#because how exactly do you react to something like this

[swappermanent]

Normal Kids

“I’m 19! I’m old enough to make decisions about my own body!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls. My chest heaved as I stood across from my parents, their expressions a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe?

My mom crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry, we just… we can’t let you do that.”

“Let me?” I spat, the word tasting bitter. “You can’t let me? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn’t something you control! This is my life. My body.”

Dad rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into his skin like he could will the conversation away. “You’re too young to make a decision like this,” he said finally, his voice low but strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” I shot back, feeling my hands shake. “I’ve spent years figuring this out—every sleepless night, every time I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself, every time I wanted to scream because I couldn’t be who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mom finally looked up, her face pale but her eyes blazing. “This isn’t about us not loving you. We just…” She paused, her voice trembling. “We don’t understand why you have to keep doing this to us.”

My stomach dropped, but I held my ground. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you. This is me—this is who I am. It’s not a phase or a rebellion or whatever else you want to call it. You’ve already been through this once with Liam. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t learn anything?”

Dad flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Liam, my older brother, had been their golden boy until he came out as gay a few years ago. It wasn’t pretty—he’d waited until he was moving out to tell them, probably because he knew exactly how they’d react. The disappointment in their eyes, the long silences, the occasional outburst when they thought no one else could hear… it had been brutal. But Liam had stood his ground, just like I was now.

When he left, I’d thought it couldn’t get worse. But then, a few months later, I’d come out as a lesbian. Their reaction had been less dramatic that time—probably because they were already so exhausted from Liam—but it wasn’t exactly warm, either. They’d treated it like a wound that would heal if they just ignored it long enough.

But this… this was different. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found the courage to tell them I was trans. And the look on their faces when I said those words—it was like I’d detonated a bomb in the living room.

“First Liam, and now this,” Mom had whispered that night, her voice shaking. “Why can’t we just have normal kids?”

That phrase had been replaying in my head ever since. Normal kids. Like there was some checklist of qualities that made you acceptable, and Liam and I had failed to meet every single one of them.

Now, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt that familiar mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “But I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you comfortable.”

“Why can’t you wait?” Dad said, his voice softer now. “Just give it a few years, until you’re older. Until you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am sure,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I’m not going to waste any more time being someone I’m not.”

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. My parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in my mom’s expression—something that looked almost like understanding. But then it was gone, replaced by the same tight-lipped resolve.

“We just need time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot.”

I nodded, biting back the sharp response I wanted to give. I knew I wouldn’t change their minds tonight. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop fighting. For Liam, for myself, for every other kid who’d ever been told they weren’t enough—I wasn’t going to give up.

For months, I begged and badgered my parents to let me start transitioning. Every conversation ended in a brick wall—excuses about my age, about not understanding the “gravity” of my decision, about the costs. They controlled the insurance, and they paid my college tuition. Without their approval, I was stuck. Trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine and a life that didn’t feel like it fit.

But then, one evening, they relented.

“We’ve… been thinking about your request,” my mom said hesitantly over dinner. I immediately froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My dad chimed in. “We found a clinic that might be able to help.”

I blinked, surprised but cautious. “Really?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt.

“Yes,” my mom replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… unconventional, but we think it might be what you’re looking for. They specialize in full-body transformations.”

Something about her tone set me on edge, but I didn’t press. I was too desperate for their approval. If they were finally agreeing to help me, I wasn’t about to question it. The only condition? Liam had to take me.

I love my brother. He’s my rock, the only person who truly gets me. So, I didn’t mind the idea of him tagging along. In fact, I was relieved to have him there. I told myself that having his support would make this feel less terrifying.

The clinic was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a sterile hospital or some dingy back-alley operation. It was sleek, modern, and impossibly fancy. Marble floors, pristine white walls, the faint smell of lavender in the air. The kind of place you’d expect celebrities to visit for some high-end spa treatment.

A woman in a crisp white suit greeted us at the front desk. Her smile was warm but unnervingly perfect. “Welcome,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged. We were led into a private lounge, where they offered us water and reassured me that the procedure was safe and effective. A doctor arrived shortly after and explained that Liam and I would be separated for a brief consultation. That seemed odd, but I didn’t overthink it. Maybe they wanted to talk about medical history or something.

The moment I stepped into my consultation room, my gut told me something was off. It wasn’t the room itself—it was just as fancy as the rest of the place, with plush chairs and soft lighting—but there was an odd energy in the air. The doctor who entered was an older man with kind eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.

“This isn’t your typical hormone therapy clinic,” he began. “What we offer here is… revolutionary. Instead of months or years of transitioning, we provide an immediate solution.”

I frowned. “Immediate?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “We specialize in body-swapping technology. You would be able to inhabit a different body entirely—one that aligns with who you truly are.”

My stomach flipped. “Body-swapping?” I repeated, barely able to process what he was saying.

The doctor nodded, his expression calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “In your case, your parents have arranged for a body that they believe would suit you. Strong, male, conventionally attractive. We’re ready to begin the process, provided we have your consent.”

My heart was pounding now. “What body?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Your brother’s,” the doctor said simply.

The room spun. “What?” I croaked. “You’re saying… you want me to swap bodies with Liam?”

The doctor nodded again. “Yes. Your parents thought this would provide you with the life you’re seeking—male, straight, and socially acceptable. Liam has already been sedated and prepped for the procedure. He’ll retain his memories and sense of self, but he’ll wake up in your body.”

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. “Does Liam… does he know about this?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “He doesn’t need to. He’ll adapt in time. All we need is your consent.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This was insane. They wanted to rip apart my brother’s life without his knowledge, without his consent. It was horrifying. And yet… the image of Liam’s body flashed in my mind. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be—handsome, muscular, confident. I imagined the life I could have in his shoes. The ease, the acceptance. The chance to finally feel right in my own skin.

“You’ll be happy,” the doctor said, as though reading my thoughts. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I clenched my fists, my heart racing. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that Liam didn’t deserve this. But at the same time, the temptation was undeniable. How could I say no to something I’d dreamed of my entire life?

“I…” My voice wavered. I glanced at the door, imagining Liam just a room away, completely unaware of what was happening.

But the thought of waking up in his body, of finally feeling at home, was too powerful to ignore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight. Not the kind that dragged you down, but something grounding, solid, like my body was finally my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and my heart skipped as I caught sight of my arm resting against the pristine white sheets. Strong, defined, dusted with dark hair that caught the soft light streaming in through the window. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching tendons shift under the skin.

It felt… right.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and ran a hand over my chest. The sensation of my fingers brushing through coarse hair was electric. My pecs were firm, rising and falling with each breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from tracing the ridges of muscle down to my abs. Every touch felt like discovering a secret, a hidden part of myself I’d been waiting my entire life to meet.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. My breath hitched. Liam’s body—no, my body—looked even more incredible in motion. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the kind of build that turned heads. I stood slowly, marveling at the way my thighs tensed with the movement, the muscles taut and powerful beneath the skin.

I stepped closer to the mirror, placing a hand on the glass as though I needed to prove this was real. My other hand drifted up to my jaw, rough with stubble. I dragged my fingers across it, savoring the gritty sensation. The shadow of a beard framed my face, making my features sharper, more defined. I tilted my head, flexing experimentally, watching my shoulders and arms ripple with strength.

A shiver ran down my spine as I splayed my fingers across my chest, the dark hair soft yet coarse against my palm. My nipples stiffened under my touch, the sensation sparking an unfamiliar but intoxicating heat. I trailed my hand lower, tracing the faint line of hair that led down my stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips.

I turned to the side, marveling at the broadness of my back, the way it tapered into my hips. My hand skimmed over the curve of my biceps, then down to my forearm, where veins snaked beneath the skin, pulsing faintly with life. Every inch of me felt alive, thrumming with energy I’d never known before.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, low and rich, surprising me with its depth. I couldn’t help but grin, running a hand through my hair, which was thick and slightly messy from sleep. The movement flexed my arm, and I turned back to the mirror, caught up in the intoxicating sight of strength and masculinity. This was me—finally me.

The knock at the door was soft but purposeful, and when I turned, the nurse from earlier stepped in. She was petite but poised, her blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at me. I realized I was still shirtless, standing in all my glory, and I couldn’t help but smirk. The confidence in this body felt second nature, like slipping on a well-tailored suit.

“Just checking to see how you’re feeling,” she said, her voice warm but a little breathy. Her eyes lingered on my chest a beat too long before darting away, her blush deepening.

“I’m feeling incredible,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

She chuckled nervously, her hands fiddling with the clipboard she carried. “Well, we do aim to please.”

I stepped closer, the smooth strength of my legs propelling me forward effortlessly. “You’ve done more than that.” I flexed my arm casually, the muscles swelling under my skin. “I’m guessing Liam—uh, I—had an arms workout yesterday. Feel that.” I offered my bicep, and her eyes widened slightly before she hesitantly reached out.

Her fingers brushed my skin, and I tensed the muscle, watching her expression shift as she gave a quiet, appreciative gasp. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s… impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “All yours to admire.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, I let my hand rest lightly on her waist. Her breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of her body through her scrubs. My touch was gentle, but I knew the strength behind it was unmistakable—controlled, deliberate, intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on her side. She shivered under my touch, her gaze locking with mine. The tension in the room was electric, every second stretching out tantalizingly. My hand drifted lower, just brushing the curve of her hip.

I reached for the waistband of my pants, ready to strip down and revel in this moment fully when—

The door burst open with a crash, and I whipped around to see myself—my old self—standing there, wide-eyed and furious.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

[judasisgayriot]

truly the amount of unhinged things they say in that 2007 kerrang interview CANNOT be overstated. Just a SELECTION:

PATRICK: "One of my favourite compliments that I ever get, is, 'Oh yeah, fuck Pete, you're the thing, you're the star. I'm like, 'Dude. That's my best friend. What the fuck are you talking about? That's not a compliment to me. That offends me. You just put him down'. I think people really love controversy and would really love to see me be jealous of him, but I'm not. I'm proud of him.

And I have plenty of my glory too and Pete's proud of me"

PATRICK: “I could not see this dude for six months and know exactly what he's thinking and I think that's why we're so tight. Petey Wentz could go totally insane and move to the jungle but I'm still going to know how he's going to react when I see him. There's so much stuff that's unspoken. There's so much stuff that we know about each other that we don't know about each other, that we just know intuitively."

PETE: "Definitely he's the only person that I feel comfortable criticising both my lyrics and a lot of other stuff that I do; even if somebody else wants to tell me something it's probably easier if it goes through him.

He gets to read the unfiltered things that I write so he probably knows more about me than anybody. He gets to read it all and pick a little bit that the rest of the world gets to see."

A THEORETICAL QUESTION: WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS IF THERE WERE NO FALL OUT BOY?

PATRICK: “I could see us being any number of things. The key is no matter what, if we were ever exposed to each other, there would be begrudging respect, at very least.”

SO IF PATRICK'S THE ARCHEOLOGIST, ARE YOU THE RUINS?

PETE: "Ha-ha! That's probably over-dramatic, but it's going in the right direction. I think in general he's a moral compass for me. I think that I'm not necessarily a terrible person but sometimes I'm trying to figure that kind of shit out in the dark and it's good when someone kind of shines a light on you. There are very few people I take that kind of advice from."

PATRICK: "And it's weird too because I think I'm a very cautious type of person, and Pete takes a lot of risks so sometimes I get to be a lot riskier in what i do. Pete's got a lot more backbone than I ever had. Everything that he says he believes in... and that's very not me. I'm very unsure of myself most of the time. In as far as how we relate to other people we're nearly opposite in a lot of ways.”

SO THIS IMAGE OF PETE THE EXTROVERT AND PATRICK THE INTROVERT HAS BEEN EXAGGERATED BY THE MEDIA?

PETE: "I think so, it's not so much like oil and water."

PATRICK: “I never liked that analogy because oil and water don't need each other. They don't react, they have an adverse reaction: it's more like baking soda and vinegar; if you want to have that explosion, you need both of those things, and if you want a FOB song, you probably need both of us."

[coffeegnomee]

What exactly are the lifesteal cycles? What does that mean?

I have no idea why the cycles are so hard to describe but like literally idk. they just are. they're like the sun and the sky. like the tides coming in and out. the seasons returning year after year. they come wether you want them to or not. poems can be written about them and never scratch the surface.

there will always be those who feel the cycles beating like a drum in their hearts, and they will always fight to preserve it. if nobody cared or if nobody liked the cycles, lifesteal would cease to be lifesteal.

there are two cycles. the small scale cycle of if you kill someone you gain an heart and if you die you loose a heart. and the large scale of the world ending at the end of each season.

it's too easy to say the small scale cycle is simply a cycle of revenge. it's not that. it can be that but that's not what it is. it's more the cycle of story. if you have a story thread you can pull on, the cycles encourage you to pull on it. and the cycles encourage that to be violent or a troll or an instigation. something to continue the back and forth of story threads.

the large scale cycle is that everyone starts the season fresh and clean, but then the players ruin it. murdering and greifing and killing and dying. the heart economy gets so bad some have near 100 hearts while others have only the max craftable. all this murder and bloodshed and alliances and betrayals and a mid season plot has dictated who cares the most this season and has set the stage for the end game. but it's not about the players not deserving the server because they are too violent. it's actually the opposite of that. it's bigger than that.

in the end one person or group rises from the bloodshed to end this server. by total destruction, removing all the revive resources, getting op, or banning everyone. this is the cycle. it must end. and it must end in war. everything must be destroyed or all the players banned.

the world enders fight to save the server by destroying it. if nobody cared about this final cycle, lifesteal would cease to be lifesteal. s5 nearly saw its destruction. one side thought they could end it in peace and expected to win. but if they won without a fight this would have been anathema for the server. unnatural. if lifesteal ever ends in peace that will be the end of lifesteal.

it must end in a bitter battle, fought for by the world enders, fought against by the resistance. the players prove they deserve the server by caring enough to show up and die. you fight for what you believe in, even if there's no hope.

in the finale you encounter your deepest self. what you are willing to do, how much you're willing to fight back against what you think is evil. you get a measure of who you are. what your limits are. and you get pushed past them. you learn the meaning of fighting for what you believe in, the true meaning. tested by all the resistance the world enders can push upon you. and they learn themselves to. for the same reason.

i think this is why it takes a full, start to end, season for a new member to understand lifesteal. they must begin innocent and safe, no more or less prepared than the best pvper. then the cycles press against them, start showing them how they really react to things, what they're willing to do, how much effort they're really going to put into it.

but during the season there's the ebb and flow of lore, sometimes it's the craziest best week of your life and then there's a month in between. parrot or bacon said that about the cycles actually. like the cycle is that ebb and flow.

but in the finale it's also a week(ish) but there is no continuation after. everything you've said and done all season comes together. you have to put your money where your mouth is. no more talking, no more threats, no more saying you'll do this if they do that. Whatever ending you want you have to fight tooth and nail for and there's no do overs, no second chances. and suddenly you know who you are.

and the next season everything is different.

[fear-is-truth]

how about the evans and how they react if they’re having a hard time with getting hard one night for some reason lol

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans… having trouble gettin’ it up .ᐟ

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson | content warning: mention of murder

a/n: i love your mind. love it

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

insecure as hell. tate would immediately spiral if he couldn’t get hard, thinking it’s a reflection of his feelings toward you or that he’s not good enough. he’d probably blame it on something else entirely—like his antidepressants (which he’s not even on, but he’s a liar lol).

would shut down or get defensive, saying things like, “it’s not you, inswear, i don’t know what’s wrong with me.” he’s terrified that you’ll think he’s not attracted to you anymore or that it means he’s not invested in the relationship.

the reassurance you’d have to give him would be important to make him feel like it’s okay and not a big deal. tate would probably even apologise multiple times, thinking it’s somehow his fault, but deep down, he just needs to hear that you understand.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

kit would handle it with humour. he’d try to make light of the situation, brushing off his embarrassment with a joke like, “guess this is a sign i should quit smoking, huh?” or “maybe i need more sleep, i’ve been working way too much.” he’d definitely avoid making a big deal out of it, trying to keep the mood light so you don’t feel like it’s uncomfortable.

even when he’s joking, he’d quickly follow it up with something like, “it’s not you suga’. i’m just tired, is all. let’s just relax, yeah?”

would definitely want to get physically close again without any pressure. he’d suggest cuddling or doing something non-sexual to remind you that he’s still connected to you and cares, even if things aren’t going exactly as planned in the bedroom. :,)

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

why do i feel like he’d murder someone to get hard.

james is a man of action. in his mind, everything can be fixed with a little… bloodshed. “perhaps all i need is a little inspiration,” he’d purr, already reaching for his gloves and heading to find an unfortunate victim. he’d return looking way too pleased with himself, claiming he felt “rejuvenated” (because what’s better than committing a crime of passion to reignite the passion?).

he’d turn it into a twisted declaration of love. somehow, this would all end with him professing his undying devotion to you. “what is my pride, my soul, if it means pleasing you?” (completely glossing over the fact that his coping mechanism just involved committing homicide.)

“you do inspire me, my love. it seems my earlier lapse has been remedied—shall we?” because, ofc, in true james fashion, he has to make it theatrical.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

if kai couldn’t get hard, his ego would take a serious hit, and he wouldn’t handle it well. his whole thing is about masculinity and control, so any loss of that would send him into a tailspin. he’d get defensive and PISSED. so his first instinct would be to project it all onto you.

assumes that you’d see this as some sign of failure on his part and take it personally, even if you hadn’t said anything to imply that.

would tell you that you’re simply “not turning him on” or “he’s just not in the mood,” bc there’s nothing more dangerous than a humiliated man lol.

he’d try to regain control of the situation. if he’s still upset, he’d get a little cold or distant. later, he’d try to turn things around by controlling the narrative, either with a dominant act or by shutting down any attempt at discussing it.

[justtr]

The air in the room felt frozen, heavy with a silence only Eva could conjure. Her hand, warm and steady, rested on your thigh—a subtle weight charged with meaning. There was no need for her to speak; there never was. Eva could envelop everything around her with just a glance, a touch, that premeditated calm of hers that disarmed you far more effectively than any words could. You sat there, trying to maintain a composure that crumbled under the scrutiny of her dark eyes.

The room was little more than a dimly lit corner, cluttered with the remnants of the other girls’ personalities: burned-out candles, a few notebooks filled with incomprehensible phrases, and the unmistakable scent of burnt incense. Everything around you felt insignificant because Eva was the center—the beginning and the end of your attention. Her presence was scorching, like a flame that consumed you without ever fully touching you.

Without warning, her fingers traced a deliberate path upward, slow and measured, as if she knew exactly how your thoughts twisted and turned under her touch. You stiffened at first, almost afraid to move, as though doing so would shatter the moment. But the truth was, you couldn’t pull away. Eva had complete control, even over the parts of you you wished she wouldn’t. She tilted her head toward you, her warm breath grazing your jawline, and your breath caught in your throat. It was too much. It always was.

You were on the verge of surrendering to that intimate pull when the door burst open, shattering the tension with a clatter that made you jump out of your skin. One of the girls entered without hesitation, her face lit by a mix of nervousness and reverence as she sought Eva with her eyes. Her lips formed hurried words, as though she had something urgent to say, but her voice faltered the moment her gaze landed on the scene before her.

The moment shattered like glass hitting the floor. Your body reacted instinctively, pulling away from Eva with a clumsiness that sent a flush of embarrassment rising up your neck and over your cheeks. You knew you were blushing, that your breath was still uneven, but there was nothing you could do to hide it. You didn’t dare look directly at the girl, choosing instead to focus on a fixed point on the wall, wishing you could disappear.

Eva, however, remained unfazed. Not a single muscle in her face betrayed any annoyance, as if the interruption were nothing more than a fly buzzing around her. Her eyes, filled with an almost cruel disinterest, settled on the girl with a piercing intensity that made her shrink back instantly. She didn’t need to speak; her message was clear: Leave.

The girl hesitated, opening her mouth as if to offer an excuse, but another glance from Eva disarmed her completely. Her shoulders sagged, and with an inaudible mumble, she turned and left, closing the door far more carefully than she’d opened it. Silence returned, but this time it carried something else. Something uncomfortable.

You stayed where you were, staring at your hands as a knot formed in your stomach. You could feel Eva’s gaze on you—heavy, penetrating—but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. Shame still burned inside you, and the weight of what had just happened sat like a stone in your chest.

Eva closed the distance between you in a way only she could: unhurried but with a determination that left no room for doubt. Her fingers slipped under your chin, gently tilting your head up so your eyes met hers. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of calm and something darker you couldn’t quite place. There was no need for words. Her gaze was enough to remind you who she was, to remind you who you were to her.

You sat there, trapped under her control, feeling the world around you shrink until it was just the two of you. Eva didn’t need to console you or offer explanations. Everything she did, even something as minimal as a touch, bound you back to her—to that power she held over you and that, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t resist.

When she finally moved again, it was as if nothing had happened. Eva resumed what she’d left unfinished, her touch reclaiming you with the same quiet confidence as before, as though the interruption had meant nothing. But you knew it meant something. You felt it in every corner of your mind, in every erratic beat of your heart. She had complete control over everything, including you, and the worst part was that you weren’t sure you wanted it to be any different.

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

Let me know if you want more from Eva because I have a lot of ideas!!

[eriochromatic]

I love your Silco takes so I was wondering if you could share yours on Vander and the drowning incident because no matter what angle I look at, it doesn't make sense.

As far as I can tell from what we're shown, the riot was well under way before Silco threw that molotov, and it's confirmed that enforcers killed Felicia. Thing is, it's implicit that Felicia chose to participate in the riot because a.) Why else would she be there, and b.) She was down with Zaun being independent for HER KIDS. Also, anyone who participates in a riot, or even a peaceful protest, knows they're putting their life on the line. So while I understand reacting to loss with intense grief, it's not exactly a surprise? It's something you have to mentally prepare for when you take a stand against an oppressor?

But then, if you go the ideology route with Silco taking it too far and the riot was Silco's idea, that stunt on the bridge was most likely pre-planned, organized resistance. This means a sizable number in their community, including Felicia and Connol, supported it. Even if Vander had doubts, he went along with it. Otherwise, why does the show open with him beating an enforcer on the bridge? Vander had other options: he could have split the resistance group down the middle by sitting it out and/or trying to stop Silco, neither of which he did!

The letter highlights the loss of Felicia as Vander's triggering event, and Vander admits that there's blood on both their hands. To be honest, I kind of like this because it hints that Silco's violence was acceptable to Vander within the context of revolution, and he thought he could handle the sacrifices required. Ironically, when he couldn't handle it, HIS violence pushed Silco towards any-violence-necessary because you can't trust anyone ever anyway!

Anyway, I know this is the fault of flimsy writing in S2 and what feels like internal censorship with challenging political status quo during production, but two drowning attempts (which for Silco came out of nowhere), followed by expulsion from the Lanes (which he helped build), the guilt of Felicia's death, and the total loss of the friends and community he was fighting for ... I mean, at least Silco's villain era makes complete and total sense???

Ugh honestly I try not to think about the drowning incident or even make sense of it anymore because every time I do, it's just so obvious to me that the writers themselves had no idea what they're doing. Timelines are completely off, character motivations make no sense, so why is it up to me to untangle the mess they made?

I have a huge love hate relationship with season 2 because on one hand, I didn't expect as much Silco crumbs we got in the first place and I'm SO HAPPY we got to see him normally in episode 5 and thriving in episode 7. But the retcon… I was so pissed when Act 2 dropped because the whole bridge incident just stopped making sense like you said.

Then when Act 3 happened, it all clicked together, but not in the "ohhh the story makes sense now" way but in the "oh the writers needed to set up smth previously so this would work." and it completely took me out of it. Like. The writers wanted Vander and Silco to make up with each other. But they don't know how to do that. Let's add some underlying sentimentality between Vander and Silco and Vi's mom, then kill Vi off. That'll make them go back together (along with that STUPID LETTER Vander wrote). Sure that's a bandaid solution and on surface level it works, but I don't think the writers really thought we would think about Silco this much so the moment you peel back the layers nothing makes sense anymore. I think they could've crafted a way more interesting story if they ACTUALLY SAT DOWN AND TRIED to have Silco and Vander reconcile without using Felicia as a crutch, but season 2 has an overarching problem of "lets have all the important things happen offscreen and only imply that they happened" which is just… so lazy…. so I'm not surprised that this happened.

It just weakens so, so many parts of the story and raises way more questions than answer them. Why does Silco pull away and distance himself from Felicia's family? Surely Vi should know him from before? Does Silco only take in Powder because he knew she was Felicia's daughter? Why, WHY does Vander go like "there are worse things than enforcers out there" (implying Silco) in s1 while talking to Benzo????????? when he's apparently felt guilty this whole time ??????? what happened to "I've looked everywhere????" etc etc idk man. from s1 I always thought the bridge incident happened way, way earlier from Felicia dying bc Vi looked like she was about 7 years old during the bridge and around 14 during act one, but then if you see Silco during the s2 warwick flashback he looks like he's 25. maybe 30 at the maximum. aint no way he aged that much in 7 years, in act one he and Vander both feel like they're in their mid 40s idk.

This is lowkey why I kind of only want to draw young Silco.. I love old man yaoi but like. If everything I draw is just flashback version of him, I don't need to worry about logistics of the bridge thing bc it hasn't happened yet lmfao. Or the AU version where everything is solved and no one rlly thinks about that time anymore.

Honestly I've tried to write this response several times trying to spell out my version of the timeline but just. nothing makes any fucking sense. I don't like thinking about how badly the writers fucked up on this part. Silco magically gets an eye injury caused by Vander and they had yaoi divorce but it's fine now. That's just how it is for me and if I think about it even a little more in depth my head will explode and I have better things to do with my time like draw zaundads yaoi

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Most of the takes I’ve seen about Caitlyn’s Jinx-hunting strike team and their bit of light chemical warfare tend to focus on either justifying or condemning Caitlyn’s actions as if the characters are on some kind of morality points leaderboard, which makes even less sense than usual in the Everybody Does Terrible Things show. Litigating whether Caitlyn did a limited police action intended to minimize harm or a war crime is not only kind of pointless, but imo not really the intended function of this story element at all.

The point of this story element in the overall arc of S2 is that you can’t expect to do just a little bit of state violence and then stop. It’s the beginning of Caitlyn’s slide into her dictator era—using her power both as an enforcer and as a Kiramman to get the revenge she has fixated on in her grief.

(A lot of discussion of this sequence of events slides right over what to me is by far the most horrifying detail—which is that it seems like the plans for a major public works project in Zaun are proprietary to one single rich family in Piltover. Why? Because the Council couldn’t care less whether people in the Undercity were dying of Fantasy Pollution Consumption. Which left any mitigation up to the benevolence of private charity from wealthy Piltover families. And as we learn very early on by watching how Jayce is treated, Kiramman charity comes with conditions attached, and can be indistinguishable from control.)

Of course Caitlyn sees her plan as the lesser evil; as a limited and proportionate response that will be less destructive than a full police occupation of the Undercity. But the problem with a limited and proportionate response intended to only target Bad Guys is that it rarely stays that way. Because people will react to repression in ways that are often used to justify more repression.

And we see that it is a VERY short slide from the strike team into tactics that do broadly target civilians for things that in our world we would call protected political speech—things like dyeing your hair a symbolic color or standing around in a square listening to someone give a speech. We go from the strike team to checkpoints, mass arrests, and violent interrogations in like. One episode. Which anyone familiar with the dynamics of state violence in the real world could tell you was exactly what was gonna fucking happen.

(The scene with the cops harassing people at the checkpoint into Piltover is very sharp imo because it shows quite accurately that whatever the stated purpose of a police checkpoint is, the actual effect of a checkpoint is to force interactions between civilians and police, and if police are looking for reasons to target people they will find them.)

So on one level, this storyline is not really about Caitlyn’s personal moral compass at all. It’s about how the logic of state violence tends to drive escalating cycles of conflict.

But also…we’re not supposed to just be okay with a bit of light chemical warfare either! I think the show is pretty unambiguous about that! The whole sequence with Caitlyn’s strike team using the Gray is supposed to be a warning that things are going nowhere good! There’s a reason why the scene in the abandoned arcade, where Jinx learns Vi has become an enforcer, is set up to mirror the scene of child Powder and Vi hiding from enforcers in the same location in S1. We are shown that scene from Jinx’s POV in a way that invites us to sympathize with her. Caitlyn and Vi look like monsters, stalking through the fog in their enforcer gas masks, because they are doing something monstrous.

[street-light-poetry]

See the best and most fulfilling thing about writing cryptic poetry & most importantly, sharing it, is that you get to experience many different types of reasoning - it's like this excerpt I read on here not long ago, in which the author describes how a party made up of a chemist, a musician, and a painter reacts to a green vase shattering unexpectedly, each one of them perceiving and interpreting the event according to their own experiences, interests and skills (the musician identifies the note made by the bowl when it shattered, the painter marvels at the deepened hue of the broken pieces, and the chemist deduces that the vase shattered because someone left a lit cigarette in it, which caused a temperature differential). All of these perspectives do add different facets to what could have been, otherwise, easily chalked up to an unfortunate accident undeserving of undue attention. And of course it would be silly to say that the musician's perspective is less valuable than that of the chemist, or to ignore the chemist's explanation on account of it not having stopped the vase from being destroyed in the first place, or because they weren't the vase's owner.

So far, one person has guessed the word I had in mind for the riddle-poem, and even her reasoning & previous guesses didn't exactly follow what I had expected to see, taking separate paths until both our interpretations converged - but all the guesses I've seen are really fascinating and definitely not something I would have guessed on my own (I am also handicapped by "knowing the solution" here, as it were, which makes it difficult to consider other avenues of enquiry, since I came up with the text myself), all of which is truly enriching to read. I love the scientific method displayed by @emcapi, because it's definitely not how I tend to function, while someone else in the notes - at the other end of the spectrum, in a way - has intuitively identified with laser precision the exact motif I had in mind while writing the second stanza. These two readings of the same words are not mutually exclusionary! And somewhere in the middle of the "scientific deduction to intuition" spectrum, all the different guesses draw upon different parts of the poem, which is always fascinating to see - the way everyone will focus on a different part of the text, will react & build upon different foundations and sometimes ending up at a similar point never ceases to intrigue; this is a phenomenon I try to cultivate & that has happened with every poem I've been sharing for quite a while now, which I am really grateful to all of you for.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that my goal is to make poems that work as catalysts of a kind, that will not be read as separate and inert "works of art", but will read their readers & react to (and with) them in return. How you read reveals quite a lot about you and this phenomenon is both unique & precious; thank you all for playing along, it really means a lot to me.

And of course, the game's still open!

[iron-mage]

I return now with a blocked bank card, whoever you were trying to send a 8.99 transaction to some business called LovelyVoice I wish you well & also curse you for inconveniencing me i was going to order a fancy ereader & now I can't until my new card arrives there's only one left in stock hopefully it doesn't sell before i can get it

Anyway back to the misery of a seeker & his mates

Shockwave is stumped this is definitely Starscream's frame he's had it strapped to his laboratory table enough to know, but it's not reanimating they way it usually does, such a shame he was planning on trying to get him to spread a biological contaminant with a much weaker bomb in the next raid so that anyone who comes to rescue bots trapped in the wreckage would become vectors for a new plague to spread throughout the autobot cels it would have been a very interesting experiment taking advantage of his new labtech's expertise in xenobiology

Meanwhile with the autobots Starscream is starting to wake up, which autobots? I've no clue open to suggestions, but what i do know is they're angry, at Starscream & at Megatron for using one of his own like nothing, maybe they're religious & think that there's something unholy or too holy about the seeker,

They relish in telling him about the planted corpse, it wasn't that hard he's a pretty standard model afterall, & now no ones coming to look for him, those trine mates of his have been spotted without their matching trinkets obviously not very devoted to him if they've taken off his colours already, they're surprised when upon learning this Starscream reacts by begging to be melted down into slag

It's the only thing that'll stop him coming back or so Shockwave hypothesized, the autobots— are happy to test that hypothesis

Meanwhile, back with the cons Skywarp and Thundercracker are free of the collars, no use wasting good explosives especially not when you're going to have to pivot your strategy since you're now down one immortal soldier, Skyfire still has his though even as Shockwave's lab technician he's still not trusted enough to have it off, afterall he only got the position because Starscream was more compliant when Skyfire was around administering the tests & there's no good reason to leave a perfectly good resource like a scientist languishing in the brig

Megatron meanwhile has gotten a little rusty in the area of detecting coup attempts, afterall Starscream didn't have time to plan anything between piecing himself back together from missions, piecing himself back together from being Shockwave's labrat, & sitting in medbay making energon donations until his lines ran dry, tho he does still keep an eye on the seekers both the broken trine & the others in case they get any ideas, which is why he doesn't see Soundwave coming, just, as, planned,

afterall Shockwave spends most of his time secluded in the labs, and Megatron is either on the battlefield, in the command centre, & he's certainly not spending his leisure time amongst the rank & file troops, so if the Communications & Intelligence Officer doesn't bring the rising discontent to their attention how were they to know, Starscream's death was the breaking point that caused them to accelerate their carefully layed plans, what happens to Megatron exactly? Im not entirely sure but i know that Skyfire relishes making use of that biological contaminant he's been working on, Shockwave did so want to see how it would affect a living mech & now he gets to experience it firsthand

The cons are still in shambles months later they've never exactly actually had a change of leadership in this way & bringing everyone to heel is taking all of Soundwave's attention, a lot of them simply deserted the moment they knew Megatron was unable to come after them anymore

So the Autobots take advantage of the situation & gain a lot of ground, & they keep coming across groups of con deserters who fill in the blanks about why Decepticon command seemingly imploded the moment Starscream wasn't there

They paint a picture of a brewing storm, of bots waking up in medbay watching their SIC give his life over & over again so that they could heal a little faster & get back to the battlefield while their Leader never even bothered to get to know them, knowing that their fate would be the same if they happened to share an exploitable ability like that

The Autobots are understandably horrified, & they consolidate into a unified force again, some of the former cons even join their ranks rather than going to any of the numerous new neutral settlements popping up, so they reach out to Soundwave with the hope that the former communications officer would be willing to well– communicate

He is, & so the war ends

& that's how we set our scene

The remaining members of the trine retreat to their old apartments in what remains of Vos, & Skyfire goes with them, they're trauma bonded no one else understands the weight round their necks that stays even after the collars are gone, now they actually have to get to know eachother

It's awkward, there's a great deal of guilt, they all blame themselves for being too compliant, too complicit, too late, & now all they're left with is his worldly affairs left to rot in this apartment

As far as they're aware that is

I got nothing else at this point feel free to take this and run or comment your own ideas i would love to see them

Thinking about a post war situation where Skyfire has to crash at the elite trine's place for a while and it's interesting

[she-whatshername]

this is dark so i get if you don’t wanna go there but what would xaden, garrick, bodhi and liam be like comforting a reader who just went through a traumatic experience?

Don’t we all need a little comforting after this weeks past events in the fictional and real life non fictional world. I’ll try my best to keep this light, and full of comfort. Because I know they’d all be such gems at this.

Xaden:

I have not finished Onyx Storm so no spoilers but wow, I did not realize what a fucking sweetie Xaden is

Yes, I am late to the party on this, but I bring the best snacks so let me in lolol

I could see Xaden reacting one of two ways when he finds out about the experience

One - he loses his beautiful fucking mind and goes hard on revenge. Trying to keep calm while you explain but simmering on the inside. In fact he doesn’t let you finish before he gets up, kisses your forehead and walks to the door to take care of business. Whoever or whatever hurt you, its their last time

Two - he’s in comfort mode. Pulling you in to a deep hug, kissing the top of your head. Running soothing circles on your back or just listening quietly, giving you space to talk. He’s so fucking gentle with you.

I also think Xaden’s got a plan up his sleeve for you. If you’re at Basgiath and say, you go through something traumatic. You loose a member of your squad, you just get out of RSC interrogation, etc. You know you can’t break in public, so you’re holding it in. So, he takes you into the forests that surrounds campus after classes wrap and towards a clearing. Unbeknownst to you, you walk right into a warded dome that’s hidden to the eye. The dome is soundproof. You turn, realizing he’s on the other side and start pounding to get out. But Xaden is there, lifting is fingers to say “No one can hear. Grieve, scream, punch the barrier. You’re safe. Let it out. I’ll be here when you’re done.” He turns to give you privacy, and you spend the next fifteen minutes doing just that. When you’re done, you sign at him to release you, and he pulls you into loving embrace

Garrick

This man. This dimpled man right here

This sweet giant

Like Xaden, he’s thinking revenge. And will probably use the leverage he has either on campus and as Xaden’s right hand to see it through.

But what I love best about the made up facts I made for Garrick is that I bet he is the best diffuser.

I have a scenario I need to finish writing but i image that you’ve experienced the trauma and you’re not alright. You’ve been wounded during a patrol during the Riorson House days and you’ve fallen after getting stabbed in the side. You’re in shock, panic and pain taking over you. Garrick is at your side in an instant, cupping your face and in his hands, “Baby! Baby, look at me…there you go. You’re alright, you’re alright - no. No you’re not going to die. I’m here, yeah? You have to breathe, I know it hurts but look at me. Take a breath…good, good - don’t close your eyes, love. Keep them here, on me, okay? Don’t be falling asleep on these good looks, the boys will never let me down for this. Help is coming baby, Hold on…”

I’d be like “okay!” Lolol

Garrick also seems like someone who would give you space. He wouldn’t be constantly at your side but when you pass each other or at meals he’s always looking in your direction and waiting for you to give him indication that you’re feeling better or not.

Bodhi

A true sweetheart

Kind

Caring

Gentle

Compassionate

And maybe a little protective, but we need that now. And he’s ready to give it to us.

Bodhi is such a great combination of knowing what you need and giving you confidence to say what you want.

I totally imagining him sitting next to you saying “How can I help?” And if you’re too shocked or scared to say anything he’s asking, “I have a few ideas in mind, can I try something?” And the moment you nod he’s giving you exactly what you need to help feel calm and protected. He just knows you that well. If affection and touch is what you need, he’s pulling you close, and wrapping his arms around you, physically putting himself between you and the outside world. His embrace is protective.

He’s also in full caretaker mode. If we’re in the Aretia days he’s pulling you into his room, drawing you a bath in his private bathing chamber, setting out clothes for you to wear and helping you get in bed to rest. He’s bringing up food from the halls, and picking up on any missed assignments or missives.

He will also just cancel his schedule if you need him to. If part of taking care of you is being with you, done. Everyone else can wait.

At bedtime, he’s curling up next to you, kissing your shoulder and rubbing your back to help you sleep. If you need space, the bed is your’s and he’s curled up on a chair at you side for when you need him.

Also I know his bedside manner is just top tier. The way this man will give your verbal affirmation after verbal affirmation. Yes.

Like Garrick can help bring your emotions down, Bodhi is helping to lift you up

Liam

Very much like Xaden i believe

But i think what Liam excels at is distracting through storytelling.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed with the trauma. Whether you are healing body or mind he’s sitting next to you, carving up something and just talking. He’s got a story for every emotion you may be feeling. If its grief, he’s telling you about the days when he lost his parents, or losing contact with his sister. If you need a funny story to distract you, he has one of those.

I can imagine he throws Xaden under the bus if you will, sharing a funny story when they fostered together at Xaden’s expense, “And if Xaden can fall on his ass and get scared shitless, you can too, love. We’re human after all.”

Though, he’s also giving Xaden praise as well, “If I didn’t have Xaden…I dont know how I would have gotten through those years after my parents, after being taken away from Sloane. But, just like Xaden was there for me, I’m here for you. I’ll always be.”

[peaceinpanem]

drarry - fake dating - muggle au

“Repeat what I just said back to me,” Draco instructed.

"Narcissa is your mother. I need to be polite, but not overly so because she can detect insincerity. Lucius is your father and is to be ignored at all costs. Ted is your uncle and a sworn enemy of your father, so they won't interact much, meaning he'll probably sit next to me at the table. Andromeda, the cool aunt, is sharp and may catch on to our act. Dora, the cousin, is laid-back and won't mention anything if they notice something is off. And then, of course, there's the forbidden aunt, Bellatrix. No mentions whatsoever. By the way, why bring up someone we're not allowed to talk about? I wouldn't have mentioned someone I didn't even know existed," Harry recited, kicking his feet up onto the immaculately clean dashboard of Draco’s obscenely expensive car.

Draco swatted at Harry's legs, admonishing, "That's dangerous, Potter. Ever heard of airbags?" as he navigated the sleek car through the winding, frosty country roads.

Rolling his eyes, Harry had a quip ready, but Draco continued his lecture before he could respond, "I told you about Bellatrix because forewarned is forearmed, Potter. It's better you know exactly what not to say instead of asking some insipid question like 'Do you have any other siblings?'" Draco explained, glancing briefly at Harry before returning to the road.

Harry leaned back in his seat, a smirk playing on his lips. "Harry."

Draco shot him a sidelong glance. "What?"

"Harry. You need to call me Harry, not Potter. I am your boyfriend, after all."

“Must I?”

Harry chuckled, “Well if you want this charade to be even the slightest bit convincing, you’ll have to make an effort. Wouldn’t want your family thinking we’re not madly in love, now would we?”

“Madly in love? Let’s not get carried away. Tolerably in a relationship is already pushing it,” Draco’s glare was piercing.

Harry grinned at the sharpness in Draco's words, the rigid posture he maintained, hands perfectly placed at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Pretending to be in love with the arrogant bloke would be a breeze, Harry thought; his real challenge was acting like he wasn't most days.

"So, does that mean open-mouthed kissing is off the table in front of your parents?" Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Draco muttered, taking a sharp left turn.

Harry instinctively grabbed the handle, suppressing a grin. "Agreed? Malfoy, you practically begged me in the locker rooms to do this."

"Begged? I did no such thing. It was merely a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Mutually beneficial? So, what's the benefit for me, exactly?"

Draco scoffed. "The pleasure of my exquisite company, obviously."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

Draco ignored his insult, opting instead to reach for the dial to turn the music up a bit louder. 'It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas' filled the car with a sweet, smooth voice and tinkling bells. Harry turned to rest his head against the cool glass of the car window, taking a moment to enjoy the views.

The road was narrow, and every visible surface was coated in fresh white snow. Tree branches bent under the weight, and small bits of flurry fell from the sky. In the distance, cottages with windows aglow and smoke puffing from their chimneys added to the picturesque scene.

It was a pleasant surprise, spending time with Malfoy like this. Three years into playing on their university football team together, this was the first time they had spent any time alone, just the two of them, not surrounded by their teammates, coaches, and friends.

“How did your parents take it when you told them?” Harry asked.

“Told them what?”

“That you’re gay.” Harry chuckled, “I always wonder how my parents would have reacted, you know? Like if they were still here.”

“Potter, are you dense? This is me telling them.”

[narcissisticsmoker]

Hi there 🥰 i'm usually too shy to interact but I hope you'll notice this ask.

I love your blog and posts, like you know exactly how to make a girl addicted🤭

I had a question for you, though... Your posts are all about domination, free use, somno and a lot of other (very nice) kinks. In other words, making the readers feel deliciously used by projecting themselves in your scenarios. But then, I wondered... Aren't you the one being used in all this, after all? Does it turn you on to know that hundreds of girls touch themselves to your posts, fantasize about you, using you and your writing for pleasure over and over again... being nothing but our special, secret little toy? 🙈 I'd like to know how it really makes you feel....

- A curious little mouse 🐭

I see what you are trying to do, little mouse. You think you are clever, turning the game around, making me the one being used, being worshipped in the dark by all the desperate, needy hands that reach for me without ever touching. You wonder if I feel it, if I know that my words are the reason so many fall apart, surrendering to the fantasies I create. You want to believe that makes me yours, that knowing you all crave me in the quiet hours of the night gives you some kind of power over me.

But let me make something very clear. You only react the way I dictate. Your pleasure is shaped by my hands, guided by the way I carve each word, each scenario, dragging you deeper into exactly where I want you. Every shiver, every whimper, every slow, burning ache you feel is something I orchestrated. You are not in control here. You are wrapped around my words, bound by the tension I pull tighter with every thought I plant in your mind.

And the best part? You love it. You crave it. You come back for more because no matter how much you try to turn the tables, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you belong right where I have placed you, on your knees, breathless, hanging onto every word I decide to give you. ;)

[shiyorin]

We all know Ultramar is space roman, so Guilliman will definitely have a (lot of) nude statues of him there ⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠). So how do you think he would react to that and what if he caught the Reader staring at it?

#Fast food

#Romcom 40K but of course com is more than rom

#If you squint, you'll see Guilliman x Reader. But yeah, it is Guilliman x Reader

#Crack fic? I don't know

The Fortress of Hera, Macragge - Central Plaza.

The morning sun casts long shadows across the newly unveiled plaza, where a massive statue of Primarch Roboute Guilliman stands in all its… glory. The statue, crafted from the finest marble, towers fifteen meters high, depicting the Primarch in a classical pose reminiscent of ancient Terran sculptures.

You have been standing in the same spot for nearly an hour, head tilted back, eyes fixed on the statue. Your expression is a mixture of fascination and something else entirely.

Guilliman stands beside you, growing increasingly uncomfortable with your sustained attention to his marble counterpart. The statue, while tastefully done, leaves little to the imagination, save for a strategically placed piece of cloth that preserves some modesty.

"Stop staring," Guilliman finally says, his voice strained.

You don't even blink. "I'm not staring."

"You're staring."

"You can't blame me." You tilt your head to the side, squinting slightly. "I mean, the craftsmanship is… impressive. Very impressive."

Guilliman pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's just a statue."

"Mhmm," you hum noncommittally, still not looking away. "Is it… anatomically accurate?"

"AGENT!"

"What? It's a legitimate artistic question!" You gestures dramatically at the statue. "I mean, look at those abs! And that cloth… it's very… strategic."

A group of Ultramarines passing by pretend not to hear the conversation, though their hurried pace suggests otherwise.

"The artist took some creative liberties," Guilliman mutters, his face turning a shade closer to Vulkan's.

You finally tears your eyes away from the statue to look at him, grinning mischievously. "Oh? So you're saying it's not accurate? Because I could always verify-"

"That will not be necessary," Guilliman cuts your off hastily.

"Are you sure? In the name of artistic integrity-"

"Absolutely not."

You turn back to the statue, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "You know, from this angle, it kind of looks like-"

"Don't."

"-the cloth might slip at any moment-"

"I swear by the Emperor-"

"-I mean, what's even holding it up?"

"Divine intervention," Guilliman deadpans.

A passing Chapter Serf nearly chokes at this exchange.

"Really though," You continue, undeterred, "who commissioned this? Because I need to shake their hand."

"Aeonid thought it would boost morale," Guilliman sighs.

"Oh, it's boosting something alright." You mumbles under your breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" You says innocently. "Just admiring the… architectural integrity."

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Well, I could be more specific about what I'm admiring-"

"Please don't."

You pull out a pict-capture device. "Mind if I take a few shots? For… historical documentation?"

Guilliman snatches the device from your hands. "Absolutely not."

"Aw, come on! Think of future generations!"

"I am thinking of future generations. That's exactly why you're not getting any pictures."

You pout. "Fine. I'll just have to rely on my excellent memory then." You taps your temple. "And let me tell you, this is definitely getting filed away in the 'permanent records' section."

A group of visiting dignitaries approaches, and Guilliman straightens, trying to look appropriately primarch-like. You, however, has other ideas.

"Hey," you stage-whisper, loud enough for several people to hear, "does this mean there's a bathroom somewhere with a smaller version of this statue as a soap dispenser?"

The dignitaries quickly find somewhere else to be.

Guilliman looks skyward, as if seeking strength from the Emperor himself. "Why are you like this?"

"You love it," You grin. Then, after a pause, "Speaking of love, that cloth really doesn't leave much to the imagination about how much you love-"

"That's it." Guilliman grabs you by the shoulders and physically turns you away from the statue. "We're leaving."

"But I haven't finished my artistic analysis!" You protests as you are marched away. "I haven't even gotten to the back view yet!"

"There will be no back view."

"Spoilsport. At least tell me if the sculptor got your butt right-"

"AGENT!"

Extra:

Back in the plaza, you manage to break free from Guilliman's grasp long enough to shout, "You know, if you're worried about accuracy, we could always do a side-by-side comparison!"

The sound of Guilliman's exasperated groan echoes across the plaza, followed by your delighted laughter as you are once again dragged away.

Later that day, several Chapter Serfs notice that someone has placed a "Do Not Lick" sign at the base of the statue.

No one asks who put it there.

No one wants to know why it was necessary.

And if anyone notices an imperial agent sneaking back after dark with a measuring tape, well… some things are better left unreported in the official records of the Ultramarines.

[skwpr]

"50-10-50"📌

The ‘50-10-50’ rule, which will help to allocate time wisely even for those who fail all deadlines ‘50-10-50’ is a method that tells you how to wisely distribute your time and manage to do everything on time. It implies that you will spend 50 minutes of your time on work, after that you will change your activity for 10 minutes, and then, after a rest, you will return to work for 50 minutes. If your work is computer-related, then during the rest period let your eyes relax not only your brain but also your eyes: take a walk, drink tea or chat with a colleague. Don't just switch to your phone and immediately check email or social media. Try to really relax, not just sit for 10 minutes, staring at your phone or laptop screen, but no longer on work. The cycle of ‘50 minutes of work - 10 minutes of rest - 50 minutes of work’ can be repeated as many times as you need to complete a task. This is one of the most effective ways to tackle it. Why the method works Working hard until you feel overly tired is like running a marathon, where you run for a few kilometres at maximum effort and then collapse. In addition, the more you work on a task, the more rest you think you deserve. But it is not always possible to devote 2-3 hours in a row to relaxation. In any business it is important to distribute your strength and give yourself a rest. And the ‘50-10-50’ method helps to achieve this. In addition, studies show that after small breaks during the day the productivity of a person increases. And simply moving more often is healthier than sitting in place for hours on end. Key benefits One of the students who practises this method in his studies spoke about its 5 main benefits:

When you think of having to spend 6-8 hours on a single task, you may get discouraged. But 50 minutes is better. 50 minutes of work is less than the length of a one hour episode of your favourite TV show. And you could spend 6 hours to watch 6 episodes, but you probably wouldn't watch one 6-hour episode. That's why it's worth taking breaks from work as well, because then the thought of it doesn't depress you. As a result, you will develop stamina: within 50 minutes you will feel alert and work efficiently.

The method allows you to focus better on your work. You realise that you have 50 minutes and it would be better to have already solved some task or part of it in that time. So put your phone aside, log off social media and ask your colleagues or housemates not to distract you. Only react to the alarm clock that will inform you that 50 minutes have passed.

Taking regular 10 minutes off allows you to increase your productivity in something else. During this time you can do anything you've wanted to do for a long time but never had time for: hone your writing, draw, sing or charm your colleagues with your sense of humour.

The ‘50-10-50’ method allows you to determine exactly how much time you spent on one task. As a result, you will be able to plan your working hours better and use them more efficiently in the future.

The method allows you to develop your skill. Studies of the late XX century state that a person needs 10 thousand hours to become a pro in a highly competitive highly specialised field. The ‘50-10-50’ method allows you to look back and calculate how much time you have already devoted to becoming a professional in your field.

[someweirdoreblogger]

Thinking about writing Human!Reader whom isekai'd to Earthbread but maintained their incredible size.

Just thinking about The Anicents and Beasts reactions. It'd be an interesting situation for the parties included.

[emmodii-mode]

Just finished my first playthrough of BG3. Romanced Lae'zel, but ending up turning into an Illithid because the idea of making Orpheus or Karlach do it didn't sit well with me (or my character).

I told Lae'zel to leave with Orpheus in the end (I heard she wouldn't stay with a ghaik anyway, which she's valid for, but also, it doesn't feel right to ask her to stay when I know how much her people mean to her). And like-

Her face before she flies off---

She looks so heartbroken and sad.