#but they could afford to be less blatant

[yandere-daydreams]

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's introduced to you as the hybrid you'll be taking care. When you found the job listed on some shady, bot-infested site, you figured it was just a temporary gig, that you'd be watching a dog or cat for a few weeks while their owner was away, so imagine your surprise when you pulled up to a reputable mansion a good hour or so out of the city, when an eccentric man with blue hair and an off-putting grin brings you to the lavish enclosure of a hybrid nearly a head taller than you, when you're told that you'll be 'petsitting' his kitten for as long as you care to hold the position. It's weird, but the money's good, and room and board are provided. You can't really afford to turn it down.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's undeniably, unabashedly spoiled. His owner claims that he tried to replicate his natural habitat as closely as possible, but you don't think there's another snow leopard on the planet who prefers mink fur to his own. You spend most of your time waiting on him, running between Pantalone and his legion of personal chefs, holding sapphires and rubies up to the light so he can decide which one he'd rather have studded into his next collar, combing through his thick black hair while he purrs and basks in your attention. It's a surprisingly demanding job, but you don't mind. He's smart for a hybrid, and surprisingly conversational. Honestly, if it wasn't for the thrashing tail that curls around your legs whenever he passes you, the pointed fangs you catch a glimpse of from time to time, you could forget he wasn't human.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who tells you there's been a change in uniform a month after you start. This variation is definitely less conservative than your old scrubs, more in-line with his own blatant aesthetic values, but you don't complain, even when he starts swapping out his crushed velvet pillows for your lap. He's still a hybrid, no matter how human he might act. You're sure he doesn't see your exposed skin as anything but... something warm and soft to rest his head on, when he's looking for someplace to nap.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who grins as he tells you why his owner is always so busy. He's a researcher, he explains, as you file down his claws for the tenth time that week. He studies hybrid mating habits. His tone is enough to make you blush, and he laughs as you stumble over your response. He goes on to talk at length about his owner's particular fascination with snow leopards, how their pickiness when it comes to choosing a partner makes them a point of interest, but you write it off as a lapse in his otherwise perfect etiquette. You manage to do the same when you find out that he's been slipping into your personal room at night, and when he openly sulks in the days leading up to one of your rare vacations. It's not like you have much of a choice, considering none of the other, more legitimate jobs you've applied for have given you so much as a call back. It's not like you have much of a choice, considering how many weeks it's been since you've heard from anyone at all.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's already above you when you woke up strapped to a metal table, your legs spread and your vision dim around the edges.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who smiles as he thrusts into you, his favorite fur coat draped over his shoulders and his expression one of idle amusement. There's a mirror built into one wall (an observational window, obviously), and a heap of silk sheets and fleece piled in a corner, but Pantalone's quick to catch your chin, to draw your attention back to him - to your mate.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's always been so, so spoiled.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's always gotten what he wanted - including his brand new human mate.

[prentissluvr]

thinking about later seasons transfem sam my beloved <3

tw: mentions of rape, being misgendered, and hating oneself

she’s so stoic and quiet and her face always looks tired. but she takes charge and does what she can and loves jack so much. she knows that kelly will always be his mother, but she is his mother too.

jack is very confused the first time that sam is misgendered in front of him. "sam is a girl," he says, matter of fact. sam can't afford to tear up. she explains it to jack when they get home and he thinks of her no differently. just that she is even stronger than he thought.

mary finds out she has a daughter. mary loves her. mary sees herself in sam. mary trims the dead ends of her hair, but doesn’t chop it short like she did with her own hair. sam's hair gets longer and a little curly when it rains or she doesn't brush it after a shower. always, mary sees herself in sam. a tired, guilty mother. a tired, guilty woman.

she stutters more than she used to, and she tries not to feel insecure about it. she doesn't notice it most of the time when she does stutter, though, because she's too stressed and tired to worry about something so small. her boobs are bigger these days, and she loves it, but her shoulders are forever too broad. she's a little bit more okay with that than she used to. maybe they have to be that way so she can carry the weight of many worlds on them.

she can never ever let on that lucifer raped her in the cage. she does not have sex.

she loves eileen from afar for a long time. but she trusts her innately. sam appreciates her more than she could say for her blatant and unabashed bisexuality. eileen makes her feel safe and seen in almost all of the ways. they have an understanding of each other that they have with maybe no one else.

she feels seen by charlie and rowena, at least a little bit. her and charlie talk about being lesbian, and charlie is one of sam's greatest supporters. she was sure that they'd finally make it to the dress shopping hang out that they'd been planning for years once they got the mark of cain off of dean. she dies and so does so much of sam's hope for the little joys. doing makeup together in her room in the bunker, talking about their favorite hot lord of the rings girls, the characters in books they like that they headcanon as queer. in the combined pool of pure and genuine and full love for sam in the world, charlie was responsible for most of it at the time. that love doesn't truly die, but sam is still less actively loved for who she is without charlie.

rowena trusts sam the most for many more reasons than the fact that she's a woman. she used to say things like "us women have to stick together, sam," to manipulate her. now she says it with heart. she calls sam beautiful when she flirts with her. she calls them a pair of "stunning, powerful women." she affirms her very often, just because that's how she talks.

and rowena is quiet about her bisexuality. she isn't insecure or worried, but the casual and unobvious way that she treats it is nice for sam. they rarely talk about that sort of thing, but sam is the first person out of this group of people that she offhandedly mentions it to. this is not an accident. she offers her spells that boost estrogen safely, quickly, and easily. rowena starts learning about and exploring the potential role of magic in transitioning.

the first person to love her unabashed and for who she is, with no reservations and nothing tainting anything, was jess. everything is so different now. sam is a grown woman. she's in her thirties. she's essentially a mother. everything is so much worse. somethings are better, easier. she has people that love her and care about her. she will never forget jess and what she did for her. because jess loved her, she let ruby love her, she let charlie love her, she let rowena love her, she let eileen love her, she let her mother love her. she hates herself a lot. she doesn't always hate her body. she actually feels good in her skin sometimes. she feels horrible in her skin sometimes.

she is trapped in a cycle of guilt and weariness and grief. at least she still knows how to smile sometimes. she is trapped.

[tiesthatbind-tf]

If you’re on a desktop, please full-view these lads if possible! Tumblr  compressed the hell out of the preview unfortunately, but so much love was poured into them that it’ll be a shame if y’all didn’’t full view for the goods ;u;b (click, then right-click and open image in new tab!)

I’ve always held a deep fascination of for the Lambros, though for whatever reason, media beyond G1 seem allergic to actually making them brothers, or at least brothers who LIVE till the end and have something resembling a healthy/active relationship, so it was something I wanted to explore with TTB’s version of The Lads--Serafino and Sergio Saverio--who, despite being Twins, are very distinct individuals (Sideswipe in particular has a narrative focused on self-realization after a past of being constantly second best/in Sunstreaker’s shadow, and establishing healthy boundaries, even with those closest to you) with their own occasionally intertwining stories

They’re the team’s Battlefield Hellions, a pair of Feral Elric Brothers willing to punch open multiple Gates of Truth for each other, and who despite their flaws---especially Avowed Bastard Sunstreaker, whose protectiveness and care for Sideswipe is, at times, seemingly his only saving grace---will never have anyone questioning their love for each other. 

You can find their (2881 words, this one’s a doozy!) pre-war full story below the cut! 

Born to a Manual Class couple in the Little Italy neighbourhood of Lower Manhattan, the Saverio Twins could have easily gone the path of Cain and Abel, and given the lopsided treatment they received from their parents as children, it was a miracle that they didn’t. 

Serafino Saverio — hair kissed by the sun — was the much-welcomed firstborn upon whom their hopes were pinned on. 

Sergio Saverio – hair tainted with blood – was the surprise second and didn’t even have a name until after a week of his birth (he could only assume they were hoping he didn’t make it that long, being the twin with ‘complications’) as the unplanned and unwanted spare mouth to feed in a household which had always been intended for a family of three, and not a day of his young life passed that he wasn’t reminded by his parents that they had kept him as a favor.

The favoritism was as blatant as it was malicious when it came to food, praises and gifts—all of which were afforded to Serafino, all of which were an afterthought for Sergio who always took everything with a smile, having been told to simply be thankful he had a family, and that Serafino had to come first.

However, Sergio’s treatment didn’t go unnoticed or ignored by Serafino—sharp and cunning for his age—who began to question why his brother had less than him, why his brother was beaten for doing the things which he himself would simply be given a stern talking to, why his mother’s tone fell and rose so drastically between her sons and why his father never had a kind word for a boy who constantly bent over backwards for a fraction of the love they afforded him. 

The aching sadness the older twin saw in his brother’s eyes when they were seven and had received their birthday gifts—a beautiful hand-crafted wooden sword for him, a cheap gas station tin Lamborghini for Sergio—gave birth to childhood defiance as he exchanged his gift with Sergio to the surprised dismay of their parents who were stuck awkwardly trying to explain why he couldn’t do that and why they saw it fit to treat two brothers so differently on they day they were born together, only seconds apart. 

It was here that the seed was planted of Serafino’s protectiveness over Sergio–his best friend, his playmate, his shadow—and Sergio’s near-unwavering loyalty to Serafino—his defender, his confidante and the only one of their family who truly cared for him. 

They grew up tight as thieves as Serafino’s disgust at their parents’ attempts to drive a wedge in between them burned ever brighter, because if they would not treat his brother the same as he, then he would act out in defiance until they treated him the same way they treated Sergio out of sheer frustration. 

They walked hand in hand in the streets, always looking out for each other, and sparred fist to fist on the apartment rooftop where they would learn to fight together because the world wasn’t kind to little Manuals—and they had the cuts and bruises to show for it—but from up here where that world seemed so small beneath them, they could dare to dream of a better one where Sergio could be the dashing fighter Serafino’s sword allowed him to see himself as, and where Serafino would be able to one day own and drive a car similar to the little model he had traded that sword for.

School was no more kind to them than the streets were—at twelve, Serafino had learned to read the people around him and kept an aloof and guarded presence, but Sergio — eager for warmth and connection — forged friendships openly and recklessly, class divisions be damned.

His perceived insolence to The Way Things Were earned him the ire of a group of law enforcement prodigy picks when he befriended a girl among their ranks, and they set out to teach him a vicious lesson about staying in his lane despite her protestations. 

He fought back hard, but it was Serafino’s fury that was unmatched when the older twin came across the assault in progress and leapt into the fray to back him up. 

When the dust had settled, the brothers stood tall among the twitching bodies of five prodigy picks, the leader of the group beaten up so severely by Serafino that their dislocated jaw had to be wired shut for a month. 

Serafino earned the scar on his jaw from this altercation, and as the twin who had dealt the most damage, was suspended from schooling indefinitely and put to work to help pay off the medical bills forced upon his family despite open confirmation from the girl at the center of the fight that the brothers’ role in it was that of self-defense (and it was reasoned that if he was so quick with his hands, he best put them to a more productive use). 

His reputation as a pugnacious, split-knuckled hellion preceded him among the rough-and-tumble warehouse workers he was stationed with, and, for better or worse, they accepted him into the fold as ‘one of the lads’ despite his youth.

Over beer and cigarette smoke—a vice he embraced too early—he became privy to how truly hopeless their lives were, born in the same class as their parents and their grandparents before them, destined to die in the same class no matter how hard they worked to climb a ladder whose rungs seemed to increase every year, and it made him all the more bitter to the world. 

When he crossed paths with one Tulio Hoffman — a stag Beastman attempting to evade authorities in an alley — while on his way back to the workers’ hostel, he made a split-second decision to cover the man’s tracks and pointed the cops elsewhere out of spite for them. His chutzpah, as Tulio called it, earned him the Stagman’s respect, and having seen the calluses on his palms and the crowbar he wielded with unusual expertise for his age, Tulio—who revealed himself as the elusive Thunderhoof, an up and rising don— extended a hand to him with the promise of a better life, one that didn’t require him to slave away in a warehouse for an eternity. 

He agreed, seeing a chance to wrest the life he wanted for himself—and by proxy his brother— by force, and pledged loyalty to Thunderhoof who initially employed him as a scout and informant. It was work Serafino excelled in — his relentlessness to get the job done won the Stagman over, and he was quickly promoted to Thunderhoof’s personal assistant, following the don on business deals and clandestine meetings across the city and helping the man keep his ledgers and income on track.

He experienced the High Life for the first time—fine clothes, good food, a fast car—and it was a lifestyle he grew an insatiable taste for and was desperate to keep for himself (attempts at sharing this life with Sergio were politely declined, and there was an understanding of their different approaches to climbing out of the dregs, even if they did not always agree with the others' methods)

The big money Thunderhoof made from taking part in illegal pitfights seemed like a natural progression given his prodigious skill with fisticuffs, and his first win when he was 18 was one the Stagman—who had taken on the role of a somewhat twisted adoptive father—celebrated and honored by gifting him the neck chain he wore, which also served as a symbolic gesture from Thunderhoof that the business would one day be passed to him. Serafino continued his career as a much-feared pitfighter with a rumored body count— the dreaded ‘Aureleone’ (Golden Lion) of the rings — all the while rising up the ranks of Thunderhoof’s mob until he was the man’s underboss, and keeping an eye out for Sergio like any good big brother worth their salt.

Sergio’s scar above his eyebrow remains a daily reminder of the day the system came for him and his brother, and while he was allowed to remain in school, he was transferred to a heavily-manual establishment which would ‘better suit those like him’. 

The situation at home became even more unbearable than it already was, as his parents blamed Serafino’s downfall on his carelessness and stupidity—despite Serafino’s assertion that the bullies deserved everything that happened to them and he would reoffend on sight if they hurt Sergio again—and he began to spend more and more time outside, visiting Serafino at work whenever he could to repeat the day’s lesson during breaks so his brother still had access to education and sneaking into worker’s rallies by the docks. 

It was here that he was drawn to the music and effortless charisma of a young dock worker and union figurehead, Jace Zayden (Jazz), which whom he struck up a friendship, and where Thunderhoof brought Serafino deeper into the underbelly of the city to escape the system, Jace gave him hope that change could happen on the surface, in the sun. 

After a blowout with his parents when he was 16 where they’d made it clear he should never have been born, he finally left the house. Not wanting to burden Serafino who had already suffered enough for him in his eyes or be indebted to Thunderhoof (who he respected for taking care of his brother, but understood was a dangerous man with an agenda), he roomed with Jace who had taken on the role of his mentor and helped him find employment as a warehouse worker so he could save up to afford rent for his own place once he was old enough to sign a lease. His nights were divided between helping Serafino with supply runs and stock-checking for Thunderhoof’s contraband goods, and joining Jace at union meetings as well as helping the man with his activism and protest plans. 

When Jace was arrested after a brutal crackdown on a workers’ rally and never came back to the neighborhood, Sergio feared the worst but wasted no time stepping into Jace’s position when their local union chapter began to flounder so he could continue their fight for a better life. 

Like his brother, he had become intimately acquainted with the injustice perpetuated by the neverending cycle of poverty their class was intentionally, systematically trapped in, but rather than abandon it and the people in it as Serafino had chosen to do, he wanted to help break it so his community could rise above it with him. 

As the most prominent figurehead of an unprecedented, rising tide of unionization in Manhattan  which started from across the pond in the UK, he was marked out as a person of interest by local officials desperate to keep the status quo, and his increasing clashes with local cops tasked with bringing those behind these ‘public disturbances’ to heel brought him in contact with a face he remembered from his school days—the same upperclass girl he had tried to befriend, whose testimony had helped keep him and Serafino out of juvie and who was now a tough-as-nails rookie with a reputation for breaking ranks. 

Stella Armstrong (Strongarm) was more than a little surprised to find out that the scrawny, bright-eyed Manual scrapper who had suddenly disappeared from her classroom after the Big Fight was now a feisty, quick-talking, hot-tempered rabble-rouser with a careless smirk and a witty comeback for every police warning lobbed at him. 

Regardless of his teasing and her scoldings for the ‘trouble’ he made for her whenever they crossed paths, Sergio kept eye out for her on the streets—good cops didn’t last long in the ranks, he knew this much—and vouched for her being an ‘honest one’ whenever she was stonewalled for information regarding her cases. 

In turn, Stella spoke out in defense of him whenever her colleagues brought him in and attempted to remand him for a period much longer than the minor infractions he was hauled in for could justify, and stopped any attempted violence on him and his community in lockup, making enemies among the force in the process.

When several prominent union supporters began turning up dead to the radio silence of the police, Sergio approached Stella for help in investigating the matter, and she agreed to do so after finding out that reports filed on the murders had been closed before any investigations had wrapped up. 

She gave him a burner cell to keep their communications private after the two agreed that something about the situation smelled like a cover-up.

All of this was confirmed when Stella called him with a warning that the killings were tied to the current mayor who had pro-functionist ties, cops on payroll and was desperate for a re-election in the coming month.

She had also found documents approving the use of Mnemosurgery on a list of union figureheads to turn them into Trojan Horses on their own movement and communities—a list which Sergio’s name headed, which meant he had to go into hiding before the next minor infraction brought him back to lockup. 

When she couldn't give him an answer on if the breach of classified information could be traced back to her, he feared for the worst again—the unsolved fate of Jace still hung heavy in his mind—more so when further calls he made to her went to voicemail. 

The next call Sergio received from her sent him on a hunt for her in the winding alleys of Brooklyn, where he found her bleeding out from a through-and-through gunshot wound to the stomach she received from her own colleague, after it was revealed that the drug bust she was a part of was a front to get her in a vulnerable position so they could take her out.

Her refusal to back the thin blue line at all costs, newfound knowledge of wide-spread corruption in the ranks and growing friendship with a ‘target’ had made her a liability, one they had orders to get rid of. 

He raced her to a back-alley clinic, unable to bring her to the local GH because of the real danger of the rest of the force coming over to finish the job. 

Stella survived the ordeal with his help, and the two of them went into hiding together to plan their next move; As she had never turned off her body camera, she had damning evidence of the hit which she had immediately downloaded to the burner cell for safekeeping in case the footage was later remotely wiped, and she had taken pictures of the documents beforehand. 

To Sergio’s surprise, help came from two unexpected places; Jace, who returned from self-exile in the UK after it was discovered that the same thing planned for Sergio had earlier been planned for him, and Serafino, who had broken the Mafia Code and put aside mob work and pitfighting the moment he caught wind of the target on his baby brother’s back. (When Thunderhoof had demanded that his loyalty to the mob come before his loyalty to his brother if he were to take over the mantle of Don, he balked at the idea)

As it turned out, Jace was part of the Resistance movement back in the UK which had branched out worldwide and inspired the rising workers’ protests in the States as well, and worked as a saboteur who had experience in exposing corrupt men in power for filth. 

Stella’s near-death experience and the ongoing risk to her life made a strong case for her filming a dying confession which Sergio delivered along with her body cam footage to her father, who then passed both to an attorney whose services her family had employed to find justice for their ‘missing’ daughter. 

The documents and list made it to the ACLU’s New York office, while Serafino and Jace both worked on a sting to catch the mayor red-handed, as they posed as bounty hunters looking to collect on Sergio’s head. As Sergio played his role as defiant captive and tactically bandied words with the mayor to lead the man to a full confession, Jace’s colleague, Brandon Shen (Blaster) hacked major digital billboards at Times Square to air the footage in real-time, destroying the man’s name and political career in the span of fifteen minutes. 

Regardless of their victories however, both Sergio and Stella had become far too big of targets to remain where they were, and Jace offered to bring them all into the Resistance’s fold. 

Sergio, for his own safety, had to hand over the reins of leadership to a new leader of the Manhattan Movement, though his community, knowing full well the risk he had put himself through for them, encouraged him to find safe harbor with Jace’s team mates who could afford him the protection he needed. .

He had carried on Jace’s work when Jace had to leave, and there would be others to continue the work here.

Serafino, chafing harder and harder against the control that Thunderhoof was rapidly losing on him, threw all caution against the wind, chose the codename Sunstreaker and joined his brother. --now codenamed Sideswipe -- as the new frontliners of the wider Resistance movement.

Whether he would come to regret the decision was still up in the air, but brothers stuck together, and the path ahead was one both of them would forge back to back with each other as fate damn well intended. 

[gamingblur103s]

my thoughts on neo the world ends with you

long but probably not very good to read. spoilers and allat

i have to admit that i have a knee-jerk resentment towards a lot of the twewy franchise outside of the original game. every port and remake and reimagining of the original is simply worse off because something fundamental about what made the original experience so fantastic is removed. granted, this is often out of necessity for it no longer being a DS game, and from a business perspective, something like the anime adaptation only makes sense when a sequel is coming out practically immediately after the anime ends. still, in regards to these rereleases, i can easily see them as things that only add to the franchise rather than remove from them. the mobile port, despite screwing with the art style and the gameplay, added new music that is on par with the original game's score. the anime adaptation, despite its truncation, occasional mischaracterization, and format the story was not made for, looks pretty great and is still fun enough to be an effective recap, which was its precise purpose. it is much harder to say the same for final remix.

final remix is a port of a port; it maintains the streamlined and exponentially less engaging gameplay of the mobile version. granted, it comes with new pins which work well enough with this new base, but that doesn't change the problems i have with these fundamentals. to make up for that (as well as bridge the gap between it and neo), final remix comes with "a new day": a continuation of the story that is necessary to experience in order to understand neo.

to be blunt, a new day is where my previously mentioned resentment began. the story it tries to tell is so emphatic on its mystery that it foregoes any actual depth. as something that is expressly being tacked onto the original story rather than its own entity, its poor quality leads to directly detracting from that story.

the reaper's game (for og twewy at least) was meant to act as a symbolic prison for neku that colored every bit of his progress. yes, his character development is fairly blatant, but if anything, it benefits from that. the framing of the reaper's game actually makes the arc more grounded in how arduous it is, in how it was so much longer than neku could have ever expected, in how it hurt in all the ways he was scared it would.

it's all perfectly embodied by the fact neku is still wearing his headphones when the original game ends on the sublime emotional note of him taking them off. it's careless storytelling, to such an extent that it colors everything that came before it as the last canonical events we get to see, made all the worse by how it (and consequently, the game) ends with Neku dying. again. the only thing that keeps me from being completely outraged at the comical disregard of his arc is that it at least doesn't take away his emotional development.

there's also the iffy characterization overall, once again to serve a mystery the plot cannot afford to answer the larger reaching implications of. mind you, there's nothing outright OFFENSIVE about its portrayals (i actually think fake joshua is the best example of characterization in the whole thing; it's fun to show what a character is by what they aren't), but it's all just so vapid. forgive me for being smarmy enough to use an antimetabole, but when you go through a whole-ass video game that has its plot function in service to its characters, playing such a blatant sequel-bait that has its characters serving the IDEA of a plot feels like a disservice to those characters. if there's a connection to be felt, it's not indicated or made stronger by what happens here; it's all for the sake of hype.

i'm rambling, but hopefully that embodies my emotions going into neo comprehensively enough. i couldn't help but see a new day as utterly counterintuitive, and as a result, i had my typical territorial nature for my favorite things cranked up to twelve. i couldn't even fully trust the original staff with this game. for a while, i couldn't shake the feeling that the franchise of twewy outside the original game tarnished my experience with it. i did everything i could to convince myself to go full "death of the author": everything that isn't the original game simply isn't canon. but that didn't feel right to me, so i still kept this deep curiosity in me. then, about two and a half years after its release, i started up neo and spent my winter break exclusively on playing it through to the end (college made it so if i didn't finish it then, i'd have to wait till the summer).

this FINALLY leads me to my thoughts on the game this post is supposed to be about.

in a word, neo feels derivative. mind you, that's by no means the full story. for certain aspects, that description is either deeply unfair or outright untrue; for others, it's frankly generous. holistically, however, it feels like a continuation of what twewy had to offer, when it could've been an evolution. this by itself would make it worse than the original, but then there are times where it can't even accomplish that much.

on that note: the presentation.

og twewy didn't just have a fantastic style, but phenomenal direction. it was a multi-pronged refutation of the idea of "style over substance". the pause menu alone is so informative, yet so digestible because of its adherence to the game's style, what with its inspired choice of music and cute lil thumbnails for all the menus you can navigate to from there. there's also accounting for what players will most often check the menu for and an effort to make such features particularly accessible. the shining examples of this are dedicating nearly all of the top screen to the map and the fact that all the combat options aside from the pins (your level, partner behavior, game difficulty) are available on that screen, rather than hidden in another menu. hell, credit where it's due, the rereleases' version of this menu are all just as good; the attempt to depixelize the visuals makes it look a little too much like a gacha game for my liking, but absolutely nothing about it was changed in such a way that it becomes harder to navigate

in general, i think ui/ux design is way more important in games than it's given credit for, though that's undoubtedly changed in recent times. it's always been listed as a separate career from other graphic design jobs, and rightfully so, but for games especially, it can't be stressed enough how much they make or break a game's flow and "vibe". fact of the matter is, a significant chunk of a player's time is going to be spent in menus no matter what. i'm sure there's exceptions to this, but all i can think of is very primitive examples like pong which obviously don't apply to what i mean. as a result, making those menus feel fun and/or natural to use elevates the entire experience in ways even the most diligent game developers might not realize. an article from gamesradar has a translated quote from persona 5 director katsura hashino which really emboldened my feelings on the topic

"In Japan, UI design is often handled by new employees. ... Top level designers are usually in charge of characters and background graphics, with the UI being secondary. I think that’s a mistake. That’s why Atlus' UI designers are paid so well."

(side note: as great as the menus in p3r mostly are, the change for the in-battle menu from the revolver chamber is criminal. i know they still kinda have it, but i still prefer what the original did)

with all that said: neo twewy has three pause menus.

the first menu, which i will call the main menu, is where most of the options that relate to gameplay are. your current objective, social network (no jesse eisenberg in sight), equipment, map, and collectible progress. each of those five things i mentioned are their own menu within this menu, except for equipment which is actually two menus in threads and pins (to be fair, just like twewy).

the second menu, which i’ll call the pause menu, has all the shit that give off system setting vibes. saving, loading, going to the title screen, volume control, subtitles (always yes), voice track (we’ll get to that), the works. worth noting that this menu has absolutely no style to it. it is laughably barebones. sauceless, if you will.

the third menu, which i’ll call the combat menu, has all the combat options twewy had at the bottom of its main menu. this menu is also pretty lacking in sauce, though i suppose there’s only so much that could be done without it feeling obtrusive.

an insane person would argue this is a good translation of the immediate access in twewy’s ui. this division means less navigation is needed for certain option and it makes clutter a non-issue (in theory). while i’m sure this is true for some, for me, it became a consistent headache which would often undermine what i think are its design goals. the main menu’s subdivisions are a good example, but i actually didn’t have too much of a problem with it since switching between the menus was fairly snappy. the pin menu, however, was COMICALLY clunky. it becomes far too difficult to navigate your list as soon as week 2 starts. neo is a home console game, so there is zero need for a single pin to take up THAT much space on the screen, especially when that same pin at a different level of progress is listed separately, effectively doubling the amount of shit you have to sift through. the attempts at giving me shortcuts and filters ended up only confusing me. by the end, i resorted to exclusively consulting the full list every time, because even if it was tedious as all hell, at least i understood it and could eventually memorize the positions of things.

granted, it’s not all bad. you can actually access the combat menu while you’re in the main menu, so you can experiment with your level and view the drop rates in the noisepedia simultaneously. this version of the map, while it takes extra steps to access, also has features twewy’s map did not, namely the ability to see the kinds of noises that spawn in an area. you can even zoom in and out! for some reason!

these undeniable improvements are not only things twewy did not have, but in some cases (i.e. the map's new features) couldn’t have. however, it’s still missing the forest for the trees; the fundamental flow is still so disjointed that these features feel like a bandage on a tumor. i fully concede this next complaint is at least partially on me, but i cannot tell you the number of times i pressed the button for the wrong menu. because each menu has important shit that i need frequent access to, my muscle memory for the “i need menu things” neurons are always confused. if i’m not wasting time by going to the wrong menu, i’m wasting time by hesitating on pressing any button in case i’m wrong.

i’m being cruel here to an extent, and i acknowledge that. in isolation, these problems aren’t even a fraction as damning as i make them out to be, but when it’s something repeatedly experienced throughout the entire game, i cannot ignore how i dread having to interact with these menus and how they color my experience. granted, you could argue these complaints refute my thesis statement on neo being derivative. it may have failed, but is this not neo trying something new? to that, i would make the distinction that this is not a case of neo evolving, but rather, simply adapting.

allow me to branch back out to the more general subject of the game’s presentation.

i am by absolutely no means going to be calling the presentation of neo bad. that might be shocking to hear after me going so hard on the ui of all things, but i'm not an idiot. the soundtrack is a delight ("the beginning of a happy life" is genuinely, no bullshit, honest to god one of my favorite vg songs i have ever heard), the visuals are never any worse than ok (fret's design is by FAR my favorite, but i also liked shoka, rindo (mainly just his mask continuing the theme of neku's "hear no evil" with "speak no evil"), and susukichi), and when the two combine, it consistently achieves a familiar vibe throughout.

VERY familiar.

again, the presentation of neo is not bad. i would go so far as to call it good overall. but i genuinely struggle to think of any way it substantially iterates on what twewy has to offer. from where i'm standing, it feels like a complete copy-paste (with one exception that i swear i will get to soon cuz this is now like my third time alluding to it).

it's a bit of a mainstream example, but when you look at something like final fantasy, there's a clear throughline in the presentation of pretty much the entire series. even at its most vibrant and cutesy, there's this particular breed of gothic or sci-fi or—and i truly do not mean this disparagingly—edgy you can feel in the foundation of a final fantasy game. conversely, even at its darkest, final fantasy has its own brand of whimsy and bombast in chocobos or summons or the bajillion leitmotifs throughout the franchise. through it all, final fantasy has maintained a strong fundamental identity, but has managed to express it in a myriad of ways that, rather than dilute said identity, only bolster and refine its spirit.

i use final fantasy specifically because of its similarities to twewy. granted, these similarities are largely surface-level, but that's also kinda my point. final fantasy as a franchise achieves the variety it does through acknowledging what is fundamental to it and innovating off of that. by contrast, twewy (the franchise, not the game) is afraid to change its spirit and seeks purely to preserve it. because of that, the only way you could really differentiate twewy (the game, not the franchise) and neo at a glance is because of the hardware they are on. acquiescing to the merciless march of time, rather than embracing it.

that's why i still think my complaints about the ui ultimately fall back on the critiques of neo being derivative. while the problems with the ui in isolation seem like the developers trying something new, when you look at neo holistically, it is so clearly just an attempt at merely adapting, and sometimes it feels like neo fails even on that level. it isn't even innovation by necessity; every change feels like a sacrifice more than anything.

and on that note: gameplay.

i would say i generally enjoyed playing neo. the overworld exploration is very bog-standard, but i still appreciate it. remind is cute (it and telewarp's mechanics are obviously scripted but successfully "feel" cool to use) and dive fights are cool. i didn't mind the lack of fast travel, and in fact ADORED beat's soundsurf. having it add to your groove makes so much sense it hurts, and i love what it does to the music. but all of this is kinda window dressing when compared to the combat.

i'm sure my utter obsession with rpg (especially traditional rpg) gameplay aids my love of neo's combat, but i think most people can appreciate the gameplay loop. assigning party members to specific buttons is an undeniably fun concept. the hyper-customization of the combat is also something to be admired (to an extent); i'm sure i'm not particularly special for this, but i adore any opportunity to play a game "my way". the pin list is a teensy bit bloated with repeated ideas but with a higher number and/or different and somewhat arbitrary "element", but i sincerely love it overall. with how diverse the ideas are, there's a shocking few that i would consider objectively worse than the others. for example, the strength of the game's combo system "groove" means that a pin having a lower power doesn't actually make it necessarily worse, since less damage per attack allows for longer combos, which allows for more liberal and consistent use of the special moves unlocked by reaching the 100%, 200%, and 300% thresholds. inversely, as a compulsive grinder, the game's progression felt fairly natural even when i was pretty blatantly overprepared. fights are incredibly busy, and the boss fights especially are designed so that a single mistake can become a slippery slope of punishment. i died fairly frequently, particularly from getting too big for my britches and taking on a reduction chain i just couldn't handle. thus, fights never felt thoughtless the whole way through, which i was frankly REALLY impressed by.

i would accredit each of these compliments (or a stronger version of them) to twewy (to the point where i'm strongly tempted to derail this whole thing into how much i fucking love twewy's gameplay), but to its credit, neo does take different ways to get there in a lot of cases. to be doubly fair, though, as i've previously stated, these different approaches feel like they needed to happen rather than resulting from a distinct and passionate vision. to be TRIPLY fair, though, what's here has so much polish and depth that there was clearly some kind of passion present. my mind made a strong connection to kingdom hearts; i am not a big kh fan, so that is either indicative of just how similar neo and kh are (that someone like me could point it out) or how ignorant i am to action rpgs (accusing neo of being similar when it's really not). i'm open to either option.

the hyper-customization also feels like a double-edged sword, in that there is virtually no difference in how each of the six party members play. making your party members distinct from a gameplay perspective is INCREDIBLY important, because it's such an effective tool of storytelling. for better or worse, how a character performs during gameplay will directly influence how a player will view that character holistically. if, either by pure luck or bad game design, a character underperforms, a player is inclined to view that character less fondly. while neo's method of little if any distinction seemingly circumvents this slight dice roll, it closes off a unique opportunity entirely and settles for something that feels a little bland. mind you, this doesn't change anything about what i liked about the game's customization and customization as a whole. i do believe, generally, that the more customization the better, but that can't be an excuse to homogenize the party members.

none of how the game handles levelling up and stats really helps this. yes, characters will have different tastes in terms of food (leading to potential bonuses on top of the stat increases that food already does), and some clothes will have secondary benefits exclusive to certain party members, but it's not nearly enough.

i'm tempted to say that the solution to this would be to find a better balance, and that is still true on a fundamental level, but i also don't think making party members distinct and customization are mutually exclusive, or even necessarily things that mitigate the capacity for the other. if you want to go as extreme as what neo attempts, then yes, a focus on customization will undermine uniqueness, but there's also ways to let them heighten the other. in twewy's case, the dynamism of neku's gameplay vs the static "gimmicks" of his partners spoke not only to the personalities of each character individually, but also of neku's relationship with those partners and with people as a whole. more contemporary and popular examples of this would be pokemon (especially nowadays with nature mints and streamlined ev training) and persona (especially 5 royal).

the latter of the examples i bring up is an interesting one to me: taking advantage of a protagonist who is a canonical blank-slate (not to say joker or any persona protag from 3 onward has no personality, just that they are wild cards) to let them fit whatever mold the player wants. it's a big indicator of what i mean when i say that customization and uniqueness can coexist, because in this case, they're two almost completely separate spheres that manage to function without overpowering the other. when they DO interact, such as with the intended evolution of the mc's personas or the customization allowed for non-mc party members, it only enhances what it touches.

i should stress, despite these critiques, that i think neo's gameplay is good. i had fun with it. there are aspects of it, such as its pin selection, that i found memorably impressive. but i want to stress why i stick so strongly by my thesis—that neo is derivative—even for its best aspects.

and on that note: the story.

let's get the big thing i've been alluding to out of the way: i ADORE neo's localization. i really, truly, sincerely think there wasn't a single time in the entire game where i felt some piece of dialogue was awkward, and that is not only a compliment for the localizers, but for the writers as well. don't get me wrong, i could sometimes notice that things were localized, but that realization never jarred me. rather, it made me that much more confident about what that piece of dialogue could tell me about the character saying it, the situation they're in, and/or their relationship(s) to whom they're talking to.

i won't act like it's absolutely perfect, of course. however, my complaints come from failures to achieve the goal of localization, rather than with the innate nature of the practice. for example, probably my biggest hang-up on it is that it undersells a lot of the sentiment when shiki and neku finally reunite, though the voice acting is partly responsible for that (likely moreso the voice direction rather than the actors themselves, but i can't say for sure).

back on the positives, i do find the english voice acting pretty good. miranda parkin as nagi is my personal highlight; her performance reminds me a LOT of erica lindbeck's futaba sakura, and you should absolutely look into her work on her youtube channel "ParkinArt" when you get the chance, because she is superbly talented. shoutouts also go to xander mobus as kubo (i struggle to think of a sleazier voice) and pretty much every returning va.

in general, i am pretty massively defensive of localization and localizers; whole lotta people who don't know shit spouting, well, shit. to be fair, i'm not much better, but at least i'm on the side of the people who do this shit for a living. and i'm also on the side which appreciates those people for the work they do, because i can't help but feel like it's really fuckin hard. you're not just translating the literal words, but finding ways to synthesize it to maintain the SPIRIT. This short video by "Jehtt" about the opening line of Sonic Adventure is an excellent example of what I'm talking about.

as for the content getting localized itself, final remix (and specifically a new day) made it clear that whatever sequel comes out, it's going to be some kind of direct continuation of what's been established, rather than a self-contained story in the same universe or something along those lines. personally, i would've preferred the latter if a twewy sequel HAD to exist, and to its credit, my favorite things about neo twewy's story tend to be the things which THEORETICALLY make it stand on its own. obviously, your enjoyment is enhanced if you play the first game, but there's enough in neo to make it possible for someone who doesn't to still understand it.

for example, new characters are fun, even if occasionally half-baked. i'll get the riff-raff out of the way: the shinjuku reapers felt like goofy personifications of gimmicks that served their purposes well enough, coco is a bit less annoying this time, tsumugi is hilariously half-baked after being hyped up as much as she was, hazuki... exists, and i struggled to see any of the other team leaders as more than an impetus for other characters (though i am DEEPLY grateful kanon isn't as bad as she could've been). speaking of which, how about those characters?

my favorites were nagi and fret; i see their concepts as a bit tropey, but executed well all the same. the ways their arcs intertwine were surprisingly compelling; nagi's dislike of fret wasn't just a weird gag, but an inevitability of fret's compulsion to put up a front and nagi's keen perception and hatred of "fake" people. once nagi learns why fret puts up this act as he makes an effort to move past that instinct, they start bonding almost immediately as she tells him more about her inner workings and that she'll take care not to be so judgmental thanks to his influence. the reveal that she got fret on elegant strategy after the events of the game made me smile way more than the game trying to get me to like rindo and shoka as a couple ever did.

on that note, i could take or leave rindo as a protagonist, and in general, my interest in the shinjuku reapers (especially shoka) waned as they became more significant. that's not BECAUSE of their significance, mind you, simply that they ended up disappointing me in one way or the other (with the possible exception of kaie who was just kind of a silly little guy). it comes back, yet again, to my thesis on this game failing to meaningfully iterate. i understand and agree that there's a lot of value in establishing parallels between characters, even if the plots of their stories are disconnected. i would go so far as to say it's ideal to make a sequel expand on the subtext of what's been established like that, as long as it and what's new bolster each other. in the case of rindo, i struggle to appreciate things about him that aren’t some extension of neku when he was a protagonist. i found his arc about making his own decisions sudden and a bit inexplicable, especially with how blatantly it was stated. felt like a case of saying a character was having a specific arc without actually giving them that arc.

as for shoka, i do like her more than rindo. in fact, it’s her relationship with him that made me lose interest; it felt like all the things that endeared me to her, like her relationships with the other shinjuku reapers and her brand of snark, got pushed to the side in favor of said relationship. it dominated everything else about her character in a way it felt like it just didn’t with rindo. granted, this could just be because he’s the protagonist, and her “snark” is a surface level reason to like her. however, i don’t find that first concession to be an adequate excuse, and it was precisely her personality that got me interested in the character to begin with, only for it to feel discarded (albeit probably not completely, i’m sure there’s a cute lil moment or two i’m forgetting). considering shoka’s love of gatto nero and shiki’s presence in the game, i imagine the parallels between the two have to be somewhat intentional, including with their relationships to their respective mc. like with rindo, these parallels make it hard for me to appreciate the character, but unlike rindo, shoka’s parallels seem to actively oust the things unique to her, as opposed to rindo’s leaving little opportunity for appreciable distinction to begin with. again, i ultimately prefer shoka, as tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

that just leaves the three elephants in the room/party: all of them are returning characters. two of them are characters you played as in twewy.

i do want to make it clear that even at my most territorial, i don't think i was ever completely against the idea of there being returning characters; if anything, my ideal twewy sequel would actually feature characters like joshua or hanekoma more prevalently than they were here. rather, much like most things, it comes down to how you implement them, and neo does so in a way that pretty blatantly relies on them. even that isn’t a necessarily a bad thing, but remember what i said about this story attempting to stand on its own?

what shocks me about their sheer prevalence is that very little of it feels necessary. i don’t get the feeling that any of the og gang were needed to make this story work on a thematic level (as happy as a lot of their scenes together made me), and in fact, as i alluded to with rindo and shoka, it actually seems to impede or dampen a lot of what the game is trying to go for. i see it as perhaps the single most blatant example of my thesis statement. neo plays with the concept of a self-contained story, but is unable to let go of what's already there, innovate enough on the franchise and original game’s core, and pull through with something standalone, because it seems generally unwilling to embrace change, and consequently, key aspects of creativity and what makes a good sequel. i understand if others don’t share this opinion, but to me, it really feels like neo only changes when it has to, and that reflects in the changes it makes as well as the ones it doesn't.

and on that note: the conclusion.

sorry this feels so disparate. i definitely wouldn't call neo a bad game, and in fact, i think given some time, i can comfortably call it good. plus, i can, after some difficulty and deliberation, say it and even final remix's existence only add to og twewy. impulsive territorialism be damned, it makes me happy to see stories and characters i love be added on to like this. the aspects i consider bad, even if they might be fundamental, are not enough for me to avoid embracing and appreciating the good. my silly little headcanons are not “threatened” by things like final remix, even if it felt like they would be in the moment. it is still possible to imagine all my favorite characters living happily ever after with each other, even that cunt with the mop for hair joshua, and if anything, certain scenes in neo only add to those delusions. i may have complained about them, and i do stand by those complaints, but i cannot deny how much i love them in isolation. i think the only thing that could've made me hate them is mischaracterization, but the only instance of that which stuck out to me (neku and shiki reuniting) seems to be a translation issue, and the real sentiment of the scene aligns far more strongly with my views of the characters.

that said, i'm still definitely disappointed by it all. neo's derivative spirit felt very pervasive to me the whole way through, and by the end, i felt a strong urge to replay twewy. that's not a necessarily bad instinct to have after playing a sequel, because it's the idea of "wanting more". it is, however, bad in this case, because it was a mix of that and the idea of "wanting better". i wanted to play something where these good ideas were new, or better yet, something where the new ideas were good. as it stands, i'm left the slightest bit hollow; just enough to be noteworthy, but i still feel like a dick for bringing it up.

i'm happy i played this game. i may very well play it again in the future. there's aspects of it i like to the point of loving. and yet, i hesitate to say i like it.

my feelings on this game continue to be jumbled, even after all this. still, writing a lot of it out definitely helped, and it was really fun to make! thank you oh so very much for reading; i hope you enjoyed it!

oh, and i would rather rip my dick off than play scramble slam again-

[pleasantspark]

Was talking about this with a few friends the other day: A HUGE missed opportunity for Apology Tour was having Stolas talk to the partygoers and come to a realization of how good he has it compared to most. Like the demons at the party could mention the racism, being unable to afford necessities, etc. This could help Stolas learn how hard Blitzo, and all of these people, have had it. And if Stolas DOES go to court in a future episode, he could give a massive "The Reason You Suck" speech towards the Sins and Goetia for allowing such a terrible system to continue. Granted this wouldn't redeem Stolas but it would definitely make him come off as less of a prick.

However, if they had a court scene it's gonna play out like it did in Heaven where the Goetia's gaslight the fuck out of everyone and after that Stolas ain't gonna get character development.

But the typical ignorant behavior Stolas has is similar to that of VivziePop. She complains about being poor despite being well off, she makes problems that only the low class has her problem.

Stolas at this rate is blatant VivziePop fodder for her to write as her mouthpiece. There will be no happy ending for Blitzo as he would be forced to be the tragic scapegoat and constant torture victim.

In a way, Blitz's personal hell is being with Stolas, and I fear for the man. Ignorance and Arrogance is what Stolas is, and no matter of what he does is going to redeem him.

In a way, he is fulfilling that Villain role he was supposed to, albeit depicted as a soft afton au character rather than a character we're supposed to feel bad for.

We need to stop it with the character torture porn episodes because it does no help other than making us feel bad for the actual victim rather than the abusive high class we are perceived to see as the victim.

Stolas and Blitzo were also apparently childhood friends, which is a major conflict.

[ganondoodle]

some random ideas for the totk rewritten project

krog (korok) seeds

i think i found a way to include krog seeds even if i reintroduced bags for expanding your inventory- what if the krog seeds are redeemed for the amiibo sets and maybe a few new things? that way you are not forced to engage with krog puzzles if you are tired of them and its not essential either, you can choose what armor set you want instead of being "surpised" by the same link hat three times in a row for fighting your way through the depths (like i was lol)

considering im rewriting the krog forest to be like a minidungeon with a unique miniboss and boss AND you start the quest for restoring the master sword there i think that this is acceptable

what if one of the expensive rewards was a krog armor set that includes the mask from the botw DLC but adds two more pieces, its effect could be to turn invisible as the krogs are to most people; considering how they are not invisible to everyone it could still work with important NPCs still seeing you AND you could run through monster camps without them chasing you if you just want to get through without you attacking them- since its expensive you gotta gather alot of krog seeds to buy it meaning it wouldnt make encounters much easier bc you have to fight alot of monsters before being able to afford it anyway and the effect is removed once you attack an enemy .... or maybe once you are spotted you can stand still and the effect restores itself nhfkjdnkjfdk

food + storage

to raise the difficulty a little i thought about bringing bottles back, they are physical items this time with a limited number and are able to store medicine and soup that has no expiration date; personally i like cooking tho so i want to keep it, maybe with the effect of being a bit more limited in number and, while not spoiling completely, it loses some of its effectiveness over time

how you use them im not yet sure, either the same way in inventory (which i think i will go for since i dont want to change it that drastically and with the added balance of limitation i think that is still fine) or on some kind of item wheel you can set yourself like in skyward sword

there are bags you can find as bigger items that will expand your weapon, shield or bow inventory slots, perhaps a small bag gives you one and a big one two slots- it would be a bigger and different reward for exploring or quests and fills the spot for inventory expansion

theres a chest in links house (i thought maybe links house is still links but they built onto it so zelda has a place to stay as well, like a bigger/double house) that can hold armor sets if you dont want to keep carrying all of them around but dont want to sell them either

repairable weapons through zelda

weapons still break but are full weapons again, i found the excuse of them all being useless now through the cataclysm ... somehow for some reason a pretty blatant way for forcing you to fuse stuff bc its literally the only viable thing to do, but i like the idea of inventing new weapons with materials; to balance it out and give you an incentive to help out your friends i figured that at first weapons still break, but in each region is a smith that can teach zelda (who is your companion in this rewrite) how to repair weapons of a certain type (zora, spear, goron, two handed, rito, bows, gerudo, one handed-- perhaps it is a longer quest of idk .. bringing certain weapons to those smith or similar) which she can do anywhere outside combat;

how broken the weapon is determines how much extra material she may need to do it- im still working on it but i got the idea of the status of the weapon being symbolized in three stages, fine, damaged and broken; damaged is the one that needs less material to fix up, broken costs more- a broken one might still occupy an inventory slot but is unusable or very very bad damage wise, you can throw it away either manually or when you try to pick up a new one you can choose if you want to swap it out (just like they did with stuff from chests in totk .. idk why they didnt add that to in game weapons lying on the ground too) or choose to keep it and repair it once you are out of combat

arrow types

i dont like the menuing in totk for the arrows ... it was one of the most frustrating things to deal with (especialyl bc it sorted your inventory too??? when you used the sorting in the quick menu???) so i wanted to change that a little, havign to go into the quick menu everytime for each arrow i find tedious too, so;

there are more arrow types but they are craftable with arrows and materials, you can craft them in bulk out of combat (the typical types from botw -fire,eletric,ice,bombs- but then add those confusion ones, wind, the cloudy shroom thingy, poison .. perhaps a few more if i can think of more but not too mayn to not clutter it again)

enigma stones function

i wanted to change how enigma stones function somewhat, they dont "enhance" the ability of the champion/sage (i still wanna call them chmapions bc thats what they areeeee) it allows them to link an ability of theirs to link without the orginal champion having to be present or dead, the stones come in set of two each and function somewhat like a magic communication between the player and the champion, once you obtain the second piece its embedded into links shiekah arm prosthetic (also something of my rewrite) and allow him to call upon their ability at will through a second selection wheel

ranch ruins

the ranch ruins i wanted to be rebuild (bc thats cool and i thought restoration was a theme? lol) and maybe you help rebuild it proper and as thanks you can put your horses there to roam around all at once when not taken out to ride, not a big gameplay thing but a neat quest with a rebuilding thing of a building we havent seen in its prime and a neat addition of letting you see all your horsies at once :)

(totk rewritten project)

[olderthannetfic]

What benefits does trad publishing even really give anymore? The knowledge that you're expected to do your own aggressive marketing gives me hives as an introvert. I'm guessing that's where that almost incestuous circle-marketing comes from, where trad authors keep posting about heaps of random books by other trad authors almost daily. The quality of editing has gone to shits. Spelling errors. The grammar doesn't get fixed. Blatant errors. No quality control. If I ask a friend or even just do it myself I'd probably still end up with less errors by the end. Shit pay, and month long waits, and even then it's not a done deal. Deadlines, which you have to keep up with while doing your own marketing and starving from the tiny pay you got. Unless you obviously have a big enough name to just say you need extra time. I guess you get a cover and the physical book options, but I know at least 5 reasonably affordable online places that turn your novels into physical books. I also know that there are tons of small indie artists with a great portfolio one could commission for a book cover. Even the prestige of having a publishing house feature you doesn't seem as great with all the stress. And what about how quick your book might get pulled from the physicals if you don't make enough sales?

--

They can place the book in locations you're never going to get your selfpub book into. If you do start to take off, they can do a lot for you.

To me, it boils down to: do you see this book doing well at Target and the other non-bookstore places most Americans actually buy books nowadays, or do you see it as more niche than that?

[milacandless77]

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 | 𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 ηαηαмι кєηтσ/ яєαɗєя ѕυgυяυ gєтσυ/яєαɗєя gσנσ ѕαтσяυ/ яєαɗєя

0: Ƙησωιηg Ɲαηαмι Ƙєηтσ .ᐟ

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

IMPECCABLE —NANAMI KENTO.

.

In a city considered one of the wealthiest in the world for its high capital, anyone who merely set foot there could perceive the blatant division of social classes, more evident than anywhere else. The inhabitants felt enormous pressure to have a prestigious surname, inherit a company, or create a successful business without connections, although the latter was merely a fairy tale to maintain hope among the working minority with minimum or medium wages.

Sadly, you were part of that minority. You tried to scale the fictitious and high stone wall for a chance to be alongside the privileged and, obviously, become one of them. However, gossip about how the 'less privileged' class turned rebellious due to daily injustices or resorted to any madness to obtain abundant money was rampant.

You didn't exactly know which of these reasons had you sitting in the waiting room of the psychology office, waiting with almost infinite unease. Finally, your name was called, and you stood up, nervously walking down the hallway to an uncomfortable consultation.

You didn't want to seek psychological help; you felt it consumed time you couldn't afford to spend. Moreover, you detested discussing your problems with strangers, but you felt almost obliged to schedule an appointment. Your social and professional circles said you looked like a mess, all because of a series of events disturbing every corner of your mind, especially one that would probably affect you for life.

After walking down what felt like an endless hallway, you timidly knocked on the door and heard a soft voice from within.

"Come in." You felt relief upon realizing you had been sent to a female psychologist, as you had requested over the phone. If it was already uncomfortable to open up to a stranger, it would be much worse if they were of the opposite gender.

The relief lasted a second; upon entering, you saw two people: a brunette woman sitting at the main desk with scattered papers, calmly observing you.

"Miss, please have a seat" said the woman, indicating the chair where you should sit. You froze for a moment, perhaps because she was stating the obvious.

As the woman showed you where to sit, your eyes drifted to the blond man in the corner. He wore glasses that accentuated his gaze and was focused on writing in his notebook, unaware of your arrival but emanating a natural attraction that enveloped you. You felt his magnetic presence trapping you, leaving you slightly hypnotized as you watched him move with grace and concentration.

You tried to offer a smile, but discomfort and tension intertwined within you, playing a game of emotions that made you feel vulnerable. As he closed his notebook and looked up at you, his perfectly sculpted face showed a seriousness that seemed to know your innermost secrets with just one glance.

"Hello, nice to meet you" you managed to articulate, feeling a lump in your throat as his eyes seemed to bare your soul. He crossed his arms, observing you with curiosity and a hint of something harder to identify. "I've never attended a psychology consultation before. I thought it's usually just one person who takes the appointment."

The psychologist, a calm-smiling brunette woman, searched her desk for some papers while exchanging a puzzled look between the blond man and you. It was as if the air was charged with a silent electricity between the three of you, each aware of the tension hanging in the air.

"Oh, now I understand why you seemed a bit lost when you came in" the psychologist chuckled, trying to break the sudden ice that had formed. "They probably didn't call you as I requested. I know you preferred to see a woman. Is this your name, right?"

You nodded, taking the papers she handed you as you struggled to maintain your composure in the presence of the man. As you filled out the required information, you could feel his penetrating gaze following every movement of your hand.

It was then that the mysterious man finally introduced himself as the specialist in psychiatry. His deep voice resonated in the room, sending a shiver down your spine. He extended his hand towards you with a gentle smile that, however, couldn't hide the intensity between the two of you.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Nanami Kento" he said, his voice warm and deep in the small space between you two. "Stay calm, as if I weren't here. These visits aren't frequent; it was just luck that you got this on your first time."

Although you tried to remain calm, it was impossible to ignore Nanami's overwhelming presence. His attractiveness was undeniable, and you found yourself struggling against a tide of emotions that seemed to escalate with each passing second in his presence. What luck, right?

The next chapter:

[serenescribe]

I'm a *tad* obsessed with the idea of fae Lilia raising a completely different species son Silver, specifically jellyfish mer Silver. I am curious to see how you would interpret fae Lilia finding baby jelly Silver.

it's been a long while since the last long fic request :') slowly chipping away at them. uni is killing me. i hope you enjoy!

a side note: this was started beeeefore the latest update? actually started it before uni but then didn't get back to it till recently oTL

The thronging crowds of shoppers press in around him, making it harder for him to traverse through the crowd. Still, Lilia tries his best to shove his way past them, twisting his shoulders and ploughing through any gaps he can find. On instinct, one hand reaches up to pull down the hood of his cloak, masking his face further; it isn’t as though he’s in any danger here, or wanted in any capacity, but one should always exercise caution while exploring the boundaries of a black market.

For as long as Lilia can remember, he’s been searching for an old friend of his since the end of the war, travelling to different corners of the world in hopes of finding some inkling of his existence. Such a quest has brought him here, to a black market tucked away in the corner of a tiny island, but unfortunately for himself, Lilia has ended up empty-handed.

He’s trying to leave the area, pushing and shoving his way through the endless sea of patrons, when a sudden shrill cry stops him in his tracks. Lilia’s ears twitch. His head snaps to the side, following the source of the sound, only to come across a small group crowding around a rickety wooden stage. A tall man dressed in a patchwork suit jacket and a rumpled collared shirt talks to all of them, gesturing animatedly with his hands.

But it is what the man is gesturing at that snatches Lilia’s breath.

Because next to him, curled up in a too-small tank filled with muddied water, is a tiny little mer. Little tendrils of its tail tangle together as the creature presses thin fingers against the glass panes of the tank, auroral eyes flicking from side to side with a fervent desperation that Lilia feels in his soul. It is too young to be here, too small; Why in the name of the Thorn Fairy is this child here?

And for some reason, against the logic that tells him he should turn and leave, return to the Valley and carry on with his next mission, his next search, Lilia finds himself stepping towards the stage instead. He slips through the mob with silent steps, eyes fixated upon the petrified mer — a jellyfish, he recognises, his knowledge of aquatic animals rising to mind.

Within a matter of seconds, Lilia has gotten close enough that he catches wind of what the man is saying: “—a beauty, isn’t it?” he crows, tapping a dirty fingernail against the tank, causing the little mer child to shrink away. “We caught it out on the sea this mornin’, and we ain’t gonna let it go for anythin’ less than two thousand thaumarks!”

Disgust chokes his throat like a slimy wad of muck. How utterly deplorable, Lilia thinks, a rare flash of anger sparking through him. He still does not understand what has drawn him so much to this strange creature — the mer with dull silver hair who hugs itself, little bubbles floating through the water as its gills flutter, so impossibly tiny and small—

…Ah. He understands now.

In some way, looking upon this child, Lilia is reminded of Malleus. His mind whisks him back to a different time, when he had been tasked with raising the boy through his infant years, his childhood years, until he matured enough that Lilia no longer needed to keep an eye on him at all times. Is it no wonder, then, that his heart seizes at the sight of this blatant mistreatment? Regardless of whether the creature is fae or not — and it is not, evidently a child of the sea — it does not deserve to be sealed away like this.

Lilia could very well afford the mer. Two thousand thaumarks is quite the sum, but for someone who has been in the service of Briar Valley’s royalty for centuries like he has, he has more than enough money to afford it. But at the sight of the sleazy seller, who reeks of rotting fish and keeps toying with the child — banging his fists against the glass, sticking his grimy hand inside to grab its fragile wrist and yank it partially out of the dirty saltwater, yelling loud enough that its fins press against its head, clearly terrified—

The mer’s eyes flick towards him, locking with Lilia’s gaze. A fervent desperation flickers within them. It presses its hand against the glass again, scrabbling against the surface. A silent plea for help — and one that Lilia shall answer in the only way he knows how.

When night falls, Lilia strikes.

The auction for the jellyfish mer has been scheduled for tomorrow – a greedy move on the part of the fisherman selling it, to maximise profits as much as possible by drumming up heaps of attention. But it had worked; by the time evening fell and the terrified little child had been carted away to a dinky tent nearby, a sizable crowd of murmuring buyers had formed. Lilia had caught sight of some of them flipping through their stacks of thaumarks, counting their funds carefully.

He only has one shot at this. He has to make it count.

Closing his eyes, Lilia allows his magic to cloak him like a thin veil over his skin, shielding him from view. Stealth is his best option here; while he is more than capable of slaughtering everyone involved in kidnapping that young mer, Lilia does not wish to bloody his hands any more than he has to. His days of bloodshed and violence are long behind him, and as much as he wishes to teach the mer’s kidnappers a lesson, he figures that losing the child shall be punishment enough for them.

Besides, it wouldn’t do good if word got out that the general of Briar Valley was off slaughtering humans in another country.

With silent steps, Lilia steals past the guard — a man who keeps dozing off, jolting upwards every few seconds — and slides into the tent with scarcely a whisper. The interior is dank and dim; there is another guard there, this one alert and awake, arms crossed as he surveys the dirty tank left on the floor nearby.

A crushing feeling overtakes his heart at the sight of the mer. The young child curls into itself, tucking its chin into its chest, floating tufts of hair shielding its eyes from view. It looks lifeless, the only sign of its survival being the faint fluttering of gills. Something in his chest twists at the sight, a certainty settling within him. Lilia knows that what he is doing is right.

With the flick of a wrist, he conjures a small mist of magic, watching as it wafts over to the guard and swirls around him. Within a matter of seconds, though he fights to stay awake, the man has passed out, collapsing onto the ground — and it is only Lilia’s reflexes that allow him to cushion the fall, more from the need to avoid attracting attention than any care for the man. Slowly, he lowers him to the ground before releasing the invisibility spell, brushing off his hands on his cloak as he turns back towards the tank to see—

Wide eyes, hued with shades of baby blue and lavender and pink, gaze at him from behind muddied glass. Fingers press against the tank, and Lilia winces at the sound of a warbling trill.

In a flash, he darts forward, pressing a finger against his lips. “Shh!”

But he is too late.

Even as the child slaps its tiny webbed hands over its mouth, eyes widening as it realises what it has done, Lilia knows the guard outside must have heard it. There’s a creaking sound, heavy footsteps dragging across the ground, accompanied by a languid sigh, and it is only his quick reflexes, honed after years and years of war, that allow him to escape notice.

In a flash, Lilia has flung himself upwards, clinging to a corner of the tent, tucking himself in as closely as possible. If he’d had more time, he’d have thrown the same invisibility spell over himself but alas. All he can do is shrink back as much as possible, limbs wrapped around one of the poles holding the tent upright, and praying that the guard is stupid enough to not notice the shadow he’s casting across the floor.

He holds his breath, watching as the burly figure enters the tent.

“Oi,” the guard grunts sharply, narrowing his eyes at the mer in the tank — who thankfully avoids glancing over to Lilia, smart enough to avoid betraying his location. He ambles up to the tank before glancing off to the side. The man stiffens, having found the slumbering body of his fellow guard. “What the—”

Alright, that’s enough of that.

With the same spell he’d casted earlier, Lilia knocks out the second guard. The only caveat is that this time, the guard falls to the ground with nothing to cushion his landing, smashing into a nearby crate with a rather loud CRASH!

Lilia flinches, adrenaline igniting his veins. Dropping from the pole, he barely spares the scene a glance, racing back to the mer instead and lifting the heavy glass lid off its tank. “Can you breathe outside of the water?” he asks, constantly glancing over his shoulder for any signs of someone coming in, ears pricking as he strains to hear the barest bit of sound. As soon as the mer nods, Lilia’s reaching into the briney water as the mer raises its arms, thanking the fact that he’s wearing thick cloth and gloves, if only for the fact that the mer’s tendrils wrap around his limbs as he lifts it out and cradles it close to his chest. “Stay quiet,” he hisses, using his other hand to conjure the same spell from earlier, hoping it’ll hold through. “The last thing we want is to attract any unwanted attention.”

They slip out of the tent just before someone else arrives — another one of the fisherman’s nameless cronies, with the fisherman himself ambling after in ragged loungewear. Lilia holds his breath, skulking beneath the shadow of a tree, each step careful and calculated; he would teleport if he could, but he isn’t sure how that would affect the child, weakened and frail as it is.

So he sneaks away slowly and steadily, leaving the commotion behind, the pitching screams and demands for everyone to search for the missing mer, to get their product back — such an inhumane term that it makes Lilia want to puke. And the further he gets away, the faster he gets; before long, he’s sprinting, the spell melting off of him, out of distance from the captors for now.

The mer clings to him, snuggling close. Lilia holds it tight against him like a lifeline, a swell of such fervent protectiveness rising within him, washing over his mind and soul.

“Here we are,” Lilia breathes. His chest rises and falls as he catches his breath. Ah, he is certainly growing old, more winded from this than he would have been in his prime. His boots dig deep gouges into the sand as he walks towards the shoreline, the night’s sky twinkling overhead, reflecting in the waves to form a sea of stars.

Initially, he’d headed straight for the nearest beach he could think of, all before arriving and already spotting a small group of stragglers searching around. It had taken much longer to travel to a different corner of this island, but it had been a necessary precaution in the end; the last thing Lilia wanted was for the mer to get recaptured after being returned to the sea.

The waves lick at his boots as he walks into the ocean, far enough that the water reaches his knees. “There you go,” Lilia says kindly as he leans down, pulling the little mer away from his chest, returning it to the sea. A soft smile spreads across his lips as he watches the child reach for the water before plunging in with a splash, its form a tiny shadow amidst the lapping waves before its head breaks back above the water.

“Isn’t that better now?” Lilia croons, a warmth wrapping around his heart as the mer nods eagerly, beaming brightly at Lilia, the moonlight shining down on its silver hair. “Good, good,” Lilia says, slowly straightening up. He yawns, stretching his arms above his head, a cracking noise accompanying the motion. “Oh, I hadn’t expected to do this much today,” he murmurs to himself before shaking his head. Giving the mer one last smile, Lilia says, “You take care of yourself now, hm? Don’t go getting caught in any nets again, khee hee.”

And that would have been the end of everything. Ideally, Lilia would have stepped out of the water, using his magic to dry himself off before teleporting to the pier at the other side of the island and waiting for the first ferry to start him on his journey home. The mer would have been relegated to little more than a story to recite to Malleus upon his return, a thrilling rescue he’d mounted in the midst of what would have been another ordinary trip.

But what Lilia didn’t account for was that the child would get attached.

Before he can even make it a few steps away, there’s a rapid-fire outburst of frantic trills and clicking before something heavy barrels right into his legs. Lilia stumbles, losing his balance and crashing down with a screech and a mighty splash. Water soaks through his clothes, his cloak; Lilia spits some of it out of his mouth, blinking the salt out of his eyes, all while something curls around his leg tightly, refusing to let go.

“Little one…” Lilia stares at the mer child, its arms wrapped around his leg, squeezing with a vice grip that a lesser human would not have been able to withstand. Where was all this strength while you were trapped? Lilia ponders briefly, before dismissing the thought. He leans forward, gently prying webbed fingers away from his pants, pulling the child off of him. “Your home is here,” Lilia insists, gesturing at the sea around them. “I live elsewhere; I cannot possibly stay.”

Another round of distressed clicking and trilling. The mer stares at him with big, pleading eyes, swimming forward between his legs to cling to the front of Lilia’s shirt. “Little one—” Lilia tries again, because how can he stay? He has a place to return to, obligations to attend to, people waiting for him. But the mer child ignores him, pressing itself against Lilia with a stubborn determination that surprises him.

“Surely your family should be coming to find you soon,” Lilia tries, only to be met with the shaking of a head, silver hair slicked against its forehead. He raises an eyebrow. “An orphan?” Lilia mutters — words intended for his ears only, except he knows the mer has heard him from the way its grip on him tightens. “But— dear, I cannot possibly bring you home. I live very far away from here, and not anywhere particularly close to the sea!”

But no matter how hard Lilia tries to protest, to gently push the mer off of him, to leave it here — because this is its home, here in the sea; what will become of it, if Lilia were to smuggle it into the Valley, bring it on such a lengthy journey? — it refuses to go. And as time ticks by, the hours passing until the sunrise begins to bleed on the horizon, Lilia finally concedes.

“What a headstrong child you are,” Lilia muses, ignoring the sopping wet cloth clinging to him as he stumbles out of the sea, giggling mer child held in his arms. He gazes at it— no, him, at the child in his hold. “Do you have a name, little one?”

The mer blinks at him. “I’ll take that as a no,” Lilia sighs. Ah… what could a good name possibly be? It’s something he ponders over during the entire trip back, using his magic to mimic a glamour over the mer such that everyone shall see him as only a human child.

But it’s not until he’s sitting in his cabin late at night with the mer curled in his arms that it hits him. Moonbeams streak through the porthole, reflecting off the boy’s shimmering hair, washing it in a silvery light.

“Silver,” Lilia decides, testing the name out on his tongue to find that it feels right.

Silver, this mer he rescued by chance, the one who clung to him, who didn’t want to let go. Silver, who is his.

Leaning back in his chair, Lilia closes his eyes and smiles.

[catboybiologist]

Unprompted fucking rant time!

I'm getting my PhD after getting my BS and my Master's. I've gone through three separate rounds of university applications. And while I'm openly a bisexual trasfemme now, I've done every round of those applications as a cishet white boy. I've been rejected by a shitton of universities, and accepted by a fraction of that. My current institution is an R1 for my field- basically meaning it's in the highest tier of research funding and therefore research prestige/output- but it's very far from a household name the way Harvard or Stanford is. My undergrad institution was the cheapest local four year college that I was guaranteed admission to because my high school grades were piss poor due to an array of mental health problems.

So from that perspective.... Race and ethnicity demographics should 100% be used as a factor in determining admissions to help increase diversity. There's many reasons to think this, but there's two that underline a lot of my thinking on the matter.

Number one is kind of obvious, but what isn't obvious is how blatant it is. The top tier of universities has blatantly favored white people for generations, oftentimes explicitly. And oftentimes, they still do! Having relatives working at a particular university, or being alumni from a university, is literally part of the application materials for many of these universities. During my Harvard grad school apps, they literally had a pop-up window that asked me to check off any wealthy families I was a part of from a list of donor and alumni last names. It was so fucking blatant that I bust out laughing. Spoiler alert, I didn't get in. You cannot look at me with a straight face and tell me that these universities should be allowed to openly and blatantly give admission priority to rich, white, dynastic American families, while not affording any concession for overcoming the shittiness of being born into a persecuted group.

Number two is the thing that most people realize, but I don't think has really sunk in on a societal level. A massive factor in admissions is blind, dumb luck, and I'm not joking. When admissions tells you they received more qualified applicants than they could admit, it's 100% true. Many applications end up in a stage where they just have to randomly reject people to keep numbers down- or even if it's not completely random, they have to grasp for straws into an enormous amount of intangible factors that have nothing to do with someone's actual qualifications. So if you're down to that level of grasping at straws.... Why not use it as an opportunity to increase diversity? Because as it stands, you're not getting rejected because you're white- you're getting rejected because your high school didn't have a fucking sailing team. Remember that Stanford admissions scandal a while back?

There's a number two and a half that is an observation I've had about life in general here: one of my deepest held beliefs after going through a good portion of my early career is that everyone is overqualified for the opportunities they've been given. If your education system is genuinely functional, you'll be able to take people from an amazing diversity of backgrounds, and y'know... Educate them. If these universities lowered their admissions standards a shitton, and randomly pulled from the new pool of "less qualified" people, and they put them in an environment with access to the same resources as before... They would succeed.

There's a whole other rant embedded here about how elite-tier university education actually sucks, and all they do is filter for people who already have massive educational resources of their own. University prestige is mostly a lie, except in terms of how much grant funding you can get. But if you gave that level of funding to a state college tomorrow? They'd still do great things with it. But that's a side thought.

There's ALSO the side rant about why marginalized groups are important in science overall for perspectives on how science interacts with society, but that's also a whole other rant.

There's one thing I will say against this: sometimes, it's too late. For grad school and a little bit for undergrad admissions, an enormous amount of unpaid labor and study is required to even be eligible for the application itself. Required undergrad research hours are often unpaid. My undergrad research advisor paid her student labor when she wasn't required to, and surprise surprise, she has one if the most diverse and successful labs on that campus. Beyond just undergrad research, this goes waaayyyy back to the schooling and tutoring opportunities that people from higher socioeconomic backgrounds have access to from day one... But that's also a larger side rant. Point is, race based admissions are valid and necessary now, but they're a temporary bandage on the bleeding wound that is education discrepancy.

This was kinda random, but this got kick-started by an IRL discussion with a couple of friends and I just needed to vent my whole perspective here. Idk if the community of voyeuristic transfemmes I've mostly accumulated here will care, but it's nice to just type these things sometimes lol

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Shared Stock.

Pairing: Yandere!Cowboy!OC x Reader x Yandere!Farmer!OC.

Word Count: < 1.0k.

TW: Explicit Cowboy Self-Indulgence, Implied Non//con, Prolonged Imprisonment, and Gun Violence.

Mercy thinks Wren is too careful.

She says he treats you too much like a porcelain doll, not enough like the little spitfire she claims to know you are. She'll scoff when you tell her about his paranoia, roll her eyes when she sees you dressed in his aprons and flannel over-shirts, insist that you're tough enough to handle a few weeks on the open road - even if she never lets you out of her sight, much less far enough from her side to stray into any proper danger. She could spend hours admonishing the way Wren fusses over every scrape and scratch, but in all honesty, she's more selfish than trusting, willing to make-believe that you'd do better on horseback than tucked away in some ramshackle farmhouse if it means she gets to take you with her when she leaves town, on her way to some unnamed city on the edge of the world with only a herd of cattle and her crew. She doesn't think you'd stand a chance on your own, not in earnest, but she's far too possessive not to make your life as difficult as hers.

She's far too possessive in general, really. You know better than to say as much aloud (you can still remember the taste of her pistol against your tongue, still hear the sound of her voice as asked if you wanted to call her 'jealous' again), but there's a reason you're not allowed to talk to any of the other wranglers, that she always makes such a show out of splitting you open on her tongue behind the paper-thin scraps of material she calls a tent. One to spend every coin she earns and drain every bottle she comes across, Mercy's not the kind of woman who stand not to use what she has, and she does what she can to wear you down to the bone. Whether that means one of her fraying ropes is rubbing the skin of your wrists raw because 'you look like you've gotten it into your pretty little head to do somethin' stupid again' or you're sobbing you're eyes out because a man from her crew scowled at you the wrong way and, well, Mercy's always been faster to draw her gun than second-guess her own assumptions, she always finds a way to bleed you dry. She could afford to be a little more careful with you, all in all.

Wren thinks Mercy is too rough.

He's not as blatant about it as she is, but you see the way he frowns when she brings you back from a cattle drive covered in dust and cuts and bruise, and you know that, if Wren had his way, you'd spend all day baking apple pies and all night wrapped in handstitched quilts and never so much as cross paths with anything or anyone who might do you harm. There's no rope, when you're with him, no guns when you manage to forget about the shotgun he keeps in the shed behind the farmhouse - just locks on the doors and a few idle warnings that the townsfolk in these parts don't take kindly to troublemakers. When you try to tell him that he and his friends are the ones causing trouble for you, he just frowns and tells you to mind your tongue. You're something to keep safe and stowed away, to Wren, just like you're something to own and flaunt to Mercy. People don't tend to bother arguing with the precious gems they've already decided to hoard.

He doesn't bother talking to you much at all, as welcome as his silence usually is. That might be the worst thing about the farmhouse - how claustrophobic those wooden walls can feel before he comes home and drags you into a hour-long bath, just how suffocating the soundlessness can be and just how much worse it can get when you know you're relying on that monster of a man to break it. For everything you hate about Mercy, you're never bored when you're with her. You're never bored when you're with Wren, either, but Wren's not around very often. The fields have to be tended to, and Wren will barely let you hold a pairing knife, much less a spade. Wren doesn't give you as much to cry about as Mercy does, but sometimes, you almost wish he would. At least then, you'd have something to do.

You've tried to tell them that, if they both think the other's going to be the death of you, they could always let you go, set you free, drop you off on the outskirts of the nearest town with a sturdy pair of boots and enough cash to catch the next train to a more hospitable part of the country, but neither of them have ever taken kindly to your advice. That might be the only thing they have in common - how adamantly they refuse to let you wander farther than the horizon line, how ferociously they respond to any suggestion of a reality where you don't belong to one of them. That might be the only thing they agree on.

Neither of them likes the way the other treats you, but both Wren and Mercy know you wouldn't last a second on your own.

[rafent]

"What a night it's been. On one hand, it feels it's lasted forever. And on the other…"

The thought remains unspoken, but is clear regardless: on the other, it was already over.

Angel sits beside devil—the costume is only complete with its counterpart for comparison, otherwise she is simply a girl with wings. It's well past the usual hour for sleep now, but Poe makes no effort to hurry home. Not even with the weight of the stars' gaze on her shoulders.

"I was right. We ended up with quite a few participants tonight, didn't we? And with such driven personalities," She hums. There had been any number of odd people with odd priorities, but the girl is pleased regardless. Everything had gone remarkably smoothly. Even Griss had been surprisingly tame, as far as she was aware. "I would say that we have more candy than we know what to do with… but somehow I suspect we'll make quick work of it."

We, she says in direct contradiction to her actions: tied closed tightly, the bag she passes to him has not a piece missing of their thirty-odd earned. Have stranger things happened than an assistant passing payment to he whom she assists? Even just in their history, likely. It's not really payment anyway—

it was his to begin with. She had merely gathered it.

"What do you think?"

Poe spoke truly. In her ways softly spoken and little denied, the night had achieved such a feat as to feel eternal, even to a creature who might seemingly exist for eternity. In others gone unsaid, the inexorable end of it informed a deeper depth to their companionable quiet. Quiet, for it was not quite silence; companionable, for that was what it was - original angel and devil, soon to fold wings and to shed horns, filling the vacancy of noise and movement among themselves with its very discussion.

Angel and devil; two words soon to lose of their meaning.

"Indeed, I would leap to agree. I myself found my duties increased twofold by such personalities. Taxing and amusing in equal measure." How quiet it was without the flurry of questions concerning inedible soup. Comparatively, he didn't dare evoke the thought of what bloody feud had occurred at that same cauldron, even less recite it to Poe with her particular critique. Best let sleeping hounds lie.

At her motion, he likewise stirred to observe, and then to receive. Curiously, between them the thought of candy tonight was a first, come from Poe and not Rafal at that. A blatant testament to the enduring comings and goings of the eve with few seconds afforded for rest or for hobby. His lips twitched in some uncertain cut of a smile. Yes, in the end - or from the beginning - all of tonight had been for one reason, hadn't it?

"It is a handsome yield. Fit to serve as offering to the most fastidious Fell Dragon." Twice his hand bounced with the feeling of its weight. Slower and more carefully, he measured its contents piece-by-piece like a knapsack of gold, held just as precious if not more. To Rafal, the currency of humanity could not be more meaningless by comparison. Here lay tasteful bounty gained after hard endeavor, to be savored all the better after the flowering success of one's own efforts. Or well, after two's.

"I intend to accept. However, Poe." He closed the bag, one toll of disaster followed by another. What ominous and worrisome qualifier such a 'however' was.

"I find myself deeply troubled by the thought of guarding this stash. There will be no shortage of thieves who want for my treasure, you see. Therefore, I would honor you with a duty: you will take approximately half and defend it tooth and nail as I will mine, allow no-one to lay hand or mouth upon it.

. . .No-one save for yourself." An ominous and worrisome qualifier such a however might be, if only the dragon in question were not smiling.

[dasha-through-the-snow]

"Let's just take the money from the rich and give it to the poor" sound so, so good, it plays on our innate sense of justice and fairness and it absolutely never works.

First and foremost, money is absolutely meaningless. It only has a role because we give it value and it reflects an aspect of our economy. By itself, you could be living in a mansion, decked out in gold and expensive furs and still be poor as shit.

This is what happened in the USSR following the revolution. Yeah, all the aristocrats and businessmen were killed or exiled, their factories and mansions sacked, their gold and luxuries taken. And people were starving on the street, because there was no one to manage proper food supply chains.

For its entire existence USSR wasn't under heavy sanctions. Like, yeah, it didn't trade with the US, but it did trade with Europe, India, China, Africa, Vietnam, the entire Warsaw pact and so much more. Factories were built by foreign specialists using money USSR bought with raw resources, because it was all it could produce.

The cars were shit, household electronics were terrible, the food supply faced constant shortages and overall the quality of life of a soviet man was miles behind the life of anyone in the poorest Western country.

Because the Soviet system as a whole stole all the money and had no way to meaningfully produce anything of value. The entire incentive system was shot, when factory bosses weren't chosen by their skill, but by their loyalty to the party. All USSR knew is how to extract raw resources from the Earth and sell it.

And if you bring up "well, the Soviets ate more meat than Americans!" shit I will fucking explode, because that was a blatant lie. My mother and grandmother grew up in Moscow, the richest city in the country and they couldn't afford enough meat until USSR fell apart.

The statistical bureau was under the party thumb and only produced numbers the Party wanted to see. You have to be either naive or knowingly trying to spin the numbers to trust any Soviet statistics.

You can't "simply redistribute the wealth". It doesn't work. You have to create conditions where the living standards of everyone are way higher, regardless of how the rich live. That is much harder and much less glamorous, but it's the only working solution.

[askvectorprime]

Dear Vector Prime, what can you tell us about the transmorphers? Why was a freeway named after them? Thanks always for your time!

Dear Freeway Fond,

Oh, I see how you might have gotten mixed up. The region of Cybertron colloquially referred to as the Badlands is more properly called the “Morpher Flats”, after the relatively-high levels of tectonic activity in the area. Periodically, the landscape would undergo a transformation, plates rearranging themselves into a new configuration. The area was kept barren by this occasional process, and for a long time it was believed that large structures could not be built there. Politicians would avoid using the term “Badlands” in their rhetoric, but otherwise treated the region as an inconvenience inhabited by undesirables—best served as a dumping ground for the rest of the planet, somewhere trash and scrap would eventually vanish out-of-sight, swallowed up by the ground. When Cybertronian technology advanced to the point that a highway could be built through the region, elevated on state-of-the-art self-stabilizing foundations, it was promised that this would bring much-needed economic growth to the area—but after the road was completed, the small population of the area saw little benefit, aside from the permanent shelter afforded by the underside of the gleaming structure. So you see, the name “Transmorpher Freeway” is rather utilitarian, much as you might refer to a transcontinental highway on Earth—but this unassuming landmark, which many Cybertronians traverse each day without a second thought, hides a long history of governmental neglect.

Although, come to think of it, I know of a different Cybertron that once had a Transmorpher Freeway named not for a region, but for an individual. Senator Transmorpher was the prominent rival of popular bot-of-the-people Crosscut, and the two often clashed in the senate. Crosscut had secured funding for a radical public-works project, to build a much-needed Pancontinental Expressway connecting several key cities. Seeing an opportunity, Transmorpher cited laws of equity to demand that several other Torus States be given identical funding for the construction of a road—despite those Torus States having much smaller populations with little need for a superhighway, particularly as it would necessitate the demolition of certain cities along the planned route. Nonetheless, the proposal went through, and Transmorpher named the resulting road after himself. It saw little use, and failed to receive the ongoing funding it needed, quickly falling into disrepair.

When Crosscut left the senate to join the Autobots, Transmorpher immediately signed up to the Decepticons—which many viewed as hypocritical, as his voting record had previously sided against the movement at every opportunity. However, Transmorpher’s knack for securing resources was welcomed by the Decepticons, and he soon found himself in a comfortable position within the faction’s bureaucracy. There he stayed for most of the war, surviving against the odds. He would suggest new strategies, which unbeknownst to the rest of the Decepticons, were actually copied directly from Crosscut’s latest tactics with the Autobots. Still, he found some measure of success with them—if less than Crosscut had.

When Transmorpher caught wind of the fact that Crosscut was moving on to a career as a playwright, he immediately followed suit. Unfortunately for the world of theater, Transmorpher didn't have an artistic strut in his chassis. His plays were obviously derivative, blatant attempts to cash in on Crosscut's success—his most infamous works including My Trowel, Your Head and Creeping Information.

[lordtraco]

Giants are hot

Tw: mild emetophobia warning, depressive episode, angst with sorta happy ending

(@somerandomdudelmao took my writers block and suplexed it. I just have SO MANY thoughts on what's going on in Oscar's mind that it became a tiny fic. If I get it wrong, that just means I get to write another that's more right later!)

Oscar curled up in his bed, trying not to think about the slightly-different gravity this cool spaceship created. It wasn't obvious if he kept moving, and he could forget about it right up until he laid down on something soft. Different gravity meant a different planet size, right? Ward could probably crunch the numbers and piece together the exact size of the Marmor home planet if he wanted to based on some funky science.

Ah, Ward, he was glad the guy was safe now, snoring away just like he had aboard their last, far less cool ship. “We humans need to be around other humans…” he muttered to himself.

It wasn't fair. He and Ward barely knew each other, and for all he played up their “friend” status to others, it was a joke at best and a lie at worst. They were opposites in so many ways.

It wasn't fair. Oscar clenched his fist and tried to will the tears away. It was only supposed to be a fun trip. Harass the big, gorgeous nerd so that when their social circles inevitably tore them apart back on Earth, it wouldn't hurt Ward. Oscar knew better than to think it wouldn't hurt himself, but he knew he could manage. He'd gotten over these things before. These crushes.

It wasn't FAIR! Oscar rolled out of his bed, deciding to go for a walk. “It's not fair.” He muttered as he left, playing as if he hadn't noticed the lack of snores. So what if Ward heard? The guy just thought he was a heartless killer with blood on his hands now.

Not a fool who'd went and fallen for the unattainable nerdy giant. Not a scared man just trying to make use of his only skill to keep them all alive. Not a dude hiding his tears over the image of Ward restrained and terrified and oh, so much like the flying-

It wasn't fair, Ward didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be lightyears away from those he would call friends. He didn't deserve to be stuck with someone like Oscar. He should have been safe at home, fuming that some dumb rich kid stole the chance to go into space and disappeared.

But those were always the options, weren't they? Be hated for stealing the show, or be despised for failing to be useful. So, he stole the show, made friends with the dangerous, and indulged in whatever joy he could find at any moment.

Ecliptica was beautiful and powerful, conniving and sweet. She was someone who would eat him alive for the slightest infraction. It reminded him of home, just a bit less metaphorical. The blatant honesty of that was intoxicating.

Giants were hot. He had a crush on one who would never hug him, and one who would. The alien crush should supersede his failed crush, but it only worsened things both ways. He wished that Ecliptica could care about him more than just a useful pet. And he wished that Ward could look that happy to see him.

Oscar pressed a hand against the wall, letting himself break. Tears welled in his eyes and he saw Ward’s hard stare, unforgiving of the cost the “birds” had paid for their current freedom. The girl screaming for help. The masses torn skillfully from living, breathing, speaking people into just. Meat.

His stomach revolted, and he breathed heavily through the wave of nausea. It didn't help that his tears clogged up his nose. It was like his whole body wanted to punish him.

Ecliptica found him. Of course she did. Her pet was sick.

It wasn't fair.

Where was this comfort for Ward? For the guy with a heart of gold beneath the wary sarcasm? Where was the care and tenderness for him?

Oscar could only hope that it would come from their newest roommate. He wasn't sure how much alone time he could offer them now that he knew how quickly the loneliness and guilt could strike. He couldn't afford to be useless to the Marmor. They all couldn't afford Oscar being useless to the Marmor.

Ecliptica tutted softly as Oscar emptied his stomach again. She would have to be more careful not to let bird blood splash on him in the future and said as much.

“Yeah, I guess I won't get to know the difference between the normal and the tasty ones.”

“We’ll help you grow a stronger stomach.”

Oscar was glad he was too drained to panic from that statement. He simply passed out to the feeling of being held close and tenderly carried somewhere. In his fleeting consciousness, his heart won out and he imagined it was Ward carrying him back home. Safe, nothing asked of him, nothing caused by him, just held like a precious living thing.

[writernopal]

Find the Word Tag

Fair warning this is going to be a FAT post because I had several lovely peeps tag me for this one!

@captain-kraken, here

@toribookworm22, here

@autumnalwalker, here

@squarebracket-trick, here

@talesofsorrowandofruin, here

Thank you all so much!

Tagging (gently): @kosmic-kore @sunset-a-story and @sugar-phoenix

Your words to find will be: deprived, include, major, and hate

***

From Kraken:

faint (AASOAF 1)

And then, I heard a faint sound. A thud? I stopped, struggling to figure out what it might be, but my nervous breaths seemed to overshadow anything that my ears might pick up.

lonely (AASOAF 2)

In any case, they fed and clothed me without complaint and made sure I wasn’t lonely or wanting for anything, even going so far as coming to have supper with me in my recovery room. It was touching.

grow (AASOAF 2)

I looked down at my hands and chewed my lip. “I-I can’t help but feel as though there is something that you are not telling me.” My comment did nothing to make him speak, but I could feel the atmosphere between us grow heavy, sign enough that my suspicions were correct. 

memory (AASOAF 2)

Who did I find? I’d been pining after her so desperately without even knowing who or what she was to me. His question and the memory of her cruel words further overshadowed my momentary happiness at seeing her again.

***

From Tori:

subdue (AASOAF 1)

As terrified as I was, I needed to be brave. I needed to protect Samuel, but to do that; I would have to subdue him, and quickly.

fate (AASOAF 1)

Why was he being cruel? I’d lost my livelihood because of him! Not only that, but managed to save his life once more! It felt like some sort of cruel joke that fate would force us to make such an unfair and savage exchange.

told (AASOAF 1)

She wasn’t even in half-mourning. Husbands had the option to be in half-mourning after the passing of their wives, but wives weren’t given such a choice. She should still be observing it if what she told Xaxxix was true.

believe (AASOAF 1)

Sometimes it was exceedingly easy to believe that they were my underlings. This was one of those times. And with their constant ribbing of one another, one might easily mistake them for brothers.

***

From Autumnal:

broke (AASOAF 1)

“She said wells be portals to the Kin’dom of Frogs, and I wanted to go there to see as so for myself. So I jumped into the first well I could find. Broke my leg and near scared my mother to death.” He said with a nostalgic look on his face.  “It sounds less that she played the trickster and more that you were simply impatient.” I remarked with a giggle. 

flattery (AASOAF 2)

“I’m not buying you more furs, Anise. We can barely afford to feed ourselves as it is. Do you think there is gold just lying about for you to spend?!” I yelled, throwing an angry hand up in frustration.  “You have so much hair.” She said, changing her strategy to blatant flattery, “Wilkes is lucky he gets to sleep in it.” I smacked my lips in an annoyed fashion. “You and Wilkes are lucky I let either of you near me…”

miniature

I don't have this word! Have an AASOAF fun fact instead! I legitimately thought that everyone was going to hate Axtapor while I was writing AASOAF 1 so I was genuinely surprised that so many people liked him when I started sharing my work online.

rattle (AASOAF 1)

I tried to lift my head before a shock of pain thrust itself through the base of my neck. I cried out and heard the rattling of chains in my ears as I fell to my knees. The water is rising. No. I’m sinking. I struggled further and called out to anyone who might hear me, but there was no response. No echo. No sound. 

***

From Kate:

smooth (AASOAF 1)

The pair of smooth sloped horns upon his head, his bright red eyes, and the ruby set in his forehead helped me confirm my suspicions about who he was, though they were hardly needed. He was unmistakable.

free (AASOAF 1)

“Do ye want to be free? Or will ye let them step on ye again?” “Even if I wanted to be, what can either of us do?” I whispered shakily. “It nay matters tell me what ye want.”

broken (AASOAF 1)

“Oxlo, Oxlo. First Mate, broken-hearted Dreamer. Broken man, broken heart, broken Dreamer. Nightmares. Dark. Terror. Oxlo.” “Aye, Kirik.” I responded with a frown as I pulled my pipe from my pocket and began to stuff it with tobacco.

slowly (AASOAF 1)

But we would need to stop to water the horse soon; the poor beast was foaming at the mouth and proceeding slowly after being worked so hard the night before.

***

From Nerissa:

anger (AASOAF 2)

He departed, and while I did my best to temper my anger, it got the better of me as I seized one of the paperweights from my desk and threw it across the room, shattering some glass thing wherever it landed.

opposite (AASOAF 1)

People bustling about and minding their own business seemed to suck whatever unique value such an environment could provide to any new eyes that might lay upon it. I let out a small sigh as I scanned the crowd in the opposite direction and felt my limbs become tense.

continue (AASOAF 2)

Of course, such things would not go unnoticed by her. She knew me well, and no matter how much I dismissed her, she would just find another angle and continue to prod, but where would I even begin telling her about what was troubling me?

answer (AASOAF 2)

I supposed his answer was sweet, and I should be happy that my grandmother would finally have a chance to be with someone who treasured her in the way she deserved, but I wasn’t. When it came down to it, I didn’t like his response at all, and I didn’t know why.