#i'm assuming it will be at least a little

[sudoscience]

Okay, the rest of this is fucked up, but the thing about the charging stations doesn't seem that alarming. Assuming the guy used Tesla branded superchargers, then of course Musk would have access to the security footage. He owns the charging stations.

Now, with what little I know about how EV chargers work, the car probably identifies itself to the charger when you plug it in. I know at the very least it tells the charger how much current it can accept, but since it's a Tesla vehicle using a Tesla charger, it could very well be telling the charger, "Hey, I'm Cybertruck Serial Number 123456789. Charge me, please!"

I am speculating here, though. I do not know if it tells the charger anything more than what it needs to know to safely charge the vehicle. For all I know, they just checked the footage at each of the stations along the route until they found that specific Cybertruck; there's only, like, 20-30 stations between Denver and Las Vegas.

There are lots of reasons not to buy a Tesla. I just don't think "Elon knows when you use one of Elon's chargers" is one of them.

Hey how come the truck automatically locks when it explodes and bursts into flames

[sweetheartbitesb4ck]

part one || this is part two || part three

Simon wakes up late, rubbing his eyes and groaning. Usually- because of his big, strong build- he would get away without getting hungover, but today felt different.

His eyes widen as he remembers the antics of the night before, peering down at the inside of his wrist and the smudged scrawl of numbers. "Fuck..." Ghost gulps, standing up from his messy bed and pulling open the blinds to the mid-day sunshine. Thank goodness it was the weekend.

After a moment of just standing idly, recounting the evening as well as questioning life choices, Simon glances at his phone, turning it on only to see the bombardment of texts and notifications. Most texts were from Soap and Gaz, begging for a follow up on the 'window lassie' but also multiple from his other mates (who Soap had obviously blabbed too about the encounter) pretty much pleading for information and context.

"Shit," He moans, grabbing on a T-shirt and fumbling the blurry number into his contacts. He didn't even know your name, let alone why he was quite so smitten with you. The soldier takes a while typing out and deleting messages, almost feeling panicky over what to send. Christ this girl is making me soft. He thinks, frowning slightly as he hovers over the send button.

'hi'

It had taken him four whole minutes to pluck up the courage just to send two letters. 'hi'.

What the fuck.

You look over at your phone as it buzzes, peering at the notification from an unknown number. You assumed it was the man in the mask- Simon- from the previous night.

'who is this?' you respond, clicking send without a second thought. You raise your eyebrows a little at the immediate response.

'Simon' You read his text out loud, laughing at how eager he must have been to reply so quickly. After adding him to your contacts under the name 'mask man (Simon)' you return to your conversation with the man. You giggle again as you see Ghost typing on and off for at least five minutes, spluttering as he finally sends 'U ok' three letters. No punctuation. Damn.

Simon perches on the end of his mattress, phone clutched firmly in his large hands. He was still texting you, freaking out a bit as he sees the three dots appear. He had that weird feeling in his stomach again... That unfamiliar (unfamiliar to Simon, at least) feeling that must be what other people describe as 'butterflies'. He stares into space, whole body jumping up as the phone pings.

'I'm good thanks'

'You?'

Ghost grins widely as he reads it, palming his face as if to switch back to a grumpy exterior. He couldn't fathom why he was getting so giddy over this girl and was even more surprised that he was this giddy without even drinking anything. (Not counting the night before, of course.)

'good'

You smile at his answer. You felt as if you knew this man you'd never even spoken to properly. Heck, you'd never even seen his face, but still found yourself blushing at the thought of him.

Taking a deep breath, Simon sends another text. Goodness knows how long it took him to write those three deadly words- 'are you free today?' He turns his phone off, tossing it onto the bed and pacing around the room for a minute. It was very cliché and comical, but very unironic.

When the mobile vibrates again, he throws himself across to the phone, heart beating quickly and face red with nerves.

'yeah. wanna get coffee or something?'

Ghost's reaction is the text book definition of a jaw drop, his eyes widening and pulse thumping in his ears. He jolts up again and starts rummaging through his chest of draws for any clothes that were somewhat decent. "I need new clothes, what the fuck is this shit..." He mutters, grimacing at the tatty old jeans and tops with weird and out of date slogans.

Unbeknownst to Simon, you were doing the exact same thing, grabbing out dresses and jeans and T-shirts and jackets, squinting at the old stuff you'd probably had since you were a teenager. You return to your phone, realising you hadn't proposed a time or place for meeting up.

'is 3ish good? The coffee shop along West Street?'

You can't help but feel a buzz of excitement as Simon replies with a thumbs up emoji, your whole face lighting up as you rush back to picking out a nice outfit.

All this for a man I barely know? You think, raising your eyebrows absent-mindedly. Sure. Why the fuck not.

At three, you stand outside the suggested café feeling way more anxious then you had expected to. You glance at your phone every so often, fidgeting with the hem of your jacket and gazing around at passers by trying to pick out your date from the crowds. Date? You thought it was a date, at least.

Simon rushes down the road, stuffing his wallet and phone into the pockets of the cleanest jeans he could find. He tugs on a jacket as he speed walks, also hosting a plain black T-shirt and the same skull printed balaclava as before. He figured he should probably explain the mask... just to ensure you didn't think he was a robber, or something sketchy.

Yet again, his heart starts to pound as he catches sight of you, his cheeks burning beneath the mask. He approaches you with a slower pace, trying to seem nonchalant. "Hi," He gasps, doubling over to catch his breath. Simon was usually a very fit man, what with his work, but the anticipation seemed to make him weaker.

"Hello," You respond, smiling warmly at the man. Still in that mask, huh? You think, raising your eyebrows and looking down as he gasps for air. "Are... you okay?" Stuttering slightly, you reach out, hand hovering over Simon's back unsure weather to pat it or hold him up or at least help him in some way.

"Sorry-" He grunts, standing back up and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I ran," He gushes, trying to justify his panting.

"Oh..?" You nod, a bit confused. "Should we go in?" You ask, tilting your head slightly. Ghost smiles with his eyes and nods, tentatively placing a large hand on your back as you walk inside together.

here's the part two, hope you enjoyed it!

I'll do part three if you guys want! (I'll probs do it anyways bc what can I say, I'm kinda invested)

@scaleniusrm

[takes1]

PLEASE I NEED MATSUKAWA OR KUNUMI OR EVEN MADDOG PLEASE IM BEGGING 🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🙏

thankz ::3 -🩻

clingy!kentarou x reader (taming maddog)

heyyyy :) finally getting to this hope it's aight

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / riding maddog / 69 / obsessive!maddog / clingy!needy!maddog / possessive!maddog / loneliness theme / 'i can fix him' trope / libero!reader / johsai girls' team reader / maddog being canonically mean / implied virginity / experienced!reader / emotionally intelligent reader / emotionally stunted maddog / 3.6k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3

"(Y/n), like, I know you've got a type and all..."

"Mhmm," You follow absentmindedly, tracking your latest obsession like a hawk.

Number 16 was different- not just attractive, but he had a threatening, intense, sharp presence about him. He was just about the only member of the guys' team who didn't subscribe to a cheerful, cooperative environment. His little outburst earlier caught your attention, and he was currently benched for pushing Oikawa.

He sure was aggressive. You bit your lip and watched him stretch from the bleachers.

"But I heard he's actually crazy."

The other girls on your team would never understand what possessed you to put yourself in danger, going after the most deviant of guys you could find. It was an endearing joke amongst the team, at this point, but they did worry for your safety.

"What's his name?" You looked to them for the first time, mind already made up.

Whispers of Kentarou, Kyoutani, Maddog, were shared as you settled back to watching him. Lots of horror stories of him getting in trouble, getting into fights, yelling at teachers, other students, getting suspended for a time all encouraged you. The nickname he earned made you significantly more fascinated.

You could fix him. It would at least be fun to try.

You couldn't help but ponder where his true fault lied, how it twisted into so much unwarranted aggression.

Was he not held as a baby? Did he have a bad home life? Had it manifested into some kind of sexual dysfunction? You wondered if he was this big of a presence in the bedroom. You smiled at the strong possibility that he wasn't.

Maybe that was a bit Freudian of you to assume, but your previous diagnoses hadn't steered you wrong yet. The guys you slept with were all weirdos- losers- psychos- and yet, they were all a step closer to normal after a little love.

They couldn't stop you from approaching, especially when nobody had the guts to go anywhere near him.

"Hi," You tapped his shoulder after a bout of hesitation.

He looked to the side, then behind, and realized you were referring to him.

His brow fell from its subtle version of surprise, making all his features look heavier, meaner-- you shuddered.

"Yo." Was all he said.

Though dismissive and already uncomfortable, it was enough to work with.

You smoothed out your uniform with a nervous sigh, "Um- I'm sorry if this is forward, but,"

"I think you're really cute. I'd like to go on a date, sometime."

Kentarou looked angry even when he was shocked. The dark around his eyes made it impossible to look soft, and it seemed he didn't have the capacity to smile yet.

The only way you could deduce that he was embarrassed was the way his hands balled into fists at his sides, how he looked around your face over, over, and over again for an ounce of insincerity.

It was adorable. You giggled at his long silence.

Laughing shut him down. His mouth curled in a sneer, positive you were laughing at him.

The gaggle of girls, filling the entrance to the gym, all clad in your uniform, wasn't great for optics. It looked like you were playing a prank on him.

"Are you kiddin' me?" He rolled his eyes before you could even try to explain, "Go fuck yourself."

It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Though you loved your team, visible swarms of women never put the guys you went after at ease.

That rejection was still tame for what you had seen before from him.

He put his back to you and crossed his arms, watching the game, instead. Getting benched and made fun of couldn't have been a great feeling.

Determined now, you shook out your nerves and tapped his shoulder again.

"Tch-! I said fuck off!" He scowled down at you, but you knew it was misguided. So it didn't hurt as bad.

You purposefully didn't mirror his body language- you didn't want him to cut him off even more. You stood facing him at an angle, trying to catch his eye and take his attention again.

Voice quiet, sweeter, genuine, "I'm serious."

Even if this was a joke, you were the most persistent he had ever seen. Nobody usually got this far. If he told somebody to leave, they did. Especially after the second time, and a girl, at that.

"I mean- I get it if you're not into short girls, that's totally fine," You fixed your hair, glancing away from his overwhelmed, slow expression, "But, please, just... think about it. Here's my number."

For a moment, you were unsure if he would take the paper in your hand. He gave you zero indication that he believed your story, but after just enough time to make you doubt, he took it.

Kentarou held it tight, confused, as you joined your team to leave the gym. He watched them look over and preen you like birds to make sure you weren't hurt.

It could've been a real confession. The gravity of it didn't truly land until he was back home, looking up the girls' team Instagram to find your personal handle. You were following the page and even had a few features in their posts.

Doubts began to grow that it was your real number. He decided he didn't want to use it.

Instead, he lay on his bed, palming himself to the poses of your greatest receives- you were such a pretty girl, with a nice body, cute face--reminded of those things now, it only made him more skeptical at your choice to speak to him.

Luck was on his side once again, because your own profile was public. You even had a few beach posts. Lots of likes, lots of followers. You wouldn't notice if he liked a few of them, unless you were being honest about your interest.

You were all over his signals in a flash.

A follow, a bit of page-stalking that got you nowhere (because he had 0 online presence, other than a couple blank accounts), and a long string of messages that went deep into the night, all earned you a date.

Now that the game had officially begun, you needed to curate each move carefully. If you waited too long to take advantage of any clear signs of interest, he wouldn't find you worth the trouble. You needed some dick.

Kentarou was lonely, too.

It was as you suspected, monitoring him during that practice match. People who had a good support system didn't act that way he did.

He wasn't wistful, or desperate, and didn't invite friendship. Shit, he barely let you court him, and the only way you could convince him to meet you for coffee was if you sent a few pictures 'to prove it was just you.' And yet, after the one misunderstanding, he didn't deny you any opportunity to get close.

His experiences shaped him to be incredibly firm, mistrusting, and overly cautious, yes; It all fell short though, when it came to the very simple, universal longing for companionship.

The cafe wasn't too quiet, thankfully.

You were most worried about the possibility of him causing some sort of commotion and being asked to leave, but other patrons were lively enough to drown him out, if he did raise his voice.

To your surprise, that also wasn't much of an issue.

He ordered for the two of you, even -begrudgingly- accepting that you wanted a more intricate drink, too. He didn't let you do much for yourself. When he told you to go find a seat while he waited at the counter, you stayed with him so you could be close. He still didn't argue.

Though he wasn't polite, he wasn't a monster. He was just brimming with attitude, and that rubbed people the wrong way. When unprovoked, he was mean-looking, sure, but docile.

A predatory gaze watched the skirt of your casual dress flutter up- just a little, not quite enough- as you sat down next to him with your elaborate drink in hand. He set his cup down and you felt his leg flex as you closed the distance to snuggle up to him.

"You're taking this joke pretty far."

Insecurity filled the quiet between his words, and it took a sensitive ear to detect under all the venom. Was he testing you? Probably. Was he still trying to protect himself? Absolutely.

"Mm," You considered how to respond while sipping on your coffee, staring forward, not really minding his intensity, "I don't have the kind of time to go on fake dates, you know."

It was an argument less emotional in nature, but due to its legitimacy, it left him stumped enough to drop the subject.

In its wake remained discomfort. Mostly at your thigh, busy rubbing against him as you pretended to be more invested in the ambience of the cafe, or the flavor of the drink in your hands.

"What're you doing it for?" He pressed, different, but still carried with a grumbly, shitty attitude he always spoke in.

That took some getting used to, but once you understood he just talked that way, you were able to take his words at face value and waste less time miscommunicating.

A warm hand, palming the squish of your bare thigh encouraged your desire to be honest.

You waited for him to stop scanning the cafe, for the right moment to tell him.

His eyes dipped first to your pretty thighs, all soft and warm and new in his hand. Then he was taken by the all the sweetness in the way you looked at him.

"I wanna sleep with you."

You expected him to not believe you, like the first time, but his surprise was now pretty conventional.

His mouth hung open, just a little, and you noticed a tongue piercing. How did you miss it before? Did he not wear it at school? Your thighs tightened and he met it with a firm squeeze as he took a sobering drink of his coffee.

It was obvious he wanted to know why. But he was looking for something better to say, instead.

"The fuck are we doing here?"

That was a good question. Such a good question, in fact, that after a bit of conversation about where to go to fuck, you landed on going back to your place.

He made himself comfortable on your bed as you shut the door and locked it, just in case. Your room didn't have a whole lot of conversation starters, so he took a while to really examine it.

He wasn't witty, or spontaneous, or chatty.

There was no value in sitting around, acting like you wanted to delve into a discussion about each other's families, or grades, or volleyball.

His brow softened as you dropped the straps of your dress down.

There was a small attempt to look you in the eye, which you appreciated in a very limited context, but once you kept going, he might as well have been wearing a collar.

A half-sigh, half-laugh pushed out of his open mouth, brow furrowed again, as he tried to speak a few times while you posed for him, drunk on such a cute, endearing reaction.

There were a lot of things for him to think about. You could almost smell the smoke of grinding gears when you stood in front him and rubbed your hands against his shoulders.

He kept getting his fill, eyes unable to stay in one place too long, practically trying to back up so he could keep looking at all of you.

You giggled, "Kentarou?"

His breath stopped. You couldn't feel it, tingling across your skin, anymore.

You took some fingers to his curly hair, playing with it, "Aren't you gonna touch me?"

"I-," He didn't know what to do with himself for a moment, "Where?"

Your charmed, bitten back smile made his ears bright, bright red. Instead of telling him, you settled onto his lap and felt for his hands, gently guiding them towards your hips.

It was slow, natural, and gentle how you decided to kiss him.

You could feel how heated he was, with one hand on the back of his neck, the other cooling off the side of his face. One second to part for some breath, which he needed, badly- you waited for him to say something.

But he was forcing his mouth back onto yours quicker than you thought he would- his fingers dug into your flesh, and he brought you down onto his hard-on with a sudden loss of reservation.

It didn't take long to start catching that little tongue piercing against your lip- you groaned against his mouth, "Fuck, I really like that."

He was a fast, eager, and very rough learner. Kentarou was also laughably easy to please, because it was obvious he had no preferences built up yet. Everything you did left him stunned and hungry.

You reveled in your private victory and helped him undress. He wasn't shy about his own body, but you made it clear that he had a nice figure by taking the time to kiss along his muscular arm, then shoulder, and up to his neck.

His quickness to mirror you, kissing the same places on your body, was cute. He never once smiled, but he showed his investment in other ways.

When you offered to 69, he immediately fell onto his back from his upright position, rubbing his warm face.

A weak, "Yes," from under his palms was all you got, but it was so sweet from a guy like him. He sounded broken in, in a way.

You pressed a deserving kiss to his jaw and turned around.

His cock looked just as angry as he was, normally. Twitchy, leaking a bit of precum on his toned tummy, tinged dark with the all the time it had been waiting.

"You're- so fuckin' wet," He sounded stunned to say that aloud, understand what it actually meant, and that he was obsessed with it.

You smiled and pressed a kiss to the base of his cock as you settled into a good position.

How long had it been since you got laid? Apparently too long, because you were dripping with anticipation at the salty taste of his tip sliding past your teeth.

That was the downside of having such a specific type. Not many options.

He was still figuring out how to use his own mouth when you took the breath out of him- a strangled gasp at the sound, the sensation of your lips and tongue sucking off the slickness there. You held him by the base, briefly.

"You should let me know if you like it," You teased, just before bobbing your head back down.

"Mm-mmnh-! Fuck! Do I-ahh, have to?"

With that whiny tone?

You slowly came back up, careful to leave no spit behind. He was flexing in your jaw, his stomach twitching against your chest. Poor thing wouldn't last very long, he was so sensitive.

"Uhh, yes," You grinned, tongue darting out to lick him all the way down his shaft.

"Fuuuck- whatever- augh, just keep doin' that," His groan broke into a murmur of sorts, against your pussy.

From there, he was starting to find what worked with you. It was curious, and not great, but you didn't need it to be; something about the clingy way he held you, the shift in his attitude, was making you feel like you could take him already.

It made your nails dig, deep into his thighs, your already sparse breath grow a bit shorter.

Though his desperate tone and slow, gentle tongue made some parts of you tighten, it helped your throat relax and take more of him.

He started to come apart long before you wanted to be done.

Breathy, incomplete "Stopstop-sta-aah," every twenty seconds flattered you, letting you take more frequent breaks to ride his face and break in that little metal ball.

You thought about his nickname during one of these breaks. It was one of those instances where it seemed fitting, but for more than just surface-level aggression.

Nothing about him scared you. Not after you showed him that you had no ill-intention. He was like a dog. He wasn't vicious because it was in his nature; he just had a thorn in his paw.

He 'bit' people because they didn't give him a chance.

All of these chances you were giving him proved that he was worth all the effort to get close. It wasn't even much work, in hindsight.

You showed him the mechanics of the condom you brought for the occasion, and managed to talk him through some important sex-centered courtesies.

"So, y'know, you'll want to yield to whatever she's ready for--,"

Kentarou kept you from sitting on his cock, for just a second-- his eyes grew narrow, darting around your face.

"You mean: 'you.'" He corrected.

He looked like he was about to bite through your face.

"Right!" You smiled, growing a bit warm at your inconsiderate slip in language, "Yeah, of course."

Your apologetic kisses, smattered all along his sensitive face and neck, calmed him. His grip softened, slowly, as he became convinced that this was sacred again.

As you started to take him, he forgot all about it.

"Aughh- my go-d," He couldn't stop watching where you came together with a knotted brow, at how slick, and tight, and hot you were.

Your confidence read in the form of slow, rolling motions of your hips, the cloudy look in your eyes as you were finally getting filled up again after such a dry spell of no dick. You put your hands over his, already on your hips, and encouraged him to squeeze harder.

"Mmn-ah-h," You placed your hands on his chest, to keep yourself upright.

It hurt, how much he reciprocated that squeeze, but you quickly learned to like the sting.

Like most everything else, he replicated what you showed him. He started fucking you back, his hips able to take you faster, harder--

The pretty little pout on your lips was enough to make him screw his eyes shut, just to try to settle down.

He was getting so worked up at your tight little cunt that he was forced to let you keep your slower pace, contribute a little less, for fear he'd finish too soon.

His breath was like a stutter- so shallow and huffy that you rubbed your hand across his cheek, to check if he was okay. As you did this, the look in his eyes burned into the back of your skull.

You had seen that somewhere before. Not in someone you knew personally.

"Mm-mnh-!"

You were careful not to look away from it, and you only closed your eyes when it was too intense, too good to see straight.

The way he gripped you was like a lifeline, clawing, leaving rough and raised lines across you-- It wasn't intended to hurt, but more or less to make sure he left you with some lasting impression. He didn't understand that he didn't need to do it.

He couldn't take the concern on your face. Not as you fucked him so close, not with that perfect body taking his cock so well. Nobody ever looked at him with so much warmth.

"Ah! Just- just like that," You gasped, shaky all of a sudden.

"Fuck-," He sighed, suddenly having to remember what exactly he was doing.

He grimaced, face twisted in the pain of trying not to cum, head thrown back so he didn't have to look at you.

But your hand left his chest to grasp him by the jaw- it wasn't hard, but it was enough to move him. You begged him to look at you. You wanted him to watch you, and it looked like he was just short of a confessing something sinful.

Worship.

That's what you saw. In those narrowed eyes were praise, an exaltation of the love you had spared for him.

It filled you with a dizzying, raw confidence- you took in a breath through your nose, getting railed so hard, so close that your eyes started watering.

"Fuck- I'm-Ah--!" You couldn't quite finish your sentence before you crashed over, your body seized up, firm, grabbing and gripping him like you needed, wanted him so bad.

It left him a groveling, panting mess underneath you. He was watching in awe just like you told him to, only allowed to cum after you were done.

He fucked it all out of you, thanks to the timing. Your slow wave-riding kept you pleasant and buzzed as he fucked you hard for his own orgasm.

You even egged him on, breathless, a little smirk only interrupted by a pleasurable wince a couple of times.

"You wanna cum for me?"

"Yeah? Yeah?"

After finishing so loud and performative, nothing could have prepared you for how cuddly and silent he got.

You shouldn't have given into the desire to hug him, because he wouldn't let you move to pull him out.

"Mm-mm," Was pressed in a sloppy kiss against your neck.

Those muscular arms were shaking a little, just barely, around your waist.

"I'm- not going anywhere," You laughed, returning a few light kisses against his temple, "But we need to clean up."

He made it difficult, almost impossible, to separate and throw the condom away. You opted to just tie in a knot and throw it closer to the trash can so you didn't have to get up.

The way he watched you was careful, intense, looking for any opening to get closer to you again.

You finally sighed, smiling, "Okay."

Kentarou pulled you back down to lay next to him at the soonest opportunity. He kept an arm heavy over your chest, his leg kicked between yours, his eyes never leaving the side of your face.

His intensity was what you signed up for, but now, warm under his persistent and acute attention, you realized: maybe you hadn't thought this through the whole way.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu

[dragon-ascent]

Rex Lapis can read thoughts that are about him. Your thoughts are...interesting, to say the least.

The Geo Lord is passing by the market, eagerly observing the new shops that have popped up since his last visit. His presence naturally attracts a crowd, and they're respectful enough to keep their distance as he promenades leisurely.

He's used to the whirl of thoughts that follow his every move, but right there in the middle of the whirlpool is a strange little solitary boat that comprises your mind.

Oh my gosh, He’s here! Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic- oh oh, He can read thoughts that are about Him, so all I have to do is not imagine Him doing anything weird! Like…being stark naked and doing a chicken dance! …oh, oops…I just did.

For the next few nights, all of the deity's dreams are plagued by that image of himself doing a strange nude dance, the scene having burned itself into his memory against his will.

One day he's stopped to admire some pretty flowers along his path, and picks up on a sound that's very clearly not the birds chirping.

Holy fucking SHIT, He's here again! I knew I should have done sit-ups to make my butt look nicer before leaving home! Or maybe my butt is fine as is? Oh, I'll just walk on by and hope He notices...

Moments later, he turns around to find you doing a strange crab-walk, facing away from him as you pass by. You glance at him over your shoulder, and then when you catch him watching, you run a hand through your hair in what he assumes is meant to be a cool manner. You pause, trying to get the hair manoeuvre right, and then when you're satisfied, you continue your stupid little crab-walk away from him, hips gyrating like a donkey's.

One time, he is talking to your people regarding the fairness of contracts, and how important it is to respect the terms of a contract. Failure to do so would result in punishment personally delivered by himself, as the God of Contracts. Right on cue, there you are in the crowd, staring like a deer in headlights, and he immediately attunes himself to your mind.

Eeeeek! What kind of punishments does He administer? Maybe I should buy myself some handcuffs and a paddle in case I break a contract and He comes unprepared…

He throws you a firm look as if telling you to calm yourself and not think such lewd thoughts. Honestly, what kind of god do you think he is?! Rex would never commit such improper-

Yikes! He’s staring right at me! Maybe He doesn't like the colour of the handcuffs and paddle I'm envisioning..! Okay okay, breathe. No more pink fluffy cuffs! Only--brown fluffy cuffs! ...oh, He's still unhappy about that from the look on His face...

[auroras-void]

*I'm* one of those feminine women who's attracted to this sorta blue collar work.

Have recently been seriously considering making a 180 from CS to working to become a General Contractor. I'm good at desk work, sometimes very good, but the thing is, long term any variation of it just makes me miserable in a way that working with my hands just doesn't. I fucking love working all day on my family's project house.

But the main thing that's stopping me from stepping on up from there and turning it into a career is sexism.

Like CS has it's own problems with it, and there's some crazy shit there, but it's at least getting better. But like, with construction, I haven't even needed to so much as dip my toes in to experience it. 80% men sucks ass, but it's a hell of a lot better than 95%.

My family has a couple of contractors they work with, most of them are friends, but I still see it right away. Like, I'm by no means an expert, I only really know what my dad taught me and what I've taught myself. But I've had them immediately assume I have no experience and try to teach me like I've never held a saw in my life before despite knowing who I am, or I had an electrician ask about the existing wiring and he instantly assumed that my brother knows more than me*.

And those are just these small little things but they piss me off so fucking much, and I can tell how indicative they are of so much more. It's like people see a woman and their eyes just glaze over me. Which on the one hand is very gender affirming but in the other makes my blood fucking boil.

So like if it's that bad just from the briefest of encounters. Being fully immersed in that kinda culture regularly, experiencing the *real* shit out there there, that just sounds like fucking hell.

Particularly given that I'm trans. I would sooner die than tone down my feminity for someone else. And I can pass stealth, even on a worksite, but I *know* there's still gonna be fuckers out there who will just see me as a man who needs to be bullied into conformity, or who think that working in construction somehow invalidates my transition. And, just I swear to god I'ma fucking murder someone if I have to work in that environment.

So... like ... ig... rotting at a desk it is then.

Like, I think I might still take some classes for my own sake and chip away at it. But I don't think I'm going to be looking at any apprenticeships or anything.. I'm.. not ready for that yet...

---

** (I literally got into this shit and got good at it *after* I transitioned ffs, I didn't enjoy it until I realized I could do it for it's own sake, until I didn't feel pressured into liking it to "toughen up" or "act more manly". I am a woman above all else, and no one has the power to overrule me on that.)

*(he's fucking clueless here, he's a poli sci dude who shows up maybe once a month in a fuckin dress shirt, he's your guy for election coverage and statistics, not construction. Meanwhile, I'm literally wearing my toolbelt and a roofing helmet with knee pads and my work outfit. I was literally the person who *did* the little bit of functional wiring repairs in that house).

There was a time when women did these jobs.

Some of them really liked the work and were keen to continue doing it. But society basically told them to collectively "get back in the kitchen" when the men returned home from war.

The tradition of conditioning women, from birth, to have a distaste for these jobs continued. Young girls are discouraged from even taking an interest in the toys representing these occupations. God forbid they put Barbie in the firetruck.

The truth is, most men do not want women doing these jobs. They complain about how dangerous this work is and use that as a metaphorical bludgeon in debates about equality. But when women actually try to be firefighters and combat infantry, they are told they *can't* do these jobs. They are inferior. Those who are hired have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. They are inundated with sexism and misogyny. And many end up quitting, not because they aren't qualified or they don't like the work, but because their male coworkers make the jobs intolerable.

And instead of fighting to make these occupations safer and valued properly, these men just complain that feminists don't know how hard it is and how they don't understand what it's like to risk their lives for no money or benefits. And then rich assholes like Elon stoke these flames because he doesn't want these men to realize this is a class struggle rather than a culture war. And that feminists and "woke activists" would actually be wonderful allies in helping them get better conditions.

Lastly, there are feminists talking about this. There are plenty of non-men interested in these jobs. But I doubt Elon keeps up with very much feminist discourse other than what he invents in his imagination.

Beyond that, feminists can't seem to prioritize stuff like this in the mainstream because they are too busy trying to regain control of their uteruses.

Did I miss anything?

Oh yeah, fuck Elon and fuck "End Wokeness".

[dunmeshistash]

If Izutsumi only has a 'bit' of human soul where's the rest of it? Dead and gone? She doesn't suffer for the lack of it, so it doesn't seem like people need their whole soul. Could someone even take the piece she's missing and stuff it into another monster??

Well, this is gonna be a lot of speculation and very little facts, so beware (will never forget you anon who said I posted my opinions without clarifying it was speculation)

My theory is that in dungeon meshi bodies and souls have some sort of relationship? After all Marcille used the dragon's flesh to resurrect Falin and that cause part of its soul to be mixed in with hers, and at the end to get rid of his soul so Falin could be brought back without being a chimera they ate it's flesh and ground up it's bones so plants would absorb it. So I think it's safe to say there's some relationship between body and soul, at least inside the dungeon where resurrection is possible.

If we take Izutsumi's timeline as a basis, she was a 6yo child when she was taken from her parent's and turned into a beastmen (you could argue that it was a 6yo monster but Izutsumi's ages like a tallman so I doubt only here it would be referring to the monster)

So she was a small child fused with a big monster, so maybe that in itself is why there's way more monster?

The other possibility is that only part of the child was fused with the monster, or perhaps they did take the soul out of her body to put it in the monster, maybe like how ghosts that don't have a body might posses someone that dies and is resurrected and their souls are fused??

But here she only talks about the "personality" changing not their appearance, I really think beastmen and chimera fusions where parts of each show up in the final form makes more sense if their bodies (along with the soul) is fused too? But I'm just speculating.

Anyway, two possibilities

The (whole) child was fused with a much bigger monster and that's why it's the smaller part

The child killed and then only part of her (or her soul) was fused with the monster

Very fucked up either way, about your question if there could be two izutsumis made from the soul of the same child I doubt it, if we take resurrection as an example I don't think they can "divide" the human soul in two different beings? Same as how they couldn't separate part of the dragon soul away from Falin's without before consuming it's flesh? So maybe they burned the rest of the child's body to get rid of the rest of her soul in that second possibility

The AB comic about resurrection says you can't really bring back someone from pieces even if you try to resurrect all of them, so I'd ASSUME that's true for trying to use the same soul for different beings

Anyway these are my thoughts, I love Izutsumi's backstory is so fucked up and tragic... what was done to her is horrible.

[cindersnows]

the problem with mitsi (or as i like to call it. mitsogyny)

(context: this was written under a youtube video, which i'm sure most of us have at least seen pop up in our recommendeds, in response to many people taking criticism against the new episode. it has been edited a little to be more cohesive as a somewhat-essay)

ok, i wanted to write out a rant/essay/ramble/whatever sort of summarising the criticism against mitsi's plotline because a lot of the people here seem to be misunderstanding the fundamental issue that people have with it, including some of those people themselves.

first off, an analysis that i think tell both sides of the argument very well which i feel should be read before reading the essay: Mitsi: What Makes A Fridged Character (and why y'all are wrong about it) | an AvA essay by InksandPensblog. i will note: i don't care to discuss whether mitsi was fridged or not and that won't be of much importance in this post. the above link gives some insight into some of the fandom's criticism of mitsi and how she was "fridged", defining common tropes for examples. that's what's relevant to this post.

the main issue with mitsi, in my opinion, is less with the fact that mitsi's a girl and moreso the fact that she's one of the only female-coded character in the series, and that her character's main purpose was to further victim's own development. the other arguably female-coded character in the series is pink, who (like navy) only really exists to explain purple's motivations. i don't have much of an issue with that since they're not meant to be important or sympathised with at all. that's not their job in the story.

with mitsi, i've seen people point out that she has more character to her than just victim's love interest and supporter: she invents rocketcorp, she's smart, she's kind, innocent and helpful. narratively speaking, she shows other creations' relationships with their animators, parallels her innocence with victim's trauma, and introduces victim to the outernet (as most fans call the stick realm).

but most of this things imo are either stretches or invalid arguments. she's not really a 2/3-dimensional character in any way; her main character traits boil down to the fact that she likes to be in service of others with no nuance behind why she likes helping people. she hypes up victim for the villagers, she starts a company with him to share his talents with the world, and she helps him overcome his trauma from alan's torture. all of her main plot beats center around victim: and while technically the sticks are genderless and free to be interpreted however the viewer wants, alan and most of his team see all the main characters as male, and that subconciously affects how they're written. mitsi, the first major female-coded character, spends most of her storyline in service of victim, a character not written as female.

there's also the issue of her being victim's canonical love interest. i feel like this statement from alan is important to keep in mind (don't mind the sound effects and edits, this is the only isolated clip i can find at the moment). in particular:

"i just assume that [the ava/m characters] are just a bunch of bros]. i haven't thought of adding any female stick figures but i think it'd be good. i don't want to introduce any romance though, i don't want that to be a theme."

he seems to have changed his mind on that last part, which is fine, but the notable part for me is that he seems to associate female characters with romance from the getgo. before anyone misinterprets this, i'm not trying to call alan sexist or anything. but there's a common issue with women in stories being reduced to just a romantic partner for the male lead, and mitsi falls under this, with her entire character existing to serve victim. (not to mention people will make things about romance whether you like it or not. that's just basic fandom. search up grapeduo or chodark.) even her death is to put victim on the path of vengeance--- it doesn't need to happen to show the extent of tco and tdl's destruction, because that's already made pretty clear in ava s2 the flashback and the earlier scenes showing various characters escaping burning buildings. when you write a female-coded character whose only purpose is to serve a male character, you're contributing to sexist narratives.

a counter i see many people point out with the idea that she has no character is that she does have character traits, it's just that they're generic ones like "kind" and "innocent". the issue is that she has no flaws to counterpoint this; it's not that she didn't have enough screentime. in ava4 for example, we see tsc's flaws pretty clearly; they can be very mean when they want to, they're petty (albeit for a fair reason), they're a little impulsive. this is shown in 11 minutes (from the moment they come alive to the end of the video).

with mitsi meanwhile… she doesn't seem to have any flaws? she helps victim whenever she can. she's nice to all the villagers. her customers all like her and she's a great leader at rocket corp (to note, specifically as part of a pair with victim. they're a power couple, she's barely given credit for her work alone). she has 13 minutes of screentime, or 10 if you count from her waking up in the outernet. there's plenty of opportunities to show her having flaws; maybe she acts a little selfish during tdl and tco's attack, only wanting to help herself and agent smith, or maybe she overworks herself, or feels awkward at having too much attention (and that could also be why she redirects so much attention to victim, she's shy). you could argue that the episode needs to develop victim and agent smith too, but ava4 shows that's easy to do too: just a few seconds dedicated to showing rgyb fighting over who leaves first shows that they can be selfish and childish. it's very easy to insert a moment like that for mitsi.

it's a little disappointing when the first major female-coded character in ava is completely flawless, with no personality outside of being nice and helpful for others.

also, slightly unrelated, check out this quote from mitsi's plushie website: "her white featureless face seems to ooze mystery and feminine power all at the same time." her main character trait, as a woman, is being feminine. it's irritating as someone who's been raised a woman to see her reduced to just her gender. she feels more plastic than a person, like the concept of what a woman should be (perfect, kind, useful) and not an actual character/person.

i would expect more from the writing in the series seeing as it's not just an independent passion project anymore, and has multiple writers that all could've worked to flesh out mitsi, or at least get a sensitivity reader of sorts to point these issues out. it's extremely disappointing and i can understand why people were upset.

tldr: the problem isn't just that mitsi's a girl, or that she's nice or dating victim, it's that she's written in a misogynistic way.

[remstrrs]

Potential Rebel Robin -> S4 Parallel and (potentially) S5 Parallel

I feel like as a fandom, we don't really talk about the Rebel Robin book/podcast enough, especially about it's implications for the series in general, so i wanted to look at one specific scene that parallels a scene from s4, and that i think would be rlly cool if paralleled in s5:

{CC:

Robin : There's something wrong with me. There's something inside of me that's just, like, rotten, and there's nothing I can do to fix it.

Wait - Wait why are you stopping?

Mr. Hauser : Robin, look at me. There is nothing wrong with you.

Robin : You have to say that.

Mr. Hauser : No, I'm serious. Hey - hey, look me in the eye and trust what I'm saying, okay? There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing rotten inside of you; you don't need to be fixed. }

For further context, Mr. Hauser is Robin's English teacher at Hawkins High in her sophomore year (podcast is set in winter of 1983) who she becomes very close with and, in this scene, is giving her a ride home.

This is episode four of the podcast, but in the final episode, Robin finds out that Mr. Hauser is a queer man who is secretly dating another man in Hawkins.

In aforementioned scene, Robin asks him if he's happy, and if living in Hawkins while queer is really worth it for him - to which he says yes, but reminds Robin that she doesn't have to make the same choice as him, saying, "There are places where you don't need the armor"

Now, firstly, I want to start by talking about how this scene between Robin and Mr. Hauser is a pretty close parallel to the scene in s4e08, where Jonathan is comforting Will after he watches the painting scene go down.

(Also, keep in mind that the Rebel Robin book was published in 2021, so it's writing coincided with the writing of s4)

Jonathan knows that Will is queer, and heard Will mention that he felt like a mistake back in the van, so he tells him that he loves him and,

"There is nothing in this world, okay, absolutely nothing that will ever change that."

Although not a perfect parallel, I couldn't help but notice the word choice used and the repetition of 'nothing' in both examples. The overall exigence of these two scenes is almost a perfect match, too:

Mr. Hauser hears Robin call herself wrong and rotten, so he comforts her by telling her the exact opposite.

Jonathan hears Will call himself different and a mistake so he comforts him and tells him that he loves him no matter what.

Now.... how do I think something similar could play out in Season 5?

Alright, so there's been a lot of talk on Byler tumblr about having scenes with Mike, Will, and Robin together - or Robin mentoring either one of the boys - but personally, I'd like to see the scenes above paralleled in a Robin/Mike conversation over anything, and here's why.

Out of the two boys, Mike is the one who is most isolated from his queerness and what it entails. Whereas Will is possibly starting to come into his own and accept himself a little bit more with Jonathan as a stronger support system, and has known about his queerness, Mike is much more lost. Will has already had a heart-to-heart with Jonathan, and knows he isn't alone with his queerness.

In my opinion, it's inevitable that Mike will have a heart-to-heart with one of the adults/older teens in Season 5, and I honestly believe that it has to be Robin, Nancy, or (preferably) both.

In Season 5, Mike is a high school sophomore. He's very clearly insecure, and is probably seen as more weird or different because of his previous involvement with Hellfire. Likewise, in her book, Robin is also an insecure high school sophomore who is seen as an outsider/social outcast.

Plus, in Season 5, Robin closely parallels Mr. Hauser from the book:

They both have accepted and come to terms with their queerness, and came out to at least one person, and they both have partners of the opposite-sex while living in Hawkins (assuming that Rovickie is canon after the 1987 time skip, which i believe it probably will be.)

In my opinion, this sets up an almost perfect opportunity for a Robin/Mike moment where Mike either:

In relation to his queerness, talks about feeling wrong and rotten to Robin, who sympathizes with him (and potentially comes out to him) helping him know that he isn't alone or broken.

or

Mike finds out about Robin's queerness by accident, (which is Robin's case when finding out about Mr. Hauser's) and he asks her if she's happy in Hawkins, which gives her the opportunity to convey to Mike that his idea of a 'family' isn't the only one, and that there "are places where you don't need the armor" just as Mr. Hauser said.

I think the second would be especially impactful, because Mike grew up in a white-picket fence, nuclear, traditional, and conservative household (something that is actually openly criticized by Nancy and Jonathan in season 1). He sees his parents' loveless relationship (which is paralleled to Stancy and Milkvan) right in front of his eyes, and thinks that its the only way because it's all he's known. Robin could open his eyes to the possibility of something else, and this is what could make him realize his feelings for Will.

Also! We have confirmation of a potential Robin + Mike scene (or at least a scene where Finn and Maya are filming together) by none other than Shawn Levy himself (pic posted on his insta)

If you don't know, Shawn Levy notoriously directed both of the scenes below, which show examples of Mike struggling with potential internalized homophobia during angsty fights with Will

Also, based on Shawn Levy's reply to this person on twt, it's very likely we get a similar scene in St5:

I think that another Byler fight could be the perfect lead-in to a heart-to-heart between Mike and Robin, too. Seeing the two boys fighting could lead her into asking Mike what's going on between them, which could then turn into a deeper conversation where Mike realizes exactly why his fights with Will are so different from his fights with anyone else.

This has gotten way too long and spiraled a bit out of control, and I need to actually write an essay for school now, so I'll leave it here.

Please let me know if you have anything to add or anything you agree or disagree with! I love theorizing with other people, too :)

[firendgold]

I'm really not assuming Harry's identity was fully formed as a toddler. That's simply not supported by science. Harry and Lily do have different life experiences and their personalities are shaped by the people around them and the different difficulties they experience.

I simply noted that in your interpretation, Harry and Lily are completely different because they didn't grow up the same way, and am offering an alternative interpretation to your assertions that 1) Lily had little to no troubles experienced in her childhood, and that 2) Harry's upbringing and misadventures erased any identity he had outside of his abuse or the identity assigned to him by others, by leaning on the way JKR's writing shows us the similarities between Harry and Lily that exist despite the fact that Harry was not raised by her, Harry does not remember her, and in the real world he would have been more likely to adopt the Dursleys' more poisonous traits and beliefs and not share any similarities to his parents at all.

I can agree that something like writing your letters the same way or having a more sarcastic personality is a mild or surface-level trait, but I can't agree with that take for the larger choices Harry and Lily make. Even taking dying out of the equation doesn't remove uncanny similarities. Lily chooses to befriend (and, for quite some time, stay friends with) someone like Severus Snape when class consciousness and peer pressure should have shaken that out of her at age 11--unless it was a core component of her personality. And however much they grow into better versions of themselves later, the same choice can be seen in Harry's choice to befriend Ron and Hermione. Neville and Luna are both more visibly unpopular to the average reader, but first-year Ron is yet another son from a well-known but poor wizarding family with very little social capital, and Hermione is a by-the-books girl with very limited social skills, in the same position as Harry but for the fact that she has no wizarding ancestry or gratitude-inspiring fame to lean on to bolster her more unlikable qualities. Still, Harry bonds with them both anyway. And even these friendships have significant friction that nearly ends them, or does in Lily's case.

Symbolism is so important in the series that I don't think it's incorrect to acknowledge how it turns up in characterization of Lily and Harry. The ways in which they react to things, and the choices they make re: larger concepts like friendship and forgiveness and sacrifice are startlingly similar when you consider their lack of direct contact in the natural world.

(Smaller point, but even though there's no evidence of this in the real world, in the HP world souls do exist and their natures (or at least Harry's and Voldemort's) are extensively discussed in the latter books. So even though it's arguable in the real world whether our personalities are inherent down to our souls, it's not so easy to argue against this in HP, where Dumbledore argues in Deathly Hallows that Harry and Voldemort's souls are incompatible and cannot share space, and doubles down on the assertion when Severus tries to ground the discussion back in minds and Occlumency/Legilimency.)

The fact is, these large and small traits do tell us who Lily and Harry are and they do matter. These snippets of personality are the only way we have of interpreting Lily since she predeceases the entire story, and the only way we have of interpreting Harry outside of his words and perspective.

harry potter is NOT james potter.

I love parallels. I love people reminding others of those they've lost along the way.

But Harry Potter is not James . And that is so vital to his entire character.

When people see Harry, they see James. They see a James who sees the world through Lily's eyes. When they see Harry, they don't see Harry.

And that is so vital to his entire being. It's vital to how people see Harry. The people that didn't know James, see the Boy-Who-Lived.

The people who did, who were close to Harry, to James, to Lily. They see James and Lily Potter. They see the people who died, people they were close to, people they miss every day but will never see again.

Remus, Sirius, Snape, McGonagall.

At first, they see James and Lily. And then when they meet him - apart from Snape- they quickly realise he is anything but.

Harry is not arrogant, rich, spoilt. He doesn't have an ego, he doesn't play pranks, he isn't a chaser, he doesn't pick fights.

Harry isn't exceptionally bright at everything he does, he isn't inconceivably forgiving for those who don't deserve it.

He is not Lily and James.

When peole write Harry as a golden retriever, as effortlessly good at everything, they aren't writing about Harry.

Harry who grew up not wanted. Harry who grew up believing something was wrong with him. Harry who was forced into the wizarding world with no knowledge. Harry who is as stubborn as a mule,. Harry who is loyal to a fault, who forgives those he loves, Harry who isn't his parents.

He has traits of them, their anger, their ability to love, and much much more.

BUT Harry Potter isn't them. He isn't the 'best of them both' he isn't James or Lily or Sirius or Regulus.

Harry Potter is Harry. Just Harry.

And that is why he doesn't get along ith Snape. That's why McGonagall believes Harry dragged Neville out for a joke in first year.

When people see Harry, they don't see Harry. And by writing Harry as somebody else, or as 'so-and-so's child' you're not doing the character justice.

'I want a complex character with complex relationships'

'i want an angry character'

'i want to read a book that makes me think'

you couldn't even handle Harry Potter.

[tennessoui]

prompt --- meeting in prison au (maybe Anakin is serving a few years for crossing the line in defense of his mom and Obi-Wan is a volunteer teacher/lawyer?)

[this is in response to a prompt game i reblogged a year ago, but hey! wanted some dark obi-wan this evening so i'm finally getting around to it!] [warnings for hints of non-con typical for a prison trope fic where one is a pretty boy, also for dub-con and power imbalance] [obi-wan is another prisoner here] [supposedly] [2k]

It’s not actually something one asks here, which comes as a surprise to Anakin. He’d thought—well, he’d always assumed that was just something you traded in prison, like deathsticks and dirty holos maybe. Information, what are you in for.

Anakin had been worried that first night in his cell, mind shuffling through a cascade of concerns and memories and landing on one that seemed inconsequential, stacked as it was against the other contents of his life, but gripped him with a fear he hadn’t felt since he was small. What would he say, when they asked him what he was in for? 

Massacre is what’s written on the record. It’s some variation of the truth as well, though Anakin can’t even remember his own crime. Just the sting of the sand, the heat of the dying day, the blood on his hands. Mostly true, though Anakin thinks of it still as justice. Vengeance. The reality of bartering on Tatooine. A life for a life. A village for a mother. 

He could say massacre. As far as crimes go, it’s one that carries weight, could earn him a certain amount of respect among his fellow criminals. 

But then they would ask him how he did it. He isn’t necessarily small, but he’s hardly a man. Nineteen years old and lanky with it. His master used to assure him that he would grow sturdier with age, grow into his frame. 

His master hadn’t even looked at him once during the trial. It had been the security guards on Coruscant who had cut his braid.

So his fellow criminals would ask how he did it, how he killed an entire village of Tuskens when he is nothing but a nineteen year old boy.

And he would have nothing to say. Because being a Jedi…even just a Jedi padawan, even just a failed, ex-Jedi…it would attract too much attention. Too much of the wrong sort of attention. After all, the Jedi Order was probably responsible for half the prison sentences of the criminals here, and Anakin doesn’t think that any criminal would be able to just set that aside. Even if Anakin had barely had a hand in any sort of galactic-wide justice.

Even if the Jedi Order and Anakin don’t exactly agree on what justice is.

So he’d been afraid, that first night in his cell. Afraid and made powerless by the Force suppression cuffs locked tight around each wrist. Afraid that they would ask, that others would find out that he used to be a Jedi and punish him for it. Beat him as if they could beat their captors through him.

But no one asked.

Apparently, information like that isn’t shared or bartered. No one actually seemed that interested. And no one asked that first day. Not that first week. Oh, Anakin was told sometimes what other people did, how they came to be here, the length of their sentence. But only by the criminal themselves. There were rumors he heard about others, sometimes. That was all.

It eases some of the fear he feels that first week, that no one calls him as a Jedi, that no one seems to care about his past.

And with that fear taken care of, he has room to realize something else.

He’s pretty—and those in his cellblock have taken to noticing.

It’s nothing much at first. Lingering stares on his face, his lips, during mealtime. Lingering stares during the communal sonics. Out in the rec rooms. In the yards. He has no cellmate, at least, an empty bunk on top of him at night.

Thank the Force for small mercies.

Lingering stares turn into loud whispers that make Anakin want to scream. Perhaps the Force suppression bracelets smother his connection with the Force, but they do little to dim his Force-gifted hearing. It’s indecent. It’s skin crawling, what they say.

It’s also incredibly useful. Surprisingly so.

“Don’t know why I gotta respect some sleemo’s claim,” he hears from across the yards as he bends down to put the weights he’d been using back on their rack. “Man’s not even in the block and the boy’s mouth’s made for it.”

“You don’t have to,” someone else says in response as Anakin forces himself to keep his shoulders relaxed and low. He feels like prey. A piece of meat, ready for the taking. “That’s your grave dug though. It’s not just any sleemo. It’s fucking Sol who’s got his name on him.” 

“Fucking Sol,” the guy repeats with angry passion. “Been here two months and he thinks he owns the place.”

Two months. Where was Anakin two months ago? On Coruscant. At the beginning of his trial. Realizing too late that he’d done something he would not be able to undo. 

“--cut off a guy’s arm with a sharpened piece of plastoid,” the other man is saying when Anakin tunes back in. “Cause he was fucking bored. He can own this shithole all he wants. I’m not getting on the wrong side of him. Even for a round at Skywalker’s ass.”

Anakin beats a hasty retreat from the yards after that, though he can’t help but turn the new information over in his head.

He’d been wondering when the heated stares from the other prisoners would turn into attempts to—touch him. It’d been growing as a fear in the back of his mind. Without the Force, his defenses were shot. He was strong and well-muscled, but some of his fellow prisoners could almost certainly hold him down.

But apparently—they won’t.

Because someone else—some mysterious prisoner, Sol—already has first dibs.

The thought makes Anakin shiver, and it keeps him up for half the night. 

“You’re up rather late,” a voice murmurs through the cell wall a few hours into his restless pacing. The sound jolts Anakin into sudden stillness. “Oh, no, please don’t stop on my account, darling,” the voice says.

Anakin blinks. That’s a Coruscanti accent, though the prison is located in the middle of nowhere on the edge of the mid-rim. “What do you want?” he snaps automatically, arms crossing as he stares at the wall in front of him. On edge. Prey. Powerless.

“To talk,” the man says. “Obviously.”

Anakin’s eyes narrow of their own accord and he steps closer. “No one’s been in that cell before,” he states. “You’re new.”

“Oh, well done, you,” the man replies in a tone Anakin can’t decide is grating or pleasing. “You’re an observant one, aren’t you, Anakin?”

“How did you know my name?”

“Darling, the whole prison knows your name, I’m sure,” the man says with a chuckle that makes Anakin’s skin dimple. Fear? “Though I would hazard to say I know a little bit more than they do.”

“What do you mean.”

“Your past, darling. Your Jedi roots.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anakin snaps, even as his heart rate picks up. Jedi. He hasn’t heard that word in ages. He never wanted to hear it again. This man knows. This man knows.

Danger. Danger.

“I can hear your pulse from here, Anakin,” the man says, sounding calm. Sounding amused. Anakin blinks at the wall in front of him. Danger. Danger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says again.

“Hm,” the man says. “You’re afraid, I take it. Of others finding out.”

Anakin pinches his lips together, quiet. Silent.

“No need for that though,” the man says, as if this is a conversation between two friends—not one of Anakin’s worst nightmares brought to life. “You are under my protection.”

The words make Anakin’s stomach drop. “Sol.”

“To some,” the man—Sol—agrees. “I’d rather like it if you called me Obi-Wan though. Obi-Wan Kenobi. For now at least.”

Anakin sneers though the other man can’t see it. His heart races even faster now. Sol—one of the most dangerous men in the prison, if not the most dangerous one. Sol—the man whose name carries enough weight that he was able to claim Anakin as his own—what, bitch? What, plaything?---even from another block of the prison.

Sol, who somehow managed to get transferred between blocks, to the cell right next to Anakin’s own.

Who wants Anakin. 

For what?

“What do you want from me?” Anakin whispers. He clears his throat, tries again, louder this time and more insistent. “What do you want from me?” “I do think that is for me to know, darling, and for you to find out,” Sol—Kenobi—replies, tone light. Amused still. “But we can start with the simplest thing. Tomorrow morning, during our recreational hour in the yard, I would like you to come to me.”

“No kriffing way—”

“So you would like them to know of your past, darling? I’m sure I could forget myself. I’m sure I could…renege my claim rather easily. If you would prefer a more…brutal touch. Touches.”

Anakin’s skin crawls. The meaning and the threat in Kenobi’s words is clear. Either Anakin does as he is told or the other man will take away the protection currently keeping Anakin unmolested. And he’ll tell the others that Anakin was a Jedi. How many would jump at the chance to fuck a Jedi?

It’s not an option. It’s not a future Anakin would survive. He knows this.

But can he really—submit himself to another man, to this man? This dangerous, cruel man?  

“I don’t know anything about you,” he says roughly. “I don’t…”

“You will learn,” Kenobi says, dark promise coloring his words. “I will be beneath the chromometer. Tomorrow in the yard. You will come to me then.”

“Do you wish for me to crawl?” Anakin snarls, anger and powerlessness raging through him. His fist hits the wall between him and his executioner. It changes nothing. 

“Did I ask you to?” Kenobi snaps back, voice sharp as a blade. A moment passes. Another. The man lets out a breath and then says, “I do not want a dog, Anakin.”

“Then what do you want?” Anakin asks again, voice breaking under the weight of it all. He has always hated traps. He has always hated being powerless. Imprisoned.

Kenobi is silent as he appears to mull over the question. “I want an apprentice.”

Anakin has no idea what to say to that, and so he says nothing. Kenobi too is quiet. He remains so for the rest of the night.

In the morning, when Anakin is released from his cell after a sleepless night, he looks automatically to his left, but the door to Kenobi’s cell stays shut with no indication that there’s anyone in there.

He comforts himself with the thought that perhaps he imagined the whole affair up until the moment he is led into the yards during the morning rec hour.

It is immediately and painfully obvious which of the prisoners is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Sol. Even without the instructions that he’d been given, Anakin thinks he would be able to pick out the other man, just from how the others treat him.

Sol stands alone, back against the far side’s prison wall, ankles crossed and a deathstick in his hand. No one gets within several meters of him, giving him a wide berth. Out of respect? Fear? Both?

Anakin swallows.

This is not the man he thought he’d be when he was younger. This is not who he wanted to become.

But somehow he is here. Somehow this is the man he has become. Somehow, after a decade of freedom, he has been found by a new master.

Sol’s eyes flash golden in the weak sunlight as he watches Anakin approach him slowly. He tilts his face to examine him, to look at Anakin examining him in turn. His beard is neat and well-kept, as red as his rather long coppery hair. His smile is crooked when Anakin stops in front of him. He’s shorter than Anakin. It feels like a hollow victory, especially when the man plucks his death stick from his mouth and places it between Anakin’s lips.

“Good boy,” Obi-Wan purrs and Anakin feels a roar of emotions roar up in him at the words. Sickness. Hatred. Anger. 

And strangely, out of place and unexpected, a thrill of excitement.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

you've written a couple post-canon KimChay fics that I LOVE - cage me in and set me free was one of the first KimChay fics I read, actually, I loved Kim and Porsche's dynamic in it. And then there's Out of the Shadows, which I'd love if you got the inspo to return to at some point (all that tasty, tasty angst!). But we haven't gotten to see how you, personally, would write the actual reconciliation. It's something I struggle with; how do you forgive someone who hurt you and then doubled down? Even if Chay is generous enough to accept and understand Kim's reasoning, how does he trust him after that? What if Kim decides to do something shitty for the greater good again? I'd love to hear your thoughts on that, whether it's general speculation or a bit of insight into the Out of the Shadows arc 👀

AHHH MY FRIEND!!! You're making me feel things ;_;

I do actually plan to come back to Out of the Shadows! Once I finish Technicality, since I've rediscovered the inspo for that, OotS is next on my list!

My personal feelings towards their potential reconciliation have changed a lot in the past year. When I originally watched the show, I had just gone through a really terrible breakup, my first one ever, and I was really sympathetic towards Chay. So I leaned in a little too hard to the "Kim is the worst person ever, how could he break this poor baby's heart."

One of the reasons I stalled on OotS is actually because it was the first longfic I started for this fandom, before I had really been exposed to all the various meta and interpretations, so I didn't have a solid feel for the characters and how I wanted to write them. I reached a point where the characterizations I started with, I no longer really agreed with, and then I had to figure out how to move forward with how I interpret the characters at this point.

Nowadays, I tend to think the reconciliation would go a lot better than you might expect. From what we see in the show, Kim never actually, intentionally seduced Chay. The closest we get to it is that cheek kiss after Chay's confession, but at that point, I think it's reasonable to believe Kim has caught feelings himself. We see multiple times how Kim is actually trying to do the opposite of take advantage: he keeps trying to dismiss Chay and send him away, and Chay chases after him every time. He's a lovestruck kid that doesn't seem to have a healthy idea of boundaries.

I'm also firmly in the camp that Chay knew Kim was sus from the start. he is a terrible liar, not nearly the criminal mastermind that he pretends to be - honestly, I think Kim is a scared kid that gotten in over his head, and is trying to act more confident than he feels.

Which is the crux of my version of their reconciliation. They are both so young. Chay's in high school, Kim is either about to graduate college or just did, putting him at what. 21? 22? That's several younger than me. We have no idea about Kim's dating history, but we can assume based on Chay's... everything that this is his first attempt at a relationship, and it's clumsy. He jumps in with both feet, he confesses being in love before he even knows Kim's full name, let alone anything meaningful about him. And given how Kim is constantly surprised by Chay, I think this is probably his first attempt at a relationship, too. At least one like this.

I tend to meet any given media where it's at, and accept what it's trying to show me. In this case, I've said it before, I'll say it again: KinnPorsche were the action romance with a side of bodyguard + boss/employee, VegasPete was for the dark romance/bodice ripper girlies, and KimChay was meant to be the sweet high school/college romance. It wasn't supposed to be secretly dark and sinister. If anything, it was a coming of age story for Chay; getting his first heartbreak, being faced with the fact that the world isn't as kind as he thought it was (re: the mafia), and having a rebellious teen phase.

ALL OF THAT TO SAY.

At the end of the day, I think Chay is overwhelmed by everything going on in his life, and he can't be mad at Porsche, bc he doesn't have anyone else in his life that he can trust, so he takes all of those feelings of frustration and fear and dumps them at Kim's feet. Kim is easy to be angry at. Kim lied to him, used him, and broke his heart. So Chay is going to dye his hair, start partying with a bad crowd, and cry over the boy he thought he loved not loving him back.

But Chay also loves his brother more than anything. He would do anything for Porsche, even give up their childhood home and move to some small apartment somewhere just so he can be safe, or drop out of school to get a job so he can help with the bills. Everything Kim did, he did to keep his brother safe. And again, Kim never outright tries to make Chay fall in love with him.

Even The Scene at Kim's apartment isn't a huge betrayal to me. I think Chay went running to the one person that's been his rock since Porsche left, needing comfort and reassurance that something in his life is what he thought it was. When he didn't get hat from Kim, he fell apart. And Kim was an asshole in the way he went about it, yes, but he was just. Denying his feelings. He has the right to do that, and it's a pretty common romance trope. He was scared so he pushed Chay away, and it hit Chay so hard because he just lost what he saw as the one good/steady thing in his life, and now he's left adrift in this scary new world. Hell, maybe Chay even went to Kim, now armed with the truth, hoping that Kim could help him navigate life in the mafia, because Porsche certainly isn't doing it. He leaves Chay crying in his room to go out partying with his new family (which is the most heartbreaking scene in the whole show, for me. He did all of this for Chay, but at the very end, he leaves Chay behind)

Anyway. I think that after a little time and distance, all it would really take for Chay to forgive Kim, is just. A conversation. Once Chay realizes that yeah, he was pushy, he did come on strong, and that all the times Kim pulled away from him it wasn't because he was "playing hard to get", but because he didn't know what to do with Chay's intense feelings.

They need to examine how they approach other people (Chay by throwing his everything in at once, and Kim's habit of pulling away). They both have a lot of growing up to do. And I think, at the end of the day, that's what their story is trying to tell us. Heartbreak is just a part of growing up.

ANYWAY. Sorry to word-vomit at you like that. The tl;dr is that I don't think Kim really betrayed Chay, at least not more than any regular coming-of-age breakup story. I think they need to grow up, have some self-reflection, and come back with a better idea of who they are and what they want. After that, who knows what could happen!

[uncle-fruity]

I've been the white person getting called racist and not understanding why, and I know how easy it is to feel defensive or flustered or guilty, but what the folks above are saying is 100% true. I've got an anecdote that I hope might be helpful for some fellow white folks to hear.

I was once at a house show and a black woman complimented my eyes, which are a very bright blue. I get that compliment a lot, and I get tired of hearing it but I also understand that people are just being nice, so I sought to amuse myself by responding with a joke. When this black woman complimented my eyes, I said, "Thank you! I'm borrowing them from a witch!" I'd only just started using this joke response in the last couple months. Just a little attempt at fantasy humor. Well, this woman got angry and called me racist in response. I was baffled, and she didn't really elaborate except to say something about witches and white people. I didn't understand, but I said sorry and let her be, as she did not seem interested in talking about it. I felt bad, and even worse that my gut reaction was, "How was that racist?"

Well, I never found out. I went home, I looked it up, I couldn't find anything. Google gave me nothing of use. I asked some friends I had, but they were just as confused as me. Even though nothing was coming up, I've more or less stopped using that joke just in case I'm missing something -- until I get more insight, at least. If anyone knows what she might have been reacting to, I would seriously appreciate a source for the information.

But I bring this up because this was one of those moments where I had to accept that I might just be the racist jerk at the house show in her mind forever, that she had a right to be mad about any perceived racism, and that I had to be okay with that. It isn't her job to unpack whether I'm actually a good person who's really trying my best. It isn't her job to get me up to speed, especially if she feels like I was trying to make a jab at her when she was just saying something nice. There are already a million and one white jerks who will ask black folks to defend their reasons for calling someone racist and demand an academic level contextualization, as if they're on trial and need proof, and not nearly enough of us who take the initiative to learn it ourselves.

There are academic papers. There are books. There are video essays. There are historical documents directly representing the sentiments & racist narratives of the time they came from. There are non-white people who have been writing and speaking about their experiences with racism for years and years and years and years. And there are people talking about it today, on this very website, and it's okay to just read & listen and to look things up if they confuse you or you need more context. A variety of sources will help you see the issue more fully.

Because the truth is that a lot of things that white people consider just part of "regular society" are baked in racism. The more you learn about racism and the history of racism and the ways racism has manifested over the years, the more you realize how much of that racism is embedded in our culture even in unassuming, casual ways. If you take time to learn about what racism really looks like, you can be more confident in your ability to avoid acts of racism. So if not wanting to be The Racist or not wanting to feel guilty about a Racist Action You Did is a real concern, the best remedy is to learn about it and try to see the ways you might be prone to perpetuating it. And when in doubt? Assume that a person of color knows more about what racism looks and feels like than you do. Reduce harm by resisting making defensive arguments to explain racism away, and just keep pursuing answers for your questions and discomfort by listening.

I highly recommend reading Ibram X. Kendi's work as a starting point, because he lays out the foundational stuff really well. I read How to Raise an Antiracist, but he also wrote a book targeted at adult learning called How to Be an Antiracist. One thing from his work that was helpful for me to internalize was that antiracism is an action, as is racism. No one is born A Racist -- it is not inherent to anyone. It is not an identity. It is learned and it is acted upon. Just so, antiracist is not an identity, but rather an action. If you care about being seen as One Of The Good White People, you will need to do the work to become one, and by the time you've done the work to become one, you will realize that that's not how it works. There is always work to do and how antiracist you are depends on what antiracist actions you take, not how antiracist your intentions were. You cannot simply say that you believe in racial equality without showing up for it. Racism is an action you take. Antiracism is an action you take. Doing nothing is still a choice, and it is a choice that tends to favor racism in practice. Learning more about racism as a topic and especially going out of your way to reflect when you've been called racist -- how you're going to better understand and better your actions -- are two very good antiracist actions that you can do for free.

And while you learn, just, know that it'll be uncomfortable and take some effort to unlearn everything. You might feel some kind of way about stuff -- parts of culture that you connected with and are only just now realize have racist tones. It's bad. It's really bad and a lot of our family members present & past do or did terribly racist things. You have probably done something racist. It's possible that you're going to do something racist in the future. It's uncomfortable to acknowledge, but we will never change if we can't accept that we need to put in the effort and do better. And we can't know how to do better or look out for non-white folks if we don't actively learn.

Sorry this got so long. I hope it is a productive addition to the conversation.

listen. white people. LISTEN to me. if a person of color yells you that you did or said something racist the appropriate response is to go "oh shit, sorry" and maybe MAYBE a follow up of "can you elaborate" if you dont understand why and thats. IT. we do not need elaborate prose about how sorry you are or how grateful you are for us telling you or how youre working on unlearning it or whatever. JUST SAY SORRY AND DONT DO IT AGAIN THATS IT ❤️

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Okay but wouldn't it be hilarious if Callie went to intern!Lena about being gay. Like "sooooooo.... how did you know you liked girls? Like. In a gay way."

And Lena kinda looks at her with a cocked eyebrow, clearly bemused. "I wanted to make my girlfriend come so hard she saw stars. Never had a single shred of desire to do the same for a man."

Lena snaps the chart in her hands shut, and turns more fully towards Callie. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with Dr Hahn?"

"What?!" Callie exclaims, scoffing dramatically. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Oh please," Lena drawls. "You two have been flirting around each other for months."

"What-- no we haven't! Wait... two? You mean... Erica's gay?"

Lena rolls her eyes.

"How do you know?"

"Support group," Lena drawls laconically.

Callie blinks. "You all have a support group?"

"Oh, yeah," Lena croons, "we meet every full moon for a monthly orgy."

Callie flushes. "I didn't mean..."

"I know what you meant," Lena says, softening a little. She steps a little bit closer, lowering her voice. "Look. You two like each other. As friends, at the very least. That's a good place to start. Just... tell her how you feel, and see if she wants to try things out."

Uncertainty steals over Callie at the thought. "But..."

Lena tilts her head. "But what? What's the worst that could happen?"

"She thinks I'm insane. Or a creep trying to take advantage of our friendship--"

"Don't do that," Lena says sharply. "Don't do Hahn the disservice of assuming that will be her default reaction. You know her better than that. She knows *you* better than that."

Callie looks at her. "You think?"

"Would you be attracted to her if you didn't?"

Finally, Callie's anxiety eases. She sighs, and some of the tension bleeds away. "No."

"Give yourselves both the benefit of being honest," Lena says, taking a step back. She shrugs. "Who knows... you might just find some happiness at the end of the rainbow."

Callie watches Lena depart, and catches the way Lexie joins her with a bump of the shoulder. When they turn the next corner, Callie spots Erica in the corridor beyond, talking to Bailey.

The nerves return swiftly, only to spike even further when Hahn's gaze lifts and meets Callie's. The smile Callie offers is thin and hesitant, but Erica's answering grin of acknowledgement is bright.

When Bailey takes her leave, Erica makes her way to Callie. "Joe's tonight?" she asks.

Callie almost declines, but the echo of Lena's rarely soft voice changes her mind at the last second. "Sure."

"Want me to see if Sloan wants to join?"

"No," Callie blurts sharply. "No. There's, uh.... There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about, later. After shift."

Erica nods. "Okay. I look forward to it. See you then."

And then she moves on, leaving Callie feeling like a deer in the headlights. What the hell is she doing? But then she sees Lena and Lexie in her minds eye, and where before she had seen something cute, adorable like watching two kids marry on the playground, she sees something she suddenly wants for herself.

There's only one question that niggles at Callie as the day descends into evening, and the chaos of the OR turns into a raucous evening at Joe's. While waiting for Erica, Callie flags Lena's attention on her way to the bar.

"So, did you?" Callie asks.

Lena shoots her a wry glance. "Did I what?"

"Make her see stars?"

It takes a moment for the reference to click, and when it does Lena's lips twist into the smuggest of smirks.

"Every single time."

[threepandas]

Bad End: Golden Cassandra

People don't listen. Not when what your saying, scares them. Especially when, what you're saying, scares them. They like to pretend, instead. That if they don't hear you? It's not happening. Can't and WON'T happen. That you're just a liar. Speading fear, for the fun of it.

But oh, when has reality ever been that kind? That agreeable?

Tell me, WHEN has it ever bowed to the tantrums of men?

I can't think of a single instance. Knew it wouldn't now, either. So, really? What was I to do? Keep trying? Beat my head against walls of willful ignorance, until the deigned to give? Hoping, against all reason and evidence, that they MIGHT, just MAYBE, do so in the nick of time? Please. I was hopeful, not a fool. Optimism does not render a soul naive.

Like the fall of Atlantis, the sacking of Rome. Great Alexandria burning. Everything was going to be destroyed. Rather dramatically, too, and rather deservedly. I couldn't and DIDN'T defend it. Try to change it? Yes. Try to SAVE them? Absolutely. But not once, not EVER, would I defend it.

After all, it was a system built upon the backs of slaves.

Death was the only reasonable outcome. Revolution, the Voice, of those unheard and in chains. Their magic, their power, used for the convenience of their so called "betters". It was disgusting. Vile.

Set dressing, for an Otome Game.

As though their VERY LIVES, their SUFFERING and SOULS, were nothing but pretty little plot points in someone else's PLAY! The indignities they faced. The starvation and thirst. Being forced to watch friend and loved ones suffer, Scream, DIE!

But Oh, at least the Protagonist gets her handsome meat to oogle. They'll know their place, as they play along. Broken nicely and so very, VERY greatful for her scraps. She can play at revolutionary. Or perhaps at savior, should she feel the need. Assuming she doesn't leave them in chains.

And I? Oh I am supposed to play dress up and face her, in some sick "duel" of love! Abuse and use to my heart's content! The Gods jest. For I will do no such thing!

I can barely recall the plot. Only that the gloss over the rather significant socioeconomic and political fall out that is sure to follow. The Kingdom is not going to survive. Should it not be one sort of Revolutionary revolt, it will be another. Corruption, stagnation, and willful ignorance are simply too wide spread among the upper echelons. Baked too deeply into the foundations.

Gods... I... I tried.

It hurts. Like ripping out finger nails, one by one, when I finally gather enough. Not even all that I wish I could. But simply... enough. There is not enough time, the rumblings of revolution have grown too loud. I... I HAVE too go. And... and I know they won't come with me. My friends, my family, the neighbors. All those who smile, nod, and listen but don't believe a word I say.

The pain is hollowing. A truely special sort of hell.

Looking back, to little cousins on tiny legs, helping you pack. With their round little cheeks and small little hands. Watching them try to lift bags like a "grown up". Your friends and family, treating it all like a trip to the country side and not the last time you'll ever see them. The... the day being... being so accursedly normal. Mild weather and gentle breeze. Like your world isn't ending. Like everything isn't gone.

Wanting to be wrong. Traveling and traveling. Wanting to be wrong. Everything mild, calm and sweet. A hell of self doubt. Every night and every dawn. Are you insane? Were they right all along? Were you reading signs, portents of Doom, where there were none? But still... you travel. A caravan filled with your life's work.

Every scrap of modern knowledge. A copy of every work and definitive artwork. Every play, treatise, and textbook. Every old Diary I could get my hands on and endless days patrolling the book markets. A lifetime's work. All spent in hand-me-downs and out of fashion clothes, just for this. The preservation of knowledge.

But what if I'm wrong?

Fiddling with the piles of ward stones, as I get farther and farther north. Closer and closer to the land I stashed away. Hidden, within layers upon layers, of ever circling bureaucracy. A magic rich grove of Gold-leaf Ginko. They would have been harvested to oblivion, if I hadn't hidden them, and the species is already endangered.

I have been using a tower I built (in a natural clearing, as I would sooner remove my own limbs, then a single branch upon one of those trees) there as a seed bank. Every endangered magical plant species I came across? I sent as many seed as I could, to my bank. Had even begun the lengthy process of creating automatons, so they could build a green house (carefully!) into the mountain.

Seems I will have nothing but time, now, to dedicate to that project.

As I get closer, passing through the beginning of the valley towns (that lead into the high lands)? My Family Ring breaks. The terrible Crack of it, a sharp knife to the gut, splitting the morning silence. Father is... oh Gods, Father is...

Yet, even before I can come to terms with this terrible new reality? Beneath my travel cloak and jacket, nestled precious like the love it represented, my Clan Mantle begins to snap and crack like popcorn. Enchanted stone beads cracking apart violently, with the lose of the life they were made to represent. Shrapnel tearing at my clothes as I desperately rip at my cloak, my jacket, blood already welling up from various wounds.

Pop, dead. Crack, dead. Snap! Dead.

I manage to rip the heavy necklace from around my shoulders. Already half the bead are gone. More, like lethal firecrackers, shooting off even as I fling the enchanted jewelry into a nearby leather bag. Scramble for a nearby heavy blanket to cover it. Blood stains everything, dripping from shallow nicks and shrapnel wounds alike. I... oh gods, I barely notice I'm crying.

The sounds have startled the horses. One of them even got hurt. It.. it takes hours to fix. I have to stop in the next town. Shaking. Shaking. I.. I think I may be shaking. C-crying. "To remember where you came from." That's... oh god. That's what Clan Mantle's are FOR. A symbolic gift, really. They... they could never have known.

That it would actually serve it's original purpose. It's ancient purpose. The reason they USED to be made. To... to show who was still ALIVE. Oh gods. I... I can't check. Can't bear to look. The sound has stopped. Is it over? Are... is there...? Please, gods, don't make me look. Don't make me KNOW, how few members of my own family are left.

I was right. Gods, damn them.

Gods damn them all.

I was RIGHT.

Bandaged, healed, I travel faster. Time is running out. It doesn't matter, now, which "route" she took. Everything will have fallen apart. I reach my grove and don't even bother to set up a tent. Wards before all. Better to sleep on the floor, then be caught unaware. I work around the clock. Feeling like clawed fingers are ever so gently, wrapping around my throat, one at a time. Tick, tock, tick, tock. And oh, the tighter they squeeze.

Barely... BARELY! Do the wards thrum to life, deep and powerful, before I feel some almost god like crash into them. My hands shake. Still kneeling in the dirt, from where I placed the last stone, I slowly look up. And... and curling above the golden trees? Shades of copper catch the light. Massive and leaning. Stepping on my wards. Looking down in annoyance, as they refuse to part.

(Distantly, I hear the horses scream in terror. I... I wish I could do the same.)

I flee. Scrambling without dignity, back to the seed bank's tower. Trying to keep out of sight. A hopeless endeavor, I know. What other reason could such a power Dragon be out here for? If not to finish what was started? But... but hope has carried me so FAR. Can it not carry me just a bit farther?

No attacks come. No insults or threats. Yet...

The presence does not leave.

I can not hide forever, for all that fear exhausts and bids me too. All my supplies are out side. My wards, at least seem, to have held? But how can I trust it? Knowing just how strong a dragon's magis is. Sure enough, the second I step outside? There he stands. The copper dragon. Just beyond the wards.

Worse still? He is a man I recognize. Which can only invite pain and suffering, as he played no small part in the revolution. Not to mention, his significance to that damnable Game. Was he "supporting character"? A "hidden route"? An antagonist I could not quite recall? I can not place it. He was THERE, but not lead about by the nose, like the others. Not broken, as they were.

Now, here he stands, light catching off his ornaments and nails. As he tap, tap, taps them lightly against my wards. In sequence. Amused. His eyes locked with mine and glowing from within. Fire and magic made manifest. The king was a fool to think he owned this man. A "royal gaurd dog" indeed. Ha! They brought death into their house, then kicked it.

A slow smile, spreading like poison through sleeping veins, creeps across that deceptively youthful face. Sharp, sharp teeth are revealed to the air. I think I may amuse him. Perhaps I have for quite a while. I have made it no secret, after all, that I know he is dangerous. Treated him as the threat he truely IS. Others thought it was funny. Would find excuses to shove me at him, just to see me panic. All the while, he pretended, like a GOOD little dog, to be polite.

His eyes had always been laughing.

And now? He doesn't even bother to hide.

"You ran away." His voice rings out, the barest hint of rasp, like the drawing of a blade. It fills the silence. Demands attention. "Did you think I wouldn't be able to find you?"

To be honest? I had hoped no one would look. That I had given them no reason to even try. Perhaps that had been naive. I was a part of the system too, in the end. Guilt by association. That didn't explain him, however. Had I wronged him? Beyond the obvious. (And the obvious sat between us, like so much rotten filth. How could ANYONE over look that?)

"Their courts burned, just like you always warned they would. You should have seen it."

He stopped to chuckle. Closer to a sneer, then a sound of true amusement. His distain and delight intertwining as he savored the memory. He leaned closer. Letting his forehead press against the barrier. Enjoying, reliving, his moment of triumph, once again.

"Ha, ha~ Oh, but you should have seen their faces. When they realized you were right. That you had warned them and warned them, but they had refused to listen! It was glorious, darling. They howled with such regret and fear. A magnificent symphony~ you made for me."

I backed up against the carts. The wounds from broken beads stinging harshly with every shift, like the screaming of the dead. Scared. Gods, I'm s-so scared. I can't possibly have invited this... r-right? I never flirted or... or suggested anything! So-! So why is-?! Gods, why is he here?!

"You can't run from me, clever girl. Not for long. You saw me and I see you. Too clever by half. They really should have listened~!" He broke off to laugh, a sharp mockery of the dead. Fangs catching the light. "But they didn't, did they? My poor clever girl. We truely were buried by filth, weren't we? How glorious it must be. To finally be free."

"But~! Did you really think you could escape ME, my clever girl?"

"You're not nearly so foolish. Open the barrier, darling."

"Let me in. Our revolution is over, I have won."

"Now you can't escape me~"

[cryptids-lair-of-hyperfixations]

sampo theory — amphoreus.

did anybody else notice that back during "mr cold feet's pop-up shop", the transition screen had references to greek lore?

i'm sure i'm not the only person who noticed, but i've been doing a lot of thinking about it ever since that event happened. what does it mean, beyond pointing towards amphoreus?

no detail is too small when it comes to this game. it has to mean something... and while i'm aware that there is a very good chance that i'm wrong about this one, i had a thought earlier that i just want to share somewhere.

"Take it easy, Icarus" — this is very curious to me. we are all obviously aware of the story of icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun. so... what's it doing in a sampo-centric event? well, there are a few things i can think of. "icarus" could easily be referring to a number of characters, but because this is a greek mythos and we're about to depart to a greek-inspired planet... well, i have to assume our "icarus" is an amphoreus character. so what kinds of things could be considered as flying too close to the sun? maybe something like... disrespecting the gods?

"This must be a trap created..." — this one we cannot really see the full quote. created by who? well, there's no easy answer. greek lore is full of tricksters and traps... but i think it's fair to say that the most well-known trick is the trojan horse. it's the one you're probably gonna think of when you think about this kind of thing. but is that what's being pointed to here, or are we referencing another trap? if so... was sampo tricked? was our fox outfoxed?

"Diogenes' Utopia" — the name of an ingame achievement, namely one underneath the "moment of joy" category; the one directly related to aha the elation. so on top of being a reference to a greek philosopher, a founder of cynicism no less, here it's some kind of meta reference to aha.

okay, that's my thoughts on the quotes themselves. but i had a different thought earlier... namely the first point. while we don't know much about the amphoreus characters thus far, the little bit of information we know about anaxa is that he is a scholar who disrespects the gods.

if we want to say that disrespecting the gods is flying too close to the sun... is anaxa our icarus? if this is the case, why would he be pointed at in a sampo-centric event?

perhaps they have some kind of connection. we obviously know sampo isn't a jarilo-vi native. it's not that far of a stretch to think he's at least visited amphoreus at some point, although i doubt he's originally from there. (i still don't know where i think sampo is from. likely somewhere we haven't heard of yet, i still think kalevala is a red herring.)

i think that's enough rambling from me now. there's a 90% chance i'm wrong about the anaxa part of this, but i just want to get the brain worms out.

[infantdisposal]

I'm going to break this down for you.

1. Not everyone has access to therapy, but since you're so obsessed with it let me tell you what my personal therapist thinks about being proship. "As long as you don't let it leak into your real life views and opinions, enjoy whatever you want." Therapists support proshippers most of the time because it's an outlet, coping mechanism, and not hurting anyone.

2. "Take a shower" is ableist to an extent. People with depression, autism, ADHD, and similar disorders often forget or don't have the energy to shower as a result of their disorder. I'm not saying you're an ableist, but please don't make not being hygienic an insult. Also, assuming someone doesn't shower because they disagree with you or do something you don't like is unfair and strange.

3. Again, ableism (and again not assuming you're an ableist). People with the disorders I've listed above and many other disorders struggle with hobbies either becoming too much or too little. Please don't make hobbies a sign of worth in someone's life because you just ruin it for the people who can't engage in hobbies. And I do have hobbies, I read books, I sing, I dance, I do diamond art, I write fanfiction, and I draw.

4. It's not "CP" it's CSEM. "CP" is the word predators use to describe it to make it seem like just another porn category, which it isn't. Accusing someone of possessing CSEM with no proof simply because they're a proshipper is strange as well, you only make it harder for people to take actual cases of predatory behavior seriously because everyone is tired of hearing "fictional CSEM" and assume it's just that over and over. And, in my country at least, as long as fictional works do not include an IRL minor, are inspired by an IRL minor, or resemble an IRL minor, it's perfectly legal to have/make.

"miku is a minor" "stop sexualizing miku"

well actually, miku is my wife and she likes being sexualized. sexualize her more. write that fic. draw that pose. imagine that scenario.