#and these are all very good things and i will have a learning experience

[xxxstraightfromtheheartxxx]

Read my tags first, ran out of space.

Note: I change my mind a few times throughout this text post, what I began with is not entirely what I ended with. And I’m not even sure of the ‘conclusion’ I got to. However I’m too tired to try and figure the rest out about it right now. Might change this post later when I have made up my mind or got more questions about it. Heads up! Spelling- and other mistakes in writing, were made. Frequently.

I know my tags make me a hypocrite and that’s one of the judgemental thought processes I’ve been fighting/growing against most for a while now.

I expect people to think similarly to me about this and that’s not within my right, they don’t owe me anything for the choice I decided to make and put the hard work in for. That I’ve suffered for it and for the patience I’ve had to bring up towards others being judgemental and having prejudices they didn’t fight within themselves. The frustration I keep feeling every time I have to explain to other adults how to respect accept and see minorities or marginalised groups as equal in worth to themselves. It’s so tiring, and I’m just white, I can’t imagine what it must be like to try and have these conversations to protect yourself and your family and friends and loved ones over and over again whilst still experiencing racist comments assumptions treatment behaviour bullying exclusion exploitation… through systemic racism, racist communities,through so many facets of their lives.

I feel like I’ve been shouting for equality. Not sure if that’s the best most respectful word for it in english, in my language literally translated our word means ‘equally worthy”. And to me that means that from birth we should all be treated with the same amount of respect love and acceptance. It’s only society, nurture that causes this inequality to exist, that not only allows but encourages prejudices and othering for power. Shouting at people who seemingly just refuse to open their eyes, minds and hearts and keep humanity from growing into healthier behavioural patterns in the future. They refuses to put in more effort to try our best to avoid wars, make the idea of hurting another person out of anything other than self defence, be heavily rejected, punished. Instead of not saving each other out of fear for economic and political threats to our own habitants and countries. To be unified so firmly by the absolute belief that violence is wrong, that those fears wouldn’t even be an issue because we’re all know all the other countries will still have our backs and we’d be able to function without the country that’s trying to start or continue a war, while only having to put in mild effort to be entirely independent from the threatening county, as humanity instead of as “individual countries”. It would cut the county/group at war of their resources entirely, which would endanger them to much to be able to actually be able to hold out being at war and making an actual big difference in the big picture of our common humanity. I know there are many weapons that could destroy so many at the same time, yet they would be poisoning the ground they so gladly wish to live on. (Ofcourse this is an ideal that is almost utopian).

This is the goal I thought we were all collectively working towards throughout our entire lives. To eventually be able to all come together in the far away future. All of the warmhearted people in the world.

And therefore we have to start within our small circle of influence and be open to try and learn to understand and respect each other with our differences and similarities, To expect people to be good and ourselves to put effort in it.

However completely swerved away from my original point. But it is the root of that frustration, hurt, disappointment and envy I experience when I see or hear or feel negative judgement .

People have been calling me stern and too strict and rigid in thought more in the last 4 years. It’s because I’ve been responding to prejudices and discriminatory behaviour and ideas verbally, and I have to admit about 50% of the time quite hard, not disrespectful, but clear. I’ve been setting boundaries over what way there can be spoken about others and myself with me. This week I even threatened to leave the room and wouldn’t continue conversing with them if they didn’t then stop casually using the n-word, while knowing it is wrong and hurtful and what my opinion and feeling was towards it. They called my stern and frowned and sighed but at least could bring it up not to say it with me around anymore. I know I haven’t changed their behaviour without my presence this way and it saddens me to feel them rejecting that part of myself that’s at the core of me. My moral core believe of equality.

When people won’t widen their view for one minority it makes me feel unsafe as part of multiple other minorities. I’m a queer womxn with persistent mental health issues, who isn’t able to work because of it and I’m neurodivergent and have some invisible fysical issues (I have loads of allergies which used to give me big rashes of eczema in my envoys and knees and later hands and feet, it has improved a lot, the amount of allergies keeps expanding though) ( I have a very small amount of energy compared to most people my age because of having to put in too much effort as a child and teen) to take care of others and secretly fighting feelings of depression). I’m lucky to be middle-class, white and have affordable healthcare here. All of these other aspects have made life harder for me throughout my entire life. Yet others have mostly blamed me and pestered me, excluded and avoided me for my inabilities and difference, including the inability to l love men.

It feels unfair that I try so hard to be accepting, understand and respectful of others, and not get the same amount of effort and care back… which is hypocrite of me, because the people I want to make the biggest changes never asked me to do all that. And while their lives are often so much easier specifically on the those societal aspects, does that make them owe me that effort back?

I feel like yes, they should, because they have more space for it, for questioning their prejudices than us. Because of the privileges of the main beliefs in their society, they didn’t have to lift a finger for throughout their entire lives. For all of the freedom and respect they’ve just got thrown in their laps, that took up so much of our lives for us to assemble a resemblance to their quality of life.

(Many people who have to fight for their lives daily, do not have that time or space so they only get to grow slower and are part of minority or marginalised groups as well. Bc evidently their is a lot of prejudice within those groups towards the other groups who are also being pressed down.)

I don’t know if I still think it’s hypocrite of me to expect people to put effort in being good. I don’t think so. The length they are able to go through to make those improvements however, I should bare in mind stronger again, like I used to.

If I give up on following my moral compass on this, I’ll never be the person I hope to be one day. I do feel like I deserve to give myself a break and be forgiving about those negative thoughts because they come from a desire for righteousness and good. Recognise, reject, correct, forgive and trust that I’ll do better next time because it is what I truly want to in the long run. I show myself to not always respond and to better pick my battles, so I can persevere and rebuild my energy for when I can make a bigger impact In the braided context or my own. However when I notice bad behaviour or judgement towards others, I do use little parts of it to give them a correcting look or to speak up for someone else or recently even for myself.

Totally did not see this rant coming!!

I knew this theme has been more at the front of my mind again recently and that I’ve been prickly about it, yet I hasn’t reflected on its origin as deeply as I did just now. So here, little amount of people this will reach, have some personal information from my brain and my heart.

.

I’ve been typing this for so long and my attention span has loosened throughout writing. I don’t supposes I’ve managed to make everything clear, I got more and more tired and created some weird sentence structures and maybe grammar and def phrasing to try to get my point through or at least comprehended.

Don’t come at me about the war part, I know it is unrealistic to achieve anything like that in our lifetimes.

Yet I’m holding onto this dream for dear life. Otherwise what is there? To grow towards, to live for? It all comes to recognising, appreciating, sharing and maintaining the good there is now and nurturing the good to come.

The way you change your immediate reactions to things is that you catch yourself having an uncharitable/bigoted/overly judgmental thought and you catch it and replace it and then you do that a hundred times a day for your whole life and eventually one day like five years later you realize that you think differently now and you’ll always be working on something but that’s how life goes and that’s fine.

[a-lurking-fae]

It's 7 in the morning but I HAD TO WRITE THIS DOWNNN

What if Fontainian!Reader + A/B/O dynamics + ill reader?? But the reader isn't an omega, no. They'd be a beta, and as we know, betas aren't that suseptive to pheromones at all, some not even noticing it.

In a family filled with strong Alphas, a simple beta is just... there? A weak beta that's quite out of place, are you really sure you belong there?

You don't notice how people run from you. They're scared of you for some reason? You don't notice the furious pheromones of your family when someone tells you you're a stain.

Whenever Bruce lectures you, that's the only time you actually talk to him. You don't know that he as been emmiting pheromones that literally scream "It's ok." or "Don't be scared."

No. He's straight up intimidating, he doesn't know you can't smell pheromones, he never really took the time to know you. You could've been an omega and he would even know. So you think he's super angry!

But, apparently Bruce can't help the bitch face and rough tone (っ ͡ ͡º - ͡ ͡º ς). Now if Fontainian reader was sick, I don't mean like terminal diseases from earth— I'm thinking about the abyssal corrosion. If the reader was an adventurer, it wouldn't be a surprise if they ran into the abyss.

But let's add the fact your the Hydro Archon's granddaughter, and the fact that your also the Hydro Dragon's granddaughter! You'd make such a good target, if your cursed, you don't have much to lose anymore.

So you pack your bags and leave for Fontaine, leaving the family for good. So you left a note for Alfred, telling him all about your situation. He'd be distressed! Alfred would tell Bruce, convincing him to get you. You were his daughter, why would he leave you to die!

Bruce promised himself that he wouldn't let another of his kids die, but here you were, that thing in your system killing you painfully and slowly.

Bruce knows about Teyvat, that's where your mother was from. He never met your grandparents, he'd like to know them now. The family faces another problem though, how do they get there?

Dick would skimm through your journals and diary, trying to find any clues on how to to you. But you've written it in another language, something that never existed in earth. And if you were well-versed in most languages in Teyvat, you guys know that when your super angry, sometimes you speak in all of them.

So instead of Tim and Barbara finding a pattern in your stuff, it's filled with multiple mixes of mysterious languages. Any progress would end up with another dead end.

Duke is absolutely happy, the both of you were the same age! Basically twins, both your birthdays a few days apart. You were the only sense of normalcy that he always craved, something most of the fucked-up-and-traumatized family members couldn't do. But when you left, that sense of stability started to fade. He worries about you day-and-night, he hopes that you'll be home soon.

Cass would learn normalcy from you, she was a trained weapon, she didn't have any clue what to do with you. After all, you always did your best to understand and teach her about emotions. She appreciates you a lot. You took care of her when she was sick, bandaged her up when she was injured, and baked her snacks. She wants to experience it with you again.

Damian's family is very much traditional. So he most likely would be angry, how could you leave them? Not only are they capable Alphas, but they're powerful as well. It was your adventuring in that world that got you sick. You should have simply stayed at home. When you get back to the mansion, you'll sit tight until they find a cure.

If it was Nicer!Damian, then he would be angry at himself. He wasn't enough for you to stay in Gotham, he promises that he'll be a better brother. He knows you could die any time there with the abyss and all! He nags Bruce and Tim to find you faster. Motivating them with the fact Teyvat is dangerous, wars there are going on! It was finished, also, Inazuma was far as fuck!

All-in-all, they'd do everything in their power to reach you, so they'd recruit the Justice league, especially Diana. She's well versed in these stuff after all. The Al Ghul's would help too. Checking family records if there were any thing pertaining to Teyvat.

Meanwhile, in Teyvat. You're swimming with the sea lions with Neuvilette and Furina, who took time off to spend time with their grandchild.

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

STAR TREK DIALOGUE ANALYSIS OVERVIEW

oh boy so i mentioned this project awhile back and after a long hiatus i'm finally done! (the irony that i wrote this and then took a second equally long hiatus but the point stands.)

i went through transcripts for TOS, TNG, DS9, Voyager, and Enterprise (thanks to chakoteya.net for those!) and calculated how many lines each main character has in each episode (and season & show as a whole), calculated means, looked at who had a lot of high & low line count episodes, made some graphs, and did some analysis on gender and race.

you can find my whole process & results on a spreadsheet here (it's a little messy. i'm sorry. if someone pays me i'll make it look nice and actually learn how to make good graphs in Google Sheets.) and i'll walk through some Big Results & reactions on this post here under a cut. just so this doesn't get too long, i'll breakdown each show, post my gender & race analysis, and a big list of every character with how much of a focus they get on separate posts. they'll all be tagged as "star trek dialogue analysis".

but first just a disclaimer – i do have professional experience doing data analysis but this is by no means a professional analysis and i'm sure there are plenty of mistakes because this was initially a small personal project that snowballed a little bit. if there are any Major Things you see that are wrong (i.e. i copy and pasted a totally wrong value somewhere) please reach out and i'll correct it if i can. also if anyone wants to use this data for anything, feel free but tag me because i'm curious!

see also: gender analysis // race analysis // tos breakdown // tng breakdown // ds9 breakdown // voyager breakdown // enterprise breakdown // who's the most/least used character?

all of the following graphs measure mean (average) lines of dialogue per episode, averaging all seasons (that they were a main character) together. please refer to the spreadsheet for more detailed information about exact numbers.

unsurprising results... this is the one Star Trek show that really never aspired to be an ensemble show. i was actually surprised by how few lines Spock and McCoy have in comparison to Kirk

also unsurprising that the two characters of color have the fewest lines per episodes in the 60s

Kirk had BY FAR the most lines of dialogue per episode out of all characters i've measured (115.20)

again unsurprising that Picard has more lines by such a wide margin

honestly fairly surprised by how few lines Data had (I thought he'd beat Riker by a decent margin) and was very surprised at how few lines Troi consistently has across the season. like i knew it wasn't many but dang... only 18 lines per episode on average.

and here we can see that ds9 really embraces being an ensemble show with everyone (sans Sisko, Ezri, & Jake) having around the same number of lines on average, probably the most equal overall of any Star Trek show.

Sisko obviously has the most lines as the lead and Jake the fewest because of irl work restrictions (and less kid-centric stories).

i was surprised with how many lines Ezri had but then again her entire character was compressed into a single season so it seems fair. (interestingly, Ezri has the most lines out of anyone in s7 (996), even beating Sisko (874))

despite having the most lines in DS9, Sisko has by far the least out of any main character/Captain of the shows i've measured.

Janeway has the highest average line count out of any 90s character and third highest of any character i measured (69.51)

and again, with the exception of Janeway, we see that Voyager tends to be more ensemble focused than TNG which surprised me a bit given how later seasons are often criticized for ignoring a lot of characters but i think the very ensemble heavy early seasons balance things out.

the characters also generally seem to have more lines on average than either TNG or DS9.

and oof... yeah Voyager was it for the ensemble style show

Archer has the second highest average line count (86.68) for the whole study after Kirk (115.20)

apparently the inception of Enterprise was to recreate the TOS style triumvirate and for better or worse they certainly did.

some overall fun stats –

there are 162,455 total lines of dialogue spoken by the main cast from TOS to Enterprise

somehow there's only a ten line difference between the amount of dialogue spoken in TNG (43,148) and DS9 (43,158)

the 5 characters with the most dialogue per episode in Berman era Trek: Archer (86.68), Janeway (69.51), Picard (69.37), Sisko (50.72), & Tucker (46.03). notably only one woman and one character of color (more on this in a gender & race analysis post)

not including kids, the 5 characters with the least dialogue in Berman era Trek are: Mayweather (13.39), Sato (15.99), Troi (18.11), Kes (18.18), & Neelix (19.68). notably including three women and two characters of color (again, more on this in a different post)

the character who has the most dialogue in a single length episode is Quark with 189 lines in Who Mourns For Morn?

[epsilonicronecronomicon]

OC I'M ANSWERING FOR: Bitknock Bonesaw, Humblewood campaign setting

1. "I don't know how I got this/I don't know what this means." Every one of his little trinkets has a history; his life is encrypted in an unsolvable sequence of hollow clicking sounds. But he rarely lies for reasons other than safety... Some people would fear him, for what he's done. For whose feathery skin hangs from whose beaked skull he wears.

2. Not too freely. "Friend" is a label given only to people on the same moral level as him, who condemn the same people and love the same love. He does not want another chase, another "friend" to run away from like a convict, so a "friend" can only be someone who runs beside him... or someone who runs slower.

3. Most of the time, actually. He has no filter for them. If he truly wants to hide them, he will huddle in a tree alone with his giant wings obscuring his face, which could begin to wet the skin on his mask with tears. But apprehension, anger, joy? Those are even openly discussed. The only emotion he will hide is the effects of another's betrayal.

4. Play-fighting. He and the boys in his village would organize duels for the girls and younger fledglings to watch. He was always bigger, heavier, sharper— he could always win. But that wouldn't make much of a show, so he also picked up the skill of entertainment, specifically the art of being horrifying.

5. No, he cannot cry on command. He can, however, look sad like a fake-hurt puppy convincing its master to share her scraps. Usually with a similar endgame.

bro is a dog

6. He enjoys washing his own feathers with orange-pigmented rocks— a common habit in lammergeiers like him. He doubts anyone else would be interested. Sometimes he even finds a rock that makes it look like dried blood.

7. Most people he knows just call him "Bonesaw", which is a wonderfully badass thing to call out in a crowd. He has very good hearing; it always works. Some of his party members might someday refer to him as Bitknock; this would be a new and oddly pleasant experience for him.

8. He's never said it in his life, not even in knock-speak. All of his love is shown through his actions— his favors or his cries or his touch.

9. I would say gentle love, but in a very... confused and unrecognizable way. He's not totally sure how to show it or when to show it, so he will typically only show pure unbridled affection when it is shown to him first. Like if he is given a hug. As for recieving, he will never have a preference.

10. That the skull rings he knocks together to communicate and digs in the ground to mark his territory or sign a letter? They can play music too!! They sound like spooky skeletal castanets.

11. They'd ask him to play his music or use knock-speak. His specific style takes months, even years to learn, and a doppelganger only springing into existence that day might not know a single song or sentence.

12. He doesn't laugh at things he finds funny— the closest he might get to laughter is joyful squeaks whilst play-fighting. That's how you know he really likes a fight, or really likes you. He'll just be calling.

13. Bitknock doesn't smile. He doesn't fake it, either.

14. A sharp exhale is typically enough to do it. A small fire on the ground might be put out with a slam of his fist.

15. While in combat, he's twitchy and silent, showing no emotion and striking fear into the enemy. In a large group by the fire he's much more talkative. Alone, he's inquisitive or deep in thought, but silent nonetheless. Alone with someone else, he's either killing them or gently, kindly holding their hand.

16. People with a strong, unshakeable sense of morality. Or justice.

17. Most others first notice his unusual size for a Raptor, or his gigantic spiky wings, or his nightmarish, unreal disposition. In the mirror, he notices his eyes glowing under the mask.

18. Her name is Thimphina Muku La Kivi. She's a socially inept nomadic owl girl with a secret lurking under her humble tree-torn cloak. They know each other through their travels <3

19. Be silently angry, maybe grumble and literally push them back if they try to interact with him. No way is he dealing with this right now. If he's gonna talk about how he's feeling he's doing it when HE chooses to so fuck all that noise forever

20. He doesn't know anybody like that. Yet.

will add to this later

@wearethesensum IMPORTANT if you want Ambrose to make a good impression

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

What’s the lie your character says most often?

How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?

What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

When do they fake a smile? How often?

How do they put out a candle?

What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?

Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

How do they greet someone they like / love?

What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?

What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?

What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?

Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?

Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?

Who would / do they believe without question?

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?

How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?

[toringo]

i’m OBSESSED with your anti tulpar comics, i’ve been rotating them in my mind nonstop for the past few days! how do you think a!curly feels about a!jimmy?

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

You have no idea how happy it makes me to know, that people really enjoy those. I know it's not even my au, but I've been genuinely hyperfixating on it for some time now, and making up my own lore (obviously the creator doesn't mind, they said it's all up to interpretation).

My take on A!Curly's opinion of A!Jimmy and some A!Curly background and hcs:

He thinks Jimmy is weak, pathetic, and simply put a loser. He's annoying, easy to push around, and doesn't put up too much of a fight, which is good, because - hot take - A!Curly is just as much of a pushover as the canon one.

He puts on a mean face and abuses his power to put down the others, to make himself feel better (feel important and in control), but if someone shows that they can snap back he loses the fight quite easily.

He's a people pleaser, the top student with no personal life kind. It's just that he's looking for approval as a 'tough leader' now. You know, the epitome of masculinity with nerves of steel and 0 sensitivity.

People usually need 10 years of experience to become a captain, he got the title in half that time, unlike canon!Curly (If someone asks how it was totally natural and due to his stellar performance! Don't question it too much!)

He doesn't have anything much going on back on Earth, also unlike canon Curly. He distances himself from his family (never truly satisfied with his achievements) and has no close friends. He sees no point in making any now that he spends most of his time in space. Doesn't really believe in love, either.

He didn't pass the psych eval twice in a row and is on Pony Express approved (questionable) antidepressants/mood stabilizers. Still fit to fly!

With all that being said; he considers Jimmy an easy target and abuses him primarily because of that. He can't stand this weakling stumbling around all pathetic and apologetic, while he has to work so hard to keep up his reputation.

It pisses him off that some guy just… doesn't care that others see him like this. Curly would care, it would break him if anyone thought of him like they do of Jimmy! So it's annoying that this janitor doesn't even try.

A perfect excuse to make himself feel bigger, too; it's not like he's a bad guy. This loser needs to learn, after all, that people like him don't survive in a place like this.

It gets worse when he starts realizing, that Jimmy is putting up a front and is actually way more cunning and capable than people think. Makes him feel on edge, paranoid. Like Jimmy is there to make him spiral; like he was sent by his higher-ups to check on him.

Then he finds out Jimmy is actually an emergency pilot (not on any papers Curly had access to). Yeah, he hates his guts.

When they enter their 'relationship' (it's mostly very humiliating hate sex ngl), Curly gets to know him a bit better. He still resents him, even more knowing that Jimmy can be a cold and cruel man under the mask of submissiveness. And even more, when Jimmy shows just how little respect he has for his captain.

But it's… a relief, having someone know how you really are, seeing your 'worst self'. He kind of feels like with every small thing he reveals to Jimmy, he gives up a bit more of control and gives him more ammunition, but well. Bitches be lonely.

So they have this weird thing going on, where Curly abuses Jimmy in front of the crew and during work hours, to unwind and reassure himself about his position and vent the abuse he experiences from HIS higher-ups, and Jimmy abuses him in private (for many, many reasons. Also bc he's sadistic).

They both think that if they hurt the other enough, he will stop hurting them. They're wrong. Although Curly gives up more easily, and Jimmy goes overboard quite a lot (as he has nothing to lose, is an obsessive weirdo, and was keeping his mouth shut about what Curly was doing for so long that at this point all the years of hatred are spilling out. He also has a personal vendetta against Curly, because he admired him and wanted to befriend him before he became a captain (and had any power over him) and Curly just started treating him like trash soon after getting the title).

YEAH sorry I will talk more about it later, sorry for being chaotic - they're just awful and disgusting and need to be put on some kind of meds (Curly's pills don't count)

[wetcatspellcaster]

2024 fic wrapped

I was tagged by @cursedhaglette to do this tag-game, but I found the focus on stats made me a little uncomfortable! (also, no one needs to know how many words I wrote while having multiple breakdowns last year, truly).

But, I didn't want to ignore Mia's tag! so instead, I'm going to take @cinnamontails-ff wrapped tag-game, just bc I sympathise with the logic and I like this set of questions a lot more!

Thank you Cin for coming up with questions that don't focus so much on productivity. And thank you again, Mia, for including me in the original game :) hopefully this is an acceptable substitute!

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

I guess, what it feels like to be a 'popular' author - and the answer is, 'both good and bad, in fact, extremely mixed'. Obviously, many parts of it are wonderful: more people interacted with my work in the height of the BG3 fandom than I've ever had before, I felt like my writing mattered and I enjoyed every conversation I had about it. I also felt under a lot more scrutiny, very hyperaware of how I acted in 'public' (ie. on this blog), and aware of the people I'd disappoint with the directions I took my stories and what I chose to include. I also had to watch the baffling half-life of modern fandom! BG3's 6 month peak and 1yr trough was wild to me, as someone who joined dragon age 8yrs after the game was released. But I've decided I actually really like the middle-road of interaction, with much less noise and dedicated, recurring readers who I recognise and who make me smile and laugh every single time they comment or tag my work. I'll probably never experience whatever the fuck Pieces was ever again, and I'm honestly... ok with that, currently? Not to sound awful, but I'm not sure I liked it lmao.

In terms of my writing, my biggest learning point was "you're good at this, actually". Chanting this to myself in the mirror while I white-knuckle the sink.

How has your writing developed this past year?

I'm genuinely not certain. Pieces was certainly my most ambitious story yet, but a lot of the outlining of that took place in 2023 so it feels like the development happened then... though I suppose landing the dismount was something I worked very hard to do. I guess the main development this year was that a lot of what I wrote was extremely, extremely angsty. I wrote Pieces, I wrote This Is Not A Love Story. and I gave Rosalie to Orin :))))) this doesn't necessarily surprise me, given the way my writing often reflects things I'm dealing with in my life, and I've been trying to both recover from - and desparately stave off a relapse into - depression. I think that I can see why I keep making characters into the worst versions of themselves (this goes for Astarion, Rosalie - bc Pieces Rosalie is NOT in a good place, Gale and my Durge) and then watching them claw their way back to happiness in the hope of proving to myself that that's possible.

But jfc, it all got a little heavy. I've decided that 2025 is the Year of the Rom Com™.

Good writing habits?

Committing myself exclusively to what I want to read and sticking to my guns - which means I actually finish the thing, rather than getting into my own head about it.

Stretching my comfort zone a little (writing something vaguely smutty, writing something very different in style, switching genres for a bit) without losing my own voice.

Not falling into any jealousy/existential crises about my own writing, which I guess is much easier when you're experiencing a bout of 'success', but I've managed to keep it up even after the success began tailing off :)

I wrote a lot of words last year. I'm not putting the stat down but god. It was a lot.

Bad writing habits?

Overwriting everything. Everything. All the time. Party Favours was so short!!! I used to write novellas!!! Why are my chapters so fucking long now?????

Having multiple fic wips when I promised myself I'd wind down fanfic and start writing original work again :')

I wrote a lot of words last year. I think I did this bc I was extremely unhappy, and productivity is how I define myself. when I feel bad, I write and post bc it makes me feel good. And I felt very bad this year. So anyway, I think my wordcount is both a good thing and also a wee cry for help :'))))

Favorite thing you wrote?

Chapter Twenty-Three of Pieces (Mephistopheles consultation and my Ascended!Astarion meta-reveal)

Chapter Four of Cooler Than Me (putting the blorbos in a formal-wear situation)

I also liked my sex scene in Pieces :') it was tame but it was written for me specifically x

Favorite reads?

for fic!

long summer days can lead to lazy vices by @pouroverpaloma

eyes like fire by demonsbanebard

only once by @bearhugsandshrugs

and of course stitched into your sleeve by the bestie (@violacae)!!! my first ever gift fic!!!

for literature!

The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door by HG Parry

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan

Deeplight by Frances Hardinge

Biggest win?

god. I'm endlessly grateful for my gift fic and for my fanart, but... it's got to be bookbindings. I used to daydream, about somebody ever wanting to have my fic bound, but I thought it was impossible and would never happen! I now know of 3 copies of my work that exist in the world :D and the ones I've seen were fucking gorgeous, like oh my fucking god.

I am also very proud I finished Pieces! It was my most ambitious project, and writing the ending presented even more challenges than I expected - as I discovered how much you write yourself into a corner when you resoul Astarion. I still haven't managed to read the completed work in full yet, but I'm proud it exists :)

Goals for the new year?

finish outstanding wips, and then see where my writing takes me next. I want to write original work, but I also don't want to make it a resolution. As long as I continue to enjoy writing, that's what matters most to me!

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

I think I use '[x character] froze' a lot, but rather than focusing on my repetitions I want to focus on some of my favourite turns of phrase that I managed to pull from the ether! :)

'before her brief courtship with death threatened to become a commitment' - from the risk and the reward

'We can all still be butchered. We cut away the parts of ourselves to make us fit' - from this is a love story.

"He played an androgynous, morally-grey vampire, of indeterminate gender! In a nice coat! Anyone who had two working eyes and a relevant Kinsey Score read the porn, back in the day!” - from cooler than me

What are you excited for in the new year?

act 3 astarion characterisation for honest lie! the first big romance moment in cooler than me! and then just romcoms! 2025 is the year of the romcom! I want to write exclusively happy things!!!!

tagging: @cursedhaglette (as it's a different set of questions lmao), @imscissorbladez, @violacae, @eraserspiral, @scaryanneee, @sitting-in-the-sink, @pricemarshfield, @pouroverpaloma and anyone else who wants to give this a whirl. anyone is welcome, and if you tag me in it I'll share x

[steviewashere]

My Mind's Got Legs, Running in Circles

Rating: Teen and Up CWs: Eddie Munson Has OCD, Eddie Munson Has ARFID (If you Squint), Compulsions (That Could be Viewed as Harmful/Self-Harm), Negative Self Talk, Internalized Ableism, Minor Panic Attack, Food Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Whump, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Good Boyfriend Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Trusts Steve Harrington (Which I Feel is a Very Important Tag), Hopeful Ending, Happy Ending So, probably 90% of this is taken from personal experience—via my life the last seventeen years give or take. I wanted to divulge into the grittier, nastier parts of the whole inner-monologue, and a focus on Eddie having resulting effects from eating something he was unsure of, but I've been struggling a lot recently and just couldn't bring myself to write it. So I went with the sweeter, fluffier route. Maybe I'll come back to this version of Eddie, but as of right now, this is what I offer. Also on AO3 (locked, so make sure you have an account)

🍗—————🍗 He’s biting his tongue.

It’s just a plate of dinner. Dinner that Steve made him. Homemade and neat and hot for the taking. There’s just one problem with it. A big, fat problem.

Among the green beans and the warmed dinner roll and the steaming mashed potatoes, there’s a chicken breast the size of his fist. The chicken is dressed up with a crisp brown outside, flakes of pepper, and a light slathering of garlic sauce. In itself, the chicken isn’t the issue—not yet, at least. 

Eddie can’t muster the courage to take a bite because he didn’t watch Steve make it.

That’s been something with him his entire life.

He isn’t sure what really set it off. The dire need to always be in the center of the kitchen, or just outside of it, peering around the corner to see hands flip and toss and slather. It used to drive his dad insane. His six year old son hanging out at his knees, big eyes gazing unblinking at the skillet on the stovetop, tugging on pant legs when the meat was still a little pink.

Before it was just his dad in the picture, his mom used to sit by and teach him all about the cooking process. How to wash the cutting board, to avoid contamination. To always wash his hands, to avoid contamination. Use a different turner in the pan, to avoid contamination.

That word had always struck him like a firm backhand. He’d always been curious, too smart for his own good. And his mom had dictionaries, so he soon learned what it meant. To be contaminated. The contamination that was always talked about, though, was to prevent getting sick. “You always hate being sick, Ed,” she used to tell him, “so make sure to be super duper safe with your food. Okay sunshine?”

He made habits of it. Washing his hands between each step. Then washing them when even a droplet of sauce stained his index finger. Scrubbing away the raw chicken strands on his cutting board, scrubbing harder because he swore there was a piece, just one more piece, there’s a piece and there’s a piece and—he did it until his hands were lobster red from the hot water. And the hot water was good for killing bacteria, so washing his hands became excruciating, but safe. He was always prepared with three or more turners lined up on clean paper towels at the stove. Dish washing liquid on hand.

Another thing that really stood out, and it only stood out once he got real fucking sick, was the part where food sometimes is just served bad. With little or no control over it.

There had been one time—one time—where he went out for breakfast at the local diner. His mom sitting across from him in the booth, their plates saturated with syrup, cheesy eggs on the side. He’d eaten all he had because it had tasted fine, tasted good, tasted perfect. It was safe and it was good and his mom was there smiling at him all sweet, the lights weren’t too bright and the table wasn’t sticky like he hated and the waitress was real pretty.

But then he started puking. And once he started, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t keep down water, couldn’t muster the appetite for something as bland as toast. His mom got sick, too. There had been the scary hospital with the too bright lights and too many smells, the doctors who talked too loud and the nurses who pressed too hard on his tender head. An egg recall—he didn’t know what that meant, he got too curious again, and then—

Eddie Munson stopped eating eggs.

And since eggs came from chickens…

Eddie Munson stopped eating chickens.

And when he stopped eating chicken, his mom got concerned.

So he ate it for her, learned to like it again little by very little. He still doesn’t like it, still doesn’t enjoy it, but he can keep it down at least. But if the eggs made him sick, then the chicken could, too. If the chicken was pink, even the slightest bit, then he couldn’t eat it.

Couldn’t eat the chicken, couldn’t eat the egg. Couldn’t because his brain wouldn’t allow him to; not some written rule in an uncovered handbook; not a dictation from some government practice; not the conspiracy theorist that used to live up the road. No. It was his own brain.

And what if other animals could make him sick?

Beef couldn’t be pink. Pork couldn’t be tender. Milk couldn’t be past the expiration day by even a minute after midnight. Cheese can’t be moldy, no matter how much his mom said blue cheese was delicious.

Then, things spiraled. Really started to spiral.

Bread was made of animal product. And bread could get moldy. If one piece was bad, then the whole loaf was bad. “Oh, baby, you can just cut the bad parts off,” his mom would say, “it’ll be alright. Plus, saves Mommy money, too.” But the bread was bad. The bread was really bad.

There were bad foods. There were good foods.

The cons list was longer than the pros.

He was skinnier than a string bean, even when he went through puberty. He insisted on packing his own school lunch, even if it cost him more. He insisted on skipping Home EC because he didn’t trust the other students to truly follow safety guidelines. He insisted on watching when Wayne cooked, when Hopper invited him over for a barbecue after Spring Break, when Mrs. Henderson had him over for Christmas.

And he usually watches Steve, too. Steve knows that, at least Eddie believes he does—because he should, shouldn’t he? They’ve been dating for a little over a year now, been friends a while longer. He himself knows that Steve will let him cook if he needs to, but Eddie trusts Steve for the most part. Can trust him to make food, under a gaze of course. But Steve has told him that he doesn’t mind, enjoys the company.

But chicken.

He’s biting his tongue. Even as he cuts through the left side of the breast, slow and meticulous. If it’s too messy of a cut, he won’t be able to see the inside. If he can’t see the inside, he can’t judge the color. No say of what the color is, then he isn’t sure about putting it in his mouth.

Steve’s across from him, already dabbing away at sauce on his lips, teeth grinding against each other as he chews. Eddie is still cutting the meat.

“Y’alright?” Steve asks him around his mouthful.

Eddie briefly glances up. “I’m fine,” he shorts. The knife finally makes contact with his plate, screeching against the porcelain. His fork piercing the freed slab, holding it up close to his face, under the light in Steve’s dining room. The only plus side of this house is the lighting, bright and shiny and perfect for Eddie to use. Usually.

He spins the fork.

It’s pink, a part of him notes, it’s still pink don’t put it in your—No, see, it’s white, that same part says, it’s white right there. It’ll be white everywhere, Steve made it.

Steve cuts his own food again, takes another hearty bite.

Eddie turns the fork once more.

But what if it’s just this one piece that’s perfect? What if Steve didn’t cook the rest of it long enough? He audibly takes a deep breath, his chest filling with it, stomach flipping. Eddie scrapes the piece off his fork, knife dictating it to one side of his plate, and he begins to cut up the rest of the chicken.

“Was that piece not”—

“I’m just checking,” Eddie rushes out. His wrists work faster through the next piece. Turning it. Pink. Next piece. Faster. Flipping it. Pinker. He rests his forearms against the table, wrists going limp over his plate, face tilted towards the ceiling as his eyes close and he breathes again.

Distantly, he calculates the rattling of his chair from his leg bouncing. The tick of the clock. Steve’s chewing. And chewing and chewing and—

He picks up the first piece of chicken and inspects it again, cutting it into smaller, more individual chunks.

What if Steve purposefully didn’t cook it right? What if he’s mad at you for something and this is how he shows it? What if he took the only good piece? What if he didn’t wash the turners and the cutting board and the—

“Ed?” Steve calls out to him. “Do you want me to check, baby?”

Eddie minutely shakes his head. Mumbles, “No, I got it. Don’t worry about it.”

Did he wash his hands? What if he didn’t wash his hands before washing the green beans? And the rolls? Did he heat them up in the same pan as the chicken? The mashed potatoes, do they have chicken in them? The chicken is touching your mashed potatoes right now. The pink chicken is touching your fresh mashed potatoes. Keep cutting the chicken, it’s hard to see if it’s white. What if it isn’t white at all? The chicken is touching your mashed—

He chucks the utensils down onto the table. Hands flying up to cover his eyes, fingers tensing into his hairline. His legs jitter under the table, stomach backflipping into his ribcage, mouth drooling like he’s nauseous. The heels of his palms press hard into his eye sockets, hard enough he can’t see anything aside from the brown-black that exists there. And his breaths wheeze out of him, shaky and unsure.

The rolls could be moldy. Did you check to see if they were moldy? What if Steve cut off the moldy parts? Mold rolls and pink chicken, he must be really mad at you. You did something. The chicken is probably touching your mashed potatoes still, don’t eat the potatoes. The potatoes could’ve been moldy, you didn’t see the potatoes Steve used. What if it’s all moldy? Steve is eating it, though. Steve is eating it. Steve is eating the moldy food and the undercooked chicken. Steve is going to get sick. He’s going to get sick. You’re going to get sick. Steve is eating it and eating it and he doesn’t know, he can’t see it like you can. You’re crazy, you’re just being crazy. It’s moldy. All of it is moldy. It’s raw. The chicken is raw and it’s touching your potatoes. They’re touching. Steve is eating it. Steve is eating the chicken. Steve is eating it. He’s going to get sick. You’re dramatic, just crazy. You’re being crazy. He can’t see it like you can. He’s eating it. You’re crazy. Crazy, you’re just—

“I can’t,” Eddie chokes out, words clogged in congestion and sniffles. “‘M sorry, Steve. ‘M sorry, I’m so sorry,” he weeps softly. The sanctuary of his palms is the only retreat he has from this mild breakdown, tears wetting his hands. Over his caught breathing, he can distantly make out the sounds of Steve setting down his utensils, scooting his chair to Eddie’s side of the table, setting himself in close and warm. “I’m sorry,” he hiccups, “Steve”—

“Shhh,” Steve whispers, “Ed, it’s alright, I promise. It’s alright, baby.”

Blearily, he looks up from his hands, the wood of the dining table. “I can’t—It’s—I can’t eat it, Steve, I can’t do it. I don’t know…”

Steve keeps his hands to himself, twisted nervously in his lap. His eyes are calm, but there’s a gentle crease between his eyebrows—the sure sign of concern. “Is there something I can do to help,” he asks in a hushed voice, “maybe I can check your chicken for you?”

He sniffs, darting his eyes to the plate. “Um…I…I”—underneath the table, his legs begin to jitter again, erratic and upset—“did you wash your hands? No…no you, I trust you, I swear, but I don’t know if you did and I didn’t see you when you were cooking and I just”—

Without moving his hands, Steve gets in a tad closer, leaning against the edge of the table. There’s a softness in Steve’s stare, that concern from earlier mingling with care. Voice quiet, “I’ll go wash my hands right now, Eds. And I’ll come back with a new knife and fork and I’ll check the inside of your chicken. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?”

“No,” he murmurs, “no…not yet.”

The chair creaks as Steve moves, quick and nimble to the kitchen. Distantly, the sink turns on, the soap dispenser pumps, and then the water is obstructed by his hands. He begins a countdown from one hundred twenty in his brain, each number careful to the heart of his metronome. They’ve done a dance like this before. One hundred fifteen. If Steve finishes up too early, Eddie will call out for him to start over. One hundred ten. And the number will restart in his brain, two minutes and counting. Just as he did for himself as a little boy, lobster hands and tears in his eyes, the lemon scent of hand soap stark and true to his nostrils. The sink is still on, though. So far, so good. Eighty-five. Steve’s getting better at it now. A part of Eddie is worried that he’s caught on, that he’s well aware of the weird timer inside of Eddie, trembling and counting, ticking like a bomb. The other part knows that Steve is just being considerate, taking care the way he needs to, the way that’s asked of him. That he takes care of his people, would lay down and die right now if Eddie asked him to. Seventy. Not that he would. He loves Steve too much for that. Sixty-three. He loves Steve a whole hell of a lot, how his brain works, how he manages to just meld to the course. Nobody has ever taken the time to learn the odd intricacies of his brain, has ever taken note of how he cuts his food, the way he grills until things are burnt, hands washing until they turn white by pressing with his fingertips. Forty-seven. Something wriggles in him, pesky and ugly, growling alive that Steve will get tired of this dance. The steps. That he’d realize that Eddie really is just a nuthouse. A basket case. The crazy person that everybody’s warned him about.

His inner dialogue is intense. Needy. A monster of a beast. It’s got fangs and claws and leeches where it can—always. Knows what food shouldn’t look like, an amalgamation born for Eddie’s eyes, the trick of light, the glisten of his fork against the white flesh insides of his chicken. Twenty-six. He wishes that this part of him would hide, dissipate, maybe even die altogether. Lord knows it would save him the time, the energy. That he’d appear healthier, fuller in his flesh, his skin no longer dull or pale. He’d be alive and well, make it through his day with not a care in the world. He could be…a little bit more normal. Fifteen.

That’s just his conscious, though. Steve tells him that everybody is weird. Odd.

Unfortunately, Eddie doesn’t believe him most of the time. Not everybody sees the world he does. Steve sure doesn’t. No matter how much he claims to love Eddie—not that there’s really any doubt just how much—he’ll never understand what it’s like to be him, to live in his skin, to have a constant slew of thoughts that interrogate him until he crashes and burns, asleep and restless for a few hours.

Zero.

Steve comes back into the dining room, his hands still glistening from the water, a new set of utensils in his grip. He settles down in his chair again, drags Eddie’s plate close to him, and sets himself up for the slice and dice.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “how about you watch me cut the chicken, Eds. Anything you think I’m doing wrong, or maybe you need me to check again, I want you to tell me. I want you to tell me to stop, to look over again, or tell me what you need.” Steve’s eyes are on him again, aflame and caring. “Anything at all, Eds, I want you to tell me. Okay?”

Silently, Eddie merely nods in understanding. And then, no further words, Steve begins cutting the chicken into smaller pieces. Every few chunks, he stops to scan each and every piece. Holding them directly to the overhead light as if he’s interrogating them, ready to slap them silly if they say one thing out of line. When he’s satisfied and Eddie doesn’t speak up, Steve sets the chicken back down and moves on.

For the most part, Eddie’s satisfied with how Steve goes about this. He’s not doing anything wrong, not really. Maybe going a bit too quick with a couple pieces. But he reminds himself, intently, that he trusts Steve. He trusts Steve wholly—trusted him with his life at one point, this isn’t anything different. Maybe a lot less intense and a whole lot silly, but Steve treats it as if he’s putting pressure on wounds, as if he’s gearing to lock his elbows and perform CPR.

But then—

“Wait wait wait,” Eddie rushes. Steve stops, just as he said he would. “That one”—he keeps the urgent tone in his voice, no matter how much he wants to squash it—“that one looks pink. It’s wrong, Steve. I can’t—that…that one is bad.” Humiliatingly, the burn of tears is fresh behind his eyes, his lids tight and heavy at the same time, he’s exhausted from it.

Instead of arguing or protesting, Steve simply looks at it again. Rotating it slowly, meticulously. Holds it to the light. Squints. Then, he clicks his tongue. “It’s not pink,” he decides, “but it’s definitely off-white. Maybe that part is a little dry, so the meat doesn’t look as fresh.” He scrapes the piece off the fork, setting it isolated on the edge of the plate. “Do you want to eat it still? Try it again?”

Eddie sucks in a slow breath. Eyes set to the plate, that one dumb chunk of chicken. His pulse rabbits against his throat. Legs ready to twist off his hips and go running for the hills. Wishes that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Bones and all. “I don’t…I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know, I don’t know,” he mutters, frantic.

Steve gives him a sympathetic nod. “Okay,” he murmurs once more, “then let me lay out some choices, okay? That way, you can just pick whatever is best for you. And…and if none of them work, then you can tell me what to do.”

“Okay.”

“Option one: I can put your food back in a clean pan and heat it up again, you can watch me do it the entire time”—Eddie soaks that up, but shakes his head. Steve’s own food will go cold if he does that.—“option two: I can completely throw out the chicken, reheat the rest of your meal in the microwave and that can be your dinner.”

“The chicken touched my mashed potatoes,” Eddie mumbles, “I can’t eat them.”

Steve, patient as ever, nods again. “The last thing I can think of, then, is that I can heat up one of your safe frozen dinners. There’s beef stroganoff, chicken tenders with macaroni and cheese, sirloin steak with green beans, and…I think there’s one more of the spaghetti and meatballs. Does any of that sound good to you, baby?”

“Mmm…the chicken tenders sound good. Can you heat those up for me, please?”

A gentle kiss is pressed to Eddie’s left temple, sticky and warm. “Of course,” Steve speaks softly, “let me take care of this chicken and I’ll come right out with the other food in a minute, okay?” Nodding against Steve’s mouth, Eddie breathes a small sigh.

At least it wasn’t pink, he’s able to find relief in, Steve can still eat his chicken.

He watches from his spot at the table. Steve scraping the food into the garbage, setting the dirtied plate and utensils into the sink, washing his hands again, and popping that frozen meal into the microwave. His body stays stationed in front of the microwave, watching with a cocked hip and his arms crossed over his chest. There’s a low little string of hums that Steve’s emanating, gentle as they carry themself to Eddie’s ears.

Soon enough, Steve comes back to the dining room, sets the fresh food in front of Eddie, and places himself back at his own plate.

“Thank you,” Eddie says softly—that same wash of relief flowing through him, his empty stomach no longer flipping, but instead rumbling for the new food. It’s not five star dining. It’s not Steve’s homemade meals, but it’s enough for now. It has to be.

“No problem,” Steve says around a mouthful, “I’ve gotta make sure you’re getting something good in your body. Wouldn’t make you just sit there and suffer.”

“I don’t—you don’t understand. You didn’t have to do any of this, really. Honestly, I wouldn’t hold it against you if you made me sit here and swallow down those potatoes. I should’ve, I know. But you…god, Steve. You take care of me in a way I haven’t fully grasped.”

Gently, Steve sets his fork down on his plate with a small clatter. “Babe,” he coos, a bit sad if Eddie picks up on it. He looks up from his chicken tenders. Steve’s tender in his own way. “I don’t fully understand what happens in your head, I probably never will, but I will always—always—make sure you’re taken care of. That you have a hot meal, food that you will definitely eat, and that it’s as fulfilling as it can possibly be. Nothing will change that. Nothing at all.” Steve sets his hand on the surface of the table, skyward so that Eddie grasps to it—he does, even after a few tentative seconds. His thumb traces over the back of Eddie’s hand, rubbing soothingly over his knuckles. “I should’ve waited a bit to make dinner,” Steve says lowly, almost admitting, “I know that you like being able to watch me cook.”

“Yeah, but—I shouldn’t have to”—

“But you do,” Steve points out carefully. “You do and I know that. Even if I sat here and told you every ingredient I used, the fact that I washed every single dish before using it again, and I washed my hands between each step—even if I did that—you wouldn’t feel comfortable. You thought it was pink in the middle. And even though it wasn’t, you still didn’t trust it, and that’s fine. And, if it was pink, I’d want you to tell me.

“You deserve the safety of good food. I’ll do anything to give that to you, I promise.”

Eddie, aside himself, sniffles. His lips wobble. Cheeks heat. “Thank you,” he keens, “really, Steve, thank you.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers, “I’m glad you trust me enough to let me in. To let me help.”

“Even though I mucked up your dinner plans?”

A tug. He looks up from where his eyes wandered. Steve’s stare is intense, but not intimidating. “You didn’t muck up anything, Eddie baby. I have my food. You have the food you know you’re safe with. We’re eating dinner together, holding hands, talking. Nothing would ruin this, what we have.” He leans against the table again, closing the distance between them. Murmurs, “I love your brain. I love your concern. I love your worry. I love that you trust me, that you can reach out to me for help. I love you, Eddie. Nobody else, nothing else.

“You are safe with me, always. Always.”

Eddie lets out a watery laugh. “I know,” he whispers, “nobody else I’d rather fall in love with, Steve, I swear.” He sniffles again, wipes the end of his nose with the back of his hand, and sighs—squeezing Steve’s hand in the process. “You’re gonna make me cry into my chicken tenders, though.”

Steve chuckles. “Sorry,” he sheepishly murmurs. “I just needed you to know all that.”

“I love you, Steve. Thank you for taking care of me.”

There are warm smiles on their faces as Steve finally pulls away. He sighs something completely lovesick—Eddie knows already that he’s a goner. “Now that we’ve basically expressed undying love,” Steve says, “how about we eat and bitch about our days, huh? I’ve got some store bought cookie dough we can make for dessert, if you wanna watch and entertain me.”

“I’d love to. No place I’d rather be, Stevie.”

There’s a million other things that will try and tear him down. Food and stomach turning feelings and the constant stream of numbing self dialogue. But right here? Laughing afterwards? He is safe. For now, he is safe.

And, at the end of the day, after all that—

Being safe is all that matters.

🍗—————🍗 My little taglist for this one <3 : @ilovecupcakesandtea

[serenenecrosis-twt]

While I appreciate the sentiment, I need you to understand that this is inherently wrong.

It's very difficult to even physically get to libraries in cities underserved by public transit when you are poor. Public transit costs money and time and energy that a person with three jobs who already has to take the bus to and from work doesn't usually have. It's a situation of having one day out of seven off work that you'd rather sleep through than spend on the bus just to go get books. Libraries that are chronically underfunded also close down frequently, don't always have the digital services of larger ones, and have political controversies around book bans and rightist administrators who deface and disappear materials by queer and black creators. It's all well and good to talk about the ease of access from a completely online experience where digital copies of books are removed automatically from your account on the due date, but that completely ignores the major issue of those same poor communities being disproportionately impacted by late fees on in person materials and services.

A big city library may have supportive queer and black staff, a huge selection of books, no late fees, robust digital services, free interlibrary loans, and be directly near a major transit hub, while a library in a rural area may be physically hard to access, have pay-to-play interlibrary loans, little to no digital services, charge 50¢ per day per late item, a tiny selection of heavily censored and restricted materials, and an openly hostile staff. And rural areas are disproportionately poor. Add all that on top of the fact that the number of people who are even aware and appreciative of libraries and other public services is dwindling and explicitly discouraged by the American school system, and all libraries are systematically underfunded by the government.

Imagine you are poor and disabled, nobody in your school even likes the library, your teachers don't value it, it's a struggle to access it, it's only open from 9am-3pm Monday through Wednesday and no weekends because they don't have a budget for any more staff, the materials are censored, the staff they do have is politically hostile, it's dirty and smells weird because they don't have money for a full time janitor, it's jam-packed with underserved homeless people for the short hours it's open, materials from other libraries cost money, they don't offer digital services (you can't even afford home wifi to use them if they did), and you can't check out any new items until you find the book you lost and pay your late fees.

The capitalist system in the US Regime systematically seeks to make libraries obsolete, shut them down, and replace them with for-profit services. Every good thing about libraries that exists, exists under conditions of extreme adversity, and are unequally distributed in an openly classist and politically biased manner.

There is no 'good will hunting' solution to extreme poverty. It's actually not possible to fly over a fence by pulling on your bootstraps. There are no degrees or job offers for what you can learn at a library. Even if you can leverage the reading comprehension of a dogshit public school to teach yourself advanced maths or science with library books, you're not going to solve a problem on a college whiteboard as the overnight janitor and get talent scouted into a six figure job. All that you can achieve by going to the library as a poor person is becoming a well-read poor person who is hyperaware of how utterly fucked you are.

There are millions of hood scholars and ex-con chess grandmasters who work at McDonald's with no prospects of life improvement. Many just flat out kill themselves because they know that there's no escape.

I hate anti-intellectualism as much as the next person, and yes, people who espouse it are obnoxious and outspokenly wrong about most things. But at the end of the day, this phenomenon is a direct result of the internal material conditions of the US Regime, and people who choose to be willfully ignorant are doing so because it's a better survival mechanism than being educated and helpless in the face of the crushing weight of a reality that most people cannot psychologically handle.

To endorse bootstrap exceptionalism as a solution to a problem that requires violent mass revolution, the complete upheaval of the status quo, and a top to bottom restructuring of the state to fix, is possibly even more ethically bankrupt than enjoying marvel movies or having broke opinions about women's makeup.

ever since i got access to american library cards thanks to tumblr user anneemay (pbuh) 2 weeks ago ive lost even the 3% sympathy i had for americans crying ofc we’re stupid and illiterate our schools suck!!! because you assholes have had FREE ACCESS to THOUSANDS of books and audiobooks and classic films this ENTIRE TIME you’ve been blaming your schools for your elected ignorance!!! from my home in India I’ve listened to eight audiobooks and watched half of cronenberg’s oevre and I’m watching nosferatu (1922) today and I can’t even go to a library in person and you people have had these things your entire life yet you come on tumblr at 18 19 20 and say you don’t know who james baldwin is and if you expect me to you’re classist and 18 year old Americans are too stupid to know bombing foreign countries kills people so it’s okay if they choose to do that rather than work at McDonald’s and of course I have no idea what stocks are or what colonialism is and MCU is the height of cinema and it’s feminist to wear makeup like. my god. you people are going to go through the rest of your life being incoherently stupid and it’s not because you’re poor and it’s not because your schools suck but its because you’re so ensconced in your American privilege that you will never be forced to confront the realities of life and you can go on living your Disney adult fantasies because you’ve destroyed your innate human curiosity and potential at the altar of hyper consumption.

[plaidos]

Didn't want to be that one follower who sucks the wind out of the room with a big addition, so sending this for you to answer or ignore at your own discretion.

Visavis that body slider post, I kind of just feel like we can't and will never be able to depend on AAA games to represent us accurately, or really any minority experience for that matter. These games are all fairly archetypical power fantasy heroes quests or whatever, and especially if they incorporate full character customization, they necessarily will shave off granularity, especially in the name of budget feasibility.

Maybe they could be convinced that transfems are a large enough market to hire a VA for us, and learn the dos and donts of body/gender character creation by rote, but the story will still be roughly the same. They won't add a hundred, maybe thousand, little instances of microaggression, degendering, kneejerk suspicion; completely rewrite the fabric of how every other character in the game interacts with us, because then they'd have to do that for every other conceivable identity.

I'm not saying this is fair, or justified, or that they should be let off the hook for it, but I just unfortunately don't see it ever changing for these types of games. A far more feasible ask, in my opinion, would be to demand that games if anything stop making the character a blank canvas for the audience to craft an effigy of themselves, and instead force them to make narratives that are explicitly transfeminine alongside being power fantasy heroes quests; to ask the majority cis audience to step into our shoes for once, in a way that can't be cordoned off to the side as the overwhelming majority of the audience plays as a character that doesn't force them to challenge their preconceptions of the world.

i agree somewhat, but i’m not necessarily asking for literally every line of dialogue to be restructured for every element of every character — but this is Dragon Age we’re talking about; it prides itself on writing separate dialogues for different character traits, and it literally follows through on doing that with transness as a trait too — that’s actually one of the cooler parts of Veilguard. the problem is that when we come to meet the non-binary character, none of their story makes any kind of sense. theyre closeted and anxious about telling their mom, but… there doesn’t seem to be any transphobia in this world, so why would that be a factor? there’s this great big Very Special Episode feeling cutscene about this character being accidentally misgendered and how all the cis characters should punish themselves for it. but if there’s no transphobia, that’s just a genuine mistake, like i don’t see people forcing themselves to do push-ups when they accidentally refer to their married friend as “miss”, or if you accidentally refer to a cis person who changed their name by their old name — it’s just a “oh my bad, sorry” moment before moving on — and worse yet, this conversation forces your character to be a cis person at the sidelines when it’s a perfect example of just One perfect place you could be inserting different dialogue for a trans character.

i’m not asking for massive vast differences between trans and cis characters, obviously these types of RPGs have to have some element of mushy in-the-middle-ness to be able to have such widely customisable characters. but there’s a mid ground between “literally realistic depiction of being microaggressed by every cis person you meet & totally separate dialogue trees and quests and storylines” and “my trans character is assumed to be cis in the writing of cutscenes interacting with major trans characters about them being trans”. and we’re at the latter right now.

you’re right — we’re not a marketable demographic. that’s not why these things are being added: that’s literally my point, the trans content in videogames is largely aimed at cis people feeling good and progressive for its surface level inclusion. like, “nobody cares enough to represent us because we won’t give them enough money” is part of what i’m complaining about? 😭

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More of the Mecha AU-AU goop whilst I studiously ignore that I have to go back to work tomorrow when I have spent the last week doing fuck all. More Prowl!

Prowl didn’t notice it immediately, but once he did the pieces all snapped together very quickly.

He was very careful to not use ‘we’ when he spoke about his mech. He was very careful to not reveal any kind of deeper connection than pilot and AI. He spoke about Jazz like the other pilots spoke about their mechs - like he was his car.

First Aid did not.

First Aid always said ‘we’ without any hesitation or a second of thought - he didn’t even stop and correct himself after speaking. He spoke as if Vortex were a colleague, a friend, and he’d visit it daily doing god knows what in the cockpit - when asked, he said he was decompressing as the hangar was quieter and nobody came near. On the days he didn’t eat in the cafeteria, he was sat by his mech. Sometimes he’d see him eating whilst watching them scrub the gore of off his mech, seemingly unfazed at seeing alien innards being extracted from joints or at the smell of decomposing organs.

Something wasn’t right. It couldn’t have been that he wasn’t a trained pilot, so he was assigning emotions to it - even the other staff at the facility spoke about the mechs as if they were non-sentient beings. Shit, even the public did. They had trading cards like tanks did. They had merch. They weren’t seen as being alive, because they shouldn’t be.

Jazz hadn’t mentioned anyone else being subject to the same experiment that he had. As far as he knew, Jazz was the only one, or the only one to survive - maybe a prototype, maybe the culmination of decades of research. But the fact remained - if Jazz didn’t mention it, he didn’t know that anyone else like him existed.

And Vortex may have been more sentient than they realised.

They thought its AI was just faulty. The going theory in engineering was that it was misidentifying targets because it was being overzealous in its ‘protect the pilot’ objective, and the rumours on base said it was haunted. That it only killed people so it wouldn’t be alone. Prowl wasn’t convinced it was an issue with an AI any more.

Prowl felt his stomach tighten as fear gripped his chest when he saw First Aid happily grab his lunch to go and trapeze down to the hangar to eat with his mech. Did he know? Did he know that it wasn’t an AI, not quite a ghost? Was he in danger? Was the AI going to misidentify him as a target one day too?

All the weird things Vortex did, everything out of character for First Aid, suddenly made sense. It wasn’t the sweet medic with slightly-too-cold hands and the kind demeanour. That wasn’t anything he was capable of, it couldn’t be. No; it had to be Vortex.

So what the hell was he? Who the hell was he? What kind of person did he have to be to be capable of that? To even have those kinds of ideas, to trick the maintenance droids into giving him upgrades he wasn’t scheduled for, to give him internal limbs the mechs weren’t even supposed to have – for what means? What ends? And, worst of all, if he were human – how did he end up there?

Jazz didn’t know. He had never heard of anyone with that call-sign, he didn’t know anyone who fought like he did, he didn’t see or hear of anyone else whilst he was in the facility or whilst he was first being set up. If they were military, they never crossed paths.

He promised to look into it as much as he could.

Prowl promised that he would do the same.

The opportunity came in an unguarded laptop. Nobody was looking, and the area was devoid of cameras. Where the cameras came back in were so busy it was impossible to tell who had been where. Borrowing it on an extended term with assumed permission, it slipped neatly into his bag, and he walked with purpose back to his room.

Jazz had showed him how to cover his tracks before - he’d been very insistent that he had learned how. Prowl wasn’t very good at it, but it would be enough for now. Thinking back hard to his lessons and staring at the password protected screen, he got to work.

There was a name. Svastjan Vasylvych Lomachenko.

All documents and files relating to him were password protected - classified. Apparently he had caused them quite a headache back in the day - he looked to have been on a few payrolls that had them on edge. He couldn’t crack any of them – Jazz hadn’t quite gotten to teaching him any of that and he’d never had any reason at all to break into anywhere. Sleuthing and gathering intel was more Jazz’s speed – Prowl was much better secluded away filtering through it all for what they needed. He chewed his bottom lip and wondered if there was a way to make Jazz more portable. Maybe Wheeljack would do it without asking many questions…?

A little more digging, and spades of patience, earned him more information.

A number. 004. This one seemed to be attached to Svastjan. Another name: Combaticon. The numbers 001 through to 005 were pinned to the name.

Prowl drummed his fingers on the desk. What was the connection between Svastjan, 004, and Vortex? Training material? Had they captured his movements to programme them into the mech? Had he been bought out and loaned his services and expertise to them?

A photograph caught his eye. Five men looking directly at the camera, all crammed into a car. Prowl couldn’t tell what model - he could only see the cabin inside - but he saw the glass in the windows was shattered and the interior pockmarked by bullet holes.

Prowl felt like they were all poised to leap through at him and slash his throat if he looked away. The tallest man to the left was the only one who wasn’t smiling, too busy drawing from his cigarette and looking so above it all. His hand was bandaged and blood was starting to bloom around his knuckles, his dark hair smoothed back and light stubble speckled his jaw. He had his other hand on the steering wheel - he was driving. The man next to him was grinning widely, smeared with soot and missing a front tooth. His right arm was in a sling, his left out the window, probably grabbing the roof. His hair was cropped short and full of dust.

In the back seats, a tall man was having his cigarette lit by a shorter one in a gaudy golden jacket, an expensive watch on his wrist. His face was obscured by what looked like a smear on the lens. The taller man had broad shoulders, and seemed to have one hand on the back of the drivers seat.

There was another man in the photo, but Prowl didn’t notice them.

He was too busy looking at the watch.

Frowning, he zoomed in. That watch was familiar, he’d seen it before. Prowl was not the type to go for designer watches, he liked a good CASIO and that was about as far as his tastes went, so he knew he wasn’t staring at something he’d been browsing for himself. It was analogue, and Jazz had only worn digital.

Where had he seen that watch before?

He felt his eyes droop over breakfast the next morning. He’d been up way too late – and then the alarm had gone off in the middle of the night signalling an attack, and then he’d been deployed, and then he’d had to go to medical for treatment after a particularly harsh whack had him slamming his head on the cockpit and then the list of things he had to do just kept growing and growing until he'd given up on getting any sleep and had gone down to get breakfast.

All in all, he felt a bit shit. He held his coffee tightly in his hands, almost worshipping it. His stomach turned at the thought of eating anything, but he knew that he’d be suffering for it later if he didn’t get something in him. Two slices of bread topped with cheese stared up at him mockingly from his plate. He narrowed his eyes at it. If he had to eat, he wanted lohikeitto – something that would send him into the coma he so desperately wanted to be in.

“Oh, thank god you’re here!” A voice shouted. Prowl almost leaped out of his skin. A man in purple rimmed sunglasses marched over to him, leaning dramatically against the table. “I was worried I missed you, I heard you got injured and you weren’t in medical.”

“Swindle.” Prowl greeted him with an incline of his head. “What can I help you with?”

“You’re still a security guy, right?”

“I suppose so.” When he wasn’t busy piloting and assisting tactical, security pinched him. He had straddled tactical and security before - the two often went hand in hand so it helped to be on both sides.

“Perfect.” He slumped down into the chair opposite him and sighed with his head in his hand. “We’ve been having some weird traffic on our servers. It’s like something- or should I say someone- is managing to access places that should be under heavy locks and keys.”

“So there’s been a security breech?”

“If there were, it would trigger the correct procedure and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We’d be having a very different one. It’s like they’re just bypassing it all, or the protections aren’t there anymore.”

“Are you suggesting it’s me?” Prowl knitted his fingers together and leaned forwards. “That’s quite a steep accusation to make.”

“If anyone knew how to do it, it would be you.” Swindle snidely replied. “So forgive the caution. Unfortunately for us, the data that’s been accessed is something wildly unrelated to you or your known interests.”

“What data is it? Out of interest?”

“Files on a man called Svastjan.”

Prowl fought hard to school his expression. He knew this would be coming. Luckily, it didn’t take much effort for him to carefully maintain his blank expression.

“Ah. Yes. I see. Unfortunately I cannot help you there - the name means nothing to me, and so I cannot advise who would be best to go to.”

“We’ve already gone to the people of interest.” Swindle chewed his nails. “One’s a total dumbass who I’m amazed can tie his own shoelaces. Not a single bone in his body capable of using the intranet. We’re struggling to track the device that did it, too. Are you able to help?”

Prowl pursed his lips. “Aren’t you able to ask anyone else? Someone who’s actually in security?”

“The data is… sensitive. I need an individual who is already of a like mind, so to say.” Swindle was giving him a strange look. “Understand?”

Of a like mind? His brow knitted together in confusion. What on Earth did he have in common with Swindle? What-

Oh. Of course. His face dropped in realisation. Swindle knew about Jazz, and he knew that Prowl had found out too. They were both in on the same terrible secret. And he was revealing that the secret got bigger: there was another one.

“Are you sure you should be telling me this? I could be a whistleblower.”

“Oh, Prowl, you sweetheart. Didn’t you know? The scum rises to the top. You’re not a whistleblower - you’re an accomplice. You’ve already been very quiet.”

The message was clear. If we go down, you’re coming with us.

He thought of Jazz. If the operation were to shut down, Jasper would be lost forever. His jaw tightened. God damn you, Swindle.

“If I’m sticking my neck out for you, I want two things.” Prowl raised two fingers. “One, I want a raise. A significant one. If I’m at this much risk I want a salary that reflects it. Two, you’re going to tell me which one Svastjan is.”

“Done.” Swindle slapped the table. “You’ll get a bigger room, too. Make the deal sweeter. Second is a bit harder.” He adjusted his collar, pulling away the silk shirt as he swallowed hard. “You see…” he glanced to the rest of the room.

On their own they were two rather unremarkable men. Nobody paid them too much mind unless they had any reason to - otherwise, they were left quite alone.

And people were starting to stare. Watching them closely, leaning in to whisper to friends as they speculated what they were talking about with such intensity.

Prowl leaned back.

“I’ll be on the bridge inspecting Jazz in two hours.” He picked up his abandoned spoon. His soup was probably arctic now. Swindle grinned at him.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

Jazz was almost vibrating when Prowl walked down the catwalk to him. Prowl couldn’t help but smile at him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

[I HEAR YOU CRACKED A BIG EGG, PROWLER <3]

“I got Swindles attention.” Prowl sighed as he sat down neatly in the pilots chair. “We’re blackmailing each other now. So much for a quiet life.”

[I NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D BE CAPABLE OF ONE]

“I’m being punished.” Prowl leaned in. “Swindle’s coming to give me the last piece of info. I have a name, an id number, and the squad name. I’m fairly certain I know which mech they are, but I want to be absolutely certain before I make my next move.”

[YOU’VE BEEN WORKING HARD]

[DOES SWINDLE KNOW ABOUT ME?]

“I think he’s one of the people who orchestrated it.” Prowl pressed his lips together. “We can safely assume the entirety of high command are complicit, and a few other individuals also.”

[CAN I SQUISH HIM?]

“Once my raise comes through.” Prowl linked his fingers together, rubbing his thumbs against each other in a soothing motion. “Did you manage to find anything?”

[I DID, HOWEVER IT WILL HAVE TO WAIT - SWINDLE IS HERE]

“Shit, already?!”

Jazz trembled with a laugh, the sound of it mechanically melodious. [WHY THE STRESS? IT’S GONNA BE FINE]

“I wanted more time to debrief with you.” Prowl ran his hand through his hair. “By design, huh?”

[IT’S RUDE TO KEEP HIM WAITING, PROWLER <3 SEE YOU SOON]

Prowl hopped down out of the cockpit onto the catwalk, and walked over to Swindle. The man met him with a wave and a wink.

“Let’s get to it then, shall we? There’s no point to the pleasantries when we both know we’ve been naughty.” Swindle leaned against the railing and looked out over the hangar, beckoning Prowl forwards conspiratorially. Prowl stood next to him.

Swindle nodded forwards. “There’s your mech.”

Prowl glanced up at the hangar.

The mechs between his bay and bay 11 were empty – the mechs inside were off for repairs. In bay 11 stood Vortex, a red-headed man was stood next to it. They were too far to see both who it was and what they were doing, but Prowl could take a guess at the former.

“Vortex?” Prowl quietly said. Swindle nodded.

“Yup.” He popped the P.

“Thank you. That might help the investigation some.” He paused for a beat. “What makes you think it’s not him looking himself up?”

“Two reasons. One, he’s not that vain. Two, his style of infiltrating is… different. You can tell when it’s him.”

“I suppose it’s no guessing for you who’s messing with the morning memos, then.”

“Yeah, I’m happy to give that one away for free. It’s him.”

“I wonder why?”

“He’s really bored. Desperately hard to entertain.”

“You seem to know him quite well.”

“I was there from when he was admitted until he was interred into that metal machine.” Swindle quickly replied. “I saw enough to know.”

“Right.”

“Well, that’s everything then. I’ll pass on the details of your pay rise and your room transfer later today, after you’ve had a nap. You look terrible.” Swindle pushed himself back off the railing with a huff and held his hand out to him. His sleeve pulled back, revealing his watch.

A very, very familiar watch. Prowl felt his stomach hit the floor. Swindle had the same watch as the mystery man in the photograph.

Prowl took it and quickly shook it, keen to get him moving so he could process it and debrief Jazz.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Swindle smiled at him. Prowl mutely nodded. Swindle narrowed his eyes at him.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Your watch, it’s very familiar. I’m trying to think of where I’ve seen it before.”

“Oh, this old thing? It was a gift from my Commander back in the day, you know. I’m sure it’s just some cheap thing off the shelf.”

“I didn’t take you for the type to wear cheap watches.”

“I’m a nostalgic guy.”

Stiffly, Prowl stepped back. “I wont keep you any longer, I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

“Extremely so! Thank you, Prowl, you’ve really saved my backside.”

“Thank me when I’ve found the culprit.”

Swindle grinned.

Back in Jazz, he paced.

“Swindle is the man in the photograph - I know it. His watch is very distinct. I checked - they’re very rare, they were made by one gentleman in London, - and Swindles watch is exactly the same. He knew Svastjan. What I don’t get is why he’d lie about its value, he’s not the type to be modest.”

[WHO KNOWS ABOUT THE WATCH – SWINDLE’S A MYSTERY. SO HE KNOWS VORTEX? NO WONDER HE WONT GO NEAR HIM]

“You’d think old friends would be keen for a reunion.”

[I’VE FOUND COMPELLING EVIDENCE THAT SWINDLE SOLD THEM OUT – KNOWING THAT HE KNEW VORTEX, I IMAGINE IT WAS TO SAVE HIMSELF]

“He sold them out?”

[THE COMBATICONS, TO BE PRECISE. RECORDS HAVE NUMBERS 001 THROUGH TO 005, BUT 005 IS MARKED AS REDUNDANT. THIS MUST HAVE BEEN SWINDLES NUMBER. VORTEX IS 004, AND HE SEEMS TO BE A PROTOTYPE - BUT THE WAY HE FIGHTS ISN’T A SIDE EFFECT, IT’S WHY HE WAS CHOSEN.] the text rolled across the screen, Prowls eyes darting as he raced to keep up with him. [I’VE FOUND FOOTAGE AND REPORTS ABOUT HIM WHILE HE WAS STILL ALIVE AND HE’S JUST AS BRUTAL. THE GROUP WAS CAPTURED ON AN ANONYMOUS TIP, WHICH TURNED OUT TO BE SWINDLE. HE KNEW THEIR JIG WAS UP, AND HE WANTED LENIENCY.]

“And leniency he got, fuck me. He sold them all out for this?” Prowl felt disgusted. “No wonder he steers well clear of Vortex.”

[EVEN WEIRDER THOUGH - 001 TO 003 HAVE NEVER BEEN ACTIVATED. THEY’RE STILL ON ICE]

“Maybe Vortex was too much? They thought the rest of the team would be like that?”

[WHO KNOWS? THE BIGGER QUESTION IS WHY THEY DIDN’T START AT 001.]

“Who is 001?”

[CALL-SIGN ONSLAUGHT. A MAN CALLED OSCAR DEN KONING, HE WAS THEIR COMMANDER. I MET HIM A FEW TIMES, ACTUALLY. STERN, SCARY, BUT FAIR.]

“Did you ever meet the others?” Prowl sat up straighter.

[NO - HE WAS QUITE CAREFUL TO KEEP ME AWAY FROM THEM, SO I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT THEM. I WAS ONE OF HIS INFORMATION BROKERS, HE DIDN’T WANT TO HAVE ME GETTING ALL MIXED UP WITH HIS TEAM. SEEING VORTEX NOW, I DON’T BLAME HIM.]

“He sure chose his moments to be a gentleman.” Prowl grumbled. “So.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Vortex is Svastjan, and for whatever reason First Aid is the first person he hasn’t killed or mentally broken. Swindle is the reason he is in a mech. They were both previously colleagues working together under Onslaught – do we have names for the other two?”

[I’LL NEED A LITTLE MORE TIME]

“Thank you, love. You’ve done a lot already.”

[SO HAVE YOU! <3 WHAT’S THE PLAN?]

“I suppose we find out exactly what’s going on here.” Prowl pressed his fingers together. “I’m not letting this happen to anyone else.”

Swindle sure chose his moments to be a gentleman too.

Not long after their little chat, he received a placement notice. He was on loan to the American Shatterdome – apparently, they’d had a surge of new recruits following an uptick in funding after their extremely rough winter, and they were in need of a few extra teachers. Prowl had been put forwards as a candidate.

He was willing to bet that Swindle had a hand in that choice, bastard. He’d played him like a fucking fiddle, made him spill his guts without even realising that he’d done it. Prowl was notorious for his teaching methods – they didn’t like to show him off to their allies as he wasn’t the nicest, that often fell to people like Hot Rod and Arcee, when they still had her. So no, he hadn’t been chosen for his sunny disposition – he had been chosen because he was a liability and he was starting to get a bit too close to something.

Removing him from the sanctity of his home base and throwing him into the deep end of a task he hadn’t done since he’d started getting greys was certain to keep him much, much too busy to even think about trying to dig deeper.

Prowl stared out over the ocean, resting against the railing. Ice cold metal bit into his hands through his thin woollen gloves, the soft down in his sleeves protecting his arms. Spring hadn’t come in yet, and there was still a harsh bite to the air. His breath condensed in clouds around him, making him look like a dragon.

Jazz would have liked it.

The thought didn’t pull as hard at his chest as it used to.

[mo-ons-stuff]

Pick a Card: Your Love Life in 2025

Any card!

Pile one -> Pile two ↓ Pile Three

Pile One

I'm hearing that you're going to experience this fairytale kind of love. The one where Cinderella and Prince Charming find each other. They dance at the ball, yadda yadda yadda. You're going to experience it all, so I don't have to reaaalllly go into that much detail. It'll be great.

Except, since I also see that you'll love this person persistently, right? But there's also gonna be a minor issue. They're perfect, sure, but there's that one thing that gets you a bit like... hmmmm.

Aka, ~the ick~.

Now, pile one, you're going to have to get real for a moment. Is it an ick, or is it normal? Can you really chastise someone for existing as, like, a human being?

This year will bring you great love, but also great lessons. You may need to learn how to grow with other people. Meaning, you've done the work to get comfortable with yourself, but are you comfortable with other people? I don't see so. You're actually a bit more judgmental than you thought, to the point where you don't realize it. You may think of yourself as a person who is graceful to others, so maybe try seeing where this thought blocks you from actually giving grace.

Sometimes we get so caught up in our own lives that we forget to focus on growing with other people, too. The thing you're gonna have to remember is to get out of your own head. Touch grass. I don't see that you don't but maybe look at the grass for what it is instead of triumphantly exclaiming that you did the thing.

So, in tandem with what I just said, your love life will go just perfectly. I doubt that this lesson will fly over your head, so try not to ruin a good thing for yourself and it will all be good. You're going to get your happily ever after.

Want me to elaborate? Consider a paid reading!

Pile Two

Not going to lie, this pile is similar to pile three in the sense that you've gone through a bit. Life has a habit of throwing things at you, so you are used to bracing yourself. However, where others haven't done the work, you have. Where there was lack before, there is abundance now. You cultivated the wastelands and have conquered mountains. You've done so much and now all is left is... love?

You're pretty balanced as an individual. Nicely enough, this actually attracts people. That. Is. So. Crazy !!!! <- I'm getting that you'll be thinking back on this year and it's interactions like that. Literally, though, it's going to blow your mind how when push comes to shove... your efforts actually led to good results. You're going to see what it's like in action.

It's not like it's going to be too unbelievable. It's literally just a new normal. And, it takes getting used to.

When you do get used to it, dating itself is going to be really nice. You'll know how to get around and find someone. This is going to be less of a surprise to you; I'll explain why.

This lover is very bumbly (almost clumsy) and sweet, and meanly enough you may not consider them an option at first. It's not personal, you just didn't. But they are also kind of obvious too. It's just endearing, honestly. They're a bit silly, with all of this as I'm reading like awww they're so cute. You won't have to worry about the cruelty of the world with them. They're a human with emotions and complications do arise because of that, but you know how to navigate these things and so do they.

Not going to lie, some of you are afab wlw, and others are afab but straight. This person could be either gender, so basically take it as it resonates for the gender you're into.

*gif unrelated. Tahani is hot and a baddie.

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Pile Three

"I am trying to find myself. Sometimes that's not easy."- Marilyn Monroe

Admittedly, and I mean admittedly because you know this deep down, pile three, but admittedly you know that your love prospects haven’t been good. You are aware of why, too. There’s a truth that you’re running from, all because it’s a bit too painful to process. And it makes you choose the same hurt again and again. The devil often comes knocking at your door, and you haven’t comprehended that maybe you shouldn’t fall for the different clothes or his sweet words.

All of that is to say: gain more self-awareness. You’re falling for the same tricks in different clothes because you aren’t aware of what you need to do to not let this in. Boundaries are powerful only because they stop things that aren't meant for you in your life. Don't forget: you not liking things and acting accordingly is a boundary, too.

To speak from the heart for a moment: I kept wondering why certain types of people were "attracted" to me, like I was a magnet for bad. But, as it turns out, I've learned that other people tolerate bullshit so much less. Meaning, I was not attracting these people. They interact with others too; I was letting them in where others wouldn't. If you're suffering, and you notice that the people around you aren't, they're doing something you haven't been doing. Maybe you subconsciously tolerate less, or maybe you even consciously ignore the voice in your head telling you to get away.

You can only ever subconsciously tolerate less by consciously getting disgusted at tolerating more.

Actionable advice to change your future: if confronting the monster that needs to be confronted is too hard for you, chip away at its hard scales slowly but surely. Keep your distance at the times you need to, and confront it head on when you need to. It takes patience and you may get burned, but experience is the best teacher. Look to others who have been through the same thing as you and be completely open to trying what they have successfully used to combat their disorders, addictions, and trauma (always get medical professional help first though).

This is a you year. One day at a time, you will get better. And when the next new year rolls around, maybe you'll have learned enough to finally embrace a year of romantic prosperity and abundance. I see that this pile is actually lowkey full of baddies, pulling a quote by Marilyn Monroe isn't for weak personalities.

On a final note, don't get discouraged by this message. One year in a life is a drop in the ocean. You most likely won't remember the lonely times when you finally do reach the other side of the hardships. All that matters is that you get comfortable with *you*, and what's meant for you will soon follow.

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Thank you for reading!

[peekofhistory]

You said about buying their own hanfu in one of the last asks. Is it really ok for non chinese people to buy it?

Where I live we are usually so preoccupied with cultural appropriation that I'm afraid to somehow cross the line.

Omg, thank you for asking this question, it's a really, really good one (I live in Canada and this is also an issue that pops up here).

In the daily life world, what I would recommend is do what feels safest for you. I know some people can take this sort of stuff to extremes, so protect yourself first. If you feel that wearing Hanfu as a non-Chinese person is going to get you attacked (in person, online, anywhere) then it might not be the best idea.

If you're just buying and not wearing out, buy away~!! No one knows what you have in your closet. Or you can always wear it around the house or in your backyard. You can also kind of..."take it apart". Like, wear a Hanfu top with some dress pants, or a Hanfu skirt with a regular blouse. You're less likely to attract attention that way.

In my own, personal opinion, though, I honestly have no issues at all with anyone wearing Hanfu on 2 conditions: It's not worn to mock or bash the culture. It's not worn with the intention to claim ownership of the garment.

I don't care if you wear it solely because it's pretty clothes, I don't care if you love Chinese history and culture and have a PhD in it and Hanfu is part of the package, I don't even care if you just happen to want to wear it for Halloween, as long as there's no malicious intent behind it I personally have no problems at all.

If you actually come to China and wear Hanfu, I can guarantee (yes, guarantee) that NO Chinese person will attack you for cultural appropriation. In fact, the opposite is MUCH more likely to happen in that Chinese people (in China) will LOVE that you are wearing Hanfu. That you show interest in our culture and history, that's very exciting!

I lived in Japan for several years for work and I wore kimonos once in a while there. My Japanese friends and colleagues had no issues with it, in fact they LOVED it (one of them even gave me a kimono from her family's collection). While traveling around I saw lots of non-Japanese people going to professional kimono studios to get done up and then visit tourist sites for photos, no one gave them any issues, no whispers, no side eyes, nothing but excitement to see visitors enjoying and participating in their culture.

I also used to like Lolita fashion, which is inspired by European historical clothing. No one in Canada had an issue with me wearing that sort of thing, even though my physical appearance is clearly not from Europe. If I ever go to Versailles, I plan on a full Marie Antoinette dress and hair and I'll stomp anyone who tries to tell me I can't.

It's fascinating to me that most people actually living IN the country of question don't see others enjoying their culture as a negative thing. In fact they generally are more than happy to share because it feels GOOD that others want to learn about your country. (And by "most people" I'm talking 99.999999%, I'm only leaving 0.0000001% possibility because China has a lot of people so maaaaaaaaybe you miiiiiiiiiight find one person who has an issue if you interview EVERYone)

I feel like the word "appropriation" needs to be better defined to those who are either: a) Trying to claim something not belonging to their culture is theirs b) Mocking or ridiculing another culture

I had a really sad experience once where one of my good friends and I were shopping in an Asian mall together. She's a brunette, Caucasian. She saw a qipao store (those Chinese form-fitting dresses) and admired how pretty the dresses in the display were so I said why don't we go in and try some on. She said she can't because she's afraid she'll get accused of cultural appropriation (much like yourself). I was SO incredibly sad when she said that, I honestly wanted to cry.

I WANT to share my culture with my friends and others around the world, I WANT people to come and participate in it. But I also understood that with the political atmosphere being what it is, she wasn't comfortable wearing it.

Sometimes it feels like there's a bunch of people who aren't actually interested in our culture, never been to China, never cracked open a book about China, never learned anything about China except maybe what's on the news, very gun-ho to gatekeep who gets to enjoy our culture FOR us (I won't speak for cultures I haven't explored, but I got a similar sense while living in Japan). They mean well, but...I do wish it could be more nuanced so that not everyone simply trying to learn and enjoy a culture outside of their DNA gets attacked.

Then there's my group who have "Chinese" DNA but were either born abroad or grew up abroad most of their life (technically there's no "Chinese" DNA, Chinese is not an ethnic group, but you get the idea). We've been exposed mainly to the political atmosphere outside, but our reaction to this issue splits.

Some are like me, we're happy to share, we're happy to see others enjoying Hanfu, buying it, wearing it, learning about it, etc.

Some will react to this issue similarly as those who attack anyone and everyone who tries to wear something not in their own culture. I find this group scarier because, to a completely non-Chinese person, this group seems to hold a lot of authority on the topic. They have a DNA connection to China, surely they get the final say in whether or not non-Chinese people should be "allowed" to wear Chinese traditional wear. But again, there's no nuance at all. I once saw someone from this group attack a Caucasian woman on Twitter for wearing chopsticks in their hair. Like...??????????????? Who...CARES???? Either they simply liked the look or just wanted the hair out of their face, who CARES. They weren't mocking China or Chinese culture, they weren't claiming sticks in hair was an idea they invented, like...seriously. Then anyone in the comments who said it wasn't a big deal this person would pull the "I'm Chinese" card, but when I checked her profile she left China before she was 4. Yes, she's technically "Chinese" but just how much authority should she hold telling others who gets to participate in Chinese culture?

And honestly, if we're being really, reeeeeeeeeally strict about who "gets" to enjoy Hanfu... "Han" is an ethnic group in China (95% of the population), "Hanfu" means the clothing of the Han ethnic group. I'm 1/8 Mongolian (on my mom's side someone married a Mongolian wife), does that mean I also can't wear Hanfu? Or I get to enjoy 7/8 of Hanfu?? Like...do we have to start doing DNA tests before enjoying cultures? xDD

Anyway, that's my giant, long take on the topic. Congrats if you read all of it ^^;;

You can always come to China (I'm here on a visit :D) and we can wear Hanfu together~ A non-Chinese person wearing Hanfu out would be a star at all the sites, you'll get random people asking you for photos (I get non-Chinese visitors asking me for photos when I wear Hanfu out in China, you'll get all the Chinese people asking you for photos xDD)

Look at these lovely visitors enjoying their trips to China wearing Hanfu :D

[kiefbowl]

What strikes me about your post about the love of your family after announcing your engagement is that this is another way women are encouraged to couple with men. The same way women are rewarded for wearing makeup bc everyone jumps on complimenting it, women who accept marriage with men get showered with so much affection and attention. Did they shower you with that attention when you graduated school or a certification program? Did they support, celebrate, and pour love on you when you moved into a good house (bought or renting) did they shower you with love when you decided to get a puppy? Like what is it about marriage that makes people fall over themselves to uphold that as a huge success worthy of increased attention and love? Like I do get that weddings usually take a lot of sustained effort until the Big Day and so it makes sense for your family to help you, but so does going through school/ saving for a house, whatnot. I'm also not saying they straight up don't support you otherwise, but this is on a different level, as you said yourself. So while I'm happy for you and I'm glad you're getting an outpouring of love, I do notice this pattern and I feel like it contributes to the pressure for women to marry. Other women see the attention and affection it affords you and they want that too! It feels so good to know you're loved! Of course women will seek that out when we're usually dismissed and criticised for most things, expected to do things on our own or our success taken for granted. But getting married, getting pregnant, and wearing more makeup are all awarded and celebrated very openly, and shown to other women and that pattern is troubling. Why aren't women supported like this for moves that make them more independent? I think we know why.... Just thinking about it.

It's on me, knowing my audience, that my post about how my brain is a funny thing and how exciting it is to be reminded how much people who I already know love me actually do love me would be perceived, and again I appreciate the sentiment in general of wanting to theorize about womanhood, and I don't have to post this ask...but yes of course my family and friends very much love me and have been there for me through all sorts of trials and triumphs, it was the point of the post, it just wasn't written very specifically. Yes, there are probably a lot of women who get married to experience love and acceptance from their family, but it's not me. In fact, for full transparency, that post was written about being nervous asking a female friend to be a bridesmaid because I was worried it was breaking some "secret social contract" I often feel overly cautious of presuming a person likes me more than they do and over stepping some sort of "oh, this is awkward you're asking me this that's too intimate" line, but instead she was overjoyed and cried and I cried and I realize again, because it's a lesson I learn every single day (because of the particular way my brain is funny) how I sometimes stop myself from certain aspects of life due to being overly cautious about the comfort of others despite being told many many many times that people love me and my company and love my friendship. I thought at worst she'd be like 😬 and at best she'd be like 👍 but instead she was like 💕💕💕💕 which is like duh of course she was I'm a lovable person and she's my friend so then I made the post lol

[castlebyersafterdark]

Hello babes ❤️😊 I often journal about my day to day, and do a lot of write-ups about major events, things weighing on my mind, or retrospectives. The turning of the New Year is as good an event as any to write and reflect, so I'm posting a CastleByersAfterDark themed journal online to my dear blog to start off 2025. Thoughts, thanks, and resolutions/goals:

FANDOM

The last year has been such a game changer. I wasn't having very much fun online anymore which was bothersome for me, since fandom and nerding out over stuff I'm into has been one of main hobbies since I was really young. I still was massively invested in Stranger Things but felt stagnant and burnt out as all I was doing was scrolling and reading and was kinda bored. Found a few blogs on the "spicy" side and the gossip side and lurked with intrigue and envy. Tired of watching and never interacting, I created The Castle and joined all the fine folks I admired. My maelstrom of an imagination finally had a place to process and settle again.

This blog took on a life of its own - where I thought I would use it to simply track ideas for wips and maybe converse with other writers, I never anticipated this interactive space where we can all hang out and chat and share secrets and be totally open at our pseudo, perpetual sleepover online with friends both named and anonymous, from all over the globe. The content might get strange or emotional or filthy or silly here, but I never feel alone in letting my nerdom or freak flag fly and I hope many of you feel the love I certainly feel here and enjoy joining in and doing the same. Fandom feels a lot different than it did when I was thirteen years old, but this corner of the fandom has captured that old school magic. Creativity and freedom and connection.

In 2025, I look forward to this wonderful show we love airing and getting to experience the final season after immense anticipation. I eagerly await watching our beloved Will and Mike play out their beautiful storyline on screen. I am excited for all of the mysteries to unravel and finally be understood and to discover which theories were correct and what none of us could have predicted. I'm anticipatory about seeing a slow burn romance play out and pay off between two boys in an unexpected era and to feel joy and catharsis from a storyline I did not expect in a mainstream show. I look forward to the fun and peace to follow once the truth is finally known without a shred of doubt. I don't plan on going anywhere. Going to be a long year. And nebulous time after. Looking forward to continuing to theorize and draft ideas and hear visions and gab about the actors and Byler. I have so many stories to post. Incredibly happy to be here hanging out with yall. ❤️🫂🫶

REALITY

Something... major... happened to me this past year. Hmm. Wonder what that was? Oh, right. That man of mine decided I'm ok enough and put a ring on it. Hahaha I kid, you all know by now that we are madly in love 😉 2025 I will be married! Gosh. It's been months. Still cannot believe.

We're getting married in the summer and I'm also leaving the country for the first time for our honeymoon. Excited, nervous, filled with joyous anticipation. I always wanted to be someone's boyfriend - check. Found my absolute perfect person and we've helped each other become better people and be the best versions of ourselves. Soon, I will be and have a husband which is the most surreal thing, to have each found our The One, our soulmate. Mentally, I'm telling teenage me "you'll never believe what happens - everything you dream about comes true. Hold on for me, bud." 💙💙

RESOLUTIONS/GOALS

Write more. FINISH writing projects. Stay creative. Practice practice practice art. Continue to strive to be kind. And be kinder to myself. Be more present in real life and ensure time spent on hobbies is time spent worthwhile. Have fun and stay out of discourse. Never stop learning and enjoying the pursuit of knowledge.

Follow the colors as mantra. 🏳️‍🌈 Sex 💗 life ❤️ healing 🧡 sunlight 💛 nature 💚magic and art 💙 serenity 💜 spirit 💖 PEACE AND LOVE TO ALL FOR 2025 😘😘😘

[maikelfist]

I had hoped I could avoid getting involved in the discourse that this show seems to attract, but since it came to me I might as well explain myself.

I'm not American. This show isn't a big thing where I'm from and I didn't even know it existed before I learned through tumblr osmosis that a fan-favorite character was made bisexual. At first, I was like, hey nice, but didn't really get involved since I'm not a fan of these types of Grey's Anatomy-esque shows that are endless and written by a revolving door of writers. They're just too all over the place for my taste. But more stuff with Buck and Tommy ended up on my dash which raised my interest a bit.

After decades of experiencing queerbaiting in other shows, Buck's bisexuality feels like a balm on the soul. I'm gonna be very frank here, the resolved queerbaiting is the only reason I'm currently participating in this fandom. It's the first time I've witnessed something like that and I feel like I'm allowed to indulge a little bit. I'm focusing on Tommy because he's the character that made it happen. I woul equally focus on Tommy if he was a man of color. Hell, I'd be even happier about it. I'm using these two to heal my bi little heart. It's pretty unfortunate that a moment that should be joyful and gratifying comes with so much baggage, but that's fandom I guess.

I'm not interested in the rest of this show, not because the other characters are female or POC. The rest of the show just isn't my cup of tea and the fandom as a whole doesn't seem particularly inviting. (When I learned about the whole Tevan vs Buddie war bullshit my first instinct was to read threesome fics with them. Again, I'm here because I'm bi and horny, not because I have deep feelings for this show)

That being said, I very deliberately used the word heartbreaking for Chimney in particular because I know the focus here is on him. Like, I actively made sure to mention him and the mistreatment he faces because I know that outside of fandom and shipping wars, his story is more important. Believe it or not, when it comes to personal experiences I have a lot more similarities with Chimney and Hen than with Tommy. But I have other characters that help me with my wounds regarding sexism and xenophobia. In this fandom, I'm just a temporary visitor leaning my head through the door and saying hi while current events are still fresh.

I couldn't give less of a shit about 9-1-1 discourse. I'm just here to have a good time, not to hurt anyone. But I do find it quite hurtful that sharing a little video about a side character makes a stranger on the internet insinuate that everyone who enjoys said character is racist, sexist and ignorant. I don't have the time to write an essay on major social issues every time I make a silly little tumblr post. Life would be a lot easier for everyone if people would get over the impulse to read everything in bad faith.

PS: From the stuff I watched outside of Buck and Tommy I did come to the conclusion that Athena is bae. Hope that helps.

This scene stood out to me when watching the Tommy episodes. The way Tommy stutters his reply, how intimidated he is by Gerrard (Chimney being mistreated is obviously also heartbreaking). Even before Tommy had a change of heart regarding his behavior, it's clear how uncomfortable he is around Gerrard while still seeking his approval, how he doesn't like being in the boys' club despite trying his best to be a part of it. Tommy wasn't brave enough to stand up to Gerrard for himself, but doing it for Hen likely made up for years of abuse he had to endure

[judesmoonbeauty]

merry christmas! 🎄🎁✨ can you brainrot a little (or a lot…?) about jude, nica, or both in the answer to this ask? :3c

Merry belated christmas anon! Thank you for such a sweet ask. There's spoilers involved, sooo....

˗ˏˋ 🍒 ˎˊ˗ As for Nica: Twice now he has said lines such as, "I've been raised right or I've had a good upbringing," and I've kinda like just given him the side-eye each time he's said that. Like "Uh-huh, okay, sure let's roll with that," but we all know that's not true or at least wasn't true for a time.

And with lore hints in the recent event of the twins being potentially abducted and used as test subjects for cursed experiments (most likely the victims of abuse too), I'm wondering if he says things like this to throw others off the trail about his past, is trying to convince himself that he had a good upbringing to cope with trauma; or IF Darius was the one that rescued the twins from that horrible place (assuming this is the case), could he be referring to the "upbringing" he would've received after being rescued?

....Or sadly, he is referring to potential domestic abuse as his "good upbringing"?

I'm very excited to learn more about the twins past, and to peer into that colder, more harsh side of Nica. (My weakness.) Still, I love watching his interactions with Kate overall, and love seeing him genuinely drop his guard with her and laugh as well. I think his route is going to be very good, from what I've seen of him so far.

˗ˏˋ⌛ˎˊ˗ As for Jude: A lot. I think about him 24/7, I'm obsessed. My mind jumps around with him so much that I can't even keep up lmao. Things like getting into bar fights with him, getting scolded by Victor along with him for doing something we shouldn't have, all the way to domestic life like dates, how would he interact with my tiny tiny nieces irl, curling up in bed together, having breakfast together, etc. But, um, I'll keep it brief....

His current election event story, there's this part where Jude mentions that he now that he's with Kate he doesn't feel as refreshed when he tramples down rotten nobles and such, and that it's only when he tortures and teases Kate, that he truly feels satisfied. This is HUGE. This is similar to what he says in his Halloween story.....all the feelings of satisfaction he gets from torturing others is nothing in comparison to satisfaction he gets from doing so with Kate. Of course, Jude absolutely curses (loves) and adores Kate!!

But now, I'm curious to know how his character will continue to develop going forward. Of course, that doesn't mean that Jude will stop getting revenge on others, or that others will stop seeking revenge on him. He is destined to die hating the world under this endless cycle of revenge, but how do I put this......does that mean in future events (depending on the setting), after Jude's taken care of his enemies, he will seek out Kate for some smexy "torture" sessions??? YES PLS.

It's not all about that though, I look forward to seeing more of their banter and his teasing her and spoiling her. Ugh....he's such a good boyfriend to her.

Overall, Jude has finally found happiness, and I can't wait to see how he continues to realize all the ways that Kate's presence is affecting him for the better. I think, regardless of who our faves are, it's so heart-warming to see them gain a measure of relief and happiness. Don't you? ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡