#because it causes so many of their problems

[kiame-sama]

can we have some of the queen's rules? Riddle already gave three (we didn't get all of the last one) but what are some you feel like sharing?

You already know three;

- Humans cannot eat a pork heavy diet as Humans are genetically close to pigs. (The genetics piece is true, but Humans can digest pork no problem, so it is ultimately a nonsense rule).

- Humans must be kept at a temperature above freezing but below boiling. (True, not too hot and not too cold is ideal for Humans)

- Humans must be paired with suitable mates based on their regional habitat. A Human from a frozen climate is not compatible with a Human from a tropical climate and therefore cannot breed. (Absolute nonsense, Humans can technically breed with other Humans regardless of region and can even interbreed with any Twisted Wonderland species and still have viable young- ie. Dragon/Human, Unicorn/Human, Drider/Human, Harpy/Human, Merfolk/Human- so long as they can make the parts fit, they can typically successfully interbreed)

But I have headcanoned many other rules for Riddle to believe are absolutely true.

- Humans love Salt, Fat, and Sugar in their diets, but should be limited as too much can cause health problems (actually 100% true. We are literally wired to crave those three food types and have been since before our days as Humans but any in excess can be dangerous/harmful)

- Humans in love or assumed to be in love should never be forced to part or be put into conflict against one another. (The queen made this rule because one of her Humans fell for the pet of a wealthy visitor and actually had stress cardiomyopathy- heartbreak syndrome- and died as a result when that loved one left)

- No species is to threaten or harm a Human. Those who break this rule are punished by the highest accord. (General for all Humans in the Queendom and still a law to current day)

- All unbirthday parties are to have one or more chairs of honor reserved for resident Humans at the left-hand side of the host. (A common rule for Unbirthday parties and one Riddle already upheld even before he met the Human)

- A pregnant Human is to be pardoned for any and all crimes committed during the pregnancy as their hormones and actions cannot be controlled. (Most Humans were quickly pardoned of any crime anyway because the Queen loved them, but pregnant Humans were basically given a free pass to steal and do as they wished).

- If a Human is to take a nap during the day, they must have no more than three pillows and one blanket. (This rule was made to prevent humans from sleeping longer than an hour or two as to not mess up their natural sleep cycle)

- If a Human chooses a non Human mate that non-Human is required by law to marry that Human and never be unfaithful regardless of prior relationships and marriages. (It didn't happen often, but some of the Queen's humans fell for their guards or other visiting nobles and the Queen refused to lose another Human to heartbreak)

[warping-realities]

A Better Brighter Future

A brief explanation, this story is a spinoff of Dalton Academy, you don't need to have read that series to understand this story, but you will miss some references. The themes here are also controversial and I need to remind everyone that just because I wrote it doesn't mean I agree with what's happening! Otherwise, a great read for anyone interested!

Director Horace Johnson wasn’t having a good week; in fact, the week he was having was bloody dreadful. The blonde, skinny bloke, fifty years old, had dedicated a good chunk of his adult life to educating young people, finding that calling shortly after leaving university. A staunch defender of human rights and a proponent of positive education, he faced all sorts of problems with reactionary teachers throughout his career, none worse than Ethan Wood, the former PE teacher at King Richard All Boys Institute, affectionately referred to by everyone in the tiny village of Daffodil-Meadow-Over-The-Hill as Lionheart School. However, after numerous run-ins over the three years he’d been the head of that institution, he finally got fed up with the other bloke's speeches, attitudes, and teaching style, and thanks to an anonymous tip about some dodgy behaviour that led to his dismissal, nearly all the students and many of the  teachers breathed a sigh of relief; that sort of hardline, oppressive treatment had no place in today’s world. The one thing Horace couldn’t imagine was the struggle to find a replacement who shared his progressive ideals, not to mention the fact that he had to deal with the backlash from some conservative parents, teachers, and board members. Just another battle they were fighting; he should have known, it was like that when he banned the posh uniforms or tried to authorise the use of gender-neutral pronouns – one battle won, another lost. But he was determined to come out on top again; he refused to put another outdated troglodyte in that position. A better, brighter future was the motto of that school, and he was going to make it happen.

While he was mulling over these issues, sitting in his office with a good cup of tea, his privacy was invaded. With a loud BAM, the door to his office was flung open, causing him to quickly raise his eyes from the document he was reading, only to see the monstrous figure striding towards him. A black man in his thirties, dressed in a polo shirt, tracky bottoms, and trainers, exuding the brash vibe of a sports coach, swaggered confidently in his direction. He couldn’t remember scheduling any interview, and certainly not with someone so rude, who gave off exactly the impression of the type of professional he refused to hire.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to leave this room; I’m busy and we haven’t got a time booked!” he said, standing up and positioning himself beside his desk, noting the absurd difference in build and muscle between the two.

“And since when do old mates need permission to see you, Henry?”

“That’s not my name!”

“I know that, Henderson, you tosser, but if you reckon I’m not gonna use your nickname just because you’re the head honcho of a fancy school now, you’re sorely mistaken. Just wait until the lads on the rugby team find out the Steamroller Henry is all posh now; they’ll be laughing their heads off!”

“Sir, I… I don’t know what you’re on about… I insist you leave!”

“Now that’s the Henry I know, always ready to pull a fast one on his mates.” The man said, slumping down in the armchair opposite his desk. “But enough of the banter, mate. After you got in touch, I did a bit of digging into what’s going on around here, and you’ve got some serious problems. Losing a bloke like Ethan Wood must have been a right kick in the teeth, especially after scrapping the uniforms; they might have been a bit too posh, but they helped maintain a sense of unity and shared identity. Good on you for getting rid of that daft idea of using gender-neutral pronouns. Still, mate, I can see why you need me here. Transforming these crybabies into real men can’t be easy, but don’t you worry; you called the right person!”

“I… what…? I don’t get it…”

“What’s hard to understand, Henry? You need help to rein in this progressive agenda that’s trying to take root here, so you called your old uni mate Blake Ian Garret, The BIG and said, ‘Mate, I need your help with these wankers trying to sabotage me; old Wood is out, I need you for the job!’”

“I… Blake… BI… BIG, then… do you accept?”

“Of course I do, you muppet; it’s exactly what I’ve been banging on about! That whisky you’re drinking is probably messing with your already dodgy brain. I wonder how they let you become a director, Henry; not that I’m complaining, we need more blokes like us in charge.”

“I also wonder how I ended up here; I only became a teacher because that dodgy Wood promised to pass on his job to me when he retired, and next thing I know, I’m stuck in this boring role and now I have to give the job I wanted to an arse.” He said with fake exasperation. 

“Shut it, mate; I know you missed having another real man around here, and while I explain how things work in the place I was working, why don’t you pour me a bit of that drink? I think you’ll love hearing about Dalton Academy.” The man commented, noticing the change happening in Horace Johnson. In a blur of movement, the skinny man’s body expanded in muscle and height, while the wrinkles vanished from his face and his blonde hair started to grow back where it had receded. In less than a second, Henderson “Henry” Johnson found himself grinning, offering a glass of whisky that hadn’t been there before to his old university friend and now professor Blake Garret, The BIG in his realm.

“A toast to the best hire I could have made,” he said, raising the glass to his old friend, who broke into a wide smile.

“To a better and brighter future, indeed!”

…..

The students and teachers didn’t know why they were gathered in the school gym. The summons came from Director Johnson himself, and they knew they had to comply quickly, as the man had a military rigidity about that sort of thing, not tolerating any behaviour he deemed lazy. So, what a surprise it was for everyone to see that it wasn’t Henry Johnson heading to the packed gym.

“Good morning, gentlemen! My name’s Blake Garret and I’m the new PE teacher here at Lionheart. The director Johnson and I have known each other for a long time; we were university mates and teammates, and he’s shared with me his concerns about the behaviour and ideals presented here. This nation is infected, gentlemen. Infected by a parasite called progressivism. Progress should be encouraged, yes, but with proper control, guided by the ideas of our parents and ancestors. Progress for the sake of progress should be discouraged!” He said, striding across the gym floor like a caged beast ready to break free, pausing only to observe the indignant faces of some teachers and a few students who bothered to pay attention to what he was saying. But that was about to change, and it was going to be now. “When Henry told me that the infection was spreading here too, I couldn’t believe it. I said to him, ‘Surely not, Henry, my dear. Lionheart is a beacon of clarity amidst a stormy sea of harmful ideas; the teachers are exemplars of masculinity and manliness, and the students are the pinnacle to which every young man in this nation should aspire; surely there’s no such behaviour here.’ But… but now that I’m here, I see! Gentlemen, my eyes fill with tears at what Lionheart is.” He said, taking another pause to take in the disgusted expressions before finally finishing what he had come to do there. “Tears, yes, tears of pride! For you are much more than I imagined, gentlemen. You are paragons of masculinity, the example of what every man should aspire to be; you haven’t allowed yourselves to be contaminated by the corruption attacking our country from within; you are what gives me hope for the future of our great nation.” He said, resuming his frenetic pacing, and with every step he took, the audience transformed; teachers, students, staff, all expanding in size while ideas and thoughts shrank, casual clothes being replaced by training gear that showcased their muscular and defined bodies, while a powerful funk that only dozens of sweaty gathered men could produce dominated the atmosphere, not that anyone there cared about it.

“That was a brilliant welcome drill, lads; now off to the showers and back to your uniforms for your lessons. Teachers, I ask you to stay a bit longer; I need to know about any absent students today.”

….

Franklin was in deep trouble; he missed the bus to school and had to walk all the way from the village of Grimchurch to Daffodil Meadow, which wasn’t pleasant for a skinny, asthmatic kid. The worst part was that he ended up terribly late for school, and knowing the kind of reception he would get, he thought about just not going, but that would bring even bigger complications, so he decided to face his fate with resignation. He was greeted by the guard, who merely directed him to one of the classrooms where a teacher would speak to the late students and administer the necessary punishment. Sighing with resignation, he headed to the indicated location, but upon arriving, something stopped him from entering the room; some sort of primitive alert resonating within his mind. Peeking through the corner of the window, he saw a teacher he didn’t recognise, a tall and very strong man with skin as dark as his own, talking to Bernard, Vincent, and Timothy, three of the biggest truants at Lionheart, who were looking at him with bored expressions. But then, in the blink of an eye, the unthinkable happened; the boys he had known all his life were replaced by larger, stronger, muscular versions, wearing uniforms and smiling as if they were getting drunk on every word the teacher was saying, words which Franklin couldn’t hear. But then the teacher approached the door, and he could hear the end of the speech.

“… rowing at the end of the day; you lot are to be congratulated, I wouldn’t be surprised if any of you ended up representing England at the Olympics. Oh, before you go, Bert and Victor, you’re in the same class as Franklin Burke, right? If you see him, let me know; I need to have a word with the lad, the same goes for you, Tom.”

Hearing that, Franklin took off running, desperate, not fully understanding what he had witnessed but knowing the risk he was in; he urgently needed to get out of there. In his despair, he didn’t notice that the man had left the room and smiled when he saw a skinny kid running toward the changing rooms.

Franklin thought the safest way to escape the trap he had fallen into would be through the school gym, which should be empty at that hour. Sneaking in as quietly as possible, he finally reached the changing area; he just needed to cross it and head to the football pitch, which would be free from whatever was happening there. But there was a hitch: someone was using the changing room. Quickly hiding behind the door, he saw the stranger swaggering arrogantly through the space. Recently out of the shower and wearing only a jock strap, the muscular Chinese lad strutted as if he owned the place. Stopping in front of the mirror, he admired himself. Who could he have been before? No… no… Lionheart only had one Chinese student. That must be… Anshen? Franklin’s best mate… no… this was a nightmare.

“I can see you there, mate!” said the muscular lad, crossing his arms. “Coach BIG is looking for you. I wouldn’t irritate the bloke if I were you.” He added with a cheeky grin. Having been discovered, Franklin stepped out of hiding.

“Anshen… is that you?”

“The name’s Ashton, Franklin. Honestly, how could you forget the name of the captain of the school swimming team?” he said, acting as if that made him the most important person in the room. Without even glancing to the side, he brushed past that aberration towards the corridor leading to the football pitch.

“Hey, mate, the coach’s office is the other way!” shouted the other lad, but Franklin didn’t pay him any mind. He was running anxiously toward the door that was his salvation. Only to see it swing open and the monstrous giant that was walking toward him with a grin. Between the two giants, he chose to face the smaller of the two and took off running in the direction he had come from, without seeing the smile fade from the man's face or hearing him grumble.

“Don’t know why they run…”

Upon reaching the door of the changing room he had just passed through a few seconds ago, he found it locked. How? Ashton must have locked it. Franklin grunted as he cursed the other lad with every ounce of strength not being used to try to open the door.

“It’s useless, lad. Your fate was sealed the moment you set foot in this school. But you know what? I like you; you’ve got fire in you. Turn around.” The man said with authority, and Franklin felt his body obey against his will. Gathering courage, he faced the man.

“Who are you? What are you?”

“What I am is something to be answered another time. Now, who am I? Frankly, Farrel, that’s no way to speak to your godfather.” Coach BIG replied, seemingly hurt, although a slight tremor at the corner of his lips indicated he was actually enjoying himself.

“What? Godfather? I don’t have a godfather and I don’t even know who you are! And who the hell is Farrel?”

“Farrel is my godson; a lad, strong and sure of what he wants. A man who knows a man’s rightful place in society. He’s a bit of a rogue, the type who’s too smart for his own good, always finding a way to dodge consequences. Except when he’s on the pitch; he’s the captain of the rugby team and takes that role seriously, even knowing his future lies in politics, thanks to the silver tongue he possesses. In short, Farrel is you, you great numpty. Now that it’s just the two of us in my office, come give your godfather a hug.”

“I… what? No…!” Franklin stammered as he felt his legs move on their own and a dreamy smile form on his lips, even as he internally screamed in anxiety.

Anxiety? He never got anxious! At least not off the pitch. There he was a monster, a bull. But off it? Off it, he was the face of relaxation. Chill out and have a laugh was Farrel Burke’s motto! Thought the muscular black giant that few would believe was only eighteen years old. While he put on the school uniform in his godfather’s office, admiring his beautiful body and smiling.

“Farrel? Farrel! Bloody hell, lad, can’t you pay attention for a minute?”

“Sorry, Uncle BIG… I mean… Coach BIG… oops… Professor Garret.”

“If you weren’t my godson, I’d give you a right telling off, lad, and just because I’m your godfather doesn’t mean you can use my office as if it were your personal changing room.”

“If you hadn’t dragged me from the changing room, I wouldn’t need to finish getting dressed here!”

“Is that a dig at my behaviour, lad?” BIG asked seriously, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“No, sir, professor. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” The lad replied, sensing the danger.

“Great. As I was saying, I want to implement some of the ideas I brought from Dalton; while you finish getting ready, let me talk to you about the clubs…”

…..

By the end of that week, BIG’s initial work was complete; there were no more students or teachers left to be improved. The uniforms had returned to being the norm, and all the lads were required to be part of at least one of the school’s sports teams. Moreover, the social clubs had been formed, ensuring that the lads, even after school ended, would have a reason to return to Lionheart and not forget what they had learned there. BIG was proud of what he had accomplished, and those above him were too. Now it was time for the expansion phase, to take what was taught at Lionheart outside the school’s walls and fields. BIG’s approach was different from that taken at Dalton; times were different, and in the war they were waging against those who wanted to remove men from their rightful place, there was no room for the discretion adopted by the sister school. Europe was falling too quickly; it was necessary to be more incisive. That’s why Lionheart would focus not only on creating the leaders of tomorrow but a whole generation of influencers, and sport would be their flagship. And there was no sport more popular worldwide than football. Knowing this, the Lionheart team became a priority for BIG, and he created a particularly talented and charismatic group, but they still lacked a coach of the right calibre. But that would soon be resolved, and quickly too; normally, BIG liked to savour the moment he transformed a pathetic figure into a real man. However, as the mass transformation of the first day showed, when the need was pressing, he acted fast. And that Sunday morning, it was needed again. While the lads prepared for training, the stands of the school filled with students from other teams, but also with parents and locals from the surrounding towns. This would be exhausting. And the cherry on top was the old man walking across the field with an angry look directed at BIG, who returned the scorn before breaking into a smile.

Zachariah Hastings, a member of the school board and a staunch conservative, which in theory should please BIG, but the problem was that the old codger was too conservative. Homophobic and racist, he seemed to boil inside the outdated suit he was wearing at that moment. He indeed represented that mythical figure of patriarchy that the snowflakes loved to point out as the cause of all ills: the white, heterosexual, cisgender man. BIG had nothing against a man who was all those things; on the contrary. The problem was that this figure represented everything that the enemies of the brotherhood of men took pleasure in using to attack. BIG’s group merely wanted to return men to their rightful place in society; they didn’t care about race, religion, whether you were an immigrant or who you slept with. Implicating with those things only created divisions, pushing men away from the real goal. And it was precisely for that reason that Zachariah had to go. Without any fanfare or manipulation, in one moment, the old codger was there with a bewildered expression, as if he knew what awaited him, and in the next moment, a fine specimen of a black man, very much like BIG himself, stood in his place, while every man in that audience became an upgraded ally, and BIG enthusiastically announced to everyone the arrival of the legendary Zeke Hastings, newly retired player from Manchester City and multiple-time champion of the Premier League, Champions League, and Euro Cup, to take the position of coach for the school’s football team, sending all the men in that place into a frenzy of delight, while BIG himself smiled, satisfied that the first part of his duty was finally fulfilled.

**Two months earlier**

Barret couldn’t stop tapping his foot while waiting in the posh waiting room of Dalton Academy; after all, this was his big chance, even if he didn’t understand why an American school would be interested in an English literature teacher. Although the whole place reeked of Old Money, perhaps that justified the interest in him.

“You can come in, Mr. Garret.” A metallic voice startled Barret, who looked around for the source, but found none. Collecting himself, he stood up, straightened his suit, and opened the massive door to the office. What he saw there gave him a sense of strangeness. Smiling and walking towards him in a space much larger than would be possible, was a handsome lad, no more than eighteen years old. Was this some sort of prank by the posh students?

“Come in, Mr. Garrett. Barret Garret; your parents had an interesting sense of humour; I would have certainly liked them…” commented the smiling young man before frowning. “Why the scared face? Ahhh, I always forget these modern conventions; in my day, this would already be the appearance of an adult man.” The young man said, his face concentrating, and then, as if by magic, he began to walk towards an office desk that Barret could have sworn hadn’t been there seconds before. When he reached the desk a blonde, older, and muscular man wearing a slightly less formal outfit smiled at Barret. 

“I think you’ll prefer this appearance, my dear. You can call me Mr. Edgar. And even though I’ve used a bit of trickery to bring you here, since unfortunately there’s no place for you on Dalton’s faculty, by the time we finish our conversation, it’ll be as if you know the place better than you do yourself, and I guarantee the goal I have in mind for you will leave you quite satisfied. Put a smile on that face and step in.” Even against his will, in that incomprehensible situation, Barret found himself smiling and stepped into the creature’s lair.

If anyone who wasn’t an active member of Dalton was watching what was going on, they would have been shocked. But within those walls, it was almost routine. A young, well-dressed black man hesitating in front of a portal, only to, upon crossing it, see his body modify and expand, while he aged a few years, though that only made him even more charming; his slow steps transforming into the confident stride of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And anyone who knew Blake Ian Garret, coach BIG, could tell that that impression would be correct, though incomplete. BIG not only knew what he wanted but would also do everything in his power to achieve his goals. And those goals at the moment consisted of returning to England to find a way to occupy a position at Lionheart School, which conveniently was established on top of one of the largest dormant power points of the old country, but which only needed a spark to awaken. A spark that Mr. Edgar handed to him, only demanding in return that he use that power to ensure that the occupants of the place, both the established ones and those who would come, and even the unsuspecting traveler passing through, became the right kind of men. The exact type that BIG himself represented.

….

**6 months later**

“Son, I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think. I survived high school; you will too.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to be transferred in the middle of the second year to a school with the highest concentration of wanker athletes that would have certainly made your life a nightmare.”

“Duncan, I understand; I was transferred as well, remember? I need to make friends at work too.”

“Dad, that’s completely different; none of your colleagues are going to shove your head in a toilet or anything like that.”

“I’m sure that only happens in films, Duncan.”

The pair of overweight blonde father and son walked through the corridors of the Lionheart Institute towards Director Johnson. The truth is that even Alex, the father, was not comfortable with that arrangement, but there was nothing to be done; Lionheart was the best school in the area, and he refused to send his son away from him. Duncan was a shy and reserved kid, just like he had been at that age. That school would be a challenge, but any other would be too, and there he would be close by if something happened.

“Dad, didn’t you read the articles I sent you? This journalist, Aaryan Patel, wrote a series of them talking about what goes on here; all the students here, regardless of where they came from, are some kind of athletes; some have even competed in the Olympics. And there’s more; all of them have behaviour described as toxic; some have been banned from giving interviews; some bloke named Ashton Zhang won a bronze medal in Paris but said so much rubbish about the opening ceremony that he almost got banned from competing.”

“Well, then they’ll know what it’s like to have a mathlete among them now! And who knows, you might become a good influence on them or even get motivated to take up some sport; exercise does wonders for a young lad.”

“Says the man who’s never set foot on a court in his life…”

“Duncan, enough! You’re coming to study here, and that’s final.” The father snapped, as he noticed a giant figure approaching confidently down the corridor.

“But Dad, I think Aaryan Patel has a point…”

“Duncan! I don’t want to hear you talking about Aaryan Patel anymore!”

“You do quite well.” Commented the giant black man approaching them, his smile vanishing upon hearing that name. “Mr. Patel has only been defaming the good name of this school with lies and distortions, when what he should be doing is praising the performance of our students in all areas of life. I’m Professor Garret and I believe you are Archibald and Duncan, am I right?”

“In fact, my name is Alexander…”

“Ah, some misunderstanding then.” Commented the professor with a cheeky smile before continuing. “Director Johnson should have welcomed you, but he had a slight hiccup and asked me to do it for him. I thought I’d chat with you, Archibald, while one of the lads shows Duncan around the school. Where is that rascal? Ah, here he comes.” Professor Garret finished speaking without giving Alexander a chance to correct him about the name error, although he himself had forgotten it when he saw the lad strutting down the corridor, almost like a mini version of the professor. Although saying that anything about that lad was mini would be an affront. Broad shoulders and strong limbs pushing the limits of the school’s smart black uniform, made up of a full suit, tie, and dress shoes that must have been tailor-made to fit the boats that were his feet, the overall effect was one of sophistication but also of dominance and confidence that left Alexander gaping and Duncan, who was already fearful, completely terrified.

“Good day, Coach BIG… hum… Professor Barret; good day, sir.” The lad said politely, although a mischievous sparkle danced in his eyes.

“Farrell, my boy. Would you be so kind as to show the school’s facilities to Duncan here while Archie and I have a chat?”

“With pleasure, Professor Garret. Would you be so kind as to accompany me, Duncan?” He said, positioning himself next to the other lad who, although overweight, was shorter and lighter than him, before turning to Alexander with a cheeky grin. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Archie.”

“The pleasure was mine, lad.” replied Alex, again forgetting to correct the name error. “We’ll see you in a bit, Duke.” He ended up saying to his son, who looked at him first with wide eyes of pleading and then in surprise at how his father had called him. But there was nothing to be done, for at that moment the muscular giant lad took him by the arm and carried him down the corridor, while his father walked away in the opposite direction, chatting amiably with the behemoth that was Professor Garret.

BIG entered his office and sat down at the desk, although he hadn’t asked Archibald to enter, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

“So, Archibald Dunhan, that name doesn’t sound unfamiliar to me.” Commented the professor.

“Well, it’s not exactly a common name these days.” Archibald replied, accepting the name as if he had always used it.

“No, it’s not… Archibald, Archibald Dunhan, Archie, Archie Dunhan! But of course! Wall Archie! You could have been a legend at Arsenal, material for the England team, if it weren’t for that nasty injury in that game against Manchester City; but from what I know, your career as a player agent isn’t going too badly.”

“I… I think you’re confusing me with someone.” Archibald timidly replied, still standing at the door. Just the idea of thinking of himself as a former footballer was hilarious. Although he was indeed a die-hard Arsenal fan and risked a few matches with his mates on weekends. No, not that…

“No, I’m not mistaken; you were a leak-proof goalkeeper, you were a wall indeed, Archie; don’t let something that wasn’t your fault bring you down.”

“That accident ruined me, mate…” Archie found himself responding automatically. What the hell was he talking about?

“I know, but managing guys like Haaland and De Bruyne is also a success story. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Believe me, no one has ever accused me of being too humble!” Why would he say something like that???

“Then we’ve got the same problem!” replied Garret, bursting into laughter, and Archie joined in, unable to contain himself, stopping with a startled look only when the other man spoke to him again.

“What are you doing standing there, Archie? Come in, come in; we’ve got Duke’s future to discuss.”

Hearing that name stirred something in Archie; there was something very wrong with all of this, but then he took a step into the room, and everything changed. In a blur of movement and colour, his muscles expanded, height increased impressively, and fat seemed to evaporate from his body. When he stopped smiling in front of the other man, any trace of humility or shame had left his body. He was one of the most successful sports agents in the country; there was no reason to worry about that sort of thing.

“BIG, you’ve got 5 minutes to convince me to bring my son to this school, mate.”

“Archie, you know me you wanker; I can do it in three.”

….

“Take a seat, chubby; I’m not going to give you a hard time.” Said the muscular black lad to Duncan, although he clearly was already doing that. The moment Duncan’s dad and the teacher left their line of sight, Farrel dropped the politeness, throwing aside all false pleasantries, revealing himself to be exactly the type of person Duncan believed and feared he would be. He didn’t show anything Duncan might find relevant about the school’s facilities, leading the lad through some of the many sports facilities on site. They had courts for all sorts of sports imaginable, gym equipment, swimming pools, running tracks, and even a complete weightlifting gym. After the exhausting tour of Jockland, they finally arrived at the spacious and luxuriously furnished room where they were.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.” Duncan said, approaching the window of the room, which overlooked the well-kept football pitch of the institution.

“You know best, but carrying all that weight can’t be good for your knees.” Farrel commented venomously, as he took off the top part of the school uniform with no ceremony and flopped down on the sofa in the room. “But that won’t last long; BIG will have you sweating off all that flab in no time.”

“I wish you’d stop making comments about my body.”

“When you’ve got the physique of a real man, I’ll stop, chubby. And trust me, you will; in no time, no one will recognise you, not even you.”

“I’m fine as I am; I don’t intend to change anything.”

“As if anyone here gives a toss about what you think, lad. I repeat, soon you’ll be one of the lads at Lionheart and won’t even remember the wimp you are now. And even if you did, you’d be ashamed of what you let this society do to you.”

“I won’t let myself change; you can do what you want with me, humiliate me, torture me; I won’t change.” Duncan replied, feeling an uncharacteristic rage and turning from the window, seeing for the first time Farrel’s bare chest, which made him blush deeply, while the other lad shot him an intrigued look.

“Seeing something you like, chubby? You a queer or something? Not that I have a problem with it; It’s an all boys school after all, and the lads have their needs. Besides I know what my body does to others." He said, flexing his powerful muscles as if he was at some kind of obscene show, which made Duncan look back at the window, only turning around when the other spoke again, hitting the target this time."No, no… it’s a different kind of desire, isn’t it? Ever thought about having a body like this? Ever wished for muscles like these?” He conclude, looking distracted for a moment, as if he were reliving an old memory.

“I don’t need that; I’ve got my mind, and it’s more powerful than any bulging muscle.”

“Loooser! I wish I could record this and show it to my new bro when he comes out of you; it’ll surely make him die of embarrassment.”

“I… what?”

“You know where we are, Duke? At the headquarters of one of the Lionheart clubs, my club; not just anyone gets in here, but I decided you’d be one of the lucky ones. I’m the captain of the rugby team and would love to have you with us, but the boss has other plans. Speaking of which, you know what’s even more curious? The club is located exactly one floor above Coach BIG’s office. An office that has a direct exit to the football pitch. That exit, I believe, must have been used quite recently, so while you’re at the window, tell me what you see.” Farrel asked, his eyes sparkling and his voice filled with an uncontrollable mix of eagerness and excitement.

Without really knowing why he was obeying the other lad, Duncan looked outside, initially seeing nothing of note, but then his gaze landed on the pitch, and what he saw shocked him. Professor Garrett, who at that moment should have been with Duncan’s father, was walking across the pitch, bare-chested and laughing animatedly with a blonde man who was just as monstrous and muscular as he was. But if Garret was there, where was Alexand… Archibald?

“I don’t get it? Where’s my dad?”

“With all that talk about intellect, I thought you’d be smarter, Duke.”

“My name isn’t…”

“Duke!” Duncan read the lips of the gigantic blond man more than he heard him speak as he waved vigorously, beckoning him to join him and Garret on the pitch. Why would a complete stranger act that way? Unless… unless he wasn’t a complete stranger.

“No… it’s impossible…”

“Finally, you got it, chubby, although I think this will be the last time I can call you that.”

“No… dad?” Duncan asked, although the man who continued to wave excitedly couldn’t hear him. “What did they do to you?”

“Oh, old BIG has a thing for The gentlemen’s sport; even though he’s never been a pro himself. I’d say we’d put you on my team, and that would be that. But for a former pro rugby player, he doesn’t value us much. He says nothing gets as much visibility as football, and our team is about to lose the captain to a contract, and we still don’t have a worthy replacement. Plus, the old rogue managed to create a connection with someone who can get him the best seats at the games.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You don’t need to understand, Duke; you just need to accept.”

“I can’t accept this… I won’t accept this…”

“Duke?”

“What!?! He screamed back, enraged in response.

“Come over here, mate.”

“I’m not your mate, mate!”

“Of course you are; you’re my little bro; me and Ash were looking forward to finally having our little brother with us! Farrel, Duke, and Ashton, best mates. FDA, like the American agency, and like them, we run the bloody show! F for a lot of food, D for drugs to grow and an A for, shit what is the A again? Let it be A for awesome because that's what we are, mate!"

“I…”

“Think about it, Duke; you want to make your dad proud.”

“Yes…” he replied, shivering at hearing that.

“Then get your arse off that window and come with me to meet him; for you, I’d even play a match of football just to see the old geezers eat dust.”

“Haha, I want to see you try to score on my dad, F! The bloke’s a wall; not that he can stop his son from scoring.”

“That’s what I want to see; let’s go, then.” Farrel insisted, and Duke finally took a step back and went to meet his fate. In an instant, the fat seemed to be sucked from his body as his muscles expanded into a strong and toned physique, far from the giant muscle mass of Farrel or his father after the forced retirement and years dedicated to bodybuilding. A slim and strong body, except for the long, powerful legs with thighs capable of exploding a watermelon if it were squeezed between them. His unkempt hair giving way to a well-groomed cut, the sad, chubby face transforming into a beautiful, almost angelic face, but still unable to completely hide the mischief within him, easily identified by the cheeky smile playing on his lips at that moment.

“Don’t know why you’re so excited, bro; with that size, dribbling you will be the easiest thing in the world.”

“Watch what you say, scrawny boy.”

“This is definition, something a ogre like you will never know what it is.”

“Come talk about agility when you compete with me in rugby.”

“And why would I stuff myself into a game with a bunch of lard arses?”

“Who are you calling fat, punk?”

“Not me, your body mass index.”

“You’re getting quite cheeky there, lad. I want to see you crack jokes on the pitch.” Farrel replied with false irritation.

“When I get past you, you won’t even notice, chubby!”

….

Aaryan Patel was absolutely fuming; he had no idea why his boss at the Independent Herald had sent him from London to that conservative hellhole that Daffodil Meadow had become. And to top it all off, he was heading straight to the epicentre of that rubbish, the King Richard Institute for Boys, aka Lionheart School. A place he had written a series of scathing articles about in recent months, which didn’t mean he wanted to walk into the lion’s den, especially when it was the lion himself who had sent the invitation. But his editor insisted it was too good an opportunity to pass up, and now here he was, walking purposefully along the edge of the grass on the school’s grand football pitch towards Director Johnson, who was at that moment in one of the few empty stands. Apparently, it was a tradition for the school and the surrounding villages to gather every evening to watch some sort of competition from the different teams, and today it was a football match. What didn’t make sense was the question Aaryan kept asking himself: why the hell did Henderson Johnson make him walk across the pitch where the students were parading around with their muscular bodies on display while the school staff prepared everything for the match?

As Aaryan made his way to his destination, he passed two muscular black blokes wearing the infamous light blue polo shirt of the sports team, one of whom was much bigger than the other. The one he wanted to take down the most. However, when the larger man glanced at Aaryan as he walked towards the nearest entrance to the stands, the lad who considered himself a brave man felt his knees go weak. Feeling angry with himself as he watched the two lugs burst into laughter, Aaryan quickened his pace and climbed the stands to meet Director Johnson.

“Mr. Patel, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person after reading the rather vehement words you used to describe me, my school, and my students.” The man said with a threatening smile. But Aaryan wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated; he was indeed brave, and although he was much leaner than the brute, he wasn’t a total wimp; he could handle whatever the other bloke had to throw at him. And any words spoken would receive an appropriate response from his sharp mind.

“Vehement is an appropriate but incomplete description of what I have to say about this place, Director Johnson. And that description could also be applied to the behaviour of the people here, although belligerent might be a more fitting term.”

“And you know a thing or two about belligerence, don’t you? Big guy like you? Bet you’ve had your fair share of scraps, haven’t you, Aaron?”

“The name’s Aaryan! And I prefer to fight with words.”

“Ha, I knew there was a fighter in you; I never miss.” The man commented as if Aaryan's response had been completely different, leaving the journalist confused for a moment. Quickly shaking off that momentary confusion, he turned back to the giant blonde.

“So, Director Johnson, what’s the purpose of summoning me here? And summon is the right word; my editor informed me that you pressured him quite insistently and intimidatingly, I should add.”

“Right, lad, I just wanted you to see for yourself what it’s really like here, what you’ve been so harsh about. You might not realise it, but what you write affects people’s lives, people I care about; my staff and my students.”

“Forgive me, Director Johnson, but the actions of those people you care about affect many others’ lives.”

“You paint us as monsters, Aaron, but do what I asked you: roam about, chat with my students and teachers; there’s one teacher in particular who’s quite eager to have a word with you.” The director said, smiling and nodding towards the pitch where Blake Garrett was watching closely as Zeke Hastings paced back and forth, correcting both teams’ players’ positions.

A chill ran down his spine at the thought of talking to that man. Forgetting to correct the misuse of his name, he responded to the director.

“Alright, I’ll do that, but I don’t think anything will change my mind. I’m sure the teachers are lost causes by now and the students are probably already conditioned to the behaviours taught here.”

“We’re not a cult, Aaron, but if you want a fresh opinion, why not have a chat with the centre-forward for the black team? The blonde lad in number 9. Duke has been at the school for less than a week; see what he has to say after the game.”

“I know how to identify a centre-forward, thanks! And I think I’ll do just that; cheers!” replied the journalist, who until a few minutes ago certainly couldn’t identify any positions.

After chatting with some students and teachers who repeated the same toxic spiel about masculine values, manliness, and the rightful place a man should occupy in society, Aaryan felt drained. Coming here had certainly been a bad idea. He thought about leaving and writing another scathing article about the evils of that place. However, he realised that the game had finally come to an end when he saw the blonde centre-forward walking to the edge of the pitch, opening a bottle of water and taking a long swig that practically emptied the bottle in one gulp. As Aaryan approached him, the lad poured the remaining water over his sweaty hair, then shook it off vigorously just as Aaryan reached him.

“Good afternoon, lad; my name’s Aaryan Patel, Director Johnson told me I could have a word with you.” He said, moving closer to the lad and using an authoritative figure as a reference to ensure the lad paid attention; he had dealt with many of those arrogant lads in the past couple of hours to give the kid a chance to mock him or simply ignore him.

“Eh?” The lad huffed, flexing his muscles and shaking the soaked t-shirt. This was pretty much the expected behaviour from any football player giving an interview after an hour and a half of strenuous exercise. What Aaryan, as any good fan of the game, should have remembered. So he repeated the information to the lad.

“My name’s Aaryan and you’re Duke, right? I want to ask you a few things about the school.”

“Sure, mate.” The lad replied, looking more awake after taking off his shirt and showing off his powerful physique, even though it was clear that not much was going on upstairs. This diminished Aaryan’s hopes of getting any productive conversation, as it was obvious the lad belonged there. Still, he decided to press on; when in Rome…

“So, what do you think of the school? Settling in well?”

“Aaron, mate, this place is brilliant! I begged for nearly two years to come here, but my dad thought I’d have better chances of getting signed if I kept training in a bigger city. It was only when Coach BIG took over the sports department that he was convinced.”

“Um… just out of curiosity, who’s your dad?”

“Haha, as if you don’t know who he is, Aaron, mate! I’m not some little kid to fall for your tricks.” The lad replied, giving a thumbs up.

“What are you on about?” Aary… Aaron asked, confused. But then something worse happened; the lad turned to the middle of the pitch where his teammates were milling about, shirtless, chatting and joking under the watchful eye of the coach, who was in turn under the direct supervision of the head of the sports department, the infamous BIG, who was precisely the person the lad was addressing.

“Oi, Coach BIG! Come meet my mate, Aaron.” And to Aaron’s horror, the man who instilled all his primal fears turned to him, serious for being interrupted, but soon a mischievous grin spread across his face.

Strutting towards the two with all the arrogance in the world, looking at Aaron with the same gaze a lion gives to a gazelle before it attacks, making Aaron’s knees tremble… but why? He should respect the bloke, of course… but no matter how big he was, Aaron could handle him… how? Certainly not with words… hey… what was he thinking here? What intrusive thoughts were those? However, he had no time to fight against those ideas so contrary to his essence because at that moment, the coach was standing before him, eclipsing everything else with his immense physical presence.

“Aaryan Patel, the man of the moment! You have no idea how much I wanted to meet you!”

“It’s Aaron… sir.” He added. The respect for the figure of coaches ingrained in him wouldn’t allow him to respond any other way. But why so much respect?

“When young Duke told me he knew you, I couldn’t resist the idea of bringing him here. But where exactly do you two know each other from?”

“Eh… what?” He had just met the lad, right? But then where did the memories of him teaching the kid fighting positions come from? Fighting? What fighting? In the midst of his confusion, it was Duke who answered.

“It’s my dad’s agency that looks after Aaron’s career, coach. In fact, he’s been following Aaron from the beginning; he’s spent more time at our house than at his own over the last few years.”

“Oh, of course. A cunning man like Archie wouldn’t let a talent like that slip through his fingers.” Agency, what agency? Big-name journalists needed agents, but a rookie like Aaron… mate, in his world, even rookies needed a decent agent; it was the difference between a million-dollar career and retirement in the gutter, and Wall Archie was the best; after all, he had experienced firsthand how cruel that world could be. Yeah, the world was a cruel place, and it was his duty to expose those ills… No, not that, what he needed to do was fight… yes, fight for improvements in society… mate, society was what it was and that was that… in this life, you either lose or win, and Aaron Blink Patel, rising star of the heavyweight MMA scene, was born to win. He earned the nickname for the short time he needed to take down opponents. Which was almost the same amount of time he dedicated to interviews with journalists. He didn’t need many words in his life, being known for keeping his opinion to himself, aware of what the media vultures could do to his career. The only time he expressed his opinions was when he was with his friends, when he let out all the intensity inside him, in conversations filled with cheeky banter and heated praises of masculinity in today’s world. And if there was someone who was the ultimate representation of masculinity, it was Aaron Fucking Blink Patel!

“No… no…”

“Aaron, mate, it’s all good?”

“Of course it is, Duke; it’s just the fighter inside him manifesting, but now it’s just a matter of a blink and it’ll all be sorted.” Coach BIG commented.

“Just a blink…” Aaron grumbled, and then… blink… and… his toned, lean torso expanded like a flower blooming, if flowers were made of huge, protruding muscles and their scent was an animalistic musk, with a touch of spices that didn’t go unnoticed even in that place full of sweaty young men… blink … and his legs exploded in size and power needed to crush opponents… blink… and the years dedicated to reading and research evaporated, replaced by training in jiu-jitsu, boxing, and Muay Thai… blink… and all the pent-up rage inside him flowed out in flowery words in sharp texts, concentrating in the massive paws that were his fists and feet… wink… and Aaron Blink Patel found himself smiling at the man and the lad before him, an image seen only by those the fighter deemed worthy. But he’d known Duke since he was younger than the kid, and after hearing the glowing praise he gave about his new coach, the man earned Aaron’s respect without needing to lift a finger.

“Sorry, what were you saying, sir?”

“You can call me Coach BIG; Aaron is what everyone calls me.”

“Yes, sir.” He replied, causing Duke to burst into laughter.

“You’re a lost cause, mate.”

“Actually, I think Aaron is a great example to follow; I wish my rowdy students had his level of respect.” Coach BIG commented, his voice cutting, making the lad’s smile fade instantly. “By the way, after I speak to the team, I’d love for you to have a word with those rascals, Aaron. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a motivational speech to give. Duke, keep him company while I’m at it.”

“Yes, coach, sir.”

“See? Just your presence has instilled some respect in this cheeky little sod.” The coach commented before returning to the pitch to address the teams.

“Could you not be such a teacher’s pet, mate?”

“I only got where I am because I respected my coaches and your dad; authority figures are there to be respected. Don’t you want to be captain of the team? Don’t you want to be a pro one day? You could already be playing for a real team if you had a bit more discipline since talent isn’t lacking. Take advantage of that man.” He said, pointing to the coach who was animatedly giving a speech. “BIG is a legend, a legend capable of making other legends; it was a scandal to find out a man like him had moved to the States, but the results he achieved with Dalton’s teams speak for themselves. And he brought in fucking Zeke Hastings to train you lot, and your dad to manage those of you who are truly capable of going pro. So yes, listen to what your coaches have to say; you may think it’s just theatre, but it’s the attitude that separates the men from the boys.” Aaron finished, flexing his powerful muscles to the point where the polo shirt he was wearing ripped under his arms.

“Wow, mate! That’s wicked! You’re a beast!” Duke said with such genuine admiration that Aaron couldn’t help but smile and repeat the feat, tearing his shirt even more before returning to a serious demeanor and looking at the younger lad.

“And you know how I became who I am today, little brother? By listening to all the shite my coaches had to say to me!” He said, pointing in the direction of Coach BIG, who was just finishing his speech, raising his voice so that everyone on the pitch and in the stands could hear him easily.

“… because this society wants to diminish you, weaken you. They want you to believe that being a man is wrong, that being what we were born to be is a shame. But they don’t know the power you carry with you, the influence you possess; many of you will be professional athletes, some already are. You’ll be seen around the world, admired, able to inspire, capable of making our brothers, hounded by our enemies, react, and more than that, you can make some of those enemies see the mistakes they’ve made and bring them back to the right path, and for those who insist on their mistakes, you’ll be able to hit them where it hurts most, where they’ve been hitting us for years, and I’m talking about their children; You will shape and save them because you have the power to correct what’s wrong in this generation, then in they do same with the next. The truth is men, and never forget it, you have power! And we’ll use it to secure a better, brighter future!

[nabaath-areng]

Sometimes I think to myself "actually maybe I'm exaggerating the terror I felt from being stalked", but then I remember that the person in question followed me and waited for me outside my school every day, tracked me down on every website I'd spent even the slightest time on, left physical letters in my mailbox, sent creepy as hell novel length messages on a near daily basis on FB. And then when I was living abroad and I answered the phone I told the caller to text me cause I couldn't hear, after which I had to read "I was saying that you would probably be VERY scared if you knew who's calling... hehe" with my own damn fucking eyes...

And then I'm like yknow what nevermind!!!! the fact that I'm still terrified of being perceived and seen in public not just IRL but also FFXIV might be understandable actually!!!

[brandwhorestarscream]

If d16 was carrying in the movie that could have saved him.

OOH I HAVE. THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS

Hear me out, ok. Sentinel Prime heavily, heavily advocates for chastity. He very publicly denounces casual intimacy, waxing poetic about how it's a very special thing that should only be shared with someone you truly love and trust. To give yourself away to a stranger in a one night stand or even casually to a friend is one of the greatest disservices one can do to themselves. Interfacing should only be done with your bonded mate. While it's certainly not illegal, their Prime's warm concern and insistence that they're all special and should be treated as such keeps a lot of mecha's panels closed. The vast majority of them are saving themselves for their conjunx endura.

Now, the real reason Sentinel doesn't want them having sex? He doesn't want them breeding. Specifically the lowest of society, he doesn't want his cogless servants sparking each other up and having babies with t-cogs. It would raise too many questions, and while he has no qualms about taking a newspark's cog out before they're presented to their parents, accidents happen. People slip up. Some sparklings come before their parents can get to a hospital. Some nutcases want home births because it's "more intimate and natural". Some just plain don't realize they're carrying until they start having contractions. Cogless bots popping out babies with cogs will only cause problems, so the best way to prevent such a thing is to convince them that chastity is their best option. Most of them die before they can find someone they want to be with forever, and even among those that do, they struggle to save up enough money for a bonding license. Keeping them repressed and chaste is just another means of his control.

Now, as for sweet D-16 >:) he practically worships Sentinel Prime. He has such blind adoration and trust in him. Orion adores him too, of course, but not quite on the same level. He doesn't look at Sentinel with the same stars in his optics, though certainly has boundless respect and admiration for him. When they're visited by the Prime post-Iacon 5000, they're invited up to his personal suite 👀

Consider: instead of getting immediately jumped by Darkwing, they actually do get escorted up there. It's grander than anything either of them have ever seen, a shining and spotless penthouse with a 360° view of the city, expensive chaises to lounge on and bottles of the finest, smoothest high grade, even a jacuzzi! Sentinel Prime meets them there, and, placing a gentle hand on each of their faces, purrs that he wants to reward them.

"I've never seen anything like what you two did today," D-16 whimpers at his praise, beaming sunshine, and Orion is awestruck. "Come... sit with me."

They follow their Prime obediently and he relaxes onto one of the lounges, pulling the two cute little miners down on either side of him. They talk--or rather, Sentinel talks and they hang onto his every word, each tucked under one of his arms and nestled close against his chassis--and eventually he pops a bottle of champagne and pours them each a glass. Neither Dee nor Orion have ever had such high quality energon before: it goes down thick and smooth and warm, sending a blast of heat through their little bodies that pool in their tummies and make them start to squirm and feel woozy. Sentinel prompts they drink the whole thing, each of them, and by the time they're done they're gasping and swaying. So strong! Too strong!

The Prime's huge blue servo slides onto D-16's face, admiring his dazed expression. His optics are flickering, shutters at their halfway point, and he's visibly flushed, mouth dropped open and pretty lips parted as he pants. Swaying gently back and forth like that, Sentinel can't resist. He leans down and kisses him, gentle but controlling, and D-16 makes an honest-to-Primes squealing noise.

As soon as Sentinel pulls back, Dee wavers and collapses back against the chaise, optics blown wide even as an uncontrollable smile splits his face. He starts giggling, covering his face and rocking back and forth as euphoria bubbles out of him in uncontrollable, adorable laughter. "Oh my stars-" he gushes. "Oh my stars omistars omistars wow...!" His first kiss has left him breathless and elated, barely able to speak, worship and the greatest joy imaginable shining in his optics.

Sentinel Prime has them, both of them, in his suite, over and over and over again. They're both virgins, have never touched another mech or been touched in turn, and their leader takes great revelry is breaking their seals. Fucking their tight little valves until they're wailing and cumming in his lap, sobbing in ecstasy into his neck, clumsily kissing at his plating and swearing that they adore him, they love him, please more, more, more! He frags them on the furniture, against the wall, on the floor, even in the hot tub. He has them both on their knees in front of him on the lounge, licking and sucking at his spike and pushing each other to lap up drops of his transfluid, asks them to use their mouths on each other while he watches. He even asks them to bear their sparks and they do: he doesn't share his own but he's glad to tease at theirs, and it reduces them to mewling little piles on the floor, twitching and rocking and moaning as they crash through overload after overload. Such beautiful little pets, so eager to please, he could definitely get used to having them around for awhile.

When their time comes to an end they've started to sober up, snuggled against his sides on one of the lounges, still whimpering and panting high on pleasure, excess charge making them woozy and giggly even though the high grade is nearly out of their systems. Airachnid arrives and doesn't even give them a passing glance, informing the Prime that it's time to depart. He sends them back to their home in the mines, promising to see them again soon, just as soon as he returns from his next crusade to the surface.

D-16 and Orion stumble home giggling and shoving each other, still adjusting their armor and poking at the paint transfers spattered all over them. They're euphoric, there's no other word for it, high as a kite on pleasure, on the knowledge that Sentinel Prime wanted them and they were able to satisfy him! No longer virgins and instead claimed by the Prime!

Their batchmates welcome them home with a cacophony of cheers and hugs and jostling--MINERS! In the RACE! Their very own brothers, in the Iacon 5000! And- wait, why are you two all wet...?

They weren't intending to tell everyone, but the way they look at each other and blush and start snickering and struggling to explain is telling enough. Ratchet is already approaching with a wrench to scold them, they know better than to let a moment of excitement cloud their judgement-

"Uh, w-well-"

"Sentinel Prime wanted to-"

"SENTINEL PRIME?!" The entire room screams out in shock at once, before the cheering resumes tenfold. Their batchmates got the attention of THE Sentinel Prime?! Sentinel Prime made love to their batchmates! A couple of miners got the attention and affection of their Prime! If they thought the Iacon 5000 was inspiring that's nothing compared to this: before you know it the entire sector is mining energon at a lightning fast pace and they've hit their quotas before shift is even a quarter of the way done.

Orion and D-16 happily get to work as well, eager to do their best so that when their dashing Prime returns to them, they can tell him about how hard they worked and how much energon they mined and how well everyone is going to eat because of them!

When Sentinel Prime suddenly returns and orders triple shifts, they're surprised. Very surprised. It's not like him at all! Pretty soon the miners are running on no sleep and little fuel, some are injured and being denied time for repair and seek medical treatment. And D-16, despite his best efforts, is starting to fall behind after several weeks of the brutal demands. He's getting dizzy which he attributes to the lack of recharge. His servos keep dropping things even when he's sure he has a tight grip on them. He's nauseous, all the time, and multiple times a shift stumbles away from the rest of his crew to gag and vomit in a corner of whatever energon vein they're currently working in. Orion tries to get him to slow down, to stop, because he's clearly sick and needs medical care, but Dee isn't willing to stop. "Sentinel Prime needs us, Pax! We can't stop now!"

It all comes to a head as they're dragging themselves out of a tunnel with a full load of raw energon to be refined. D-16 suddenly stumbles, clamping one servo over his mouth and running off to the side. Orion hurriedly follows him after making sure Ironhide and Jazz have got the minecart.

"Hey, easy, easy-" he comes to rub his back as his best friend bends over, servos braced on his knees and body already rolling with slow, threatening heaves. He moans that he doesn't want to, he's so sick of purging, it hurts, please Primus, not today! "C'mon, just, let it out. You'll feel better once it's out, Dee."

D-16 groans and hunches over further, arms wrapping around his middle. "No... Primes, please- hgk-!"

"OI!" A miserably familiar voice suddenly bellows behind them, and Orion's sympathetic expression drops to sheer annoyance. Oh, no. "YOU TWO! Whaddo you think you're doin'?!" Darkwing is storming up to them. "Sentinel Prime wants his energon, so GET BACK TO WORK!"

"Darkwing, please," for once Orion is polite, one servo still braced on his friend's back. "D-16's sick, he needs-"

"I don't CARE what you think he needs!" Their superior roars, grabbing them both by the shoulders and forcing then around to face him. "I said, get back to-"

Dee promptly hurls all over the slagger's pedes.

He can't hold it anymore, but he tries, clamping both servos over his mouth even as he purges again. Half-digested energon splashes through his fingers and sprays all over Darkwing's chassis, who roars in disgust and backpedals away from him. Dee crumples to his knees, gagging, both servos planted on the floor before he throws up one final time, emptying his already meager tanks and ejecting a puddle of digestive acid that burns at his throat. It dribbles out of the vents on his neck and nasal ridge, and he sobs. Primus, he feels so sick!

Darkwing's response, naturally, is to grab them both and throw them down to sublevel 50 😌 there they meet B-127, and the plot kicks off, though a bit later than before. They make it to the surface and set out to find the Matrix. The journey is significantly longer with D-16's condition, constantly having to stop so he can rest or purge. Orion, at one point, offers to carry him, and Dee is too miserable to protest. Let's Orion gently hoist him onto his back and promptly passes out with his helm on his shoulder. He's overly warm, Orion notices: feverish, surely a sign that he's getting worse. They need to find the Matrix, soon. Maybe it can help cure Dee's sickness! And if not, well, once energon flows again they won't have to mine, and D-16 will be able to see a doctor as soon as they get home. They'll get him the medicine he needs and he'll be just fine.

When they finally arrive at the Grave of the Primes, D-16 is in bad shape. Shaking like a rust rattler, dry heaving because there's nothing left in his systems to throw up, and very hot to the touch. Orion nor Elita nor B-127 have ever seen a mech in quite such a miserable state, and they're all very worried. Orion sits him down on a rock and tells him to rest, and D-16 just hunches over, helm between his knees and arms folded over his head, the epitome of misery. Whimpering softly and praying to the Primes to please, please, make it stop. Whatever this virus is that's tormenting him, please just make it stop!

Then, they find and awaken Alpha Trion.

The Prime notices Dee's condition. Immediately. He can see it, an invisible aura none but the divine can see: this young mech hosts a precious newspark inside of him. Before he tells them the story of what happened, he opts to examine the little one. He's so young, probably too young to be a carrier yet, but he's undeniably sparked. A few decacycles along.

He tells them what's going on, why D-16 is so grievously ill. "Your sparkling is starving," he tells him seriously. "You are not receiving enough donations. Their protoform is cannibalizing your body, that is the root of your sickness. Where... is the sire? He or she should be caring for your needs."

All four of them are staring at Alpha Trion with their mouths open. D-16 is carrying?! He's pregnant?! But who-

Elita one punches Orion in the face as hard as she can, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a cry of surprise. "OW! What the-"

"You slagger!" She plants one pede on his chassis and presses down til she hears metal creak and he goes 'ow ow ow!'. "It was you, I know it was you! Who else would be so dumb?! You got him sparked up and haven't been taking care of him?! You worthless deadbeat! I should rip your fragging denta out with pliers! One at a time! I should!"

"Omigosh, Dee," behind her, B-127's voice has gone airy and light in excitement. He comes up to the silver mech's side, grabbing his servo to squeeze. "Congrats, dude! You're gonna be a mom!"

D-16, for his part, is sat there in shock. Shoulders dropped and loose, mouth hanging open, staring at Alpha Trion with his optics so wide they're at liberty to pop right out of the sockets and need recalibrating. "I'm..." his voice is barely above a whisper, shaking servos drifting toward his tummy. "You mean- I'm-?!"

He's starting to smile, joy bubbling up in his chest. Excitement, too. And terror. And a million other things that he can't name because he's too shocked, but suddenly despite how sick he feels he can't help but start to laugh. Delight blooms in his chest and forces it's way out of his throat as he starts to giggle and chuckle, and before long he's doubled over holding his stomach and laughing with tears of joy streaming down his face.

"I'm- I'm having a-" he jumps up to run over to Orion, shooing Elita off of him and throwing his arms around his friend. "Pax I'm sparked! I- I can't wait to tell Sentinel, he's gonna be so excited!"

"Sentinel?" Alpha Trion's voice goes cold and harsh behind them.

"Yes! Oh- Oh yes, Sentinel Prime, he-"

"He is NO PRIME!" The old mech bellows, and all four of them turn to look at him in confusion. "He does not bear our name!"

"...WHAT?!"

The grand reveal is even more sour this time around. So, so much more sour. The betrayal runs so much deeper, and D-16 is horrified and sickened. Watching the mech he adores and admires so much bowing to the quintessons and giving away the energon that they worked so hard for. It was already bad, but now? Now, he's carrying that monster's offspring. A sparkling conceived under false pretenses, under coercion, under lies. This baby hadn't been created by love and mutual respect, it has been made by a mech that lied to their faces to get them into his bed, to get access to their bodies to use for his own pleasure however he saw fit.

D-16 feels disgusting. Violated. Worthless. He feels tricked and used and abused. He stares down at his body feeling more nausea already roiling in the deepest pits of his tanks. Sentinel had touched him everywhere. There's not a single inch of space anywhere that's clean of that mech's touch.

No one is surprised when he suddenly folds to his knees and screams. Screams with all the force of his anguish, his shattered trust, his broken and reviled body. Manic, he claws at his chassis with feverbright optics, wailing at them to, "Get it out of me...! GET IT OUT OF ME! I don't want it, I don't- I don't want it, GET IT OUT!"

Orion is at his side in an instant, yelping, "Dee, no! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!" As he forcibly grabs his friend's servos to stop him from tearing himself apart. D-16 shrieks a wordless noise of agony, and then collapses forward onto Orion to begin sobbing violently into his shoulder. Clutching onto him like a lifeline, wailing with all the devestated force he can. Bawling against Orion and falling to pieces, brokenly asking what he's going to do.

...

Ok im gonna cut this here cuz it's getting long, like really long and my hands are tired. I can barely move my left side today lmao. Poor poor Dee 😌 hope you enjoyed this nugget of angst! If ya'll wanna see a part 2, you know what to do. The box is open uwu

[married-to-google-translater]

*slides in* aha! I shall request…for Obey Me headcanons! How would Mammon, Beelzebub and Lucifer be with an S/0 who is very forgiving? She would even forgive the likes of Belphegor faster than excepted. With that, this S/O of theirs can be naive and overly trusting and optimistic due to her thinking that everyone share the same good intentions as she does. (Which is probably why she help Belphie out of the attic that day). But aside from all these, she’s very loving.

Beelzebub comes tomorrow :3

Mammon

Yeah, at first your life is going to be really hard with this man.

Mammon thought he had found an endless money generator.

He would definitely try to use your kindness at first.

He realizes that you assume good things about everyone, even if it's not true.

Especially not in Devildom XD

Luckily you're not stupid though and this wouldn't work.

Lucifer is not happy to hear about this.

Mammon certainly wouldn't be so subtle with this one.

He would make fun of how gullible you are and tell you that you need to be tougher.

Mammon might already have a crush on you at this point but his tsundere ass won't admit it.

However, over time, Mammon becomes much more protective.

Since you are HIS person, no one else could take advantage of you.

HIS human would deserve protection.

You should be thankful that HE protects you from everything.

Why not show your gratitude and give him hugs?

If you do that, be careful because no amount would be enough in the end~

Lucifer

Oh, you're causing Lucifer so many gray hairs.

Of course you don't do it on purpose and he wouldn't balame you of it.

You mentioned something like this in your application.

Lucifer would try to protect you from the start.

It seems like every week he would hear that Mammon had done something bad.

Lucifer regrets putting Mammon in charge of you.

At first he did it to protect this project and Diavolo's reputation.

However, over time, he started to have the some feelings for you.

He feels proud whenever you come to him for help or protection.

Lucifer enjoys your innocence in a certain way.

This would be something new in Devildom.

If you have any problems, Lucifer will take care of them.

Your relationship would be something special

[genderqueerdykes]

So recently I’ve been getting into the punk culture, but I can’t dress punk or listen to punk music because I have adhd and it triggers my sensory issues. Do I have to wear punk clothes or listen to punk music to be considered punk? How “punk” do I have to look or act to be considered punk?

good question!

fortunately there's no dress codes or anything like that for the community. most punks don't really even dress punk- a lot of people who behave in very punk ways wear plain clothes. many librarians, food kitchen workers, homeless outreach workers, social workers, and other people are punk and dress just as plain as anyone around them

punk is in the behavior and the beliefs- if you behave in a way where you actively break down oppressive structures that we participate in on a daily basis and learn to accept and help our communities and the people who are most heavily affected by that oppression (people of color, mentally ill people, neurodivergent people, addicts, homeless people, sex workers, intersex people, trans people, poor people), you are fitting the part

i also don't listen to a lot of punk music due to sensory issues from autism, so don't feel too bad. i did listen to quite a bit when i was living in a house venue, but it's not something i seek out on my own due to my sensory problems with sound. it's not necessary to be into the punk music scene unless that's something you actively want to participate in and enjoy. many people are just in the punk music scene and that's totally okay. some people really enjoy that, and some don't. artists will express in what ways they see fit, and others will focus their attention elsewhere. there are many ways to be punk

the only way to not be punk is to be a nazi, cop, or other type of fascist- being racist, queerphobic, ableist, intersexist and their enablers is also a great way to not be punk.

many punks are punk in the sense where they do their best to be their for their local community, provide resources and aid where possible, teach others to unlearn racism, queerphobia, ableism and other forms of internalized oppression, and generally try to provide a helping hand to whoever may need it. many punks hand out water and snacks to homeless people in their area. many punks are nurses. many punks work in social services to help disabled and homeless people. many punks dedicate their time to helping the environment, learning how to sustainably garden and take care of the earth while doing so, compost, and other ways to provide sustainable, responsibly and ethically sourced foods

there are punks all around us, even if they're not dressed in battle jackets and ripped jeans with chains and spikes and patches and pins. sometimes a punk is the person standing on the sidewalk in a T-shirt and jeans smoking a cigarette, but you'll never be able to guess or tell just by looking that they spend hours out of their week participating in protests and writing anarchist zines. much like any other group of people there's no way to tell if someone is punk just by looking at them or gauging their interests- it's about how they behave and how they treat people around them

dismantling structures that are designed to keep marginalized and targeted people down is what the punk community is about. you don't have to be an activist, either- as long as you take the time to learn how to treat demonized and outcasted people with decency and respect, and how to support your community in whatever ways you can, you're doing what you're supposed to do. you don't have to volunteer or spend hours handing out resources to people in need. but what is important is to refuse to participate in holding down people who cause no harm who are just trying to live their lives

hope that helps! feel free to ask any more questions you may have

[lucky-clover-gazette]

okay i have THOUGHTS about this line

he didn’t have to say that to make his plan work. i mean yeah, being nice to the player definitely earns their favor and future assistance, but he could have just as easily gone the route of gaslighting them into feeling bad and like they caused the problem, eliciting a more shame-based and desperate and less uplifting and righteous kind of reliance. like if volo really hated the player, and was truly cruel, that’s what he would have done. the player would have still gotten the chain and felt indebted to him for the plate hunt, but they also would be miserable and feel lonely and hurt and confused. but volo doesn’t do that, he grounds the player and validates their feelings, which were hurt by the cruel townspeople more than the event volo caused to prompt that cruelty. like truly, it’s only volo’s fault that the player gets banished through the most like simple calculated logic—yes, if he hadn’t caused the rift, they wouldn’t have been banished, or brought here at all. but kamado CHOSE to banish them based on his own paranoia and disdain for outsiders, and the others enabled it by choice. volo didn’t make that happen, just how he didn’t make or even want arceus to get the player involved in the first place.

i don’t think volo hates the player, personally, at all. or at least, i think that he hates them and cares for them just as much as he hates and cares for himself. i know this isn’t groundbreaking volo theorizing material, but he’s absolutely projecting his disdain for society based on his vague past experiences here. he dislikes the outsider because his plan demands it, but he dislikes everyone else because he personally thinks they’re terrible. it’s kinda neat how he “fake” compliments the player’s loyalty to him as a merchant so often, bc i think loyalty is something he actually takes very seriously. and he probably saw how loyal the player was to the galaxy team, and then the way they kicked them out, and was genuinely pissed and hurt on the player’s behalf.

the things he says at the end of the game are said in extreme distress and defeat, and while they are not NOT reflective of his character and motives, i’m shocked by how many pokemon fans regard volo like he’s a nihilistic and amoral sociopath. passion and compassion are behind nearly everything volo does, for better or for worse. they’re behind moments like this, and moments like his ranting at spear pillar. he is a person who constantly grapples to align his personal moral code and lofty ideals, which live in this weird space between the manmade and divine, with the flawed reality of existence. his entire mentality is full of contradictions, because he is a man who thinks he should be god, but in reality could never be a good god, because he is still very much a man. it’s the emotion, idealism, and intellectual curiosity of humanity that drive him, not the impartiality, absolutism, and complacency of an omnipotent all-knowing deity.

so like, with this line. he specifically mentions that the galaxy team has treated the player poorly. not that the galaxy team’s choice was illogical, not that the player just needs to try harder to get them to accept him. he is emphatically rejecting the premise that the player did anything to deserve blame, even though he has no intention to actually explain why this really happened or volunteer himself to take the blame. because ultimately, volo is not the person to blame for the galaxy team’s cruelty, and he knows it. and he also knows that it’s the cruelty that has hurt the player, more than the sky problem itself, because he has been treated like an outsider too. and he can’t DO anything about that. even if he told the truth, the damage has already been done. the player knows how their supposed allies would react in this situation, regardless of the logic or truth. and volo can’t fix that. he does not believe he can make people kinder or the world a better place, which is exactly why he wants so badly to remake it. for himself, bc clearly he’s been through some shit too, for people like the outsider, and for anyone else whose loyalty and dedication have been met with rejection and apathy. which is so deeply tragic and ironic, because by being the only person to care for the player in this moment, he is making the world a better place for them.

volo is, at his core, a hypocrite. he’s like if you put the ingredients for a hero into a blender, but accidentally used the “tragic hypocrite” setting so he came out a janky villain instead. to volo, concepts like loyalty and self-righteousness are driving forces, much moreso than simple black and white morality or consequentialism. this makes him a hypocrite because he believes a perfect world is possible as long as his moral code is strictly followed, and his evil plan is to prove it. but in his efforts to do so, he proves over and over again that a perfect world isn’t possible, and certainly would not be possible under his control.

like, okay—if someone suggested that the means of pain and suffering in the world justified the ends (the world), volo would disagree and claim that arceus is responsible for the pain and suffering, and therefore does not deserve the power to create/rule worlds. but then, following that very same logic, if volo needed to get a random person banished and betrayed in order to create his better world, then those means wouldn’t justify his ends either. which is WHY we see him subconsciously draw a line here, between the things he’s not responsible for (other people being cruel, arceus transporting the player) and the things he is directly responsible for (the way he treats the player in these circumstances, either with derision or support). and wouldn’t you know, in this instance where it truly is up to him what the means are to his ends, he chooses kindness where he could have been cruel. because while arceus sending the hero and the town banishing them weren’t really Volo’s means to Volo’s ends, this conversation sure as hell could be. And he doesn’t want his better world built on a foundation of suffering and pain.

by saying this one line and treating the player as he does here, i think volo accidentally exposes something deeply true and good about himself. this man could say “i’m a villain and i don’t care about the player” and fully believe it, but at the same time demonstrably possess the morals and compassion of a hero, which he uses to actively care for the player. he is a delusional hypocrite, but he’s definitely not heartless. and i just think that’s neat.

alternatively, volo is completely heartless, knows that people are endeared to people who want to protect them, and methodically uses that knowledge here for his convenience. that very well could have been the intention, and it makes sense too—but i personally enjoy entertaining the notion of depth where i see potential for it. so yeah.

[autistichalsin]

And again:

The death penalty should not exist.

Not just because of the risk of innocent people being killed wrongfully, though yes, that is a part of it. But guilty people shouldn't die either.

Yes, that includes those ones. The ones who did the worst crimes imaginable, who harmed children, who killed innocent people- them, too.

Why?

Because no one has the right to kill another human being, and two wrongs don't make a right.

Because the instant you give a government entity the authority to determine who is and isn't worthy of life, you have already handed them the framework to get rid of undesirables. As we're seeing now the "pedophiles deserve the death penalty -> LGBT people existing next to children is pedophilia" pipeline.

Because if your government can kill you, they already have too much power over you.

Because the death penalty does nothing to actually deter crimes, and some studies suggest it might actually make the rates of violent crime increase.

Because our tax dollars shouldn't go to depriving people of their lives.

Because the only method of execution that comes close to being humane is lethal injection, and even that has a high failure rates as well as requiring medical professionals to break their respective ethical codes; in fact, pharmacists have started refusing to provide various DOJs with murder euthanasia cocktails precisely precisely because this goes against the principles of "do no harm."

Because it usually takes 20 years from sentencing to execution, and that constitutes psychological warfare/torture on prisoners.

Because there is nothing a death sentence will "accomplish" that can't also be done by a life sentence, minus the ultimate cruelty and power-trip for government officials and cops/wardens/etc. If the goal is punishment, deprivation of freedom already does that, let alone the rest of the mistreatment prisoners face. If the goal is sequestering from society, that is literally the definition of imprisonment.

Because, this bears repeating, if the government can kill you, they already have too much power over you.

Because forensic science is nowhere near as perfect as people want you to believe.

Because even when it is proven that there is sufficient cause to release an innocent person, those in power still will (as we saw today with Marcellus Williams) do everything in their power to murder them anyway for the sheer power-high.

Because it is better to let 100 guilty men go free than it is to convict one innocent one.

Because there are huge inequities in who gets the death penalty. Racism is baked into the entire "criminal justice" structure, and capital punishment is no different.

Because, by definition, anyone willing to execute another person is the last person who should be given the power to do so.

Because, it bears repeating, once you introduce a framework to remove undesirables from society, it will be expanded at the first opportunity.

Because the death penalty is, by definition, cruel and unusual punishment.

Because the death penalty is often carried out on innocent people (like Marcellus Williams) who have been wrongfully convicted as a way of silencing them and ensuring they can't file a wrongful imprisonment suit against the state.

Because the existence of a death penalty gives people who committed a single violent crime a motive to do more; if they're already going to die, why not take more people out with them?

Because the entire mindset of death being an acceptable punishment filters down into day-to-day life and encourages proliferation of distancing, dehumanizing language against people some don't dislike, which is part of the reason why so many teenagers have no problem saying "kill yourself" to others.

Because there is no accountability in the prison system for how those on death row are treated, and any abuse inflicted on these prisoners in their last days will never come to light.

Because it is wrong. If a private citizen can't kill another person, who can a private citizen employed by and acting on behalf of the government do it?

Because, it bears repeating, if your government has the power to kill you, they already have too much power.

There are zero good reasons to support the death penalty, and hundreds of good reasons not to.

[thessaralka]

seeing people hate on Solas for being ethically inconsistent like??? yes??? that's the whole tragedy of his character. he literally cannot be ethically consistent in the world state HE CREATED. that's why he's so damn sad. it's impossible for him to live with good conscience in a broken world that is a byproduct of his error. the veil put the world on mute and the veil is deteriorating. and he's supposed to just let it come down on it's own (causing certain mass destruction)??? or he could pull it down himself in his own way (with at least a slightly larger chance that something good might come of it in the future), something he at least has control over.

the plotlines of each game have reinforced the idea that the veil is certainly deteriorating.

solas's spell cannot hold back the fade forever. he fucked up. he either has to sit back and watch the world burn because of his error (again), or he has to somehow try to make things somewhat right. ethically inconsistent? it's literally the train problem. kill one person to save five, or kill five people to save one? no one can be perfectly ethically consistent when they have no ethical choices left. solas's choice to bring down the veil aligns perfectly with his character when you consider that he has more access to information than we do about what exactly he is doing. he's not telling us the whole truth. he's not going to sit back and let things happen naturally, he's going to do what he can to mitigate the damage and make it better (which is ethically consistent with his character).

just like he chastises us for siding with the grey wardens or drinking from the well - he does so because he knows more about the elven gods and the nature of the blight than we do, not because he's a bitter hypocritical douche who hates fun. solas has made so many mistakes that he destroyed his own people, in his mind the only way to right that is to correct his mistake as best he can, even if it causes mass destruction, because the alternative in his mind is certain doom. the veil is an unnatural mage-made construct. it was never meant to be there in the first place and was never meant to be permanent.

[v-arbellanaris]

u know what actually im gonna make one last srs post abt this whole thing and then im doneeeee i swear lmfao, so all of the anons in my inbox can finally shut up and fuck off and i'll put it under a cut so i dont ~ruin your da4 hype~ the way youve fucking ruined mine i guess.

watsonian justification for this: "decisions you made 10+ years ago in another part of the country simply will not affect the current story". hey isnt the entire story behind veilguard that a guy has been working for the last 10 years to rip down the veil. like. is the whole thing not a story that started 10 years ago. do you not have access to the eluvian network now because solas stole it 10 years ago from briala. is the blight not around because of the evanuris in some way. isnt the entire magisterium something that's been in place for thousands and thousands of years. like even within the context of da, the entire story revolves around things that happened thousands of years ago that have shaped the world that our characters exist in today. we, ourselves, as real people, don't live in a world where things happening on one side of the planet do not affect anything else. and that's not even touching on the fact that we have companions from the first game showing up. at the very least decisions that affect them directly should have been factored in????

doylist justification(s) for this: #1 "we only wanted to include worldstate decisions we could develop reactivity to" so the only decisions were.... whether or not solas is romanced? for me, it's the way that when you're playing dai, the entire justification for NOT being able to romance him as anyone other than lavellan is that you can have a deep and important and complex relationship with him even if you dont romance him, the fandom is always going on & on about how important friendship!solas is and how it shouldnt be underrated but the moment his ENTIRE CHARACTER (and ours?!) gets boiled down to whether or not you had a romantic relationship with him, we're going to celebrate it??? really??? REALLY??? what in the fucking amatonormativity is this, and how is this a step BACKWARDS from dai for solas???

#2 "the world was too complicated so they wanted to simplify it for new players" that's literally the problem we're discussing. the problem we're discussing is the complexity of the world, and the solution bioware came up with for it is to simply scrap it all, and surprise surprise! not everyone is happy about it??? you are just describing the problem that the solution fails to address???

i think the most annoying part of this whole thing is the fan response to it. literallyyyy am seeing things like "no one ever complained about the worldstates not mattering in the next games before da4" which is NOT TRUE. ever since i JOINED this fandom, i've heard so many things about people complaining about leliana defaulting back to a hardened state in dai, about alistair's characterisation in dai, about cullen's repeat appearances, about your boons/decisions in dao not carrying forward in the next games. people HAVE been complaining about it, for ages, especially in dai. it is explicitly a problem in dragon age, and has been for a long, long time, and the problem has only grown the more complex the worldstate becomes. that's why they tried to address the problem here by simply scrapping it all. i've also seen things like "well if youre only interested in callback references, this dragon age game not for YOU" which not only minimises and dismisses the issues and feelings at hand here, but also reeks of self-righteous, smug superiority of I Am The Sole Correct Enjoyer. who is this game for, if not for people who love dragon age?

i'm not here for rook's story - i'm here to save the world that i've built with my own two hands over three games. i am doing that through rook as a character, yes, but i have no cause or reason to care about rook at all going into this game except for the basic fact of this is my character that i am playing - rook is a character that i expect playing the game will make me invested in and care about them. but you know what i already cared about before going into veilguard? you know what i've saved three times over already, potentially even at the cost of my own life? thedas. MY thedas. OF COURSE I WANT TO KNOW THAT IT MATTERS. in world, solas himself wants to know what changes his actions wrought. THOUSANDS OF YEARS AFTER THE FACT. why is everyone acting like fans are insane for this????

i, for one, have not complained about the game "ruining" origins or da2 or even dai. i was excited about the changes, because changes were evidently necessary. i have been fully prepared for the differences, even if i've been apprehensive or cautious about it. do you think i'm disappointed now because i hate dragon age??? where do you fucking get off saying this game is not meant for me? because i dont agree with how bioware has chosen to resolve this issue, suddenly these games are Not For Me anymore?

and you know what, i already know they're not for me. the way this series, and this fandom, treats people of colour, and characters of colour, i am made aware every single day that dragon age is not for me. these games are for the liberal white girlies and white queers living in the west. i know damn well these games have never been for me, and any insistence that it should consider me will be met with vitriol and viciousness. and guess what? i am still here.

i was sooo ready to let this go until the fandom just kept acting like ppl are idiots for being unhappy about things AT ALL in da4. its so fucking annoying to me. i'm NOT going to complain about every single little thing in da4 possible, but i'm also not going to act like bioware is going to do and is doing everything right. what is WITH this fandom and extremes of thought and behaviour. is it because you're all american??? like. i'm actually so sorry that you live in a black-and-white world with no complexities or nuances because it must be so boring and sad.

in my opinion, i would not have minded slimming down the narrative choices to a select few that they could really hone in and focus on. i feel like the dragon age keep decisions can be a bit arbitrary, and i would've loved to see like 5-6 key decisions per game, ORRRR even for your worldstate to boil down to something like whether or not you generally supported positive change or upheld the status quo per game, and then specific character decisions regarding the inquisitor to be brought in, since they're the pc that actually shows up. i do think there's likely a lot of chaff that can be cut off or simplified as a sort of "lost to the times" kind of narrative telling. but boiling down these games to three fucking choices that are ultimately just 'did u romance and like solas or nah' is fucking INSANE. why is the answer to the issue of the quantum - which has been an issue for a long time!!!!!! - to just... scrap it entirely???

edit: adding this here since i said i wouldnt make any more posts abt this topic but i rly find it laughableeeee when fans eagerly parrot bioware insisting that just because those choices dont matter in THIS game doesnt mean they'll never matter in a FUTURE game (i guess we can expect the next one in 2034?). if they already scrapped those choices for this game, and you're all still buying it (some of you??? PREORDERED it???? i thought we agreed not to do that???), why would they bother. do you think the next dragon age game wont have the same line of logic for 'we need to make it accessible for new players!!!!!' that they had for this one and for dai? how willfully stupid are you that you think I'M the stupid one here?

im happy for you guys tho! i hope the new dragon age game where theyve removed all of those complexities instead of making ANY effort to address ANY of the existing dissatisfaction around feeling like any of your game decisions mattered supports your existing brainrot so you can continue believing in a black-and-white reality. really glad theyve simplified it for you guys just like you wanted into 3 choices all about sola/vellan.

i'm going back to my own sandbox, as epler has instructed me to, so i can ~imagine~ my own thedas lmfao

[sempermoi]

Rant about generative AI in education and in general under the cut because I'm worried and frustrated and I needed to write it out in a small essay:

So, context: I am a teacher in Belgium, Flanders. I am now teaching English (as a second language), but have also taught history and Dutch (as a native language). All in secondary education, ages 12-16.

More and more I see educational experts endorse ai being used in education and of course the most used tools are the free, generative ones. Today, one of the colleagues responsible for the IT of my school went to an educational lecture where they once again vouched for the use of ai.

Now their keyword is that it should always be used in a responsible manner, but the issue is... can it be?

1. Environmentally speaking, ai has been a nightmare. Not only does it have an alarming impact on emission levels, but also on the toxic waste that's left behind. Not to mention the scarcity of GPUs caused by the surge of ai in the past few years. Even sources that would vouch for ai have raised concerns about the impact it has on our collective health. sources: here, here and here

2. Then there's the issue with what the tools are trained on and this in multiple ways:

Many of the free tools that the public uses is trained on content available across the internet. However, it is at this point common knowledge (I'd hope) that most creators of the original content (writers, artists, other creative content creators, researchers, etc.) were never asked for permission and so it has all been stolen. Many social media platforms will often allow ai training on them without explicitly telling the user-base or will push it as the default setting and make it difficult for their user-base to opt out. Deviantart, for example, lost much of its reputation when it implemented such a policy. It had to backtrack in 2022 afterwards because of the overwhelming backlash. The problem is then that since the content has been ripped from their context and no longer made by a human, many governments therefore can no longer see it as copyrighted. Which, yes, luckily also means that ai users are legally often not allowed to pass off ai as 'their own creation'. Sources: here, here

Then there's the working of generative ai in general. As said before, it simply rips words or image parts from their original, nuanced context and then mesh it together without the user being able to accurately trace back where the info is coming from. A tool like ChatGPT is not a search engine, yet many people use it that way without realising it is not the same thing at all. More on the working of generative ai in detail. Because of how it works, it means there is always a chance for things to be biased and/or inaccurate. If a tool has been trained on social media sources (which ChatGPT for example is) then its responses can easily be skewed to the demographic it's been observing. Bias is an issue is most sources when doing research, but if you have the original source you also have the context of the source. Ai makes it that the original context is no longer clear to the user and so bias can be overlooked and go unnoticed much easier. Source: here

3. Something my colleague mentioned they said in the lecture is that ai tools can be used to help the learning of the students.

Let me start off by saying that I can understand why there is an appeal to ai when you do not know much about the issues I have already mentioned. I am very aware it is probably too late to fully stop the wave of ai tools being published.

There are certain uses to types of ai that can indeed help with accessibility. Such as text-to-voice or the other way around for people with disabilities (let's hope the voice was ethically begotten).

But many of the other uses mentioned in the lecture I have concerns with. They are to do with recognising learning, studying and wellbeing patterns of students. Not only do I not think it is really possible to data-fy the complexity of each and every single student you would have as they are still actively developing as a young person, this also poses privacy risks in case the data is ever compromised. Not to mention that ai is often still faulty and, as it is not a person, will often still make mistakes when faced with how unpredictable a human brain can be. We do not all follow predictable patterns.

The lecture stated that ai tools could help with neurodivergency 'issues'. Obviously I do not speak for others and this next part is purely personal opinion, but I do think it important to nuance this: as someone with auDHD, no ai-tool has been able to help me with my executive dysfunction in the long-term. At first, there is the novelty of the app or tool and I am very motivated. They are often in the form of over-elaborate to-do lists with scheduled alarms. And then the issue arises: the ai tries to train itself on my presented routine... except I don't have one. There is no routine to train itself on, because that is my very problem I am struggling with. Very quickly it always becomes clear that the ai doesn't understand this the way a human mind would. A professionally trained in psychology/therapy human mind. And all I was ever left with was the feeling of even more frustration.

In my opinion, what would help way more than any ai tool would be the funding of mental health care and making it that going to a therapist or psychiatrist or coach is covered by health care the way I only have to pay 5 euros to my doctor while my health care provider pays the rest. (In Belgium) This would make mental health care much more accessible and would have a greater impact than faulty ai tools.

4. It was also said that ai could help students with creative assignments and preparing for spoken interactions both in their native language as well as in the learning of a new one.

I wholeheartedly disagree. Creativity in its essence is about the person creating something from their own mind and putting the effort in to translate those ideas into their medium of choice. Stick figures on lined course paper are more creative than letting a tool like Midjourney generate an image based on stolen content. How are we teaching students to be creative when we allow them to not put a thought in what they want to say and let an ai do it for them?

And since many of these tools are also faulty and biased in their content, how could they accurately replace conversations with real people? Ai cannot fully understand the complexities of language and all the nuances of the contexts around it. Body language, word choice, tone, volume, regional differences, etc.

And as a language teacher, I can truly say there is nothing more frustrating than wanting to assess the writing level of my students, giving them a writing assignment where they need to express their opinion and write it in two tiny paragraphs... and getting an ai response back. Before anyone comes to me saying that my students may simply be very good at English. Indeed, but my current students are not. They are precious, but their English skills are very flawed. It is very easy to see when they wrote it or ChatGPT. It is not only frustrating to not being able to trust part of your students' honesty and knowing they learned nothing from the assignment cause you can't give any feedback; it is almost offensive that they think I wouldn't notice it.

5. Apparently, it was mentioned in the lecture that in schools where ai is banned currently, students are fearful that their jobs would be taken away by ai and that in schools where ai was allowed that students had much more positive interactions with technology.

First off, I was not able to see the source and data that this statement was based on. However, I personally cannot shake the feeling there's a data bias in there. Of course students will feel more positively towards ai if they're not told about all the concerns around it.

Secondly, the fact that in the lecture it was (reportedly) framed that being scared your job would disappear because of ai, was untrue is... infuriating. Because it already is becoming a reality. Let's not forget what partially caused the SAG-AFTRA strike in 2023. Corporations see an easy (read: cheap) way to get marketable content by using ai at the cost of the creative professionals. Unregulated ai use by businesses causing the loss of jobs for real-life humans, is very much a threat. Dismissing this is basically lying to young students.

6. My conclusion:

I am frustrated. It's clamoured that we, as teachers, should educate more about ai and it's responsible use. However, at the same time the many concerns and issues around most of the accessible ai tools are swept under the rug and not actively talked about.

I find the constant surging rise of generative ai everywhere very concerning and I can only hope that more people will start seeing it too.

Thank you for reading.

[slytherinshua]

CUDDLING WITH AMPERS&ONE

genre. fluff. warnings. reader described to be shorter/smaller in brian's (but let's be real who is gonna be taller than him 😭). reader has maybe long hair in seungmo's. not proofread. pairing. ampers&one x fem!reader. wc. 930 (around 130 per member). request. requested by anon. a/n. in my writing for ampers era i'm so excited (maybe eventually i'll find a bias even) net. @kstrucknet

KAMDEN ﾐ 캠든

He’s all for whatever you want as he honestly doesn’t have many preferences about how you cuddle 

As long as you’re content and he gets to be close to you, he’s a happy camper

Some days you just rest your head on his shoulder, other days you’re on his lap or spooning 

You often wake up with limbs completely tangled with his during the night— you’re not sure how it got that way, but the closeness of your boyfriend warms your heart

90% of the time, you’re the one initiating cuddles as his arms are always free for you

But he’s definitely the type to grab your waist and pull you onto his lap as you’re walking by, which is one of the few times he initiates <3

BRIAN ﾐ 브라이언

Sweetheart’s cradle all the way, it’s like his favourite way to cuddle you

With your head resting on his chest, arm wrapped around your waist, he feels so content with you in his arms

And you love listening to his steady heartbeat <3 there’s nothing more relaxing

Sometimes you hear it speed up when you compliment him too

Since he’s so tall, he wouldn’t even mind if you lay completely on top of him

He likes back hugs too or any standing up hugs/cuddles cause he loves the height difference

Would look down at you with a lovesick expression and kiss your forehead before pulling you into a tight hug

He’d never tease you about your height, but he’s silently endeared by how much shorter you are than him

JIHO ﾐ 지호

His cuddles are the softest thing in the world oh my god he’s so gentle and comforting

He needs to be so close to you, as close as humanly possible

Arms wrapped around your body, your arms wrapped around his body, legs intertwined, everything

And he’d be unable to control his smiles while cuddling too cause he’s just so happy whenever you’re in his arms !!

Best believe you have a routine of cuddling before sleep, finding the most comfortable position in each other’s arms before dozing off

If during the night you get separated, whoever is first to wake up will rectify that 

Being in Jiho’s arms for as much of the day as possible is the ultimate goal, which makes separating so he can leave for work a hard task for both of you

SIYUN ﾐ 시윤

Always always you’re on his lap

He’ll think of any plausible excuse just to keep you close so he can continue hugging you :(

Says he’s cold and you need to warm him up or that he’s deprived of cuddles and needs his daily dose, etc.

Somehow his convincing always leads to you cuddling against him, not that you ever would complain

His chest is your personal pillow and his thighs are your cushion— why would you ever choose your own seat when your boyfriend was right there?

The problem comes from Siyun’s habit of falling asleep while you’re cuddling, effectively trapping you because his arms are still wrapped securely around your waist

We all know he’s a deep sleeper too so good luck waking him up

KYRELL ﾐ 카이렐

He loves to cuddle you under blankets, especially if its cold outside

He perfected a burrito technique to keep you both completely covered head to toe with the blankets

You’re wrapped up so close to Kyrell and just so comfortable and warm

He’ll also just put the blanket over your legs if you’re cuddling on the couch 

He’s reach for your hand and lace your fingers together so carefully and then rub small circles over your knuckles with his thumb

Loves to watch movies like that— it definitely became a regular for stay-in movie nights

He also likes having you in between his legs, even if you’re just sitting on the floor

Would build legos with you like that with his head resting on your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your waist :’)

MACKIAH ﾐ 마카야

Either cuddling in bed facing each other, or a classic arm around your shoulder while sitting <3

The man is a yapper so he’ll probably be talking to you while cuddling (or listening to you talk!)

He likes to play with your hands/fingers as well, feeling the softness of your skin and the warmth from your body

Or just hold them and give little squeezes; if he squeezes 3 times in succession you know he’s saying ‘I love you’

He’s very classically romantic like he came straight out of a teen romcom

Rather than throwing you pickup/flirty lines on your dates, he’d more likely do it while you’re cuddling

Makes you 10 times more flustered just from the close contact, and you’d definitely bury your face into his chest/shoulder to hide how flushed you are

SEUNGMO ﾐ 승모

Seungmo is particular about cuddling, he has his preferences because, to him, it’s a very serious business

He wants to be on your lap

Whether it’s just his head resting on your thigh or you holding his entire body, that part doesn’t much matter to him 

You both love it even though it’s unconventional 

You because it gives you access to his hair to play with or his cheeks to nom kiss

Him because he loves the feeling of your fingers in his hair or tracing the lines of his face

He would grab one of your hands to press little kisses to your knuckles and would get so giggly if you gave him cheek/forehead kisses because your hair would tickle his face

He’ll also blow raspberries on your belly sometimes

↳ ampers&one taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @hursheys

[local-redhead-bookworm]

Something about how for most of Middle Earth’s history, the Elves that escaped from Morgoth or Sauron’s imprisonment were turned away and abandoned because their kin were so busy being afraid that the escapees were sleeper agents that would turn on them, which led to most of those escaped Elves either dying or being recaptured…

Maedhros, who was tortured for years and spent his entire life being driven by his trauma. Maeglin, whose father was so abusive that he and his mother fled for their own safety, who was still treated like an outcast and was mistrusted because of his heritage. Rog, who was tormented and whose only name we know of means “demon.” And now Adar, one of the first Elves-turned-Uruk ever, who still fights so hard to honor both his Elvish heritage and the needs of the Uruks, who is instead threatened with watching them die before he is killed slowly and painfully… yeah, I have some beef with the First and Second Age Elves.

[offkilterkeys]

The world isn’t ready for my alpha kid readings.

[shinybulbasaur]

Rules: Make a poll with five of your all-time favorite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favorite!

I was tagged by @suddenrundown, thanks for the tag! I was so tempted to put "eliot's baseball hair" but I resisted (also polls don't allow strikethroughs. sad). tagging @michinaranja, @vero-niche, @acidmatze and anyone else who wants to play!

[ironunderstands]

I don’t think we talk enough about how other people can’t read Aventurine’s brand

At the very least, the written English language in Star Rail is not widespread, considering how everything is written in a made up language rather than an irl one.

Which is what makes Aventurine’s brand very significant

It’s deliberately, and horrifyingly in English, a language that in universe, most people can’t read, and probably don’t even know exists.

When people look at that brand, unlike the audience/players who are immediately freaked about because we know what that word means and the implications of it, the average person in universe is going to see it and go, “huh, cool tattoo.” and leave it at that.

This also means that English exists in some capacity in universe in Star Rail, but only a select group of people are fluent in it.

And part of that select group of people are the people who enslaved Aventurine.

Was it funny to them? Funny to brand Aventurine in a word only he and they will know the meaning of, that no matter how many eyes are laid upon him, unless Aventurine wrenches his heart out to them, they will never know what his abusers did to him.

Was it oh so amusing to them? Amusing that any time someone can read the brand, they will likely be one of those very people who hurt him and those he loves in the first place.

The use of English in Aventurine’s brand isn’t some one off design choice, it’s downright evil, and if we meet people that do/can speak and write in English, we should immediately be wary of them.

Personally, I think the IPC are the ones who branded him, considering his first enslaver/master says he bought Aventurine from “the men in black suits”, which is what Kakavasha used to refer to the IPC.

Funny how the space colonizers use English, definitely don’t draw any real world parallels about this ever.