, pulling you back toward the edge of the building. He fired his grappling hook to the floor above, tugging you both up to safety. His hold on you was firm yet controlled.

Landing, you were acutely aware of every inch of him pressed against you, his gaze unreadable as he raised a gloved finger to his lips, signaling for silence. You swallowed, pulse racing, unable to tear your attention away from the solid, unyielding warmth of him beside you.

"Destroy every file on that table," a voice ordered. "Burn it all if you have to. I don’t want any trace left of his fingerprints here."

Your eyes widened. Proof that MacKenzie had been involved after all. You looked up at Nightwing, who nodded, clearly understanding the gravity of the moment.

The voice spoke again, sending a thrill of hope through you. "And make sure they do the same over at the south location. We don’t need loose ends."

Your eyes met Nightwing’s, urgency clear in your expression. There was still a chance to get evidence.

The smell of smoke drifted up from the floor below, mingling with the crisp night air as flames started licking up from the table and chair. You looked at Nightwing, panic flashing in your eyes. He didn’t move until the elevator dinged again, signaling the men’s departure.

"We need to get to that second site," you whispered, barely able to contain your urgency.

Nightwing’s gaze hardened, his earlier playfulness replaced by a steely resolve. "I need to get there. You’re going home."

"But-"

"No buts," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You want to help these people? Stay out of sight and leave the dangerous work to me. Trust me—this is my city."

For a moment, you considered arguing back, but something in his gaze warned you not to push him further. Instead, you gave a reluctant nod, allowing him to guide you away.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

There was a knock at your window.

You look up from your phone, already ready for bed in your pijama shorts and tube top. You see his outline through the glass as you aproach the window, already half-expecting bad news as you open it cautiously. You are met with Blüdhaven’s protector, leaning on the rail of your balcony, clutching his side, blood seeping through the cracks of his suit.

"Hey," he rasped, short breathes coming out of cut lips with a pained smirk as he raised a USB. "Got your evidence."

"You’re bleeding," you said, your voice a mix of shock and concern.

"Only a little," he grunted, but when he stumbled, you caught his arm, guiding him inside before he collapsed entirely. "You should see the other guy."

He helped you remove the top of his suit, leaving him bare to his hips. You tried not to linger too much on the ridges of hard-defined muscles lining up his chest, arms and stomach - it was a challenging endeavor.

Your hands moved carefully as you cleaned the gash on his side, trying not to let your worry show. "You should’ve gone to a hospital."

"They ask too many questions," he said with a wince but tried to smile. "And I’d rather have you play nurse."

Huffing, you rolled your eyes, but his words sent your pulse racing. You could feel his breath close to your cheek as you look down, the faint brush of his gloved fingers against your arm as you worked.

"Ive got a first aid kit. One moment." You said, getting up and bringing the white box that was kept on the top of your bookshelf. You've had some practice stiching up wounds back when your little siblings would get scrapes on the playground. You even wanted to be a doctor when you were a kid. Before you decided studying law was more interesting. Especially in a city like Bludhaven.

He drew in a gasp as you carefully threaded the needle, stitching up his wound. Finishing up, you placed a gauze bandage around the affected area, tisking. "You should still go get it checked out."

His fingers gently wrapped around your wrist, making you look up at him. Your eyes flickered to his, and for a second, wondering what color they were behind his mask.

“You dont need to worry about me,” he said softly, his fingers coming to play with the hem of your crop top. Your skin tingled where his touch brushed you. "But... I like that you do."

His words hung in the air, and your pulse raced as his gaze dropped to you lips, then back to your eyes.

“We shouldn’t-” you started, but before you could finish, his hand slid up under the back of your shirt, his warm fingers sending tingles along their path.

“I know,” he whispered, but then he pushed you towards him, lips pressing softly against yours.

Your hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. You took a moment to orocess the fact that you were kissing a stranger. It coukd be anyone under that mask. The need to know clawed at you.

"Nightwing?" You asked.

"Yes trouble?" He wispered, lowering his lips to lay kissed down your neck.

You felt your cheeks warm as your shoulders rose. "D-do you do this often? Sleep with people you save?"

He grinned then, nipping your earlobe as his hand, covered in calluses and scars reached around you, pulling you onto his lap. Gasping, you could feel his hardness on your silk shorts.

"Only when they take such good care of me." He asnwered, grinding up against you, brushing your sensitive clit in the process. "You know, to return the favor."

You gasped and he repeated the movement a few more times, until you were riding him still separated by your layer of clothing.

"You're gonna open-" You wimpered when a particularly long brush of his Dick sent a powerful sensation down your core. "-Your stitches. This... this isn't a good idea."

"It's a good thin% that you're here to fix me up then, isn't it?" He challenged, an evil grin playing at his lips.

You moaned and shook your head, still trying to think logical. "It will hurt."

"It hurts more not being inside you now, trouble." He wispered- no, whined- as his lips brushed your ear. "Please, put me out of my misery."

His finger slipped under your shorts and between your folds. "Fuck!" He caught his lower lip between his teeth, the bit leaving a beautiful read mark on his gorgeous lips. "You're so wet, trouble."

Unable to look away from him, you whimpered as his fingers brushed your insides.

"I dont even know who you are," you wispered in disbelief, more so to yourself than to him. "I don't even know your name,"

A small, curious part of him wondered how you'd react if he pulled off his mask and presented you with the very same face that's been working with you this past week at the station. Your "good friend" detective Grayson.

"I'm no one," he said instead. "Come here, baby."

A minute later, his suit was discarded on your carpet, along with your pijamas, as the two of you gasped and writhe against each other on your couch. You were riding him, the feeling of him filling you up was extacy. And his view provided him with an image of you panting on top of him, red lips parted as your hair fell in messy stands around your face and shoulder. "Trouble," he moaned. "You're so fucking sexy. Oh my god."

"Thanks, you like... a seven." You joked, then squealed, arching your back as he rose and bit your collarbone, driving into you hard.

"For that," he growled, a wolfish grin playing on his lips as he eyed the new bite mark forming on your skin. "I'll keep you up all night."

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

"Y/n?"

You looked up from your computer to see your co-worker standing nearby, balancing a cup of coffee and a stack of files. She offered you a shy smile.

"Detective Grayson from the station is here for you."

"Oh, thank you!" you replied, quickly standing and smoothing your skirt and blazer. Nearly tripping in your heels, you mentally scolded yourself for coming to work instead of calling in sick; you could’ve used more sleep.

At the front entrance, Dick waited in uniform, coffee in hand, his usual bright smile already in place.

"Good morning," you greeted him with as much energy as you could manage.

"Morning," he replied, grinning. You couldn’t help but wonder what he put in his coffee to always look so chipper.

He held up a folder. "Here are the autopsy reports you asked for."

Your eyes lit up. "You got them? Amazing!" Taking the folder, you looked up at him gratefully. "Thanks, Dick."

"Happy to help," he said, dimples appearing as he smiled down at you. "I’ve got to get back, but let me know how the case goes, yeah?" He turned toward the elevator, giving you a casual wave.

"I will! Have a great day!"

As you watched him leave, someone cleared their throat behind you. Turning around, you found Lily standing there, a slightly nervous expression on her face.

"Hey," you said slowly. "Is everything okay?"

Saying nothing, she took your arm gently and lifted her phone, angling the camera so you could see yourself in selfie mode.

Your hand shot to your mouth in shock.

Clear as day, a bite mark peeked out from your collarbone. "Oh god."

You felt your face heat up as realization hit. How many people had already seen that? And oh god! Dick definitely saw it too!

Meanwhile, in the elevator, Dick allowed himself a small, satisfied grin.

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Great points of today’s Pearl ep (a recap of my freak-outs, some of which will be getting their own posts)-

Exclusively spoilers below this line:

Cleo asking Pearl if she’s okay and Scott offering her a life if she goes red. Pearl defending herself when Scott says she keeps making enemies.

Cleo enabling Pearl and Scott trying to stop her. The eventual agreement that she can kill Gem or Joel if negotiations don’t work.

Never did I think I’d see the day but Gem attacking Pearl and Cleo responding with “She’s not done anything to you Gem!” And defending her? My neurons are firing lads.

Scar asking Pearl if shes okay?

BigB is officially fired from the GGGG, and the world possible person (Cleo) caught him doing it.

Impulse trying to do a British woman voice and failing so hard that Cleo fails to recognize her own quote.

Pearl catching Skizz and Mumbo like vermin under their base. Mumbo trying to convince her that her teammates don’t really love her because they won’t give her a life and trying to get her to betray them so she won’t snitch that Skizz is under their base. AND SHE DOES BETRAY THEM?? HELLO?

Bonus Imp and Skizz podcast except Mumbo and Pearl are Impulse in order to keep Mumbo and Skizz’ vid from being just them sneaking.

Ren wanting to kill Grian because he’s the one causing them all their pain and recruiting Pearl, Scar, and BigB… Watcher fans come get yall juice.

JOEL ALSO ASSUMING PEARL’S TEAM DUMPED HER?? Her referring to the parrots as “the canaries” and actually getting the fast and furious reference which does automatically put her in Joel’s good graces.

Mumbo and Skizz immediately sighing after they fail to kill the people coming to visit Pearl. Pearl then getting Mumbo and Skizz to reassure her that she has been making friends and her teammates are wrong.

Scott silently leading her away and telling her that Mumbo is under their base, and Pearl pretending she had no idea anyone was there and she’s been building the whole time. Mumbo lying for her???? Hello?? Mumbo trying to offer Scott the same deal he gave Pearl and Scott refusing?

“Ya know, I have no reason to go against Scott this season. I just think it’s funny. And that’s what I do every season! I do a little fun, I have a little glee, I have a little laugh and it’s, I dunno. But if you make a bunch of allies then nobody wants to kill you right? Right.”

MOON FAST! “You go moon! Look at that cousin in the sky!”

“I knew tnt minecarts were a bad idea. That’s why I don’t touch them with a ten foot pole.” VIOLENT LIMITED LIFE FLASHBACK

Pearl wanting her team’s approval of the base! Cleo calling her very talented!

This moment:

Martyn: Come on, let red Pearl out to play!

Pearl: No, look as much as she would love to, it’s too early for red Pearl. She can stay where she is.

Gem and Pearl getting along for a brief moment to watch the boys be stupid.

Pearl telling Scott not to trust BigB and Cleo saying BigB is working with the devils… Nosey Neighbor fans weep, Pearl and Cleo duo (I don’t know their name) fans cheer

PEARL SHOOTING BIGB WHILE CLEO CHEERS HER ON!!! NOSEY NEIGHBOR FANS WEEP PEARL AND CLEO DUO FANS CHEER

Pearl shooting Martyn?? Oh she’s got blood lust now!

“I’m in me mum’s car!”

Pearl, Tango, and Bdubs just watching the chaos and refusing to cross the bridge.

No Pearl deaths!!!!

[yappielestappie]

Some lestappen thoughts in these trying times:

I think Max and Charles have a bond unlike anyone else in F1, even though they’re not that close of friends. I’d even go so far as to say they’re trauma bonded.

We all know Jos was downright horrible. It’s quite reasonable to assume that this was very hard on Max as a child, and that he felt alienated and alone (recall the quote of him saying it would’ve been nice to be able to play football with kids his age, sometimes). The only times he got to hang around with kids his age was on the race track. And who was always there? Always at the top? Always challenging him? Charles Leclerc.

Charles, meanwhile, had the opposite. He had a entire support system built around his racing career. He had both brothers and his godfather with him, and a fathers love to guide him through. In his teens, he lost both Jules and his father, and suddenly, the only consistent familiar part of racing that remainder from his childhood, would have been Max.

Meanwhile, while Charles was suffering this loss, Max was in Formula 1, in a top team, doing quite well, and had picked up a support system (albeit a likely limited one) in Daniel Riccardo. I think Charles was extremely jealous of Max when he also got to F1 in 2018. Their whole lives, they’d been opponents, and then Max beat him to F1 by 3 years & had everything Charles did not (a good seat, a father, an older F1 driver to guide him). I also think that’s why the Austria 2019 podium ended up being such a big conflict. It was a lot more than just a win to Charles. It was proving himself.

Now, they’ve both matured (Daniel helped Max and Seb helped Charles). They can look back on their karting days fondly, and they both recognize that the only real supportive part of their karting careers that still remains, is each other. All the hatred they had for one another has turned into support, and a kind of respect that very few drivers have for one another.

They have something special. It’s undeniable. There’s no other drivers on the grid that have history anything like them (Pierresteban could be discussed but that’s a whole mess). And now I think they’re old enough to realize they have something special.

Max genuinely cares about Charles. It’s obvious. Their racing is so much different to anyone else Max goes wheel to wheel with. Leclerc is the only driver I’ve ever seen him apologize to. The whole “Charlie I’ve got a space for you!” Thing is still blowing my mind. Max talks about Charles like he’s the only one Max actually wants to race, like Charles is the only person worthy of challenging him. He rates Charles over everyone else even when he fucks up “come on Charles man, too many mistakes” comes to mind.

And Charles is the same way right back, he just usually has a bit more shame. It’s worth noting that he speaks highly about a lot of other drivers, but Max always seems special. He compliments max out the wazoo sometimes. It’s clear that he sees Max as the very best - as the benchmark to beat. But more than that, he defends Max just like we do. Charles always supports Max’s moves on Lando, even when they’re clearly in the wrong. He supports Max’s aggressive racing, claims to LIKE it even, when Max is being constantly harassed by the fans and media.

There’s something between them. Some unspoken reason why they support each other like this and the only conclusion I can come to is that the memories they have of each other are inseparable from their memories of racing. They’ve been competing at the top since they were 6 years old. They know how to be rivals better than they know how to do anything else in the world.

I don’t know if they ever hang out outside of F1. I don’t know if we’ll ever see them interact again once Max retires. But I do know that they’ve shaped each other in a way that will impact them until the day they die. Every untainted memory from their childhoods is about each other. All the memories of loss and abuse are separate to their memories of each other. They are the only thing that remains.

The most fundamental part of racing for Max, is beating Charles. And the most fundamental part of racing for Charles, is beating Max. Everyone else on the grid is irrelevant- an obstacle. They are two halves of the same story and I think that’s more beautiful than any romance book I’ve ever read.

oh anon you are so absolutely right. listen for me, it's the fact that we can talk all day about lestappen and ship them or let our imaginations and minds go wild with w/e but fundamentally? at the end of the day? there is also substance to it - even any form of fandom aside, there are simply facts about them that make them such a beautiful dynamic. there is something so mesmerizing about the level on which they drive, perform, their talents and skills and the way they grew up with and around each other in a sense. the beautiful juxtapositions, the red strings of fate, the way their paths kept crossing and intertwining even before they raced each other again (suzuka being max' first proper f1 test drives and then jules etc.)... there is just something cosmic about them that (as stated in some previous post) almost boils down to THEM BOTH BEING LIBRAS which is still driving me insane. the balance. the way this just screams UNIVERSE just as partners in life, as twin flames, as two sides of the same coin, two weights on a scale... again, not even saying this is related to the fandom angle of romance. like you said it almost runs deeper than that. and i, personally, refuse to be normal about it the same way the two of them are never truly normal about each other.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I just read this ask about skin care and i had a bit of a similar ask

What would bot think about eyes colors ? They only know yellow, red and blue ones, so when they see brown, black, green, heterochromia or grey ones (i do have grey eyes, it is a sign of a lack of melanin in your body (im the defenition of being white asf i can't go outside without sunscreen)), how would they react to that?

They would find it facinating.

Cybertronians come into being with many various optical lens colors. The coloration has very little to do with function or frame type when a bot is born naturally. Some say it connects to the color of the spark. Others swear up and down that optic color ties each mech to a Prime. The various religious cults across Cybertron used to herald specific colors as being more pure than the others. Science, however, dictates that optical lens coloration is completely randomized for mecha born of the Well of Allsparks. There is no divine reasoning behind it. The cold forged are a different story, that with most low caste bots being given red optical lenses in order to help them work better in low light areas. The Prime is also another similar case since every single Prime to have carried the Matrix has been recorded having blue optics. Most high caste bots chalked the low caste and the Prime's optical lens colorations always coming out the same as being Primus's divine ordainment of functionalism.

Both Optimus and Megatron shut such views down after they came into power in their respective factions.

With all that stated, I believe the bots would think eye colors are interesting, and maybe even a little worrying considering their own history. Seeing as humans can't pop out of the ground randomly, the bots look at their eye colors as a denotation of birth function, at least for the most part. Those with blue, grey, or green eyes tend to come from the colder regions of Earth, generally being of paler skin. As such, the bots tend to look at them as the flight frames of Earth due to the relative rarity of the colors and their nature as recessive genes. Flight frames on Cybertron were not particularly common after all. Brown eyed humans are seen as the grounders of Earth, being most common but often quite resourceful and hardy. The bots do recognize that in light of modernization, it is now difficult to decipher the 'frame type' of most humans, but they still take note on instinct.

The eyes of humans are fascinating, especially those with unusual colors. The ones with odd eyes are the triple changers, beastformers, and predacons of humanity. Rare in the extreme, but gifted in something unique. Humanity is an interesting race, and while the bots are well aware that humans don't technically have frame types like they do, the comparisons come anyway.

[gerec]

Whenever you’re getting back into fic recs - Erik whump please please please it’s so hard to find

Hi Anon!

There are lots of great Erik whump fics on Ao3; here are some favourites.

Also, check out Redring91 's and Groot_the_tree 's fics in general as they have written a treasure trove of hurt!Erik stories!

Spark Me Up by blarfkey

"This is Erik raw. This is Erik lost. This is Erik looking at Charles like he is the only piece of wreckage in a vast ocean. The only star in the sky.

And such a look does things to Charles."

After ten years, they are both starving for each other.

All About Love by kath_ballantyne, treasuredleisure

He wants a comfortable night, enough money to last him a while, and a distraction from the grueling monotony of his life on the streets.

But the kind man in the alleyway gives Erik something he needs the most; something he never thought he could ever obtain.

Subject E by Ook

In which Subject E, unwilling medical experiment, runs away from the lab which has him captive, and is taken in by Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

For these two men by novera_nope

When Erik has a panic attack on the plane, even an emotionally stunted man as Logan realizes the nature of the relationship between Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr.

Be dead, be alive, be something in between by The_Aleph

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Major.”

“Forgive me when I say the feeling is far from mutual.”, he grimly took the hand: “Goodbye, Professor Xavier.”

He turned to walk out of the room, but before leaving he stopped by him, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up to whisper in his ear:

“You are no longer my problem. The Professor is now your Master. I heard some things about him. I wouldn’t anger him. See you.”

Stryker threw him back on the floor and left without another word. Left him alone. Alone with a foreign human. The room was warm. He started to tremble.  

In Solitude by Red

In all their time on the road, of course they'd slept together. They'd been close as lovers, but never--despite Charles's best efforts--had they been sexual.

Why now, in a tiny Paris hotel, Charles doesn't know. He can't even look to see, but it's not like he's about to deny Erik after all this time.

Need by unearthlydust

Erik’s gaze is so haunting, so evocative. Logan recognizes that look, for he has seen it many times in the past when he looked into the mirror, his broken and lost self staring back at him. It’s too familiar, too close to home, and he doesn’t want to be reminded of his dark past.

Peaceful thoughts, peaceful thoughts.

Skin to Skin by TurtleTotem

Erik, freshly rescued from solitary confinement, hasn't touched another person in years.

Five times Charles made the first move and one time Erik did.

you're trying to save me (stop holding your breath) by seemeunseelie

Erik arrives at Westchester one night with a stolen government file labeled Xavier, C. and a bullet lodged in his side.

When Erik becomes unbalanced, Emma presents him with three options: go back to Charles for three months and learn to deal with whatever he has going have going on, lose his Brotherhood, or let Emma control his mind.

He really only has one choice.

Hushed by Redring91

A storm rages outside, but there are worse things to weather, and Erik can’t sleep.

Sleep by Groot_the_tree

The bed next to him dipped and he jumped, looking around. Logan was sitting next to him, the cigar was gone but the smell was still there. For some reason, it was comforting to Erik, giving him something to focus on other than the panic.

“Just breath, Bub,” Logan said. - Erik and Logan share a room after Erik has been broken out of the Pentagon. They talk and it leads to something they'll never talk about again. Or perhaps they will.

Fever Pitch by Wolfcry22

Dealing with a metal manipulating mutant with a fever isn’t something Charles was prepared for.

Wir Schützen Was Wir Lieben by Cylin

Erik comes back to the mansion hurt. The kids try to help - they really try - but things escalate. What has happened to Erik affects all their relationships, but most severely Charles's and Erik's.

Reverberation by Redring91

Sound, like magnetism, travels in waves. After being deprived of metallic resonance for so many years, Erik suddenly finds himself drowning in it.

Stricher by Cylin

Prompt fill from the kink-meme: You know, I've only seen stories with Charles as the rent boy or the prostitute, never Erik. Do something, I would like to read heartbreaking stories with Erik as a prostitute.

Vulnerability by TheRedGlass

An attack while recruiting leaves Erik horribly injured but Charles faces a challenge in getting him medical help and has to improvise.

[yngikr]

Mr. Loverman

the satosugu kfc closed in japan and i got sad

*

The night was quiet, the streetlights casting long, somber shadows on the cracked pavement. Gojo stood alone in front of the old KFC, a place that held memories that had clung to his heart for years. It was just a boarded-up building now, forgotten by the world—but to him, it was so much more.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, eyes hidden behind his blindfold, even though it was well past midnight. He’d come alone, as he often did, drawn by some quiet pull to revisit this place where he’d last seen his best friend, his brother in all but blood.

Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto. They had been unstoppable once—a force that everyone feared, two halves of a whole. They had been so young, so sure of their own strength. Back then, they had thought they could change the world. But the world had other plans, and they had been split, torn apart by choices, by dreams that no longer aligned.

Oh, what am I supposed to do…

The song drifted through his mind, its melancholic melody whispering truths he hadn’t allowed himself to feel. The years had passed, but that day at the KFC stayed vivid in his memory, forever etched into the creases of his mind. He remembered the way Geto had looked, standing just across from him, resolute and unwavering in his decision to leave. His eyes had been full of conviction—conviction that Gojo, even with his limitless power, couldn’t understand or shake.

They had fought. Not physically, but with words sharp enough to leave scars that never healed. Gojo had tried to pull him back, to make him see reason, but Geto was already too far gone. His dream of a world without non-sorcerers had twisted him into someone Gojo no longer recognized.

And yet, in that moment, in that KFC, Gojo had seen a glimmer of the friend he once knew. For a fleeting second, he’d thought Geto would change his mind, that he would come back.

But he hadn’t.

He had turned and walked away, leaving Gojo standing there, alone with his pride and his heartbreak, watching the only person he had ever truly let in disappear from his life.

Gojo leaned against the building, the empty storefront now a ghost of its former self, just as he was a ghost of the person he used to be when Geto was still by his side. His fingers brushed against the cracked paint of the boarded-up window, as if he could somehow reach back through time, back to that day when everything had changed.

He thought of the countless times they had sat together, laughing and joking, sharing dreams and fears in the way only best friends could. How had it come to this? How had they let the world, their own ambitions, pull them so far apart?

The song lingered in his head, filling the silence with a bittersweet ache.

Without you..

The years had passed, and Geto was gone—truly gone, now. The final battle had left nothing but memories, and Gojo was left to carry the weight of them alone. He’d held onto the hope for so long that somehow, someday, they would find a way back to each other. But that hope was gone now, shattered like glass, scattering into pieces he couldn’t put back together.

He laughed softly, a hollow, broken sound that echoed in the empty street. It was funny, in a cruel way, how much of himself he had poured into that friendship, into that belief that they could somehow overcome anything. But life had a way of taking, and taking, until there was nothing left but memories.

With a deep breath, he stepped back, taking one last look at the rundown building, his vision swimming slightly. This place was a graveyard for the past, a reminder of the brother he’d lost, the life he’d once believed they’d share. But as much as it hurt, he knew it was time to let it go.

Gojo turned away, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips—a sad, reminiscent smile, filled with the weight of everything they’d been and everything they could never be. He would carry Geto with him, in every battle, every step forward, even if Geto was no longer there to stand beside him.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Gojo whispered, almost to himself, “Goodbye, Suguru.”

Then, with his hands still in his pockets, he walked away, the empty KFC fading into the darkness behind him as the song drifted softly in his mind, a last farewell to the only person who had ever truly known him.

I’m Mr. Loverman

[mclacedes]

The Idea of You (LN4)

3. The Idea of Vulnerability

summary: in which you and lando finally talk after the new year's

previous ••• next

WARNINGS: dialogues about anxiety, 90% soft angst (nothing too deep/dark) and the other 10% fluff. enjoy!

wc: 2.6k

“i can face anything that comes our way.”

5:30pm — january 1st

you were still at home, freshly bathed, scrolling through your phone as the memories from last night kept replaying in your mind. you’d just posted some pictures on instagram, but instead of easing your mind, it only made you feel worse.

you couldn’t stop overthinking everything. had you done something wrong? said something you shouldn’t have? the silence from him had been deafening. no texts, no calls. it was like he’d vanished without a trace.

you stared at your phone, the unanswered messages glaring back at you, each one amplifying the ache in your chest. part of you wanted to believe he’d just been busy, that there was some reasonable explanation for why he hadn’t shown up, for why he’d left you waiting. but the other part… that part whispered doubts, darker thoughts that made your heart sink.

it had been almost 10 hours since you’d left his family’s house; 10 hours since his mother had looked at you with that mix of confusion and pity, saying she had no idea where her son was; 10 hours since you’d woken up to find nothing of him left—no note, no text, not even a clue.

and still, that’s all you got. no closure, no explanation. just the hollow silence stretching on, each minute making it harder to shake off the feeling that maybe you’d been the only one who thought last night had meant something.

in the midst of wondering if he’d lied to you regarding his feelings, if nothing of that was real, your phone buzzed, snapping you out of the spiral.

it was him.

your heart stuttered at the sight of his name lighting up your screen. you hesitated, thumb hovering over the message before you finally opened it.

lando: “i’m sorry for last night. can we talk?”

you stared at the words, feeling the knot in your chest tighten again. you weren’t sure you were ready to face him. not when he’d ghosted you after such an intimate moment, not when you felt like you’d done something wrong. but it was stronger than you.

before you could decide what to respond, your phone buzzed again.

lando: “i understand if you don’t want to, but… i could never forgive myself if i didn’t try to make this right.”

a pause. then another message.

lando: “i’m sending a car over to you. it might get there in 20.”

20 minutes. no room for you to overthink, to hide away. you sighed, getting up and glancing at your reflection in the hallway mirror. the person staring back at you looked as uncertain as she felt, but there was something else too, something you didn’t quite recognize. curiosity? hope? maybe both.

you quickly changed into something that wasn’t your pajamas and did a little casual no-makeup makeup, even though you didn’t feel like yourself. you didn’t even know if you wanted to look good for him anymore. maybe you just wanted to look like you were moving forward. like you could keep going, no matter what he had to say.

by the time you heard the car pulling up outside, you had barely settled your nerves. the air felt colder than it should have as you opened the door and walked toward the black suv, its engine still humming softly in the quiet of the afternoon.

you stepped out into the chilly evening, nerves fluttering in your stomach. the black alfa romeo looked sleek, intimidating almost, under the fading light, and for a moment, you hesitated at the door. you could turn back. you could stay inside, keep yourself safe. keep your heart tucked away.

but you knew you wouldn’t.

the driver sat behind the wheel, staring straight ahead, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. you didn’t even acknowledge him as you opened the door and slid into the back seat.

the drive was quiet, but not in a comforting way. tension clung to the air, thick and suffocating. you barely noticed the city passing by, the lights flickering through the windows. your mind was elsewhere—on him, on what had happened the night before, and on what might happen next, on everything unsaid that might be perching over when you finally met his gaze again.

what would you say to him? that you were mad? but how could that be it when you spent the whole afternoon going over all the worse case scenarios, worried about him?

but weren't at all sad. you were more like disappointed and frustrated and worried, but not sad.

all your emotions tangled together, messy and indistinguishable, leaving you unable to tell where one ended and the other began. you kept your stare fixed outside, watching the streets pass by, yet feeling a million miles away.

would you fight it out, force him to hear every thought and frustration clawing at you? or would you sit and listen to him, swallowing down your feelings and dismissing the gnawing ache that had been eating at you all day?

too many questions, too few answers.

snow-dusted fields passed by outside the window, the landscape serene, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside you.

the car's abrupt stop snapped you back into the moment.

“this is it, miss,” the driver said, looking at you through the rearview mirror. you muttered a quiet, emotionless "thank you" before stepping out of the suv.

the chill of the evening air hit you again as you walked to the front door. everything felt surreal, like it was happening to someone else and Yu were merely an expectator. your pulse quickened, but your legs moved almost on autopilot. the doorbell felt foreign, like you were standing outside of your own body, waiting for the next step, waiting for him.

after less than a minute, he opened the door. there was a nervousness in his movement, the way his hand brushed against the doorframe before he spoke.

“hey…” he said, voice low, like it hurt him to even say the word. “i didn't think you’d actually come…” it felt weird hearing your best friend utter those words.

you shrugged, “yeah, i didn't think i had much of an option there…”

everything felt weird.

these interactions, robotic; his eyes, swollen and frozen; your limbs, hardened, and waves of anxiety rushed and crashed on them as if this encounter were the rising tide against a rock in the bay,

“sorry about that… i didn't know what else to do.” lando’s admission brought in silence as yiu nodded, unsure of what to do. “i cooked. for you.”

you blinked, not sure you heard him right.

him? lando norris? cooking?

“you cooked?” you asked, a bit of disbelief creeping into your voice. you knew he couldn’t cook. you’d seen him try once, and it was… nothing short of disastrous.

lando chuckled, the sound shaky. his hand rubbed nervously over the apron he wore over his white shirt. “yeah, i that’s why i didn’t pick you up, i’m sorry.”

you stood there for a moment, unsure of whether to step in or just walk away. part of you still wanted to run, to protect yourself, but the other part—the part that kept clinging to the hope of what you’d shared—pushed you forward.

“it’s a bit cold, isn’t it?” you said, your voice softer than you intended, hoping he’d understand. you just wanted to be inside, away from the cold. from the ache in your chest.

“yeah, you’re right. come in,” he said quickly, moving out of the way. his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, his hand lingering on the door for a beat too long, like he didn’t know if he should let you in. but you stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the room immediately wrapping around you, contrasting sharply with the cold that had been biting at your skin outside.

the cottage smelled faintly of garlic and something sweet. dessert, maybe. but your stomach twisted, unsure if you could even think about eating yet.

lando closed the door behind you, then gestured towards the living room, where a couple of candles flickered in the dim light, but the atmosphere only felt heavier. the tension hung between you like a thick fog.

you swallowed as you stepped into the room, feeling the sharp edge of all your questions press against the back of your throat. every ounce of frustration, of loneliness, threatened to spill over as you turned around to look at him standing there, staring at you; the nervousness that softened his usual confidence. this was lando, but also someone who felt like a stranger, leaving you torn between resentment and the pull of everything you felt for him.

you laid your bag on the off-white sofa and sighed, feeling all that tension fly over the room; it hung heavy and suffocating both of your hearts.

your stomach was tight, so unsure of what to say. it wasn’t just the ghosting—it was the silence after, the way you had been left in limbo. it felt like he'd abandoned you, like the trust you’d built had over the years just… evaporated.

normally, lando was the first to speak up, he always said he couldn't stand silence — yet that was the only sound in that room.

you could even stay quiet for a second longer, but why should you if all that weirdness with your best friend was something completely out of the ordinary? nothing about this situation was usual, so you spoke first.

“can i ask you why did you leave me?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with everything that's unsaid.

he shifted, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “i’m sorry, i… i just needed some space. to figure things out, you know?” his eyes found yours, apologetic but filled with uncertainty. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i didn’t think i’d be gone that long.”

“but you were,” you replied, your voice wavering slightly, the truth hitting the air between you. “i thought… i thought last night meant something.”

the words stung as they left your lips, but you couldn’t stop them. it hurt, but lando knew he needed to hear it.

he stepped closer, his hand reaching out before falling back to his side. “it did,” he said, voice barely steady. “it meant everything. that’s why i got so scared. i didn’t want to mess it up, didn’t want to drag you into… into all of this.”

you took a breath, the ache in your chest flaring. “all of this? what does that even mean, lando? because from where i’m standing, it feels like you’re the only one holding back.”

he looked down, jaw clenched as he searched for the right words. “i just… i don’t want you to get hurt, to deal with all the mess that comes with me, my life. i’ve seen what it does to people, and you—” he looked back up at you, his gaze intense

“what about me, lando?”

you stood there, not knowing whether you should step closer or stay rooted in place. something about his words felt like a soft surrender, but the silence stretched between you, thick and palpable. his hesitation echoed through the room, louder than anything else.

“you’re different,” he repeated, his voice cracking slightly. “and i’m… fuck, y/n…” his voice came through like a whisper, as if he was afraid that by speaking louder it becomes real, as if he was afraid to jinx it.

you could feel the weight of it, the words hanging like a fog, thick and slow. but you were beyond the fog now. you needed to see it clearly.

“lando,” you said quietly, voice unsteady. “what is it? what’s up with you?” you took a cautious step forward, watching him closely. “you had shut me out before, yes, but after last night… after last night you didn’t even tell me you were leaving. no explanation. no text. i… i thought something had happened to you.”

he flinched, and for a moment, he saw it—the brief flicker of panic in your eyes. it was enough to stop him cold, the way it made him realize just how much he'd been hiding from you. for all the walls he’d built, all the distance he’d put between you, it was in that split second that he understood how deeply his silence had affected you. he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words didn’t come. instead, he found himself at a loss, unable to bridge the gap he had so carefully constructed.

“i thought… i thought you might be going through something, lando,” you whispered, stepping closer, trying to keep the fear from creeping into your voice. “i didn’t know if it was me, or if you were… i don’t know, i thought maybe something bad happened to you. like you just… vanished.”

his eyes darted away from yours for a second, like your words had cut too deep. you could feel the pulse of the silence between you, the kind that felt like it belonged to another world entirely.

he let out a shaky breath, a low sound escaping him. “i’m… sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” there was a rawness to his voice, a vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing from him. “i just… i didn’t know how to… deal with it. with you.”

“deal with me?” you repeated softly, stepping back slightly, the confusion deepening. “deal with me how?”

“i’m scared that i won’t be enough for you. that i’ll somehow mess this up and ruin whatever it is we have. i’ve never been good at… this kind of thing. and i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

the raw honesty in his voice sent a pang through your heart, his fears mirroring some of your own.

“lando… you don’t have to be perfect. i’m not looking for the idea of you. i just… i just want you. i’ve wanted you for so long i feel like I could face everything that comes our way if this is what we want.”

his gaze softened as he looked at you, his eyes searching your face as though trying to commit every detail to memory. “you mean that?”

“every word,” you replied, a shaky smile pulling at your lips. “you want it, we can take it slow as we figure thing out.”

“together, yeah?” he asked.

“together.” you replied.

there was a pause, the vulnerability between you felt tangible, like a delicate thread connecting your fears, your hopes, and all the unspoken words, but something had shifted. he leaned in, his hand gently cupping your cheek. the air was thick and for a second both of you forgot of your concerns and insecurities. all that mattered was right there.

and then, as if the world had changed on its axis, he kissed you. soft, lingering, full of all the things that needed to be said.

you enjoyed the moment as the meaning of your sealing lips hung between you both. it wasn’t going to be easy, nobody said it would. but there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made you think maybe there was hope for whatever this was.

just like lando, you had your own concerns and questions about where the path the two of you had begun paving in the night after the New Year's Day party would lead. there were so many variables, so many probabilities, and yet neither of them seemed to arrive at any coherent answer, as if the feeling had absorbed both of you so that the only thing that went through your minds was "what now?”

now, this present moment that seems to never exist. you can hold on to the "now", but know that it is nothing more than an utopian idea, something that is not necessarily real or practical because time is just the relativity of a life.

so, you stretched out the now and suddenly now was a day from the moment you found yourself in—a week from now, two months from now, a year from now.

where would you two be if everything went wrong?

but nothing would go wrong.

right?

TAGGINGS: @meglouise00 @rawr-12345-blog @norrisonfilm @mattymybeloved @katiascraft @plotpal @sideboobrry11

[deepdreamnights]

I remade the trailer to Robot Monster, to serve as a trailer for a hypothetical remake of... you guessed it, Robot Monster.

Destruction has come, hu-mans, and its silliness will not protect you.

My thoughts and how-to process blog post under the fold.

I made Robot Monster's Trailer Remake primarily with Vidu and with Midjourney.

For most shots I started with a photoshopped midjourney gen (or stack of them), which was used either as a prompt image or starting frame.

Some shots, like the earthquake, were done with start-and-end frames.

Vidu has some quirks for my Roland Emmerich Christ-the-Redeemer shot. I attempted the image several times as a direct image as start frame, but it would reset to a new camera angle each time, rebelling against my inaccurate version:

As the AI could recognize the statue, but not it being in inaccurate surroundings. I eventually used it as a prompt and not a start frame got a good enough shot.

I tended to go for 8-second shots on quality mode, to give me more to cut around and edit. Almost no shots play without some cropping, speed adjustments or other edits in this, and anyone using AI for a larger project is going to find much the same.

While 90% of the shots are from Vidu a few I used Hailuo's Minmax to accomplish. Mainly things like a few low-motion Ro-man talking shots, the computer-communication device, and the motion title card for "electrifying", etc.

Vidu likes to move, a lot, and for stuff that needs subtle movement I sometimes find it helps to mix things up.

I've found that when image prompting for a character, like Ro-Alice, it sometimes helps to do a fullbody and portrait two-for-one. This helps keep the character design consistent, and you can kinda tell which Ro-Man shots I made before I figured this trick out.

I also reused shots of the dinosaurs from my other AI video projects for meta reasons.

Right now it doesn't make videos so much as it makes shots you can weave into videos.

I'm actually impressed at how well it understood the concept of Ro-Man, only giving him a full ape face or a weird tail or the like a couple of times.

My general approach to the concept was "What if you kept the premise the same but had a budget." Whereas in reality you'd never actually get that combo, since if they had money, they wouldn't have made Robot Monster.

It also let me play with a fanon idea I've had for awhile that the Ro-Men were the helmets, and the ape-creature was some biological organism used as a conveyance.

For the audio, I took the audio to the trailer and used Suno's cover-features to both clean up the sound and change the musical style. The back half of the original track was completely warped by the cover process, but I used another bit of trailer-style music to cover that bit, and to extend for the longer ending shot, since my version of the trailer is about 20 seconds longer than the original.

Some prompts utilized:

in a sci-fi lab in a cave, a furry alien monster wearing a spherical helmet with reflective faceplate walks around aubrey plaza in a white sleeveless slip-dress and dark pantyhose in a glass tube, the tube pulses with green light. She is in a glass cylinder, he is walking around it, with curiosity. The scene is menacing, slow movement, pensive. horror movie scene, the tone is tense and frightening. professional lighting and cinematography. Oscar winning, 2003, practical lighting, effects, and costuming.

the robot spider-robots with spherical heads walk around as though searching for something. horror movie scene, the tone is tense and frightening. professional lighting and cinematography. Oscar winning, 2003, practical lighting, effects, and costuming.

the alien ape-creature wearing a space helmet (the robot monster), in a modern city. He throws green lightning from his hand, disintegrating a policeman into ash. Monster-movie sci-fi scene, dramatic camera angles and lighting. Practical costuming and special effects. High budget and high concept.

slow motion fly-through footage, the air is full of slow-moving glowing bubbles. green electric sparks arc from one bubble to the next producing an ominous mood. The scene conveys spreading menace and fear. One long, unbroken shot. filmed on location, effects by weta digital, ILM, stan winston studios, believable and hyper-realistic. Shot on location. trailer shot. high-speed film

All-in-all, a fun project, and one that came along when I really, really, really needed something to concentrate on for long stretches of time.

Make something fun, folks.

[sophieinwonderland]

@systeminquiry

Comments like this make me want to ask, how educated are you on the history of DID?

You speak of small sample sizes, and yet DID as a whole didn't even have more than a couple hundred cases prior to the 70s. Large scale studies prior to the increase in diagnoses weren't feasible. You say that the proof is "word of mouth," and yet you seem to ignore that a lot of psychology and psychiatry has been based on listening to people.

A lot of psychological phenomena can't be objectively measured. And even for what we have found indicators for in the brain later, much of that wasn't until long after the conditions were recognized as real based on psychological research. On talking to the affected group and understanding them.

Despite "multiple personality" being recognized for a hundred years as a real condition, and added to the DSM in 1980, it wasn't until the late 90s that the first neurological studies started being conducted into DID systems.

You expect a higher standard of scientific evidence for endogenic plurality than DID could reach for most of its existence.

And while I would agree that proper sourcing is important, you expect sources for things that aren't reasonable to have source for, like the definition of a community term. You use it as a gotcha when his source for the definition of a community term is from the community that coined it as if that invalidates them as a source.

Because of the nature of community terms, all sources will inevitably lead back to the community. If a doctor isn't citing the community directly, they'll be citing another doctor who is. Or a doctor who cited a doctor who cited a doctor who cited the community. All citation roads for community terms are inevitably going to lead back to the community in question. Because the community is going to be the primary source for definitions of their words.

Moving away from the community terms like "plurality," we come to the actual psychological terms. Despite you repeating the false claim that there is a "massive body" of research that systems only form from trauma, you ignore the quotes from the creators of Structural Dissociation model saying that it might be possible that spiritual practices and hypnosis involve self-conscious dissociative parts of the personality.

Do you believe the creators of the structural dissociation model would be saying this if they agreed with your view that non-traumagenic systems weren't possible? If they believed it was only possible to form self-conscious dissociative parts through trauma?

You also have repeatedly ignored my citations of the World Health Organization's ICD-11. Not only here, but on the post you originally made your reply to.

But maybe you will dismiss this since it also has no sources other than being written by the World Health Organization?

But that seems like a dangerous game to play.

At a certain point, denial of endogenic plurality becomes straight-up dismissal of experts.

If you believe it's impossible to be plural without trauma or a disorder, then that means the America Psychiatric Association is spreading psychiatric misinformation.

If you believe it's scientifically impossible under the theory of structural dissociation to form self-conscious dissociative parts of the personality without trauma, then you are asserting that the creators of the theory of structural dissociation are spreading misinformation about their own theory.

If you believe the only way to experience multiple "distinct personality states" is through DID, then that means the World Health Organization is spreading misinformation about mental health.

And if you do believe these psychiatrists and institutions are indeed spreading medical misinformation, and that there's some scientific consensus that contradicts these works published by the American Psychiatric Association and the World Health Organization, then the burden of proof is on you to show that.

Something which sysmeds have been unable to do, because there is not one single psychiatrist who has ever gone on record claiming it's impossible to be plural without trauma.

https://www.tumblr.com/systeminquiry/764873762516697088/debunking-plurality-in-transgender-mental-health

Prefacing this by reminding people that Transgender Mental Health was reviewed and published by the American Psychiatric Association.

The main reason that this is being cited here is because of the reputation of the publisher in their commitment to making sure that their publications are accurate to our current understanding.

Asking this at the top for anyone who supports this "debunk," is your position that the American Psychiatric Association is publishing medical misinformation?

Anyway, I find that this is a pretty weak "debunking."

The first section defines being plural as "Having two or more people existing in one body or space" (Yarbrough, 2018). The highlighted sections on plurality have no source - these are unsubstantiated claims that contradict the scientific general consensus and research on how systems form, leaving the reader unable to determine whether the information came from a legitimate/reputable source or not. As it is now, the fact that the sections about plurality have no source seems to imply that the author couldn't find a legitimate source with their definition of plurality, instead fabricating explanations.

I'm not actually sure what would constitute a "legitimate source" for the purpose of defining plurality, given that "plural" is itself a community term popularized by non-disordered systems, as opposed to be more medicalized term "multiple" which had previously been used. It would be like trying to find a source for "Otherkin" or "Alterhuman." Any source that you get is going to be from online communities because they are community terms.

Also, the link they use that discusses how systems form is a now-deleted Tumblr post. I doubt it was very credible to begin with, but it's gone now so there's no way to know. 🤷‍♀️

This entire section makes claims about plurality that directly contradicts the body of existing research (see Dorahy et al., 2014 and Dell & O'Neil, 2009, but there are more) with no sources to support what they're saying. I cannot call this reliable or legitimate information if large sections are fictitious.

So basically, the reason this isn't reliable in saying non-traumagenic plurality exists is because... it says non-traumagenic plurality exists?

Can I just say something about a difference I notice when I cite sources compared to when anti-endos cite sources?

Generally, when I cite a source, I'll include a screenshot or quote so people know I'm not just making stuff up. Because I know that most people aren't going to click a 20 page document to read through to find whatever random line I'm using to support my position.

While the author of this Tumblr post does technically cite sources for their claim that Transgender Mental Health contradicts existing research, they don't provide quotes. And when you actually scroll down to their sources and read them, they aren't actually relevant. For example, the Dorahy source...

Entirely about dissociative identity disorder and doesn't address non-DID plurality AT ALL.

It is 100% useless and irrelevant to the topic of plurality in Transgender Mental Health, which discusses non-disordered plurality.

I can't find the Dell study, but seeing as it also is focused on DID, I'm going to assume that it also makes no statements on the existence of non-disordered plurality, and that the person doing this debunk is relying on readers not checking their sources.

The actual scientific scientific consensus!

This "debunk" is unable to find sources saying you need DID or trauma to be plural. The reason for that is because those sources DO NOT EXIST.

And the fact that they use these other sources that only talk about dissociative identity disorder so deceptively, and pointedly refuse to post the exact quotes or screenshots that would relate to plurality in general, makes me think that they know that.

It makes me think that they are intentionally lying and deceiving people, knowingly posting irrelevant sources with the hopes that nobody will look into them.

Many academic sources won't use the word plural because plural is a community term. But what they are painfully clear on is that you don't need to have a disorder to experience multiplicity.

For example, the World Health Organization's ICD-11 phrases this as a saying that you can experience multiple distinct personality states, a term it uses synonymously with DID alters, without having a disorder.

Back in 2012, when defining dissociation in trauma, the creators of the theory of structural dissociation commented on the possibility that spiritual practices and hypnosis could also cause the formation of self-conscious dissociative parts of the personality, albeit in a different way from dissociative identity disorder.

The actual consensus seems to be pretty clear to me.

Despite different words being used, all of these sources are saying the same thing. You don't need to have DID or trauma to be plural, you don't need to have DID or trauma to have multiple "self-conscious dissociative parts." You don't need to have DID or trauma to have multiple "distinct personality states."

The American Psychiatric Association did not publish misinformation when they published Transgender Mental Health. They did not publish something that went against a scientific consensus. They published statements that affirmed the scientific consensus.

To this day, system medicalists have continuously failed again and again to provide even so much as a single Doctor who has said that you need trauma to be plural.

To the extent that they provide sources for these claims, the sources never actually will say what they claim they do. They are consistently misrepresented just as they were by the OP.

Finally, there's one thing that I really want to drive home for sysmeds. Which is that, whether you like this book or not, it is still going to exist. It still was published by the American Psychiatric Association. It still is going to be used to educate psychiatrists and psychologists on how best to treat transgender people. And many of them are going to learn about plurality from this book.

It's very possible that if you are going to a psychologist or a psychiatrist right now for gender related issues, they could have read this book already and have been informed by it.

I just want you to remember that it exists, that it has the American Psychiatric Association's credibility backing it, and every psychiatrist who reads it is going to be just a little bit more accepting towards plurals and a little bit less tolerant towards your hatred.

Enjoy that final thought.

[thesilliestboy]

* Just felt the sharpest pain under my stomach, became extremely worried and confused, only to find out I just needed to use the bathroom.

[fallloverfic]

I love singNsong again reminding people in Side Story that Dokja wanted other people to read TWSA (he wrote reviews and comments! It was his first wish), and he only stopped bothering because people harassed him for it. He didn't gate-keep the story. When he's avoiding talking to Sangah about it at the beginning of ORV, it's because he knows what happens when he tells people about the story, not because he's gate-keeping it from her. He notes he's not proud of his hobby (likely because he's been bullied all through his life, including for reading the thing he loves): he finds it embarrassing to talk about, and better respects her studying Spanish in her free time (learning another language is a generally accepted thing in society). He assumes she won't care or will look at him funny (or worse) for when she learns about the novel he's into.

Basically anyone writing "let's gatekeep ORV" posts because of the anime announcement or because they dislike the manhwa or some other weirdness, y'all are the villains in the scenario.

The literal climax of the story is about sharing ORV with as many people as possible. What story were y'all reading?

[acanthemp3]

sorry for disappearing from tumblr for 3 months without saying anything but im back now :> hiiiiiii :> ill ramble a bit abt why i was gone in the tags. anyway yay hi guys :> good evening :> hows everyone doing :>