#all of which was 'free' because it was with the university

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

truth will set you free // bob reynolds

Summary: You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Word count: 2.6K

Warnings: bob's self-doubt, forced love confession (cause reader is under the influence of a serum), misunderstandings, fluff

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. I didn't want to wait any longer to post this, so it hasn't been proofread, I'm sorry folks!

My first time writing for Bob!!! I hope I did him justice, and I apologize if he's a bit OOC. I'm still trying to figure him out.

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

When you had a hunch, you were usually right. 

It was like a faint whisper in your mind, guiding you through the uncertainty and helping you make the right choice just in time. You could say that instinct was your secret weapon—a trusted friend in moments when logic alone couldn't see the whole picture. Even when doubts crept in, deep down, you knew to listen to that subtle nudge that had saved you more than once.

But this time, you shut it down and ignored all the red alarms. 

Partly because you didn’t want to let the team down, and partly because you convinced yourself you were overthinking.

You pushed forward, dismissing the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of your mind and telling yourself that everything was under control. Yet, deep inside, a small voice still murmured warnings, reminding you that ignoring your intuition could lead to unforeseen trouble.

And that was exactly what happened. 

Regardless of your abilities, certain missions challenged your boundaries, particularly those requiring retrievals from shady labs, which were your least favorite. 

You wouldn’t hesitate to fight aliens, villains from other universes, or even Valentina. But you despised slippery scientists—those who utilized their brains and intelligence to create questionable serums and conduct human trials. 

There was something about their manipulation of life itself, their blatant disregard for morality, that made your stomach churn. You had witnessed the damage firsthand—innocent lives turned into test subjects, minds warped by their greed and arrogance.

You were perceptive and quick-witted, but the tension of the moment when you broke into the lab and the so-called brain people started to fight back caught you off guard. They moved with a calculated experience that belied their appearance, more than someone who spends over 12 hours a day in a white coat, peering at cells through a microscope, would have.

Ava wasn’t fast enough to reach you in time.

And before you could react, a sharp sting shot through your leg—an injection delivered with clinical precision. You barely had time to register what was happening before the world tilted, and everything blurred around the edges. The voices of your teammates were drowned out by the deafening chaos, and then, you were fighting not only to stay conscious but also to try to understand what was being injected into you and what it might do.

Despite the circumstances that led you to the vault on that fateful day, and despite being part of a team of people just like you, as well as all the bad decisions you've made along the way, you had always considered yourself an honest person.

So being injected with a truth serum wasn’t the worst outcome, right?

But that strange sense of detachment wasn’t you. Not at all.

Your instincts, the voice in your head that usually kept you grounded, had fallen silent. They were drowned out by the serum rushing through your veins.

Your mouth moved on autopilot.

No filter.

No control.

Despite your strenuous efforts to keep them contained, words spilled out. Confessions, secrets, and fears poured forth unfiltered and raw.

And there was one confession you simply could not allow to escape.

“It’s probably just temporary,” Yelena said with a reassuring look. “We’ll run some tests when we arrive back at the tower.”

Everything would be fine.

That’s what they promised.

But you weren’t so sure of that.

You had been confined in your room for two weeks, completely isolated. There was no interaction with anyone other than Yelena, who brought you food every day. However, she remained silent, respecting your request. And you battled to keep your words contained, to preserve control over what you might say.

The atmosphere in the tower was tense and divisive, to put it mildly.

Walker thought you were overreacting; he didn’t see the big deal. So what if you couldn’t lie? Did you have something to hide?

Ava and Yelena, on the other hand, seemed sympathetic to your situation. They understood the gravity of what you were going through.

Bucky, who knew what it felt like not to be in control of what you do and say, was also empathetic. He'd even explained the predicament to Sam in hopes he could help him find a solution.

Alexei... Well, he was the same as always.

And then there was Bob.

Adorable, sweet, and awkward Bob.

He had been eagerly anticipating your return from the mission. He missed you when you were gone, even though he lacked the courage to say so out loud.

Bob was confused.

Why hadn’t you come out of your room? Why hadn’t you been around? Had you been hurt during the mission? Had he done something to upset you? Were you mad at him? 

Deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before you got tired of him.

‘You’re too much.’

‘What did you expect, idiot?’

“It was… a tough mission. She needs to be alone.” That was what Yelena had told him in an effort to soothe him, knowing how close he was to you, how much he cared, and how his feelings lingered beyond friendship.

However, her words did not have the expected effect. 

Tonight, he couldn’t endure it any longer. The nightmares had returned, creeping into his mind with a relentless, smothering power.

The darkness had once faded when he sought comfort in your presence, finding solace in your embrace. You had become his safe sanctuary, where the shadows could not reach him.

But now that refuge was gone. 

He stood outside your door, fumbling with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He hesitated, unsure whether to knock or quietly retreat into the shadows. The wait stretched painfully until finally, he drew in a shaky breath, summoning every ounce of courage he had left to reach out.

“Yelena, is that you?” 

Your voice sounded faint through the door, with a tinge of hesitancy that he picked up on.

“I-I’m Bob.” 

He heard you sigh, and he knew you'd approached the door.

“Bob, it’s not a good time.”

His stomach clenched, but he pressed on, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, I-I need you.” His words were filled with desperation. “I had a nightmare.”

There was no immediate answer, only a prolonged silence that seemed to last forever. For a minute, he worried if you were ignoring him, if you didn’t care enough to respond. Minutes seemed to crawl by as he remained rooted in place, caught in the stillness of the hallway. Still, he stayed there, vulnerable and trembling, hoping—praying—that somehow, you would hear his silent plea.

You slowly pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges slicing through the dense silence like a fragile whisper. The dim, flickering light from the hallway cast faint shadows across your face, accentuating the concern etched in your features. His eyes, glassy and pleading, met yours as he hesitated for a while longer.

Without fully thinking, you reached out and pulled him into your bedroom, locking the door behind him. He sank onto the edge of your bed, shoulders quivering, voice barely a whisper as he broke the silence.

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You moved closer instinctively, trying to maintain your composure, fighting the urge to let anything slip. It crushed your heart to see Bob in this condition, knowing you were to blame. You were so set on avoiding him that you hadn't considered how much it would impact him not to have you at his side, especially at night.

“Come here,” you whispered, your voice soothing. Reaching out, you drew him into your embrace, feeling his body relax slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder. 

He clung to you tightly. You stroked his hair, murmuring soothing words and giving him the reassurance he desperately needed.

You stayed there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he gradually found calm. The tension in his body loosened, and his heartbeat steadied into a peaceful rhythm, no longer pounding with dread. 

“Are you mad at me?” he finally asked, his voice small, almost cracking.

“What? No, of course not.”

“You've been locked in your room for two weeks.”

“I know, but—” You bite your tongue, fighting to keep the truth from spilling.

The last two weeks had been easy in some ways, since you had zero contact with anyone. But now, having Bob here with you, in your arms, looking so vulnerable and so starved of affection, your resolve wavered.

“Yelena said something went wrong during the last mission.”

“It did,” the words were out of your mouth before you realized.

‘Don’t ask what happened, please, don’t ask what happened.’

‘Don’t ask what happened, please, don’t ask what happened.’

‘Don’t ask what happened, please, don’t ask what happened.’

He stretched out gingerly, his hand trembling as he gently stroked your arm. “What happened?”

And, like clockwork, the truth spilled out again. “I was injected with a truth serum.”

Bob's eyes widened in amazement. “You–you what?”

“We were in the lab, and this guy appeared out of nowhere. I didn't see him coming. I couldn't react in time, and before I realized it, he’d injected me with a syringe.”

His expression sank as he tried to digest what you had just disclosed. “That's why you've been locked up here.”

You nodded. “I am not sure how much longer the effect will persist. And my mouth can't seem to control itself right now,” you admitted, your tone tinted with frustration. “I keep feeling like I want to say things I shouldn't—as if my thoughts are spilling out before I can stop them. It's like my brain and mouth are warring, and I can't keep the words locked inside.”

“But the team… They know, right? They wouldn’t judge you if you said too much. And it’s not like you had something to hide.” 

Bob struggled to grasp the situation and your reasoning for isolation. 

Although he had just told you that the team would not judge you, he knew Walker would probably make some snide comment, maybe even take advantage of the situation. He still believed that the guy was an asshole.

“It’s not the team I’m hiding from; it’s you.” 

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately saw the impact. It was written all over Bob’s face. And you hated yourself for hurting him, again.

“You… You are hiding from me?” He stumbled over his words, the crack in his tone reflecting the disheartened expression that washed over him. “Why?”

And then it happened. The two weeks of isolation had been pointless. You knew it the moment Bob had knocked on your door and you let him inside. There was no more running.

“Because I can’t be around you,” you started, voice trembling as the truth slipped out. “You make me nervous, and I can’t control myself around you. All I want to do is tell you how much happiness you bring into my days. And I think you’re so damn cute, like you literally make me feel butterflies, and that’s something I haven’t felt since… Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like this before.”

Bob’s eyes widened in disbelief, breath catching as your words flowed out, raw and honest, leaving him dumbfounded. He stared at you, processing, overwhelmed by your confession.

You averted your gaze, ashamed of how exposed you felt. “I’m sorry,” you admitted softly. “I don’t know how to handle these feelings, how much I care for you. I–I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. This is why I stayed away.”

“You–you like me?” He questioned, voice tentative, in astonishment. He was still trying to process what he had just heard. “Me?”

“‘Like’ isn’t even close to describing how I feel. I’m in love with you.”

You cringed as you pushed off from the bed, stepping away from him, overwhelmed by embarrassment.

This wasn’t how you were supposed to confess. You’ve ruined everything.

Fuck the lab. Fuck those scientists. Fuck the fucking truth serum.

As the weight of your words settled in, you wondered if anything could be salvaged from this moment or if the damage had already been done.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed across your arm, making you spin around to face him. His eyes searched yours, shimmering with awe, tenderness, and…hope?

“Y–You mean that?” He whispered, his voice hoarse as if afraid to believe this was actually happening.

“I cannot lie, Bob. Remember? Only the truth is being spoken here.” 

He hesitated briefly before cautiously reaching out, his hand trembling slightly as he cradled your face in his palm. His thumb brushed softly against your cheek, and without thinking, you leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand, and allowing yourself to fall into the moment.

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me.” His voice was tremulous, yet sincere. “When you’re around, everything else just… fades away. You make everything better.” He drew back just enough to stare into your eyes, his mesmerizing blue gaze seeking yours. “I–I love you, too, Y/N.”

“Really?” You were almost afraid to believe it, yet your heart skipped a beat and you could feel your stomach doing somersaults. “You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings, you know.”

“I’m not lying. I promise.”

You reached out, instinctively brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—as if the world had stopped just for you two.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he hesitated.

You shook your head gently, “You’re not taking advantage of me. I want this. I have never wanted anything more.”

His cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but he nodded and leaned in carefully. The space between you narrowed until your lips finally met in a tentative kiss. His lips were soft against yours, just as you’d imagined. One hand clasped your cheek, his fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your jawline. The other rested on your waist, anchoring him as the kiss deepened. 

His fingers curled slightly, grasping your side with gentle firmness. You laced your fingers through his brunette locks, pulling him closer, while your other hand rested on his chest above his heart, feeling the quick throbbing beneath your palm.

As your lips parted for air, still dazed from the moment, Bob rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, eyes still closed, savoring the moment. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted softly.

Your pulse was thumping hard in your chest, not just from the kiss, but also from the exhilarating realization that this moment was merely the beginning of something new. “Me too,” you whispered.

As you both lingered in the moment, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you let out a light laugh, breaking the silence. “Well, I guess the truth serum was good for something after all,”

“I suppose so.” Bob’s lips twisted into a small, bashful smile, and he giggled softly with you.

“Come on.” You took his hand and tugged him toward your bed. “You look exhausted. Let’s get you into bed so you can finally rest properly.”

Bob snuggled beneath the covers, and you slid in beside him, pulling the blankets over both of you. 

Resting your head on his chest, you felt a sense of calm rush over you. Bob wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. You curled up closer, soaking in the warmth radiating from his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. His eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed, and a contented sigh escaped his lips.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for videogeek behind the cut; “Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Today after doing morning chores and eating lun-chuh on the porch, Pa got out the small white ball and webbed glove and the wooden club for the catching game he likes, and Ma packed away the leftover food from lun-chuh and then set up on the porch with Kal and a little hat to keep the sun out of his eyes and some toys for him to play with and a thick little paper record for herself to read through.

Lun-chuh was a big thick pye full of meat and vegetables and “gruh-vee” instead of the usual sweet fruits and syrup, and a big bowl of “suh-ald” with leafy greens and crunchy nuts and raw vegetables covered in a creamy sauce. After Ma put away the leftovers, she’d come back with a glass pitcher full of a pink drink full of small cuboids of ice and sliced-up fruits–thin cross-sections of one of the yellow segmented ones with the leathery rinds and split halves of the fat little red ones covered in seeds that grow in the garden but also come in the little green boxes made of thick, heavy paper at the market. 

Kara’s never seen Ma put the fat little red fruits in a drink before, but she and Pa buy them at the market a lot, and Kal likes them a lot. They’re already softer, for fruit, but Ma always cuts them up tiny for Kal anyway and makes him a little bowl of them. Kal eats them with his bare hands and gets all sticky and messy and happy and babbles and shrieks about them and usually makes a mess all over himself and the tall-legged little chair with the attached tray that Ma and Pa got for him to eat at, since he’s still too small for the table. Kara worries about the mess and the trouble, sometimes, but Ma and Pa never seem to mind, and they keep buying the fat little red fruits and keep giving them to Kal. 

Kara half-wonders what the little red fruits taste like, but every time she’s tried one, they just tasted hollow and empty to her, and lun-chuh and the pink drink tasted that way too. 

She thinks food used to taste better, before. She’s sure it did, actually, but she doesn’t know if that’s because the aliens’ food just doesn’t appeal to a Kryptonian palate or because everything in the universe just is hollow and empty to her now, without Krypton or their house to go back to. Without their people to go back to; without their world to go back to. 

Without a home for either of them. 

Ma and Pa are so, so kind, but Kara can’t expect them to put up with them forever. Eventually they won’t have the space for them, or the growing season will end, or . . . just–eventually they won’t need another “Kent”, and Kara and Kal will be more of a burden than a help to them, and . . . 

Kal seems to like most of the aliens’ food just fine, but maybe that’s just because he’s never tasted Kryptonian food, and doesn’t know what it should taste like. 

And won’t ever. 

Kara pushes all those thoughts down, and plays Pa’s catching game with him. Ma can’t throw very well, Kara thinks, or maybe just doesn’t like to play, because Pa only ever seems to ask her to. 

It’s not much to ask, she thinks, for how much he and Ma have done for them. Pa seems to appreciate having someone to play his game with, and Kal likes to watch them play it anyway, so . . . 

It’s not that much, no. 

Maybe she can teach Kal how to play too, when he’s bigger. Though he probably won’t remember that he used to like to watch it, given how far from Ma and Pa’s farm and Smoll-Veel they’ll have to be by then. 

He doesn’t seem to remember Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor at all, so why would he remember Ma and Pa? 

Today Pa offers Kara her pick of the webbed glove–which means she’d throw the ball and he’d club it–or the club–which means he’d throw the ball and she’d club it. Or sometimes Pa will toss the ball up and club it himself when it comes back down, so he can hit it harder and Kara can be far enough back to still catch it. Kara’s tried it that way once or twice, but Pa usually can’t run fast enough to catch it either way. 

Well, that’s why she’s a useful “Kent” here, she supposes. Pa’s strong, but she’s still fairly certain he and Ma are both middle-aged, and at least they both seem to be about as physically-fit as a middle-aged Kryptonian would be, she thinks. She doesn’t know all that many Laborers, so she’s not sure, just–

. . . she didn’t know all that many Laborers. 

Kara takes the club, today. Hitting something sounds–better, today. 

And she doesn’t want to throw the ball as hard as she thinks she’d want to throw it, since it’s Pa she’d be throwing it at. 

The pink drink was so pretty, like the kind of fancy thing she’d get at a tea room or a milk bar with her friends after class and they’d all share while making their way through whatever mismatched plates they’d decided to order without even caring about the composition of the meal, but it didn’t taste like anything at all. 

Pa puts on the webbed glove and tucks the ball into it as he heads across the grass plot surrounding the house–the “yurr-duh”, he and Ma call it–and Kara hefts the club and gives it a swing or two, just to familiarize herself with the weight of it again. It’s always been light, but it feels even lighter lately. 

She thinks–well, it’s a good sign, she thinks. It means she’s still getting stronger. And the stronger she gets, the better a Laborer she’ll be, and the better she’ll be able to take care of Kal. She’s been learning how to do more and more of the farm chores, and the more of those she learns, the easier it’ll be for her to find farming work later. Just–the more she knows about how the aliens farm and how their technology works and their language, the more useful she’ll be, and the more employable she’ll be. 

She needs to be as good at this as she can be. She needs to be worth hiring; worth keeping. 

She needs to be so much better than just “good”.

[anaban44]

Important opinion

All right, here I go… The past few most the case of @tiredsn0w @tiredsn0w-extrablu has become popular and not for good reasons, this person has been accused of grooming and pedophilia, I will clarify, I have never heard of this woman before this problem, but is serious, so, I decide to investigate and before trying to send something offensive against her I firstly tried to talk

I take a look around in her profile and something I can indeed say, her art can be misunderstanding  SO easily, she said “I’m not really responsible how others see my art” and in a way, that is true, but THAT is not the main problem here

“And, even if someone younger did find my works - kids get abused, kids are disabled, kids are mentally ill, kids self-harm, kids have thoughts of suicide” with this message you prove me that indeed you don’t care if kids actually watch your art and here come the main problem, you SHOULD CARE IF THEY FIND IT, why? Because, yes, you are right, kids with problems exist, but not all the kids, and definitely this is not the place, nor the way to treat such themes, time have prove me this next point, your art is found to be sexual, or easy to fetishy EVEN IF YOU DON’T WANT TO, and, if adults are getting it wrong, how much kids?

I showed some of her drawings to people not aware of this situation and not giving any contex and in conclusion their comments can resume in, feeling uncomfortable or find it kinky, why for me was important to show them with no context? Easy, MOST of the people trend to just scroll and like when the main thing is art, and just THE INTERESTED people will actually click for the context, out of that, people will NOT CARE for it   For the second and fourth drawing you are literally admitting that the whole intention is to show he is been objectify, and you have to give me a whole context in order to I didn’t get it even more wrong

First you try to justify that your character is small because he has dwarfism, I was like “okay, maybe you don’t know how to draw them and that’s why you made him looks so childlike even when you can easily look when a dwarf is a kid or an adult, so I tried to remark that and just until then you change your argument  explaining me that “no he has a very specific kind of dwarfism of little person”  which first, is not the scientific name of the syndrome, second makes the person who suffers from it LOOKS AS A CHILD So yeah, is a real condition but with this you just recognize your character INTENTIONALY LOOK AS A CHILD

And no, if you are not giving well the context that is not “education” that is morbid, you also said  SCP universe is not mean for kids, so that lead us to the beginning, scp is not meant for kids, NEITHER YOUR ART With all this I’m not asking you to stop drawing or posting your art, but just as SCP literally has it’s own page PRECISELY to avoid kids to reach it so easily, you should post your art in a different place, not in a platform where THERE’S PEOPLE OF 13 YEARS ALLOWED AND EVEN DARED TO PRETEND IS GOOD IF THEY LOOK AT IT Is like put a filter to it, just as SCP, this things aren’t mean for kids, and because of that they have a WARNING, and of course some kids will not care of it and see it anyways, and that is because of a bad care and not because the page is allowing it again, you are free to draw and post whatever you want BUT BE RESPONSIBLE OF THE PLACES YOU DO IT    

For last this are my conclusions:

Just because you “didn’t intend” of your drawings to be sexualized will not take away the fact IT ARE SEXUALICED AND FETISHIED SCP 6118 design IS INTENTIONALLY child looking which make him shota bait, “but that wasn’t my intention” SHUT UP! Hell is full of well-intended people, you didn’t mean BUT IT IS   If at any point you believe is okay to show this to a kid, to justify your actions saying that is “educational” that you are trying to give “visibility” IT IS WRONG  and if you are not capable to accept it and  CHANGE IT, then yes, YOU ARE THE PROBLEM and minimize sexual and suggestive situations to a kid indeed MAKES YOU A GROOMER Also, if anyone is thinking I'm taking out of context the conversation, no, is literally all

[hanafubukki]

Hey Hana, I've got a question.

If Yuu does find a way to traverse between their world and Twisted Wonderland, will that affect the two universes?

Hello Keito 💞💚🌺

Canon wise, there’s no definitive answers but there are hints. 🤔

We have several hints or implications in the story and events. We know mirror travel is an established form of travel to and from NRC and we know it’s possible to take busses and boats there and back. We don’t know if traveling dimensions is possible between the worlds with this method 🤔👀

We do have Ace’s dream which is the only indicator of travel between worlds when it comes to Yuu going home and back. But since it’s a dream, we of course don’t know what that means cause and effect wise. 👀

We have the tsums traveling worlds without any effect to them or others and with a relatively quick way back home (in a day) meaning it is possible to travel between worlds and the magic is there. (Stares at Crowley).

The other travel between worlds we do have is the story books which technically is one world to another, but they tend to forget what happens in the book world once they are free.

This is interesting because there’s theories that Yuu might be trapped in a storybook or the mastermind of one. Because when you click on dialogue boxes they sound like pages turning.

There’s also the fact that Yuu is a reverse of the storybook events. They don’t have memories of certain places and event (while other times they do, for example they have Halloween or Tanabata I believe).

Then we have the dream worlds by Malleus which can be seen as a portal but between your inner self and reality and we saw in dreams there’s layers there too.

For example, Idia was able to open the gate of the underworld there when he fell deeper into the abyss.

There’s portals to the dorms which are pocket dimensions essentially too.

From what we’ve seen, magical and none-magical beings are not affected by this form of travel.

Then there’s the mirror in Yuu’s room. We don’t know much about Mickey and the mirror but we can technically count that as travel between worlds but notice how that only happened in the dream realm. 🧐

This is interesting because there’s a common theory that Yuu is dead or in a coma. 👀👀👀 Which given the mangas yuus and their names, the way they isekai, etc. This is highly likely.

Which means that they might, like in Malleus OB, be stuck in a dream world or dead and stuck in another world or a combination of. I like to thinks it’s a combination.

Dream world because of the layers we have seen dreams to have and we know the possibilities of going even deeper into it, especially when you give in to your inner despair. With the hints of Yuu feeling insecure? (Book 6 and 7 especially). I can see them falling deeper, and with the chimera grim?? 👀👀 there’s many possibilities how this can go. If you remember the opening, there’s a bitten apple, and the apple in Snow White puts you to sleep (death) forever.

Then we have the whole death scenarios. We have seen death various times and in all forms in the game.

Lilia says he went to the ghost realm before and then he came back (and he died again in book 7). With the way he acted? (Though he’s a conundrum himself.) That travel didn’t seem to affect him as far as we know. But it’s possible to go there and back. So that could also be a clue to the Yuu is dead or coma theory and their possibility of going back home.

Then we have the Halloween events which are interesting themselves. The first two tells us it is possible for the dead to travel to the living and back home and with enough power (malleus’ magic in the second event). It’s possible for them to extend their stay in the world of the living (time is stopped).

Which brings me to the thought 🧐🧐 of the OB stones and their purpose and the princess glow and how it’s missing.

At the end of book 7, we technically get dead loved ones being revived (though it’s through “memory”). Then we have the second event with the ghosts staying longer. Could this possibly mean someone is trying to bring the dead back? Or make a world for them to come back? Or combine worlds?? Is this the hint they are showing us?? Since Halloween events tend to give clues to main story events and we saw dearly departed again. That someone wants to make a pathway??

There’s the theory that Raverne or some rendition of him is trying to bring back Meleanor. Could this be the hint? We know the princess glow can heal, but combine that will OB stones?? I wonder how powerful that can be.

This past year we were introduced to Skully. Now he’s an amazing story mystery because of all the elements they could hint with Yuu and Skully parallels.

Skully was implied to be trapped in the book along with the others (just like the Yuu stuck in the book theory.) also in parallel to Yuu, he didn’t belong at school and felt alone and isolated (Yuu who is non-magical in a magic school and insecure)

Then we have the fact that he came from a different point in time. Now this point can go several way in main story hints and possibilities, but it stands that Skully came from the past and met the cast. They influenced him and he in return left a legacy of Halloween. Notice how Yuu is dealing with Overblots and leaving a lasting effect on some of the cast if not all, for sure the first years at the very least (who they are closest to)

Could this imply Yuu comes from a different time? Or that time might move quickly compared to twst??

Then the biggest hit was returning to reality. Everyone forgot who he is but many theorize he was a Ramshackle student given his colors and outfit in the picture shown (another parallel to Yuu).

There’s also the touch that everyone feels, another indicator of ghosts presence of someone who should be dead.

One of my theories is that Yuu might be sent back/wake up at home and the cast of twst might forget them but their influence will remain.

If we combine this with the popular time loop theory and how in the beginning we hear “we are running out of time.” It makes you wonder if they were summoned to break the loop and save everyone 👀🤔

I feel like I veered off your question ABAJSJSJ whoops 😂💞 but it was fascinating thinking about this 🥰💞💞

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 15, 2025 (Thursday)

Heather Cox Richardson

May 16, 2025

Perhaps in frustration, this season’s writers of the saga of American history are making their symbolism increasingly obvious.

Today the story broke that a long-neglected document held by Harvard University Law School, believed to be a cheap copy of the Magna Carta, is in fact the real document. More than 700 years ago, the Magna Carta, or Great Charter, established the concept that kings must answer to the law.

King John of England and a group of rebel barons agreed to the terms of the document on June 15, 1215, at Runnymede, a meadow a little less than an hour from London near the River Thames. After the king had raised taxes, barons rebelled, insisting that he was violating established custom. There were rumors of a plot to murder the king, and the barons armed themselves.

Those two armed camps met at Runnymede, where negotiators for the king and the barons hammered out a document with 63 clauses, mostly relating to feudal customs and the way the justice system would operate. But the document also began to articulate the principles central to modern democracies. The Magna Carta established the writ of habeas corpus—a prohibition on unlawful imprisonment—and the concept of the right to trial by jury.

Famously, it put into writing that: “No free man shall be seized, imprisoned, dispossessed, outlawed, exiled or ruined in any way, nor in any way proceeded against, except by the lawful judgement of his peers and the law of the land.” It also provided that “To no one will we sell, to no one will we deny or delay right or justice.”

The Magna Carta placed limits on the king’s ability to tax his subjects and established the law as an authority apart from the king. Anticipating the idea of checks and balances, it set up a council of barons to make sure the king obeyed the charter. If he did not, they could seize his lands and castles until he made amends.

The original charter did not last. King John convinced the pope to declare the document illegal because it circumscribed the power of the monarch, and in reaction, barons fought for the rights outlined in the Magna Carta. After the death of King John in 1216, the Magna Carta was confirmed and reissued, becoming an accepted part of the understanding of British rights. In 1297, and then again in 1300, King Edward I reissued the Magna Carta and confirmed that it was part of England’s law.

The copy in Harvard’s possession is from 1300. Harvard bought the document after World War II for $27.50, about $500 today. It is one of seven original copies of the 1300 Magna Carta, and in the United States of America in 2025, it is priceless.

In the early 1600s, King James I and King Charles I both reasserted the power of the king. Jurist Sir Edward Coke used the Magna Carta to insist that longstanding English customs guaranteed liberties to British subjects and required the king to comply with the law. There were limits to a king’s power to tax his subjects and his power to punish them.

This legal struggle was unfolding just as British subjects were colonizing the North American continent, and the charters of the new colonies echoed Coke’s arguments. The 1629 charter of the Massachusetts Bay Company, for example, established that colonists and, crucially, the children they might have in the colony, “shall have and enjoy all liberties and Immunities of free and naturall Subiects.”

As constitutional scholar Mary S. Bilder notes, lawyers and political figures put into the documents of the early British settlement of North America the belief that liberties were the birthright of English subjects. That belief informed colonists’ opposition to the 1765 Stamp Act, which imposed a new tax to which they had not given their consent and called for those who violated the law to be tried not by a jury of their peers but rather in admiralty courts. The Massachusetts Assembly declared the Stamp Act to be “against the Magna Carta and the natural rights of Englishmen, and therefore, according to Lord Coke, null and void.” British politician William Pitt told Parliament: “The Americans are the sons not the bastards of England.”

In September 1774, as tensions between the king and the colonists intensified, the first Continental Congress met in Philadelphia and wrote a declaration of rights and grievances, claiming the liberties guaranteed by “the principles of the English constitution, and the several charters or compacts.” Showing the unity of the colonies, the Congress published an image of 12 arms holding a column crowned by a liberty cap and resting on the words “Magna Carta.”

In 1776 the colonists threw off the monarchy to establish a government based on the idea that all people must answer to the law. As Thomas Paine wrote in Common Sense: “in America the law is king. For as in absolute governments the King is law, so in free countries the law ought to be king; and there ought to be no other.” In 1776 the new states were writing their own constitutions that defended their liberties, including their protection from loss of life, liberty, or property without due process of the law.

That concept went directly into the first ten amendments to the Constitution, known collectively as the Bill of Rights. The Fifth Amendment provided that no “person shall be…deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law,” and in 1868 the Fourteenth Amendment applied that principle to the states as well as the federal government, saying: “No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

The Harvard document is not the only Magna Carta in the U.S. In 2007, philanthropist David Rubenstein bought a 1297 copy of the Magna Carta from former presidential candidate Ross Perot. It was the only copy in the U.S., and Perot had permitted the National Archives to display it. Rubenstein bought the document for $21.3 million, hoping to keep it in the U.S. “to ensure that Americans could continue to see it, and to thereby be continuously reminded of its importance to our country.” He promptly lent it to the National Archives for public display, “as modest repayment of my debt to this country for my good fortune in being an American.”

And yet the fundamental principles on which the government of the United States is based are under attack. In an interview that aired on Sunday, May 4, President Donald J. Trump told NBC’s Kristen Welker that he “didn’t know” if persons in the United States had a right to due process. When Welker reminded him that the right to due process is written into the Fifth Amendment, he said: “I don’t know. It seems—it might say that, but if you’re talking about that, then we’d have to have a million or two million or three million trials.”

Musician Bruce Springsteen has no doubts about those rights, embedded as they are in the country’s DNA. At a concert in Manchester, England, yesterday, he warned: “In America, the richest men… [are]... abandoning our great allies and siding with dictators against those struggling for their freedom. They’re defunding American universities that won’t bow down to their ideological demands. They’re removing residents off American streets and, without due process of law, are deporting them to foreign detention centers and prisons. This is all happening now.” He criticized lawmakers who have “no…idea of what it means to be deeply American.”

And yet, Springsteen told the crowd: “The America that I’ve sung to you about for 50 years is real and, regardless of its faults, is a great country with a great people, so will survive this moment.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[zekyrith]

Chromatic Cabaret [Gay Bar/Club]

Hey, Simblr peps!

Here's a gay bar/club that I created, and wanted to share with you all. I call it the Chromatic Cabaret. It's a 40x30 lot, that I built for 28 Civic Circle in Lucky Palms. I built it with guys in mind because they're my favorite , but feel free to change if you.

This is pretty exciting, as this is the first time I ever shared anything I built, and I've been playing the Sims 3 for 16 years (by the gods, has it really been that long?).

Download: Google Drive | SFS

TOU:

None! Do whatever you want. Just credit me, and maybe don't put it behind a paywall.

Disclaimer: Please, please tell me if something is amiss with it, as the last thing I would want, is to share something that's broken. Also, maybe confirm it's free of bad CC. I ran it through Custard, and it looked fine, but I'm hardly an expert with it. Lastly, you may have to reapply a couple of patterns.

Content Used:

Official Content:

Expansion Packs:

Late Night

Into the Future

World Adventures

Generations

University

Showtime

Ambitions

Stuff Packs:

Town Life Stuff

Master Suite Stuff

70s, 80s & 90s Stuff

Worlds:

Lucky Palms:

Nectar is Necessary Barstool

Casino Column

The Wong Way Bistro Table

The Wong Way Bistro Chair

Yucca Plant with Blossoms

Yucca Plant without Blossoms

Palm Royal

Sectional Cement Fence

Roaring Heights:

Liquid Light Neon Tubes (all pieces)

Store Content:

Mid-Century Modern Dining and Style Set:

Countdown Sconce

Three's a Crowd Ceiling Light

Future Shock Living:

Botanists Nightmare

Ultra Lounge Bedroom:

Mirror-Mirror

Ultra Lounge Dining:

Grove Cone Ceiling Light

Viva Las Vegas Bedroom:

City Never Sleeps

Custom Content:

Custom Content by @aroundthesims:

Neon Lights:

[Link]

Neon Light - Line

Neon Light - Circle

Neon Light - Cocktail

Irish Pub Drinks:

[Link]

Bottle of Syrup

Whisky Bottle (don't remember which one)

Vodka Bottle

Porto Bottle

Martini Bottle

Gin Bottle

Bailey's Bottle

Custom Content by @murfeelee:

C2077 LGBT+ Mini Set:

[Link]

C2077 Male Neon Light

C2077 Love Neon Light

C2077 Misty Inspired Set:

[Link]

C2077 Tube Light - Vertical

Custom Content by @simcredibledesigns:

Teach Me Passion Mirror:

[Link]

Funny Lamps Drink Table:

[Link]

Invisible Dance Floor Rug (5x5) by Superstorm:

[Link]

Serious Bartender (Invisible Bar) by @aa6x7:

[Link]

Useless Hand Dryer by Cyclonesue:

[Link]

The Sims 2 Wall Decor - Part 3/15 by @martassimsbookcc:

[Link]

Sims Must Wash Hands Sign

Recessed Light AF709 by DOT:

[Link]

Rack for Cues by Simalia. Thanks @sims3lostsets:

[Link] (it's in the casino set)

Colorful Horizontal Pics by Lamare:

[Link]

Male Paintings - Part 3 by @venusprincess-ts3:

[Link]

Male Paintings - Part 1

The Perfect Night | Miranda Mocktail Drinks by @artvitalex:

[Link]

Rainbow Geometric Collection by @wanderingsimsfinds:

[Link]

Diamonds 4

Geometric 5

Patterns by @omfgingers:

[Link]

R5

R8

Male Angel Statues by sim_man123:

[Link]

Male Angel Statue 1

Male Angel Statue 2

Male Angel Statue 4

[pr0serpinas]

What’s your take on Catholic!Latino!Jason Todd?

To me, these are two different questions, but I love both questions. I’m going to answer them separately so this doesn’t get super long.

Catholic Jason

As best as I can tell, this originated with the Flashpoint timeline (2011), where Jason is a reformed criminal, former drug addict, cult survivor (!), and priest:

I’m obliged to tell you his vestments are wrong—but look how happy he seems! (The World of Flashpoint Vol. 2)

This is an alternate timeline. But I kind of dig it. It’s the only canon (ish?) reference to Jason and Catholicism that I can find. We don’t know how much of Jason’s childhood changed as a result of Flashpoint. Obviously, he couldn’t be adopted by Bruce because (spoilers) Bruce was murdered instead of his parents. But we don’t know if his dad was still in prison, if his mom died of a probable overdose or other drug-related issue, etc. However, the part where Jason talks about the church helping him is something that could be the same in both universes. I didn’t grow up in a very Catholic area, but most of the charity shops, soup kitchens, and shelters were Catholic-affiliated, as was one of the hospitals. A lowball estimate for the number of Catholics in New Jersey is a third of the population, so he very probably would have encountered more church-related stuff than I did. Social outreach is a major part of the Catholic ethos, though a free meal does not a believer make.

This is where my own experience and bias kicks in, but I’ve not met a lot of people who truly have no exposure to religion as kids. Most people are nominally something, and again, speaking from experience, churches can be a powerful presence in lower-income communities. It’s a safe place to go, there’s often food, and there’s the moral teaching aspect. I want to do a write up on my thoughts on Jason’s parents and DC’s shitass retconning of his father, but I believe Catherine Todd wanted the best for her child, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she took him to church at least once. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a Catholic church.

Heaven and hell do exist in DC continuity, and Jason canonically goes to heaven.

Ollie mistakes Jaybin for Dick, but look at him having the time of his afterlife. (Green Arrow Vol. 3 #7)

It’s pretty significant that Jason was in heaven for two reasons. Catholics believe in purgatory, a sort of waiting room where you are cleansed of all sin before you can go to heaven. The length of time you spend in purgatory varies. (This is a gross oversimplification, but I don’t feel like rehashing all my catechism classes.) For Jason to either spend no or very little time in purgatory is noteworthy and means that he’s fundamentally good. Like, really good. Or, at least, he was as a child. Because when Damian dies, he goes to hell.

Which is honestly pretty messed up, but I also really like Damian. (Teen Titans Vol. 6 #40)

Jason doesn’t talk about the afterlife as far as I know. In Red Hood: Outlaw, which is not canon (and also bad), he says he was dragged kicking and screaming from heaven, and he’s pissed about it. As far as canon goes, I don’t know if he doesn’t remember it or if he doesn’t talk about it. There’s one thing canon did that could have been really interesting if DC had leaned into it/if Scott Lobdell was a more competent writer: the sick-ass magic blood swords.

Thank you, Kenneth Rocafort, for always making Jason dress like a New England prepster. (Red Hood & the Outlaws Vol. 1 #5)

In RHATO (I know), Jason joins a mystical cult of monks called the All-Caste—I think before he’s with the League of Assassins? Maybe instead of? I’ve slept since I read these. But he becomes the guardian of the All-Blades, which require his own blood to manifest and can only be summoned to vanquish true evil (but the evil has to be magic in nature). From the perspective of someone who was raised Catholic, I find it fascinating that Jason’s raison d’être could be to vanquish evil with his sick-ass magic blood swords. From the perspective of one whose favorite non-Bat DC character is Constantine, I really wish they’d leaned into the idea that Jason is a paranormal magnet. But as far as I know, the swords are never seen again after the end of RHATO. Alas.

I think it’s pretty clear throughout at least N52/Rebirth that Jason struggles with what he does. I think that in his mind, he kills because he has to—because there will be justice for the victims no other way, because the traditional paths have failed, because it’s a last resort. In fact, when his memories are erased in RHATO, he’s horrified when he finds out he’s a killer.

Red Hood & the Outlaws Vol. 1 Annual

In fact, he’s upset that Roy is a killer, too, regardless of how many people he’s killed (which is probably fewer than 83). This shows that absent his death and resurrection, Jason has a strong moral code. He’s driven by the injustice done to him by the Joker remaining alive as well as his own distrust in the justice system to adequately punish (or like, keep people incarcerated. Breakout from Arkham/Blackgate? Must be another day ending in -y.)

I think if Jason were Catholic, grappling with all of this: being dragged out of heaven, being the keeper of the evil-vanquishing magic swords, being the arbiter of justice (his killing is far more antihero and far less unambiguously unhinged in N52/Rebirth) would be a rich playground for writers, and it’s one of the reasons I like it in fic. Speaking solely from my experience, I know some people who kind of…sin with impunity because that’s what confession is for, and otherwise, Jesus died for nothing. I could lowkey see Jason being one of those fast-and-loose Catholics. But seeing how hard it is for him to be confronted with his killing when he loses his memory, I could also see it being something that causes him incredible turmoil because it goes against not just his morals, but also church teachings, and yet he feels like this is his reason for living. I eat that kind of angst with a spoon for breakfast.

Tl;dr: is Jason a Catholic? Not to the extent that it’s been worth him mentioning. Could he be? Yes. Do I support it? Yeah, because I think it’s fun.

[knowbites]

　　　I GUESS I'M IN LOVE　　۶ৎ　　kim seungmin.

☕　────　you're everything that i want but i didn't think i'd find ..

⠀ ksm x f reader !⠀⠀6, 3 k.⠀⠀fluff, college au⠀⠀ 𓈀 ⠀⠀ wc.⠀⠀descriptions of social anxiety, getting drunk and kisses. this is based on a personal experience, but it's also based on the love of my life @skzms 's drabble "seungmin in love" which you should check out!

notes.⠀⠀i hope may doesn't mind i bring this back... on her bday <3 (and hour late but let's pretend) happy, happy bday mayy! my lovely teri asked me to post it again because she really liked it, so i saved it for your bday. i listened to i guess i'm in love by clinton kane while writing this btw!

You had never mustered the courage to talk to a boy until university made you come out of your shell.

The morning you had stepped into the lecture hall for the first time, ready to listen to the dean of your faculty give the introductory talk, you had sat alone in one of the front rows—hanging on every word, your heart racing restlessly. You hadn't known anyone among the crowd, and you had decided you would rather focus on the speech, secretly hoping some extrovert would adopt you, than take the first step and start an interaction with a stranger.

But making new friends wasn’t as easy as your high school besties, studying in another town, had made it sound.

You had been shy since you were a child, feeling a sense of panic creeping up your chest at the mere thought of you ending up alone but unable to do something about it, and you were incapable of approaching someone and starting a conversation from scratch. Your fear had always been a prison and the guardian of an anxiety that swirled inside your ribcage, but at college it translated as the number one reason why you had ended up hiding in that lonesome table at the library during all your free hours, instead of hanging out with classmates.

Everyone was new in the first year, most of them didn't know anyone either, but unlike them, you had felt that an invisible wall separating you from them, preventing you from mingling with other students and interacting properly. Not that you wanted to—sometimes you thought you were better off alone, with your music and your inner peace—but there were times when the solitude became suffocating.

Until you met Kim Seungmin. Quiet boy with warm coffee gaze and broad shoulders, usually sitting in the front rows, focused on your professors’ words.

You hadn't spoken to him, at least not at first. You hadn't even realised he existed, at the beginning. You were too scared, mind set on the classes to avoid noticing the silence that clouded your room, and he was just another classmate in the core subjects shared by all those who studied the same degree as you. He smiled softly at the jokes of the teachers he liked, became more serious in the most difficult lectures, and tried not to show his exasperation when the annoying student in the first line of desks made their trademark rancid comment. By late October, you hadn’t even known his name.

But eventually, you found yourself waiting for those little reactions. Like you, he also showed up ten minutes before the first class started, sitting alone, and he also came to school with his headphones on, drowning out all the noise in the corridors with some music. He would arrive with his dark blue backpack slung over one of his shoulders, and a book in his hand—the same one he would read for a while before the professor arrived. You smiled to yourself as you watched him, writing down the titles of his readings, looking forward to the classes you shared with him.

And then you saw him appear for the first time in the library. You were already a regular visitor of the silent place, always at one of the more secluded tables, your back to the wall, your laptop a shield protecting you from the other people in the room. And he had slipped quietly in, ears covered by his black headphones, leaving his backpack on the table in front of yours. For a moment you had stood still, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, the word on your document half-typed, your breath caught in your throat.

And then you had looked away, going on with your work.

It was stupid to react like that for someone you didn't even know.

Right?

But the next day you repeated your little choreography, sitting opposite of each other, in complete silence, a calm and concentrated reflection of your own, right in front of you, as if there was a mirror in the middle of the tables. And the next day, and the next, and the next... For weeks, until it became a habit between the two of you.

You would leave class a little late, too, just because you knew it took him longer to collect his belongings, and you'd follow each other's shadows through the corridors until you reached the library. He would hold the door, a shy gentleman stopping in its tracks to let you in first, and you would smile sweetly at him. You would walk up to your designated table, and when you lent him the book you had used to find out information about a homework topic, he'd return the soft curve in your lips, showing his braces without an ounce of insecurity.

Not a word, but you didn’t need them to feel at ease in each other’s company.

You were comfortable with your dynamic because you didn't think you had any expectations. You didn't think you did. But as the days went by, you started to find him among people even when you weren't looking for him. Your friends, with whom you exchanged text messages, encouraged you to say hello, to introduce yourself, making you think that he could really be interested in you. And you'd let them, flushing at the thought of it. Then exam season had come around, and you had locked yourself in your dorm room to study—realising, in his absence, the impact he had left on your heart.

In February, you returned to your routine. And instead of facing the feelings that had been blooming even before spring, you welcomed back the habits you had implemented with Seungmin, happy to find that the time apart hadn't changed them. You hadn't really made a move, neither of you, but you were alone in your little bubble, and so you continued to meet at your library spot.

But by the second semester, the people around you had already got used to college life. The one you saw in the movies, going out half the nights of the week, hanging out in large groups of friends in the evenings, complaining about professors and gossiping in class. That comfort, you discovered, meant that there were people who would try to make more friends, or seek out a college crush that would motivate them to romanticise their lives.

One of the last days of winter—when the weather got warmer but still rainy— you realised that there was another girl waiting for Seungmin at the end of your class. A more outgoing and prettier one, the kind who always gave the right answers to the teacher and had a bunch of cool friends she hung out with. You heard her asking him if he could explain to her the latest topic discussed in class over a latte in the building’s cafeteria. And your heart sunk in your chest.

You had been waiting for him, like you had learned to do, in the edge of the door—ready to shamelessly accompany each other to the next lecture—, but staying there while the girl flirted with him made you feel uneasy, like you were intruding in the intimacy of her charming smile and casual brushes of her hand on his arm. A creep, in the corridor, witnessing what you couldn’t have. What you would never be able to be like. So you had ended up leaving. Without him.

That had been the first day you had gone to the library alone since your non-arranged meetings had taken place there, and you’d had to open the door for yourself. It had hurt, somehow. Like a dog so used to having a delicious meal when the bell rang that he started to salivate at the sound of it. You had taken the same steps every day, stopped in the same spot and waited for him to open the door for you with that silly bow he always did. 

But when you arrived at the door, your mind chose to forget how to wrap your hand around the handle. As if it wasn’t right because he was the one supposed to do it. Dragging yourself to a table that suddenly seemed emptier, you realised that you missed his smile. His steady presence, right by your side.

It hadn’t made sense, the way your heart jumped in your chest every time you noticed someone approaching your table. He was just a classmate. You hadn’t even talked that much, besides a quiet ‘Good morning’ and the usual nods of acknowledgement when you saw each other. Seungmin. The boy attending the same degree as you, another student in the faculty. But somehow you had grown accustomed to him as a constant—especially because there were so many absences in your life, it was easy to notice when he was gone.

And it had scared you. For a moment, thinking you had taken things way too far, that you had let the attachment blossom under your own watch. Wondering if it was unhealthy, the intensity, the muchness you carried with yourself. If you were somewhat broken, unable to keep normal relationships with the people around you, or it was just an illness you had no control over.

You had wished, as it usually happened, that you were braver.

Instead, the next day you skipped class.

A coward, really. You had only missed the class you knew you shared with Seungmin, and you had felt guilty enough. You'd gone to the interactive seminars without fail, your mind scattered and an emptiness in your chest, but you hadn't been able to purposely attend the same class as him. You would have felt compelled to talk to him, to greet him or ask him about the girl from the day before, and at the same time you hadn't felt able to deal with it. So you had spent the day thinking you were an absolute coward, not fully understanding why your brain worked the way it did.

But an afternoon of self-loathing and overthinking, curled up on the sofa in the common room of the dorm一all a wandering gaze and sad music playing softly in your headphones一, made you realise that you had gone numb. Stuck. For a long time, imprisoned in the confines of your own mind, shackled to what people could say about you and the overwhelming burden of failing. To avoid bothering or speaking out, to reduce yourself to a shadow of what you could be so that the people around you could shine brighter.

And it didn't seem fair at all.

So you had muttered a quiet ‘fuck it’ under your breath.

The following day, early in the morning, on the bus一on your way to class一, you had managed to gather the courage to talk to a boy. For the first time, and all by yourself. To that boy.

You had approached him before class, slipping into a seat one line forward of where he was, taking a deep breath of air and exhaling it as you had tried to keep your nerves under control, eyes tightly closed. With your pulse racing, you had turned, resting one of your hands on his desk and catching his attention by waving softly. He had looked up from the intertwined sentences of his book, closing it as soon as he saw it was you addressing him, and you enjoyed a few more seconds of your tender bubble, his brownish gaze all over you, before bursting it.

Your words had been quick and breathy, stammering over possible coffees and shared hours, your eyes anywhere in the class but on his face. Your cheeks got incredibly heated when he responded calmly, a mask of stillness in contrast to the chaos of emotions spiralling inside him, and you had only interrupted the conversation when the teacher finally began the lesson, heart pounding against your ribcage.

But you had done it! Stepping out of your comfort zone, and risking your carefully threaded silence, your convenient and easy peace, just to approach someone. In return, you got the chance to spend time with Seungmin, and the exhilaration of a new achievement.

That was the first free hour of your strict schedule you had disrupted your way to the library in favour of a trip to the cafeteria. You had felt that warmish touch in your shoulder every time his had brushed yours, and a burst of pride inside your chest when you had realised you were finally enjoying something you had worked for—even if it was as silly as hanging out with a not so new friend.

You had heard him order an iced americano with syrup, greeting the lady behind the counter with rehearsed confidence, and waiting—his gaze tracing across the profile of your face—for you to ask for what you wanted. Then he had guided you to one of the tables at the back, letting you sit on the bench with its back against the wall. Almost as if, somehow, he knew that it was what you preferred.

For a moment  you had wanted to get your hopes up, to think that he actively thought of you as much as you had thought of him, but it didn't actually make any sense. So you had sighed, setting your bag down beside you, and intertwined your own fingers in a nervous gesture.

You had been the one to propose the plan, but you realised then that you had been so sure he would say ‘no’ that you hadn't planned any further.

You had wandered your gaze in silence, steadily, slowly, trying not to meet his at any point, your shyness forcing stitches of thread on your lips, unable to utter a word. At least until the waitress had appeared with her tray and your drinks, and Seungmin's raspy ‘thank you’ broke through your bubble. You had uttered your own appreciation, no sound actually coming out of your throat, but the beginning of a smile tugged at your lips when he managed to continue a conversation that hadn't existed until then, asking you how you had adjusted to the lectures, to college, and how was life at your dorm.

And then you let loose like a torrent. The stuttering edges of your mouth had tightened, answering in few words and short sentences how your university experience had been going until then, daring even to lock your eyes with his when you returned the question, painfully eager to hear him speak. And as he told a story similar to yours, albeit with many more friends than you had, you had reached your trembling hands towards your cup, taking it and sipping a small amount of coffee.

You had tried not to let it show, but the bitterness of the drink enveloped your taste buds in a flavour you were not used to. Your eyebrows furrowed as you winced, swallowing the thick liquid in one gulp, avoiding triggering your gag reflex, and when you looked back at Seungmin, you noticed he had been watching you like a hawk. He had tilted his head, almost like a puppy would have, and picked up the cup you had just set down, wetting his lips to taste it. He had opened his eyes slightly, almost comically, and muttered what you both were thinking: “This is not what you ordered.”

Then he had gotten up to go reclaim it.

You had felt the heat rise up your neck and settle on your cheeks, unable to believe what had just happened, and watched from your warm seat as the boy spoke to the woman he had greeted earlier. She was surprised and certainly apologetic because of the confusion, and he had shared a complicit grin with you while she repeated the whole process of making from scratch what you had ordered in the first place.

It had been Seungmin's gentle words when he finally returned, treating the porcelain with extreme care so as not to spill the contents, that made you suppress the apology you had had at the tip of your tongue. Perhaps he had decided that it was his responsibility—that the barista had mistaken the order—, but he had stood up for you because he had wanted to. You could read it on his face.

“Thank you so much,” you had said, a shy smile curving your lips, brushing his knuckles with your fingers as you took the new mug. You had closed your eyes to smell the sweet, thick hot chocolate you loved so much, sighing dreamily against it. “You didn't have to.”

Spring was coming to an end, but the mornings were still tinged with a freezing air that bothered you, because you never knew what to wear to class—when you got out of the dorm it was cold, but as soon as midday struck, the sun heated more than usual. So you had told Seungmin when you had opened your eyes and realised that he had been watching you again, but you tried not to retreat into the bashfulness that had kept you from interacting with him for so long.

You had been ready to get out of your comfort bubble once and for all, and having a conversation with someone who in your thoughts was no longer a stranger seemed like the natural option.

After that moment, it had been relatively easy. The words had flowed between you, asking each other about your lives and replying with more questions, exchanging anecdotes, dropping little jokes that elicited laughter, lost in each other’s gaze. As easy as breathing, the minutes passing by on the clock without even being aware of it, learning to read a new language—a new person—, through what you told each other. Opinions and experiences, comments and compliments, engaged in a dance that only you knew, until the alarm on your phone had started ringing, and you had realised you were late.

You had apologised with hurried syllables, quickly packing up, waving goodbye, and heading hastily towards the counter to pay for your drink. You had been surprised when the woman indicated that Seungmin had already taken care of it, and you had looked back for a few seconds to give him a beaming smile. He had mirrored it, leaning against the table you had been sitting at, and waved his hand in response. It had been when you got into the bus, on the way to the restaurant where you had agreed to meet your sister for lunch, that you had realised you hadn't asked him for his phone number.

Apparently, you hadn’t been the only one to think so.

The morning after your disaster of a first conversation, you had arrived early. You had sat in the third row, the fourth seat, just like you always did. And you had begun to doodle in your notebook, deep in thought, until you heard someone clearing their throat next to you. You had looked up, startled, until Seungmin made an exaggerated gesture of asking if he could sit next to you, and you managed not to burst out laughing at his antics when the teacher had come through the door to start the class.

And it had been when you had barely been able to keep your eyes open, the teacher's voice lulling you into a light sleepy state, that you noticed the tip of Seungmin's finger brushing your arm. You had turned slightly, ignoring the shiver that ran down your spine, and instead of questioning what he wanted, you found a sheet of paper folded over the pen that had slipped from your hand. You had opened it discreetly, glancing at Seungmin out of the corner of your eye, curious, and didn’t even bother to suppress the grin that curved your lips as you read a tight “Can I have your phone number?” in his collected handwriting.

You had written it down quickly, going over each digit twice to make sure there could be no confusion, and slid it across the table for Seungmin to tuck it away. You had nodded goodbye to him as the bell rang, parting ways, him going to the opposite side of the corridor, to another class. You had grabbed your bag, and sighed, not so keen to attend your remaining lecture.

At least until twenty minutes into it your phone screen lit up, receiving a new notification.

from: unknown number: hey, is it true that mr choi’s classes are soo boring? or my contact in his classes has shamelessly lied to me?

The contact in Professor Choi's class was you, because you had complained the day before about his classes to Seungmin, and the unknown number had to be him. You put the phone under the table, hoping the teacher wouldn't notice, and typed in the answer:

from: me mmm, you shouldn’t trust your contact they wouldn’t be boring if you were here

from: seungmin 🫶🏼 naah, i bet my classes wouldn’t be boring if my contact could attend them

from: me you can't use my own sentence as an answer that's like cheating

from: seungmin 🫶🏼 would it be cheating if i bribe you with another cup of hot chocolate?

from: me whatever you say, lover boy

You had tried to imagine Seungmin’s reaction, your subconscious tricking you with images of him blushing in the middle of his class, and left the phone in your bag. That interaction had made your entire day.

From then on, you continued to develop your friendship, intertwining yourselves like a tangled vine, unable to separate from each other. You shared more hours in the library, actually talking in between classes—in between and during classes—, and even hanging out together in some afternoons, when the summertime was closer and you ignored the upcoming exams with his guitar and iced tea in the park.

You too learned to enjoy the revising period leading up to the finals season, by exchanging knowing glances and turning boring lessons into jokes. You left your quiet table for the privacy of your dorm room, and he became comfortable enough to stop acting shy and feel like in his own home. You helped each other take breaks when the stress got too much, and explained what you knew better if the other one couldn’t quite understand the subject. He was the perfect study partner, and it had reflected in your grades, none of which had dropped below a C.

At the end of finals, once you had finished your second term and the beginning of your degree at college, Seungmin had invited you to one of the pubs his friends had shown him. He wanted to properly celebrate a successful academic year, and excused himself for not inviting them—he wasn’t ashamed of you, he just hadn't wanted them to say anything stupid in front of you.

But you hadn’t missed them, and neither did he. With a glass in his hand, he had followed you to the dance floor every time you had asked, his neck flushed and his eyes shying away from your figure when he realised the alcohol had disinhibited you enough to move your hips freely, flirting non-stop. It had been a memorable night, though you hadn’t kept a lot of memories, just inebriated snippets. When three in the morning struck, he was the one who escorted you to your dorm, just to make sure you got there safely, and you had been the one who drunkenly begged him to stay with you.

He woke up in the same bed as you, limbs intertwined, and almost dizzy at the softness of your skin against his.

The following summer break had distanced you a bit, each enjoying a couple of months of relaxation back with your family, although you did text weekly to each other with updates about your lives. But September started, and when the second semester began, it did so with many hours of late arrivals to class—something you hated, but which was certainly more bearable in his company and because of him.

You would gather together as soon as you arrived at the faculty on one of the benches by the entrance—him sitting comfortably with his ankle on his thigh, you with your knees against your chest, jumping from conversation to conversation until the bell started ringing. It always startled you, the high pitched, thundering sound, and you would always run up the stairs together, to get to class before the teacher.

You had learned to cope with it because somehow the stress of being late was compensated by the way Seungmin would touch you so he wouldn't lose you in the corridors. Hovering behind you, like a guard dog, guiding you to your class with his hand resting on the small of your back, making sure you got in before he wandered off into the crowd in search of his own, in case you didn't share it.

And in the free hours you had gotten to know his friends, or at least some of them. The first time had been in a class that had been cancelled last minute, on your way to the library, when you had seen Seungmin’s silhouette in the cafeteria, his broad shoulders framing the back of the chair. You had felt a little bit awkward at first, but still greeted them both—the short boy and the narrowed-eyed one—with a bashful smile, before asking them if they would let you sit in the chair by Seungmin’s side.

You had seen the knowingly smirks, and also their suspicious gazes, but they had made you feel like a long time friend of theirs, so you had shaken the creepy feeling out of your body. You had stayed silent most of the conversation, listening to their jokes and anecdotes, smiling upon the fact that they treated Seungmin like a brother—teasing him to death. And from then on you had always found a free seat by his side in your gatherings.

Your easiness with them, with Changbin and Jeongin, had solidified at about the same time you accepted that Seungmin just saw you as one of the group, and you had tried to stop getting your hopes up. Throughout the academic year, you had begun to participate in more conversations with his friends, becoming a little bit more social around them, and even actively participating in class, interacting with classmates and getting to know some girls with whom you thought a friendship could develop.

You had noticed Seungmin had been turning somewhat distant, but with your mandatory Friday movie nights and your weekly coffee dates—hot chocolate for you, he made sure they didn't mess it up again—, you assumed he had simply decided that he had more priorities, or had found himself so comfortable in your presence he didn't feel he had to contact you every second of his day. You were fine with having any part of him he decided to share with you.

At least until the beginning of your third year, the night of Minho’s birthday celebration. That October night you arrived late to the restaurant where the group had decided to hang out in, and the place where you normally sat, to Seungmin's right, was occupied by a freckle-faced blond you had seen around the dorm on some occasion. You greeted Seungmin with a quick kiss on the cheek, giving a high five to Jeongin, and went straight to the birthday boy, to congratulate him with a tight hug.

You had spent the whole week crocheting cute fruit-shaped hats for his cats, just because of a joke you two had, and Minho’s genuine reaction to the gift was to stand up, take you in his arms and turn you around, both of you giddily giggling.

You remembered that he had told you he couldn’t wait to get home to try them on his babies, and you commented that it was a crime for him to be all alone at the end of the table on such a special day. With that excuse, you sat next to him, leaning like two old oaks so that you could hear each other over the music, your knees touching and his arm over your chair, keeping you in his embrace.

At one point, after the whole group had gathered, during the dinner, when you followed Minho’s unfocused gaze directed at Seungmin, you discovered such a hard acrimony in his usually warm coffee eyes that you thought you had done something awfully wrong.

After that weird, tense moment, he didn't approach you during what was left of the night, not even to accompany you home, like he usually did.

You tried to talk to him about what had happened the next day, texting him when you woke up in your bed and he wasn't by your side. Seungmin, who normally would have been curled up against one of your pillows, didn't even bother to answer your message.

When you asked him again in the middle of the corridor, at the faculty, before a class you two didn't even share, you got no answer. You saw him building up anger and complex emotions inside, his narrowed eyes as transparent with his emotions as he usually was, but he refused to utter a word, leaving you to attend your lecture.

The absence of that trust you had thought you shared broke your heart.

And yet, that very same night he showed up at the university party night that Jeongin had organised—Thursdays were his favourite days to go out—still frowning. He arrived at the pub without even looking at you, as if it pained him to see you, deliberately sitting at the other end of the table.

That was the second time since the two of you had met that you weren't next to each other. You thought you shouldn't have been so sickenly desperate for his attention, so instead of begging for it, you just ordered a drink.

After the first sip, they just kept on coming.

You pretended not to care. For a few hours, you managed to make it seem real. But then that boy approached you, with the soft look Seungmin always gave you, and the same wide smile he reserved just for you… So you decided that knowing that you were willing to lie to yourself, at least you should get something out of it.

He took you to the dance floor, his polite hands sticking to holding you by your waist, and swayed to the rhythm of the music, his body pressed to yours. You pretended, again, it was him, and not this boy you couldn't even remember the name of. He was nice and gentle, and you had drunk a little bit too much, so when he slid his hands to your hips, and his mouth hovered dangerously close to yours, you couldn't help but allow it.

You exhaled a laugh over his lips, beaming smile under the coloured lights of the pub, and even though his body didn't feel right pressed to yours—it wasn't Seungmin's—you opened your mouth unders his when he kissed you, messy and hungry, and you kissed him back just as eagerly.

But the spell melted on your fingers as you parted, and you found all the details in his face that made him so different from Seungmin. He really wasn’t him, even if you had tried to pretend it did, and all the suppressed feelings flooded off you, eyes drawing in unshed tears.

You had apologised to him, again and again as you escaped his embrace, wandering around the dance floor until you collided with Changbin. He gave you a bright smirk, asking you how you were doing with Wonwoo, but the tragic pout that formed on your lips made him react, taking you by your shoulders and interrogating you about the guy, Wonwoo, trying to understand if he had crossed a line with you, if you were okay.

All you had managed to do was deny, before drunkenly asking him to take you home.

It was a terrible night. For you, crying for a certainty that felt heavy in your heart, throwing up until the first lights of dawn, and for him, who stayed and nursed you to sleep. And it was also terrible to wake up, when you realised you were alone in your flat. Alone, tangled in your sheets, and the alarm clock ringing, reminding you that you had a schedule to follow, and you had to go to class.

Seungmin was not on your self proclaimed bench when you arrived, as he hadn't been since Minho's birthday, but you sat down to wait for him anyway—just in case. And when the bell rang you walked up the stairs, slowly, hungover, like a ghost wandering the corridors of the faculty, ignoring the professor's disapproving face when you interrupted his speech by opening the door of the class. You paid no attention to his words, sitting down and doodling on your notebook, enduring as best you could the hour that lasted, leaving as soon as it was over.

You skipped the next one. It wasn't responsible, you knew, but it hadn't been responsible either to go to a pub on a weekday, and you had still attended to Jeongin's invitation. If the consequences to your actions were going to be going back to your dorm to sleep some more, you were glad to comply.

The quietness of the library sounded good, too, but it held too many memories.

So you put on your headphones, drowning the background noises to nothingless. And you wandered back to your dorm, weighted steps over the pavement, gaze sliding around the landscape… Until you saw him.

With his navy blue backpack slung over his shoulder, and the brown sweatshirt you had stolen from him in some chilly afternoons. He was going to class, you supposed, when you made eye contact with him. But you forced yourself to ignore him, continuing on your way.

You couldn't face him. All you could think about was the way he had avoided you, even when you had asked him why, and how you had kissed another boy just because it looked like him. You went upstairs in your building, the necessity to get as far as possible from him bubbling in your chest, walking through the doors of the elevator.

You knew he had followed you, but you wanted to be able to ignore him too.

Until you heard him.

“I love you,” he whispered, and you stopped dead in your tracks, paralysed. He then repeated it, this time louder. “I love you, I’m so sorry but I love you.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as you turned around slowly, utterly convinced that it was your imagination.

You took your headphones out, letting them rest around your neck, and looked at him—watched his expression. But his kicked out, glassy eyes were a reflection of how you actually felt, the waterline of his pretty eyes covered by a bubble of unreleased tears, and brows pitched.

You didn't feel as hungover anymore.

‘Ding!’

You reacted before the doors of the elevator closed, pressing the button on the panel, and took a trembling step out of it, into the hallway.

He looked tortured. His cheeks were coloured red, flushed with the shame that let you know everything you could think was true. Still, he was looking at you with a devotion you doubted he could feel towards you, like you hung the stars in the sky. But you had heard him.

Had you?

“What do you mean you love me?” you asked, and you hated the way your voice quivered.

“Don't—” he said, and he paused, like he knew he could mess everything up in seconds. “I love you. I hadn't realised, or maybe I did, but I hadn't accepted it until a couple of weeks ago.”

“What—”

“I love you, and I'm sorry because I've been an asshole about it, and you didn't deserve it,” he added, interrupting you. You shut your mouth, trying to understand what he was implying. “I got so jealous… When—You spent the whole night with him, and he did it on purpose, and I couldn’t—And then you kissed him and I—I didn't know what to do with what I felt about it—About you.”

He locked his eyes with yours, and he looked so broken it was almost tragic. But you were putting together the pieces of his improvised, chaotic speech—he was talking about Minho, about you, about you two—, and you couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips.

You nodded, taking a step towards him.

He seemed frozen in the middle of the hall, frozen as you approached him, air caught at his throat as you slid a hand over his shoulder, like you always did before hugging him. You looked up, innocent beam in you eyes, and whispered into the shell of his ear:

“I love you too.”

His breath hitched, your mouth close to the corner of his lips, and his heartbeats quickened under your hand as you rested it on his chest, mirroring yours.

And then you kissed him. Eyes closed, devouring his sweet sighs as he pressed you to his body, backpack long forgotten on the floor. You kissed him, and his relieved smile, as you grinned into his mouth, sliding your hand up until you buried it into his hair. And he took you by your waist, and he hummed into you, and you breathlessly giggled when he pushed you into the wall at your back.

“I love you too,” you repeated, kissing him again and again, and you couldn't understand his answer but his lips were over yours again, carving those three words into your mouth.

ㅤㅤwith love ,　© mars.　do not copy, translate, repost, share this work as yours on other platforms or feed it to the ai !　🔭 ˚. ⋆͏

[pearlsdefenseattorny]

i wish you'd included some basis for your different interpretation. i provided an in-show scene supporting my opinion, can you think of anything in the show (or word of god?) that defies my argument and/or supports your own? this is asked in good faith

anyway, i have too many thoughts about this to fit all in one place but i'll try to fit enough to get a basic idea across

steven universe is about growth. it doesn't make the argument everything that causes growth is good, but that change/loss/etc will occur and you HAVE to grow through those things.... i agree that just because rose's death forced pearl and greg to grow, doesn't mean her death was good, but it's one of the mechanisms the show uses to promote its main message.

rose's character is tragic, because she squanders her opportunity to grow. she advocates that everyone is capable of change, but paradoxically excludes herself from that "everyone," and isn't able to come to terms with her character growth - i've talked about this A LOT, how one of her central flaws is how deeply grounded she is in self-hate and that hurts all the people she loves and is close to. she internally doubts her own ideology.

"She makes sense once you know she is her own worst enemy. She dreams, achingly, that she could become compassionate, because she’s sure she’s incapable of compassion. Her lack of respect for herself makes it impossible for her to respect everyone closest to her. She reveres them instead, because they are better than she could ever be, and that reverence is so honest and intoxicating that it draws everyone closer to her, without them understanding the deep self-hatred that pull is coming from...

She couldn’t stand herself; self-destruction is a huge theme throughout the show—the struggle of the feeling that you shouldn’t exist, and what that can do to a person. A lot of the themes of the show exist within Rose, like her inability to be honest with other people or herself about what she’s done. She’s so deeply ashamed of herself and her past, with very good reason. The truth is that the people in her life would be so much more understanding than she believes they will be (such a good line). The contempt that she has for herself gets turned outward as contempt for other people when she can’t trust them. When she can’t trust herself, she can’t trust other people, and it makes it impossible for her to be close with anyone*. It makes life extremely difficult for her. It makes living difficult for her."

- Rebecca Sugar

*this is exactly why she can't trust pearl with the fact that she's pink diamond, and silences her

pearl is a juxtaposition to that theme. in many ways, she becomes a victim of rose's internalized self-hate, because all that self-hate inevitably gets projected outward (i'm thinking specifically of the gag order when i say this). so when i say rose's death was "necessary" for her growth, i don't mean all of it - but the version of pearl that she gets reverted back to, is a version of pearl that has grown after rose's death, and a version of pearl that has been "freed" BY that event, as opposed to a possible "alternate world" where rose might have been able to accept herself, communicate honestly and directly, and navigate the true complexity and tension of her relationship with pearl maturely. things could have been different. the tragedy is that, because rose COULDNT grow... they weren't.

gems always retain some traits which relate to their purpose (source: SU future, ep 2 "guidance"), but to be clear: im not making the argument pearl's inevitably incapable of independence as long as her "owner" is around - that's not exactly a bullshit take, but i don't ascribe to it. i can't find the direct quote, but rebecca sugar has confirmed pearl perceives PD and rose quartz as fundamentally separate in some core ways - a different identity.

"Pearl and Rose—the dust clears, revealing an endless honeymoon. Pink is gone and Pearl is free—free to love Rose." - Rebecca Sugar

this isn't the quote im thinking of but it reinforces/adds to it. pearl loving rose is different than pearl loving pink, but it's still fundamental for her. the loss is traumatic, in the same way the loss of any close loved one is. i'm not trying to say the reason rose's death was good for her is because rose technically owned her on Homeworld, and that no pearl is free if their owner/former owner is still alive. that's a stupid argument. it flies in the face of the show's core message and as someone else pointed out, affirms HW's propoganda.

what i am saying is that rose had an unhealthy outlook on herself and others that damaged those closest to her. that affected pearl, deeply. Even with the change of identity rose embodied, a new problem had emerged: not a structured, externally enforced or innate hierarchy between them, but kind of this unhealed rift that came up because even if PD was "gone," the ramifications of her actions remained, and rose didn't (as far as the audience is aware) challenge them. she couldnt challenge them because she can't look back and unpack PD, because she can't stand to examine that part of herself.

a version of rose that refuses to/feels unable to change/accept herself/work through their shared trauma, and continues the same patterns and lets the old wounds fester is not healthy for pearl. this is a version of rose that is stuck and keeps pearl stuck for the same reason; i.e., the gag order. she let that sit for thousands of years and didn't remove it before her death.

TL/DR: the reason rose dying was "good" for pearl, is because rose was causing harm and was deeply unhealthy for pearl and behaviorally prevented her from growing, not because of an innate owner/pearl paradigm or because rose was evil. this is not me saying rose deserved to die.

i talk about more of this stuff in past posts, if you look at the pearlrose tag on my blog

idk why redditors have such slanted opinions about pearl and rose but it drives me crazy. rose didnt lead pearl on, and her choosing to have a baby with greg wasn't some cruel selfish thing - pearl isn't owed rose's continued existence.

rebecca sugar confirmed a long time ago pearlrose was mutual. loving greg doesn't erase love for pearl. just because their relationship isn't typical doesn't mean it doesn't count.

part of why it drives me crazy is if they're not being uncharitable to rose and calling her a villian, they're belittling pearl. 14 years for her is a blink in our time. imagine if the love of your life died by choice, for reasons you cant quite understand, a month ago. you'd be a little neurotic too.

[atissi]

if you are 1) currently in a university where your student healthcare covers hormone therapy, and 2) in a good financial, emotional, and social position to start hormone therapy, i would recommend pursuing it. because in my experience, it's a huge pain in the ass to get an endocrinologist once you're on your own

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[jackass-jones]

Honestly shoutout to Steven Universe for the representation of malachite and abusive relationships because it holds up really well and is still like one of the only abuse narratives I’ve seen that portrays how like. Abusive relationships aren’t as simple as “evil abusive person was constantly Mean and Bad to nice victim” like. Lapis is a realistic victim. She refused to leave the relationship because she longed to have connection with someone and she liked feeling as though she could have control for once, even though she really didn’t. She wasn’t nice and innocent, she felt anger and resentment and liked taking it out on Jasper. And despite how horrible it was, she deeply misses Jasper because it was the longest and deepest relationship she’s ever had with anyone and she didn’t know how to function without it

But Lapis is still a victim and we’re meant to care for her and understand where she comes from. She chose to stay with Jasper to keep others safe from her harm, and because she thought she herself deserved the abuse as a way of making up for everything bad she’s done. Jasper reminds Lapis over and over that she is a monster and that’s why they should be together, because Jasper is the only one who understands her. And when Lapis finally rejects their relationship, she mostly states it through what she herself felt and has done, saying that she didn’t like the person she became in that relationship and she never wants to feel like that ever again. It’s messy and complicated, just like how actual abuse is

Anyways yeah talk about a very good abuse narrative thanks steven universe

[brothermouse]

Sunday Doodles 5/18/25, another letter from our good friend from a steampunk alternate universe, Jacob K. Steinsworth.

My Dear Friend Victor,

I write to you from the very edge of Deseret. The train from Santa Fe has taken me as far as it can, to a little settlement on the border called Mission Point, an appropriate name for reasons I shall soon describe. There is a Deseret immigration office here and from there I shall obtain my travel papers, allowing me free travel throughout all Mormon lands.

The moment I stepped off the train I was stunned by the absolute pandemonium that greeted me. Preachers of every breed were arrayed on the platform, each one shouting scripture and sermons at any traveler that would listen. I admit I stood dumbfounded for a moment until, amongst the cacophony I overheard my own name.

A young Mexicano man of rough dress seemed to be checking with all the departing passengers for me. After flagging the lad down and communicating over the noise that I was who he was looking for. He tried to explain himself, but the noise was simply too great, so instead he gestured to me that we should go to a quieter location.

After collecting my baggage we pushed our way out of the station and found a nearby park where the preachers had thinned out considerably. It was necessary for us to gain some distance from the station as there happened to be even more preachers gathered outside the doors of the station, apparently unable to gain access to the platform.

From there the lad introduced himself as Alma Gutierrez, and showed me a letter of introduction from my contact in the University of Deseret. He was here to assist me in gathering my traveling papers and to escort me by wagon to the city of Saint George, from where I could make the rest of my journey from the luxury of one of Deseret’s fine airships.

Alma told me that it would be best for me to go rest up at the hotel so that we could start first thing in the morning, “Before the heat woke up” as he put it.

As he led me to the hotel where he had already made arrangements (The Chapel Hotel, if you want to know) I had the opportunity to question him on the peculiar chaos that greeted me at the station. I first asked if there was some religious convention in town, to which my guide laughed.

I was told that Mission Point was once called Mason Point, but the name changed because of the large population of preachers, missionaries and other parties interested in the salvation of souls. It seems that this is one of the few cities that has a Deseret Immigration Office, and it is only in this office that one can obtain permissions to preach among the Mormons.

At this I lamented that, with such an obvious backlog of persons waiting to cross the border, my paperwork would have surely been buried under the ensuing clerical deluge. Alma then, with a sly smirk told me that there was no backlog at all. Well, I balked at this until the peculiar way of the Mormons was revealed to me. You see, for travelers like myself and missionaries who know how to behave themselves, obtaining travel papers is a simple matter of asking for them. However, when one proves that they may cause problems on the other side of the border, such as the priestly mob I met at the station, their paperwork is almost perpetually “under review” or it has been “misfiled” leaving them stuck here in limbo. They could cross the border illegally, and I’m told some do, but they are quickly arrested and deported back to this point. With careful application of red tape, Deseret is able to sort the wheat from the tares, as it were, though it did leave Mission Point piled high with tares who think themselves wheat.

After dropping off my baggage at the hotel, Alma led me to the immigration office to pick up my travel papers. On the way there we came across a singularly odd street preacher. To be sure, there were street preachers throughout all of Mission Point, but all the ones I had encountered up to that point were flesh and blood. This one was made of gleaming tin and iron swinging its arms passionately as a voice as if from a wax cylinder shouted hellfire and brimstone from somewhere in the mechanisms.

A man shouting like a carnival barker announced that this was Father Otto, the Automatic Preacher. Alma, seeing that I was quite curious with this oddity, offered to leave me here while he fetched my papers, to which I was happy to agree.

The barker, who must have been the inventor, was happy to explain all of Father Otto’s functions and features, which I observed with great delight. Imagine my surprise when the man told me that this was only the prototype and he was seeking investors to help improve it. There was a gleam in his eye that hinted at his hope that I might be among those investors. Seeing this I confessed to him that I had little money to spend, but I did offer a tithe of 25 cents for the privilege of sketching his remarkable creation. Seeing he could make no more converts among my wallet, he accepted it and continued his sloganeering to more wealthy parties.

I now write to you from my hotel, with my travel papers in hand and eagerly awaiting tomorrow when I take my first steps into the land of the Mormons. As always, give your family my love.

Your friend,

Jacob K. Steinsworth

Sunday Doodles 01/13/25

A day late because, while I did doodle this on Sunday, it got cold here recently so I’m in hibernation mode now. Minimum energy.

Anyways, this is a continuation (beginning?) of another project I started here about a steampunk alternate history. Here’s the doodle and accompanying letter:

My Dear Friend Victor,

I received your letter at the hotel in Santa Fe. I am writing a response as I await the arrival of my train. As you must have already supposed my answer is thus, I will not reconsider this journey. Do not suppose that your failure to turn me from this path is any reflection on a lack of warm feeling between us. You are and always have been a dear friend and I consider your company one of my greatest treasures. I also beg you, do not think that you and others have been derelict in informing me of the dangers of this trip. But I do ask that you see this from my perspective.

When I first received that letter from the University of Deseret I confess I thought it a hoax, for why would the Mormons, those hermits of the Rockies, seek to invite me, a second rate entomologist and amateur toy maker to their secluded kingdom? But the request proved genuine and granted me a singular opportunity. To penetrate the very heart of the Mormon califatte![sic] Such an opportunity may never come again! I cannot guess why they are interested in my little flutter toys, but can I really pass this opportunity simply because I cannot devine what goes on in the strange mind of a mormon? How few men have gone to that strange land? I know my mind and it is made up. To Salt Lake I go.

To the concerns you put forth in your latest letter I shall say the following and no more:

The Mormons are mezmerists[sic] who will ensorcel me into converting: First, Mezmerizm [sic] is carnaval hoaxerism and you know it. Second, if their object is my conversion they have taken an illogically obtuse path to it.

I may be robbed by Danite Bandits while on the Deseret roads: One could be robbed by bandits on any road in the Union. I will deter this with the usual measures one would use against the Confederate Bandits we are used to. I will carry little of value, just my sketch journal, writing materials, three of my Flutterbugs with their blueprints, a few gold coins to exchange for local currency, and a small Smith & Wesson.

The Mormons are always seeking new wives to add to their harems: Victor we have been friends since we were both lads, I am flattered you fear for me in this way, but we can both admit that I would make quite a homely wife. Even the most lecherous of Mormon elders will certainly find a gentleman like myself lacking the requisite feminine charms.

I say once again, my mind is made up. I have taken every reasonable precaution. I will go to Salt Lake. Please, do not let my resolve in this spoil our friendship. I know you are only concerned for my safety, thus I shall endeavor to write to you at every opportunity. The Pony Express has recently opened routes in Deseret and I have it on good authority that Mormon Elders have decreed this good and that the mail carriers go unmolested. Whenever possible I will place my letters directly in the rider’s hand, to avoid possible tampering by Mormon hands.

Please give my love to your wife Isabel and your darling children, Victoria, Charles, and Martin. Tell the children that when next they see me I shall rain down on them all the sweets and toys I could smuggle away from the Mormons. Tell Isabel she is beautiful and a saint to put up with your worrying.

Your friend,

Jacob K. Steinsworth

P.S. Train is delayed. Have some sketches. The Grand Clock at the Santa Fe Station and one of my Flutterbugs.

[torchickentacos]

I personally think that the outrage I've seen about little girls who listen to chappell roan or espresso or whatever is kind of silly because I remember being on the bus for daycare field trips and hearing Fergalicious and Hot in Herre on the bus radio. and as far as I know that didn't kill anyone. i think it's okay if a six year old likes pink pony club because that's definitely better than, like, sexyback by justin timberlake was or whatever

[summertimemusician]

Linktober 2024, Day 1, Mirror (Self)

Alright here we go again.

Technically a sneak peak of a bigger thing to come in the future that I'm repurposing, and the result of my final playthrough and readthrough before EoW dropped being Four Swords Adventures and that made me sad about Shadow Link again.

Note that this is for the Four Swords Adventures iteration of Shadow Link that might evolve into an LU Shadow, not Dark Link in either LOZ or LU, I have other plans for him.

This one shot was brought to you by Scars by The Crane Wives, Ribs by The Crane Wives, Ruin by The Amazing Devil and Two Minutes by The Amazing Devil because the author's playlist decided to be incredibly cheeky when they blacked out to write this like an ancient seers being cursed with visions and then called mad and hearing they've been put up for execution.

As always the nature of the relationship can be romantic or platonic, mostly due to the author's time constraints and further plans.

Anyway enjoy the reading!

It was cold.

The sort of cold after a wildfire, when everything's turned back to ash, the sort that left burned your vision white after the flames licked through your veins and left an ache in your bones. He shuddered, coughed black onto the stone floor, shaking with a muffled whimper.

It never got any easier, being dragged from the Dark World and into the Realm of Light, the goddesses' world itself revolting against an intruder, wanting the wound torn asunder into their oh so precious realm cauterized. To purge the intrusion and smite it where it stands.

Too bad for them (and for him), his master didn't particularly care about what the world wanted. Didn't particularly care that he hadn't grow accustomed to the pain or the cold, he had to stand up. There was work to be done.

(Shadow gritted his teeth, willed himself not to think about the prophecy of a golden haired princess- because whether he liked it or not, it was prophecy. As those with divinity running through their veins are wont to spill from their throats so carelessly- of violet eyes and a smile a third moonlight and hands holding a hammer.

It always hurt more, after one of the heroes liberated one of the maidens, or the jewels, the pain lingering for days afterwards and carving a home in his metaphorical bones. But just this once he'd take the cold bite of the Four Swords over the pain in the hole in his chest that Vio's betrayal had left, something that felt so much worse than every other time before.

Just this once he wished that maybe, just maybe, the hurt would be too much to bear, that he wouldn't wake up again-

Why? Why does it hurt so much but he's still here? He already knew the Light was uncompromising and unforgiving, but he thought them at least above curses.)

His ears twitched as soft, almost silent footsteps came up to his side. Someone crouching by his fallen form, setting a cautious hand over his own that Shadow couldn't help but draw away from with a hiss, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the world again, to your face, carefully blank as you guided him to lean against your side, a silver choker with a crimson gem winked mockingly at him, the shade closing his eyes and going boneless against your side.

Shadow was so, so tired.

He heard you quietly sigh, plucking his cap from his head and running your fingers through dark amethyst, smoke and mist made hair. "I told you so."

"Shut up." He grumbled, nuzzling further into the crook of your neck. One clawed hand curling against your free wrist, digging into the skin. Absentmindedly noting there were new scratches just above the metal.

It was routine by now, the warmth of your existence against his own a welcome balm, not quite of the Realm of Light where it's unpleasant, not too close to the Dark World where he felt like melting back into the embrace of the darkness, only to howl in agony at being dragged out.

Memories not quite his own bled into his mind all the time. How you'd shape ice into flowers for the princess in winter with nary a though, of blinking and from one second to the next you'd have whatever sword he had hostage if you though it was time for a break with a smile brighter than the sun.

His master had changed that though. It took months for you to stop trying to claw the collar out and to stop trying to fight Vaati.

(Funny how holding a mage's dragon as a bargaining chip is just as effective as kidnapping a ruler.)

Your gaze flicked to the polished obsidian of the Dark Mirror, to the gold, ornate frame. "The offer is still open, you know. Let me take the suffering from you."

"No." He scowled, leaning back to glare into your eyes, a hint of fangs poking out from a maw struggling to keep the shape of a human jaw, "You helped him. Helped them." Shadow spat, there is that hurt again.

You shrugged, a movement that's just slightly awkward as you flinch, "That I did." You confirmed simply, it almost made Shadow see red as he leaned away, knocking your hand from his head in the process, but if there's anything him and the heroes shared, was a lack of a desire to hurt you. It was a little grating to be honest, "Vio even offered to take me with him, to be honest."

"Then why didn't you leave?" He demanded.

Why did you stick around?

Your eyes shuttered, a hint of conflict in your pursed lips. Before you found your words, they come out softly, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you why. You'll just have to find out yourself."

You tug your wrist from his grasp, and Shadow lets you go.

(Stubbornly pushing down on memories and emotions that arearen'tarenotanymore quite his.)

You stand and turn away, pushing the curtains away from your sight, you turn your tired eyes to Shadow with an emotion he can't put a name to. "Just keep it in mind that there's more than one way to end this. Nothing is truly inevitable."

Shadow watches you go. 'There's nothing that can be done. He tells himself, hand hesitating above the Dark Mirror, briefly, it curls into a fist. The hero's original self stares back at him.

'… Does he really believe that?'

He shakes his head, and focuses on willing the Dark Mirror to show him his counterpart.

His chest still hurts.

[kingslionheart]

Just so some king in this world may have driven one of his favourites from him, or he may have been forced from the king against both of their wills; then hath he many torments and many mishaps in his exile, yet he may come to the same lord whom he before was with, and there be much more worshipful than he was. Then he will recall the misfortunes which he had there in his exile, and yet not be the more unhappy — Alfred the Great's translation of St. Augustine's Soliloquies