#meanwhile i was barely there BUT THAT DOESNT MATTER

[spidermandni]

the jonas brothers being the first band/celebrities i ever Technically stanned will always take me out. it was 7 year old me and my motorola against the world in 2012 😭

[itsalwaysforyou]

the black sky and all those lights

a silly little something i wrote for jalentines!!

When Mal opens the dormitory door, Jay is standing in the hallway in his workout gear, hair tied up in a bun. He’s already grinning in that way he does when he wins a fight. Mal rolls her eyes at him. Grabbing her bag, she says bye to Evie, and joins Jay in the corridor. 

She scowls as they walk, her workout clothes tight on her skin. Jay had insisted they’d do things properly, and not in their usual leather. 

The hallways are decorated for Valentine’s Day, making Auradon Prep even more gaudy and colourful as usual. Pink and red hearts plastered across the walls, boasting the abundance of love here in Auradon. Jay’s had a thousand notes in his locker. Mal’s had none. Every morning, she watches Jay approach his locker like he would a target on the Isle. Weight forward, shoulders squared; ready to fight if needs be. And the paper falls to the floor like blood, only sickly pastel. Scrawled glittery gel pen. Words confessing passionate love, or asking him on dates, or doodles of hearts. Jay smiles the whole time. Greets and winks at girls. Scrunches those notes up in a fist. 

“Everywhere looks disgusting,” Mal says as they approach the sports hall. Heart-shaped bunting crests the doors.

Jay holds the door open for her. “It’s fun.”

“You would think that.”

The sports hall is mercifully free of décor. They drop their bags in the corner and begin to warm up, another stupid practice Jay insists on. His top rides up as he side-stretches. Isle rule: never show skin, especially to the enemy. Except, Jay loved to parade around in those stupid sleeveless vests. She’s yelled at him plenty of times about it—Are you insane? You’re a walking target. He would just grin and say, they’ll have to catch me first.

Jay laughs as he grabs the practice swords from their stands. “Here.” 

He throws it, and Mal catches. The weight in her hand is familiar. Already, her pulse is thrumming faster, and maybe if she closes her eyes she’ll be back on the docks, with the wind ripping at her hair, and the salt stinging her nose, and half a dozen of Uma’s crew jeering over the clanging of swords. 

Jay chucks her a mask too, before attaching one to his own face. The mesh turns her vision slightly hazy.

“Ready?” Jay asks.

Mal’s watched fencing practise a few times, mostly as an excuse not to do homework and instead watch her boys wipe the floor with all those prissy Auradon princes. Coach Jenkins appointed Jay captain of the team a few months ago, a role he takes more seriously than she’s ever seen him take anything. 

“Rassembler! Salute! Lower the point. Masks down. En guarde!”

Mal lunges first, which Jay clearly anticipates, parrying her blow. He circles. Strikes. Mal blocks it. He’s quick. Reflexes honed to a sword’s point; learned by practise and theory. Mal lashes out again, just catching his free arm before he jerks away. She grins underneath her mask. Her breath comes quicker. Jay’s blade arcs down, hitting her chest. Mal swats his blade away. She hears him laugh. She growls. Strike. Parry. Strike. Block. Strike. Jay lands another hit. Their shoes squeak against the linoleum floor. 

“Come on, Mal,” Jay teases. 

Mal lunges like a cat on its prey. Jay’s blade grates against hers like steel against flint. Jay may be quick but Mal’s smaller, and she weaves her way through Jay’s blade until they both have the sword’s point angled at each other’s chests. 

They’re both panting. Jay lowers his sword first. Takes off his mask. 

“You came in clutch at the end,” he says. 

Mal huffs, wiggling the mask off her face and wiping her forehead with a sleeve. “You actually get training.”

“And now I’m training you!” 

His hair has loosened during the sparring, spilling out at the seams. He unties the bun; flips his hair down and shakes it out. In this late-afternoon light, his hair could be made of gold. Hair longer than Mal’s ever had. 

He pulls his hair back into its bun, deft fingers making quick work. When he straightens back up again, his face is slightly flushed from the match. 

And Mal looks at this boy she’s known most of her life; this face and these hands; a boy that has held her at the end of the world and the start of a new one. And she snatches back down her mask. 

“Again,” she says, lifting up her sword. 

She’s swinging before Jay’s even had the chance to pull his own mask back down. Her blade slices against his chest, and she hears the breath escape from his lungs. 

“Fuck!’

Jay’s blocking her hits in no time. Mal grits her teeth. A boy who’s inhabited every place she’s ever been. The shadow along the street; a fixed point on the rooftops. Those long, quick fingers that know their way around bandage; around open flesh; around her own hands. Like a comet to Earth. Like an eclipse. Totally consuming. 

And here, where the sun shines brighter than they could have ever dreamed, she is left blistering. Those girls that fawn over Jay, professing their love with the same ease that Mal can hold a dagger to a throat. Jay’s clicking tongue, and that low fry to his voice when he’s chatting someone up. Everything is always so easy to him. He can wrap anyone around his finger with a wink. 

His blade slams into her stomach. Mal pants, the budding pain in her side clearing her head. Jay’s standing above her like some heavenly deity. 

“Best of four?” he offers.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“C’mon. Let’s take a break.”

Jay drops his sword and grabs his water bottle from his bag. Mal joins him, still gripping her sword, gulping down her water like a man in a desert. 

“We should do this again soon,” Jay says. 

“Tomorrow?”

“It’s the Valentine’s Ball tomorrow.”

Mal snorts. “Yeah, and?”

“I was gonna go.”

His words are coming too slow; too considered. Like when he used to talk about his dad, or a particularly bad Barge Day. Rehearsed. A guard dog who’s smelled danger, prowling at the sidelines. 

Mal presents her blade. “En guarde!” she shouts, and Jay ducks her swing before scrambling over to his own sword. 

“Really, Mal? Another sneak attack?”

“I’m keeping you on your toes.”

They waltz around the sports hall, the blades clashing and slicing and singing.

“We all agreed we weren’t going to go to the Ball,” Mal says, jabbing at Jay.

“We never agreed anything.”

Jay lands a blow. They are at the dockyard, with its rotting wooden pier and dead fish stench. The screeching of metal; the shouting; Mal’s heart hammering like the tide. Blood, and life. The roar in her ears. A dragon’s call. Body moving without a thought, as quick as a lightning strike. Not having to look behind her because she knows Jay is there.

“Exactly!” she says. “Why would we want to go to some stuffy Auradon ball?” Jay tries to say something but she ignores him. “Why would we care about Valentine’s Day? It’s corny, and over-commercialised, and a stupid excuse to make everything about love.”

Jay has her backed up against a wall. With no time to mount his mask, his lips are slightly parted, and his hair is escaping from his bun again. He looks just like he did on the Isle; none of his perfect prince act that fools Auradon. His sword hovers above her throat. 

“Do you yield?” His voice is low.

Mal stares at him. Those eyes that have seen every part of her. All the blood; every smile; her pale skin in the dark Isle nights. The boy that has beheld her every action; weighed it all against his own understanding of the world, and decided that they slot together as easily as a bullet in a pistol.

“Who are you going with to the Ball?” Mal asks. She’s still clutching her sword. She could claim the upper hand, if she really wanted.

A grin creeps across Jay’s face. All those notes and heart-shaped lollipops. The giggling girls at his locker. He could pick any one of them. All of them so beautiful, in their sunset-coloured dresses. He could have anything he wanted.

“Well,” Jay says. “I was going to ask you.”

The sword’s point makes sure they keep their distance. Never too close. All touches so light; so fleeting, as if you could’ve mistaken them for a dream. As if you could’ve imagined the whole thing. All those nights in the hideout where the barrier of the body seemed thin, and the world became so small: just two kids who wouldn’t even dare knock knees. 

So Mal shakes it all away with a laugh. “I’m not going to the Valentine’s Ball.”

Jay lowers his blade. Neither of them move. “Not even with me?” 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other girls who actually want to go with you.”

“I want to go with you.”

His words echo through the empty hall. His word is as steadfast as ever, the only opinion Mal will ever trust. Compass, anchor: Jay does it all. 

Heralded here, Mal as real as the vast sky outside. Here, in his gaze, held aloft by trust where there shouldn’t be and compassion where there shouldn’t be and understanding where there shouldn’t be. A home for all her broken bones. 

Mal’s lips unfurl into a smile. This ache in her chest. In her throat. Jay always being able to disarm her. Jay in every place she’s ever been. Jay as her shadow; her skin; her second self. A reflection in the mirror. The line of separation is nonexistent. Like the sun, like the moon: one cannot exist without the other.

[vagueiish]

how the hell do people just talk to people? how do they just put their thoughts out there like anyone gives a shit what they have to say?

[noyasmashing]

If it isn't too much trouble, may I request mad dog with a nerdy reader. In public they have scary dog privileges but in private he becomes such a whiny puppy who doesnt know how to ask for master/mommy to touch him? No hurt feelings if you don't want too, I just don't see enough of him being a sub. Thank you!

CW: names such as pup and mommy are used, semi public, praise, hand job

A/N: i’m so sorry this took so long 😭 tbh i have no excuse

he would be suchhhh a grouch in public. Picture yourselves on the public train together. He's casting menacing glares at anyone who dares to glance your way, positioning himself protectively in front of you. Meanwhile, you're engrossed in your book, wearing a delighted expression that's impossible to hide.

And when you venture out together (a rarity in itself), despite your occasional awkwardness, you effortlessly connect with others over obscure subjects, radiating joy and warmth. Kentaro, on the other hand, stands by your side, arms folded, engaging only with you.

Its quite endearing how different you two are-personality wise. People often wonder why you're with such a seemingly grumpy individual, but they don't see the tender side he reveals to you. He's incredibly sweet and attentive, always accompanying you to your favorite bookstores for the latest releases. Despite his aversion to socializing, he willingly joins you for coffee outings.

What may be the most adorable thing about him, is his sudden shyness in private. Suddenly, he's flushed red, stumbling over his words, nervously fidgeting with his hands, unsure where to place them.

He gives up any ounce of control easily, falling to his knees at your request. Your favorite thing is making him work for his pleasure. He knows what he wants. He wants to cum until he can't think. But he doesn't know how to ask.

Recently, you'd discovered a new favorite pastime: teasing Kentaro in public. There was nothing quite like watching him squirm as he struggled to maintain his tough exterior, only to be undone by his own pent-up desire.

It was a simple matter to get him riled up. A strategically timed pause to admire a book cover, a suggestive lick of a lollipop, or a deliberate lean forward to show off your cleavage would send him into a tailspin. His eyes would flash with desire, his face would redden, and his lips would tremble.

But the best part was the moment he'd snap, his eyes pleading for mercy as he grabbed at your shirt, his voice barely above a whisper. "P-please… y-you… I need y-you…"

You'd feign innocence, playing dumb as you led him on a merry chase. "Hmm? Need me to what, Kentaro?" You'd ask, looking up at him with a concerned expression. He'd hesitate, his words faltering as he scanned the empty store for an escape route. "You know.." He'd mutter, gaze low and hands sweating.

Finally you relented, firmly grasping his cheeks, directing his gaze toward the family bathroom that was tucked away but still in sight of you two. "That'll work yeah?" you inquired, locking eyes with his widened ones, before proceeding toward the bathroom. "What if someone sees us?" he'd nervously stammer, but still following closely behind you.

You'd simply smile, your eyes glinting with mischief. "It makes it more exciting, Kentaro."

Once inside, you'd press your lips against his, drawing out a soft groan as he struggled to keep up. But you were just getting started, taking a seat on the bench, beckoning him closer.

"Y-you want to do it here?" He'd ask, his voice laced with anxiety.

You'd bat your eyelashes, playing innocent once more. "Do what puppy?"

Being the nervous dog he is, he'd trail off, his face flushing with embarrassment as he stumbled forward. You'd laugh at his shyness, running your hands up his shirt and down his stomach as he stood in front of you.

"P-please… touch me," he'd beg, his voice cracking as he dropped his head in shame.

You'd toy with him, running your fingers over his hips as he squirmed beneath your touch. "I am touching you, baby," you'd purr, but he wasn't having it.

He needed something more – something that would make him feel like he was truly alive. And so, he forced out the words: "My c-cock., touch my cock, mommy"

Your eyes lit up with amusement and a hint a sadism, unzipping his pants and pulling his underwear down without hesitation. "That's all you had to say puppy." You'd coo, while wrapping your fingers around his hardened member. It boasted a rather prominent vein tracing its length, accompanied by a slight curve that he found rather embarrassing.

You couldn't resist the urge to tease him with gentle strokes that coaxed a soft whimper from his lips. Spitting into your free hand, he'd gasp at your boldness, wanting to say something. But words quickly faded in his mouth when you smeared it long his length, making him throw his head. He'd look up at you, pleading for more, but you'd merely smile wickedly and instruct him to "be a good boy and fuck yourself with my hand."

Immediately, he would protest with a whiney, "noo I-I can't" his inexperience evident in his hesitant tone. But as you met his gaze with a firm, expectant look, his hesitation gave way to an exploratory thrust. With the help of your praise, he'd slowly become more comfortable with your embarrassing request.

As he quickened his pace, his breath would catch in his throat, his member pulsing in your hand. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and his thrusts became more erratic, your seductive voice making it harder for him to stay steady. His usually narrow eyes seemed to be welling up with emotion, and his face flushed.

Your other hand grasped the soft skin of his hips, guiding him into a harsher rhythm. He let out a loud, desperate moan, forgetting their surroundings as he succumbed to his pleasure.

Useless pleas would tumble from his lips, but you refused to indulge them, instead, instructing him to "show that pretty tongue, baby." He had no choice but to obey, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, coated with saliva as he reveled in embarrassment.

He'd pant and whine, his red tip darted back and forth between your hand, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and shame. "M-mama, I'm close.. gunna cum.. c-cum, cum all over," he'd babble, his movements becoming more frenzied by the second.

Your grip tightening around his member, moving and twisting in tandem with his thrusts would send him over the edge. He'd cum with a loud, broken moan, tears threatening to fall from his eyes as he convulsed in your grip.

His body felt shaky and weak, his legs trembling beneath him. You stroked him through the aftershocks, praising him as he sat down, still flushed from his climax.

"You did such a good job, pup," you'd coo, making him blush once more. "Just sit there and look pretty for me and I'll get you allll cleaned up."

[wolfnight2012]

So is the fandom at large still characterizing "Open Arms" as the ~pacifism~ song or have we gotten past that?

Like, I don't know how keen Polites was for violence as a soldier in the Trojan war, since we meet him after the fact & lose him soon after.

But "Open Arms" doesn't tell us about his capacity for violence. It barely tells us about his thoughts on violence as an option.

The most we can infer from "Full Speed Ahead" and "Open Arms" is that Polites doesn't believe violence is the only option (or the one they should jump to first.)

But that's not even what "Open Arms" is about (not really)

"Open Arms" is about Polites noticing Odysseus' trauma & trying to help his friend heal.

The first lines of the song are:

"I can tell you're getting nervous, so do yourself a service"

Here "nervous" isn't being used to mean "scared" but rather "anxious" or "tense." I think Polites is calling out the fact that Odysseus is going 'fight or flight' mode despite everything being calm/no threat in sight.

He then tells Odysseus to have hope.

"Think of all that we have been through, we'll survive what we get in to"

He then starts to call out Odysseus a bit more explicitly (and notice how Odysseus does not contradict him. After his first [and unconvincing imo] "I"m fine, Polites" Odysseus doesn't speak again until the lotus-eaters show up)

(Btw, if you wanna read my breakdown of Polites & Odysseus' relationship [as explicitly depicted in EPIC], I wrote a post about it here)

"I know that you're tired of the war & bloodshed" <-We the audience also know this: "Will these actions haunt my days/is the price I pay endless pain?" (Plus killing Astyanax messed him up)

"Tell me, is this how we're supposed to live?" <- Must we remain in that kill/be killed mindset, always on alert, always warriors first, men second?

"Look at how you grip your sword, enough said" <- I think we can infer that Polites is either calling out the fact that Odysseus hasn't let go of his sword since they left the ship (aka always in 'warrior mode' aka "is this how we're supposed to live?") OR that Odysseus is white-knuckling his sword, (aka he is nervous/ anxious/stressed about a potential attack despite no visible threats)

Either way, in Polites' eyes, this mentality is detrimental to his friends' mental and/or emotional health.

Then we get to the point where I think the misunderstanding started & ended up overshadowing the rest of the song:

"You can show a person that you trust them, when you stop and lower your guard" <- I think we can take this literally (lower your sword until you actually have need of it) or figuratively (be ~emotionally~ vulnerable by asking for help.)

"This life is amazing, when you greet it with open arms" <- It doesn't have to be "endless pain" Life can be beautiful, but you have to stop closing yourself off/seeing everything as a threat first

Polites is arguing that the world is not always out to get you. Sometimes people are decent. Sometimes they are willing (or want) to help you.

It's a bit of "Try extending your hand in greeting before reaching for your sword" (Not everyone will be friendly, but you won't know if you are aggressive from the get-go.)

And a bit "Life is what you make of it" (if Ody treats every stranger like an enemy, then that is what they'll be.)

"We'll be fine if we're leading from the heart" I talk a bit about this in my response here. TLDR; Odysseus is lying to himself when he says he can "Lead from the heart & see what starts" in "Luck Runs Out" because that is not what he is doing,(and his reward is the windbag betrayal) MEANWHILE he does successfully "lead from the heart" while warding off Circe's advances & it's what saves his men/gains Circe's sympathy.

"No matter the place, we can light up the world, here's how to start" <- Again, life is what you make of it. You can make it a good one; not everything is an enemy/potential threat. Stop being a warrior first & go back to being a man

Of course, this doesnt immediately work, because Odysseus greets the world with his sword when the lotus-eaters show up

(Tbh, I find it hilarious that the lotus-eaters' FIRST word is "Welcome" and Odysseus responds to a Friendly Greeting by drawing his sword)

Like, Odysseus is genuinely seeing a threat here, he IS scared "nervous"

His first words to the lotus-eaters is a demand/warning for them to "stay back" (and both their cute voices [going off audio only] or their canonical fluffy designs tell us these are tiny things. They have no weapons, they haven't indicated any aggression, but Odysseus is so high-strung he sees something he might need to fight anyways)

THIS is what Polites has been refering to. THIS is why he's so concerned about his friend. That is not healthy and Odysseus is buckling under the weight of living in "survival" mode/always being "on"

"My friend, greet the world with open arms" <- this isnt Polites horrified Odysseus is responding with aggression/concerned for the innocent lotus-eaters, THIS is Polites (knowing Odysseus is tired of war & bloodshed) reminding his friend that he doesn't have to put himself through this. There IS another way. These creatures could be friendly, "Maybe they'll share some food, who knows?" Maybe, maybe not, but they won't know until they extend a hand first & ask.

And Odysseus does it by half measures *cough* just like all his actions after "Just a Man"*cough*

He lets the lotus-eaters know of their plight "We're only here for food" and threatens them in the next breath "600 men are waiting/stay back, I'm warning you/my men will turn this place into blazes"

He doesn't even ask for food/help, he simply lets the lotus-eaters know they're searching for food, then immediately piles on three additional threats to make sure they don't try anything.

Then of course the lotus-eaters offer food, but not food they can eat & Odysseus becomes dejected (which I think implies he was [sorta] listening to Polites, or at the very least, is so tired/stressed/wrung-out that he was secretly hoping it could be as easy as Polites claims.)

And Polites tries one more time.

"I'd like to show my friend that kindness is brave" <- I've seen so many people call Polites naive. That his optimism is too extreme/and not fit for the world (or at least the world of EPIC) but i would disagree with this common interpretation as well.

Why is kindness brave? If Polites believed greeting the world with open arms would help them find ONLY friendly strangers (instead of hostile ones or outright foes) then why would kindness be brave. Wouldn't it simply be? After all, what's brave about a sure thing? What's brave about having a get-out-of-danger-free card?

Kindness is brave because sometimes you WILL be met with hostile strangers/foes. But you extend your hand in peace first anyways. You don't know for certain if you will be met with friend or foe. But that does not mean you walk around, one hand on your sword, seeing enemies at every turn. You greet the world with open arms & give strangers the benefit of the doubt first, THEN use force if necessary.

I see Polites' philosophy as similar to Waymond's from EEAAO in that regard.

Polites, like Waymond, is choosing kindness. Is choosing to be optimistic. Not because he is naive to the ways of the world, but in spite of them. That is how Polites fights against darkness & despair. He is not naive.

When Polites tells the lotus eaters he'd "Like to show my friend that kindness is brave" he knows he's taking a risk. That's why it's brave. He is extending his trust to these creatures in the hopes they'll help/they have no ill intent, BUT being Well Aware he could be met with the latter.

Just because he's optimistic about the outcome doesn't mean he doesnt understand the risk. To refuse to dwell on the negative doesn't mean you're unaware of negative possibilities.

Then Polites reiterates his advice "This life is amazing, when you greet it with open arms" because it doesn't have to all be war & bloodshed & stress. You CAN find goodness in the world, and you'll feel much better if you don't assume everyone & everything is out to get you. And he lets Ody know he's aware of what he's going through/what's upsetting him.

"I seen in your face there is so much guilt inside your heart" <- I genuinely don't know if the crew know Odysseus dropped Astyanax, every time Odysseus references the infant, it's vaguely or as an aside. But even if Polites DOESN'T know Odysseus killed an infant, he still has 10 years of war to draw from (plus the wooden horse/killing sleeping Trojans bit.) Like, Polites is aware of what Odyssues has done, he knows what Odysseus is grappling with. This is not a simple/superficial/naive call for Odysseus to 'cheer up!' Polites knows of the darkness weighing on Odysseus' shoulders & he's telling Odysseus he's allowed to put it behind him.

"So why not replace it, and light up the world" <- He's allowed. It's over. It's behind them. Polites does not want his friend to torment himself forever. Whatever he did, he can move on. He can be a better man that what he was forced to become while at war/Troy (remember, Polites is well aware Odysseus is "tired of the war and bloodshed".)

And how can Odysseus begin to heal from his guit/trauma?

"Greet the world with open arms" <- stop seeing every stranger as a potential enemy/threat. Open yourself up to the possibility that good things happen sometimes. Sometimes, people are kind

"Greet the world with open arms" <- and Odysseus begins to tentatively open himself up to the concept & take Polites' words to heart

"You can relax, my friend" <- you're allowed

Sidenote: I told myself this post would ONLY be about Open Arms (and this ended up being SO Much longer than I anticipated) but I have a few more things to say, so I'll try to be brief.

Warrior of the Mind:

I'm convinced Athena pops in when she does because Odysseus is listening to Polites. He's been eaten by guilt since Astyanax & shyed away from violence in Full Speed Ahead. His nervousness is not very "warrior of the mind" of him. YET Athena doesn't come in to scold Odysseus at any of these points.

It's only when Odysseus sings Polites' chorus back to him, signaling he's opening himself up to the concept of open arms that Athena makes her entrance.

Polyphemus:

I'm not asserting this, but I think the argument can be made that Odysseus checks out the cave because of Polites. Like, either:

A.) He's giving Polites' advice a try here & now by trusting the lotus eaters/that they mean no ill-intent OR

B.) (less likely probaby??) His friendship/affection for Polites is the sort where he wants to please him. Polites is set on trusting the lotus/showing Odyssues "another way" & Odysseus will humor him because it's Polites asking

(Tho obviously the other explanation is that they are just THAT desperate for food & Odysseus doesn't think they have time to go searching for yet another island when this one (the lotus eater one) already turned out to be a bust

Underworld:

I feel like the general consensus for Polites' section of "Underworld" is that Polites died still seeing/believing in the good of the world OR that his dying wish was for Odysseus to chose nonviolence/pacifism???

(But as you can tell from *gestures at this entire post* I don't subscribe to the idea that "Open Arms" is about nonviolence. THEREFORE)

We know Polites last words/action in life was calling for Odysseus. And, imo, Polites' dying wish was for Odysseus to heal. If "Open Arms" is about Polites' calling out Odysseus' stress/trauma & trying to coax Ody to approach life differently so he can start to move on from the horrors of war.

Then that means, in death, Polites is stuck hoping Odysseus heals. Over & Over Polites sings for his friend to let go of his guilt & try to build a life worth living (not just one have to survive in)

And THAT imo is 1000x sadder than a call for pacifism. Because Polites' dying wish doesn't come true. Odysseus' mental/emotional health grows worse & worse. He pushes everyone away in the Ocean Saga, to the point that his crew of 10 years starts to doubt him! He already "can hardly sleep" in the Circe Saga. The Underworld Saga almost destroys him and it only gets worse from there!

In the Underworld Odysseus is confronted with Polites' love for him. His desire for him to get better. His hope for Odysseus to find peace/happiness.

Polites loved him soooo much, his Final Thoughts were concern for his friend. (Then Ody gets to hear from his mom, who loved him so much she died waiting for his return)

No wonder it breaks him.

[Anyways, if you wanna see my (much shorter) post over how the Wisdom Saga basically argues for/confirms Polites' philosophy Was RIGHT, you can find it here]

[cumulo-stratus]

Love Like a Fathers

Request: Hello, hope you're having a good day/night, I was wondering if I could request Spencer x Father figure reader, theyre On a case the unsub tries to kill Spencer but reader protects him and gets hurt himself.

Pairing: platonic!Spencer reid x Father figure!reader

Summary: Y/n gets hurt protecting Spencer from an unsub, and y/n and spencer spend some time together at the hospital

warnings: cannon typical violence, gunshot wounds/blood, swearing, s1 spencer being an adorable little cutie-pie <3

A/N: Friend I'm so so so sry this has been a WIP for like month😭- I've had like no motivation to write :( thank you for the patience and for the lovely request, and although ive never written platonic for spencer, i did my best! btw the lovely dividers are by @cafekitsune (not proof read)

1.3k

Spencer Reid and Y/n L/n weren’t related by blood, but if you asked anyone that knew them- they would tell you that it doesnt matter. y/n treated spencer like the son he never had, and spencer treated y/n like the father he lost. Even if you didn’t know them, you could tell the pair were close. Spencers intellect bounced well of y/n’s wisdom. Hotch knew this, and often paired spencer with y/n because of it. And when they got called to a case in the small town of Trutney, Alabama, it was no different. 

As soon as the plane landed l/n and reid had been paired off to go to the M.E.’s to look at the one body they had so far. And so the next 2 days went by as uneventfully as they could go on a case with the BAU. Interviews, and case files - take out around a conference table and calls to garcia- just a regular BAU case. Until the last day when they were sure they had the right guy; Daniel Wilson, he fit the profile perfectly. And so the team was spilt into 2 groups; one going to the house and one going to the workplace. Hotch sent y/n and spencer to the back knowing y/n would have spencers back if anything happened. 

As they crept through the long hallways silently the pair would share glances every now and then. When they reached a split Y/n made a silent flick of his wrist ordering spencer to take the path to the right while y/n would take the path to the left. Y/n stalked down the hall with his gun raised leaving Spencer to do the same with the other hallway. 

Y/n was clearing the final room at the end of the hall when the distant sound of grunting and a gun shot. Without another though y/n raced down the hall toward the continuous grunting yelping. Y/n just barely remembered to call for back up as he ran- Morgan's voice sounding through the phones speakers.

"What's up L/n-"

He was interrupted by y/n's out breath voice.

"I heard a shot from Reid's side of the house I need backup" 

Before Morgan could respond y/n hung up, stuffing the phone in his back pocket. When y/n reached the source of the sounds, he found a door slightly ajar. He pushed it open all the way to find Spencer on the loop ground with the unsub above him. They were pushing against eachother trying sway the barrel of the gun in their favor. Spencer was trying to push the barrel away from his head while the unsub did the opposite. Without hesitation y/n crossed the room and grabbed the unsub roughly by his shoulders throwing him away from spencer. Spencer took no time at all the scramble away, his feet sliding as he fumbled to push himself away.  Meanwhile y/n and the unsigned were in a struggle for the gun. And almost as if in slow mo, spencer saw a bullet leave the barrel and enter y/ns shoulder- right where his neck met his shoulders. The resounding bang that came with it caused spencers ears to ring. but caused everything to come back to normal speed was the second gunshot, from y/n to the unsubs chest. He fell to the ground, bleeding out. 

“Spencer! spencer i need you to put pressure on the wound- okay?” 

Despite the many filed first aid books he’d read, spencer couldnt recall a single bit of information- and was only listening y/n’s instructions. 

“alright now use my sweater- ya its right over there. We need something to stop the bleeding-“

Y/n interrupted himself with small grunts and grimaces every time his shoulder moved. But luckily spencer was in it enough to properly use the sweater y/n had provided.

At this point spencers hands were soaked in blood, and so was the sweater. It was warm, and sticky- drying and cracking on the back of his hands. Just then Morgan came storming in, a mix of swat and paramedics trailing behind him. A paramedic took the sweater from spencer’s hands and he was pulled away by Morgan to checked out- despite his protests. spencer was quite insistent he stay with y/n but Morgan settled him enough to get checked out by telling him that he would be updated if anything happened. 

Spencer stood in front of the open doors of an ambulance- restlessly wringing his hands together while an EMT patched the small gash on his forehead. Spencer had resisted saying anything about how he thought it was unnecessary- as it wasn’t even bleeding that much. But spencer knew better than to argue with Morgan at this point. 

Spencer practically ran- which he didn’t do very often- to the nearest large black SUV. As he walked/ran across the lawn he called out to morgan.

“St. Mary’s right?”

“on 32nd street-“

spencer didnt allow morgan to finish- instead climbing into one of the FBI vehicles littering the street. 

The fluorescent lights of the hospital burned spencers retinas as spoke the woman at the desk. 

“excuse me where is Y/n L/n’s room?’

as he spoke, spencer drummed his fingers against the desk- anxious to see y/n. Make sure he was okay. 

“Down the hall and to your left, room 328 sir”

Spencer barely managed a curt thank you and nod before he was speed walking down the hall. the lights in the hospital clashed with the stark white of the hall when spencer entered. They were dimmed to be only slightly brighter than the dark sky through the glass. spencer found y/n asleep soundly with a large bandage across his shoulder and butterfly bandages littering his exposed chest and face. Spencer could feel some of the weight lift off his shoulders when his eyes met y/ns closed ones. 

----

Despite the dim light it still took effort for y/n keep his eyes open once he woke up. The first thing he noticed was sleeping form of Spencer draped over an uncomfortable looking chair. His back and neck were bent forward in what looked to be a not very comfortable position to sleep in. 

Spencer stirred when y/n grunted quietly from the pain of sitting himself up. Spencer immediately rubbed the sleep from his eyes and went to help y/n, and as always y/n tried to tell Spencer he was fine and didn't need help. But y/n always made an exception for Spencer- especially he insisted with his innocent honey brown eyes. 

"Spence I'm fine bud- come sit with me"

Y/n had a smile on his face and patted the spot next to him which he had now made by scooching over. Spencer shyly climbed up next y/n, his slacks and blazer looking out of place to the hospital gown y/n was wearing. 

"You know you really scared me back there-"

Spencer was staring at his hands as he spoke- remembering the blood that had once coated them. Y/n took the opportunity to place a comforting comforting hand on Spencer's back, rubbing back and forth the way y/ns own family did. 

"I know- but you can't rid of me that easily bud"

They both laughed lightly at that and instead of responding verbally Spencer leaned his head on y/ns shoulder, appreciating the warmth of y/ns excess internal heat. Spencer was often the one to take advantage of the human heater of a person y/n was. And this was one of those moments. 

No more words were needed for the rest of the evening. They weren't needed for anything- the team could handle it (and it helped that Hotch knew how stressed Spencer was and let him know he could stay at the hospital with y/n). 

And there; in the dimly lit hospital room, that smelled of disinfectant, Spencer felt more comforted than in his own home. 

The End 

Pls leave a like and a reblog!

[foursaints]

i love the dynamic you give to rosekiller. its like, theyre such individuals..but theyre so unified. barty is so average and normal on the outside. he flirts and talks all casual and doesnt have a single worry..and then theres evan. little freak is digging holes in the backyard and planting animal bones he found in the woods. he kinda just stares at you and nobody really knows what his voice sounds like (he would be mistaken as a girl if he spoke, thats how feminine his voice is. and he uses such feminine speech patterns).

i love them because barty brings out the normal in evan, and evan brings out the weird in barty. barty is teaching evan how to socialize in the daytime while evan is teaching barty (mumbling incoherently) how to while poking at his teeth in the night.

oh i feel like standing up and cheering.. YES!! you get it!!! you've touched on something i really enjoy, which is the difference in perceived normal-ness (😭) between them? to me, they're both equally freakish INSIDE, but they socialize differently...

my barty is still a transgressive deviant bastard, but i think it's a crucial part of canon that the wizengamot is so shocked at the accusation against him. he breaks more rules than anyone, but he also knows how to Play Ball when it matters. + i think there's also a lot of social stratification within Slytherin... regulus is the de-facto Heir of House Black, and even though he's kind of cold and unsociable he would still have a decent amount of slytherin clout. barty is top of their class, he's reggie's best friend, he's charming, he probably sleeps around... they're both basically doing fine

meanwhile the rosier twins are these haunted tubercular oddities who were homeschooled up until 3rd year, barely speak to anyone else, playing with bones (sidenote: androgynous effete evan my beloved). ESSENTIALLY: evan 1000% gets the "loony lovegood" treatment from the other slytherins!!!! evan is, of course, too busy dissecting flobberworm carcasses to even Notice or Care

i'm just saying that I think it would be entertaining for the rest of the school to watch Barty Crouch Jr™️, handsome and generally well-liked slytherin, just fall ASS OVER TEAKETTLE for the weirdest fucking creature on hogwarts grounds 😭... barty is tagging at evan's heels, carrying his books, obediently doting after him, all while evan barely registers his presence. it's just MESMERIZING to watch that dynamic play out super publicly in class.

[dapper-lil-arts]

Contextualizing whats going on with my blog atm

Ok so i'll explain a bit of the phenomenon of whatsup with my art. So first off, my twitter is dead. The algorythim has found me and blocked me, so i dont get more followers anymore, theres no room for growth, (and as we love to say in capitalism, endless growth is the only way) so since its a dead website, i don't have any incentive to draw things that would originaly help me grow there. which wasnt smth i would usualy do, ive always been more of an original content artist. Either way, this means i barely focus on posting there, and with good reason! it doesnt matter; i get a few commissions there, and thats it. And make no mistake, comms are my livelyhood, i pay my bills and groceries with them, so having fewer does suck. But the website is dead for me, so I have no incentive to post daily like i usualy would. (and you think imma post my poetry on twitter? no fucking way lmao) Meanwhile, here on tumblr, i had never grown or gone viral, i have got a couple thousand followers, thats it, if you think im famous i take that as a compliment, but trust me, im not exactly thriving, lmao. Theres never been a particular trend to follow to be famous on tumblr, and if there was, nah. idc. This is still my primarly posting website anyways. but here's the thing. There is nothin i can do to improve the situation and get more comms or famous or whatever. So if there's nothing i can do... Then i can do Whatever i want. This year is a blank page for me, and i've decided: I'm going to do whatever i want with my art. Jack of all trades. No more regrets, no more fears, no more hesitation. Poetry, fanfiction, erotic art, Personal ocs, titty ocs, fanart of MLP (like now), comics, memes, YTPs, maybe even video essays, whatever the hell i want. If nothing matters than all we do matters! I'm following my whims now. it's time for hedonism and hedonism only! Looking forward to see how yall get weirded out by all i do this year :3 Bye bye!

[asphodelzthornz]

I think my favorite part of ii15 is how they included little details that are barely noticeable but really add to the episode.

Knife and suitcases little look at eachother when baseball says it was nothing personal compared to suitcase and badeballs look at eachother after he calls her a victim of circumstance yada yada.

My favorite small detail is how the music affects the scene, if you listen closely during taco and mephones little back and forth you can hear how the music reflects their arc.

When the cameras on mephone the notes are bouncy and dramatic. Hes playing up for the show, he probably is genuinely suprised to see taco but he has a sort of added flare that comes off as fake. He doesnt want to face his feelings, the only way he knows how to is to play it up for the camera.

Meanwhile tacos song is quiet, and more somber. It still definitely has a dramatic flare but its very quiet under her voice. Shes been hiding for who knows how long, she still is a bit dramatic but she refuses to play for the camera.

In a way they are polar opposites. Mephone needs the show, he doesn’t know how to cope without it. To him the shows have been the few years he can atleast slightly hide from the abuse he got from cobs. Meanwhile taco views it as the reason her life was ruined. She knows that she is part of the problem but the show doesnt exactly help her reputation. It doesn’t matter where she goes, ii is canonically popular in their universe, there is no escape.

I really hope we get more of everyones past in ii16, especially taco. I wonder why they all joined, especially since im assuming that if they had a contract it had to acknowledge that theyd die. The fact that theres no other method of revival is so interesting to me.

Sorry to my sweet2th moots lol, i swear im still writing that bear fic i just got kinda burnt our

[dairy-farmer]

Sneaking back iiiin~☆ After a period of being away o/

D-Lister Otome Powers POG? I think SO! CONSIDER:

Tim, out on patrol, things have been... tense. He's gotten Bruce back from the timeline, but it hasn't FIXED anything. Things were said. He spiraled. Trust was betrayed. He doesn't... he doesn't feel like he HAS a home anymore.

Dick feels betrayed and worried TOO. He needed Tim's support. Instead he broke down, went rouge, and nearly DIED. Didn't explain ANYTHING. Now he's drifting away from the family.

Bruce is barely recovered. His family is in pieces around him and he's pretty sure it's his fault.

So... Patrol is... Professional. Tense. Like it has been for days.

Red Robin is checking out some minor disturbance. Discovers clues that it's some INCREDIBLY naive or foolish out-of-towner who thinks they can "make a name for themselves" in America's crime capital. Idiot is going to get himself killed.

But why target a minor gaming company?

No matter, RR can handle it. He's tired, patrols nearly over. Should be quick.

The days after weeks of hurt and hypertense emotions have left him exhausted. Making mistakes he would normally NEVER make. Like going after an unknown alone. No matter how small they SEEM.

You could always be wrong.

And that KILLS.

Batman trained him better then that. Bruce, catches his plan, too late. Is blocks away. Can hear, through Tim's comms, the most terrifying sort of confidence in that opponents voice. Not fool hardy overconfidence. Not arrogance. But "I have a nasty trick that I KNOW you can't counter". Tim. Tim, get out of there! TIM!

Red Robin does not respond.

And Tim? Wakes up with a splitting headache. Too... honestly? What looks A LOT frilly, hyper feminine version of one of Drake Manor's guest rooms. But with "personal touches" added to make it LOOK like someone supposedly lives here. Too generic though. And too artfully placed. It looks like a movie set.

Where the fuck is h-*DING!*

Then a blue screen like some of the holographic screens he's seen before, pops up. "Welcome to ☆~Knights In Gotham~☆! Complete the game or be trapped forever~♡!" It reads in cutesy font.

Well that ONE way to get him out of bed. But unfortunately, it takes less then 15 minutes to confirm that he is, indeed, not in his native reality. MIGHT be drugged or hypnotized. He'll have to test. But the whole new reproductive set, suggest otherwise.

So he pokes around. Speed runs his emotional "I'm trapped, might never see my family again. No. No! I WILL escape!" Character arc/mental breakdown in the shower. Finds some pants.

Figures out what sort of game this is. It's an Otome game. Dating. Based on? His FAMILY. Fffffuck his life.

Okay, should be TOO bad right? People never get their personalities right in fan stuff. Thanks to the Bats being Cryptids. So Tim can just pretend they're other people, right?

Wrong.

The game world he quickly realizes, is using HIS knowledge to fill in the blanks of the massively unfinished framework. This assholes Meta powers? Can only trap him IN here. He's not in control of it. NO ONE IS. Oh, that's so much worse.

Outside? Bruce has BatDad'd panic beat downed the Otome Meta. Where is his BABY BOY!? He can't answer you unconscious, Bruce. Thankfully, Dick is observant. There us a computer on. With Tim on it. He puts two and two together. They are able to keep the power on and transfer the computer to the cave.

Meanwhile? Tim is staring down a Bruce in FULL Brucie Mask. Debating with himself. Because on ONE hand? Childhood wet dreams: Get? But on the OTHER, baggage for daaaaays. And there us no guarantee this isn't a PG title. So like? Bruce would DEFINITELY be the hardest Route, wouldn't he?

He has no idea what he's doing.

He doesn't PLAY these type of games.

He figures, since demon child DOESNT have a reason to hate him here? Probably the safest bet. Especially since he won't feel as bad manipulating a version of him. It should be fine right?

Wrong. He doesn't play these sort of games. Is unaware of how they work and what's at stake. He bungles it. Doesn't play to the troupes, gets his first Bad End. He knew just a touch TOO much, too soon, too openly. Damian's character became convinced he was either a Rouge or an Assassin. But! He got all those "heart event" thingies! Tim mentally protests!

Which is why it doesn't just cut to black, a sudden attack from behind, "Game Over".

No, Tim wakes up behind bars. In a bunker. Nicer then a prison cell, but only just. Because Damian LOVES him. But can not allow him to continue his criminal ways. So he's going to rehabilitate him. By force if necessary. And he knows, because he is not a fool, that Tim does not truely love him. But?

He can fix that too.

They have time.

Outside? Actual Damian is horrified. His feelings towards Drake are... complexe. But this?! Absolutely not! He lunges forward. Dick is trying desperately to hit the Restart. It's not working. Damian hits it HARDER. It works immediately. (They later realize only the "Route" target can restart the game)

Tim wakes up in the starting room.

This time he fuckin LOOKS UP Otome Games on a computer.

Takes a bracing shot of whiskey, because this IS Drake Manor and he knows where his parents hid the good stuff, and tries again. Gets the Neutral End. Fuck! Okay, tries AGAIN. Gets shot, Game Over. Oh god damn it!

He keeps going.

Nothing seems to be WORKING. He's getting stressed. Lonely, desperate, hopelessness trying to set in. He just... just wants to feel WARM you know? Reassured. Held. Knows he's not thinking clearly, but...

So he goes after "Brucie". He KNOWS Bruce. Knows how he picks his one night stands. Knows how to dress up just enough, just OFF enough, to not be suspicious. It's a bad idea. He knows it as he gets dressed. As he arrives. Flirts. Charms and drinks, but not too much. Let's himself be tucked under Bruce's arm. Led away.

Kon always said he was great with his mouth. From the way "Brucie" tenses, like iron under the sild of his suit, holding himself back from grabbing and being rougher then his reputation would allow? He'd say Bruce agrees. Tim certainly puts his all into it. Let's himself lose himself to the rhythm of movement. The scent of Bruce's cologne. The slide over his tounge.

Stolen moments though, aren't enough to get to everything Bruce wants.

The party ends too soon. And Tim leaves with the other guests.

Only to find himself FIRMLY in Bruce's route. The man showing up everywhere. Stealing kisses. Hands disappearing under clothes. Bruce, as he tends too, obsessed. In love. Overwhelming. Tim finally, FINALLY get a Good End.

He also gets fucked, in his bed, within an inch of incoherence, by Batman.

Yet the Game does not release him. Because it did not say "complete A Route" the realse conditions were Complete the GAME. So now Tim has to "win" the others.

All while they watch.

Because THEY are the only ones who can start a new route. Bruce absolutely could have hit that restart once the Good End popped up. Yet... he let the scene play out. Sat, alone, having sent the others to bed... and watched his son get fucked by a version of himself. Watched his son gasp and whimper, cry out and sob, in pleasure.

They each get to watch. As Tim bonds with "them". Spends time with "them".

Eventually, Tim manages the secret Harem Ending. Stumbles free into the waiting arms of his family. They rejoince. But the question remains~! What will they do know? After so long, thinking darkly that they could "do better"? That TIM deserved better then the touch of imposters? That is the question we ask! As I run out of steam and need to sleep! Thoughts?

-🐼🐼🐼

tim's family watching as he works through all their "routes" 👀👀👀👀

[istherewifiinhell]

were back to our (ir)regularly scheduled bullshit!

[ID: Splash page with the issue title and creative credits. Megatron is bound up in cables, some plugged into him, effecting repairs. He speaks: Remind me to thank you when i get down from here, Shockwave. Meanwhile, resumption of my command must begin now. Shockwave: You don't seem to understand. These autobots you see lying dead on the ground are there because I put them there. The Decepticons you see barely clinging to life are in that operating mode because of you. Until I intervened, Autobot victory over us was assured.* The evidence says your leadership was faulty, Megatron. Logic says I must assume command of the Decepticons. Editor's Note: *as seen in issue 8 END]

back to the USmarvel, The New Order, issue no. 5! (22-23 UK reckoning) from feb 1985!

Script: Bob Budiansky Art: Alan Kupperberg Letters: Rick Parker Colour: Nel Yomtov Editor: Jim Owsley EiC: James Shooter Digital Re-master by Digikore Studios Limited. Collection Edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon. Editorial notes and assistance by Mark. W. Bellomo

now... welcome back digital re-master. just in time for me to rip you a new on... bare with my folks...

so this issue opens with new king bitch in town, shockwave, conducting research into humans via television. so uh.., they put honeymooners in my transformers comic?

[ID: Both images of a Full page B&W illustration, two men stand behind a table, one asking "Whatsa matter Ralphie-boy?" Ralph, staring wide eyed, dead ahead, grips a chair saying "Homina-Homina-Homina!" A woman looks in through a window, with a scowl. 1. The illustration uses blocked inks, and half-tones for the characters, but the background and objects have mid and dark halftones added in an almost painterly fashion. 2. The art now with most of the tones and shading removed, everything left either black, midtone, or stark white. END]

surely. one of these images is higher definition. but which one looks BETTER? now its possible this is actually about which master copies they were working from. perhaps a rights issues? (the uk printing replaces this page with a different image) but i note here ALSO. they removed the artist, Kupperberg's, signature form the bottom left corner. a hateful affair all told.

though, this doesnt just piss me off to see an artist works edited, and made to SUCK! (tho boy does it...) my friends... comrades, fellow bloggers. lend me your eyes. DO they see this the way mine do? cause ill eat my fucking hat if that's not DUOSHADE paper. the infamous medium of many a B&W indie. not familiar? check out my previous blogging on the friendly neighbourhood martial reptiles. but i digress.

if this. this INSULT to my very being wasnt enough. they also recoloured shockwave from a perhaps accidentally stunning shade of magenta to a cool lavender... which i personally just found quite boring. well. most of the time

[ID: 1. UK printing, Shockwave seated on throne like seat, coloured very warm toned purple. He listen to a sports broadcast and says "These humans are even more primitive than I thought." 2. Digital remaster, Shockwave's profile visible, coloured red, as he watches a news reporter. END]

the very first image of this post has another, red shockwave, btw. I suppose, they could be printing or colouring errors, but they could also be lighting/compositional choices by Yomtov (its not uncommon for his foreground characters to be done in monotone, particularly, purple) either way they corrected for it. and to me, this instance just comes of that whatever work flow being used, doesnt even flag the second figure AS shockwave, so a redwave remains...

i stress. i never blame any individual who does this work. its to them, just a job, and why should it not be? my ire is with IDW, and why they enact these "restorations" anyway, and why the fuck people ought to pay new money for old art that has been given so little respect...

anyway reading the print version meant a lot of tabbing between the us and uk printings. which is why i noticed this

[ID: The crediting for the colourist, Nel Yomtov. In the US printing the say "Colors" and in the UK "Colour", the S removed, and a U added. END]

im just amused by the effort taken... surely the kids dont care that much? and yes apparently they do this every time.

JEEZE CREESY WHO CARES. LETS SEE SOME ROBOTS

[ID: Shockwave watching the news, off panel dialogue Reporter: Ms. Beller, you have been called a computer genius even though you're only a few years out of high school. What is your role in this? Beller: It's true I designed the secondary and tertiary oil recovery systems Reveal of Beller, a very young looking woman in a jacket and a hard hat. She continues: --the semi-automated defense system, the refinery's non-polluting digitized micro-scrubbers. But I consider it all just a part of my job. END]

shockwave learns the alarming news that a new female character is being introduced!

[ID: 2 page spread, the bodies of almost every single introduced Autobot are hanging from the ceiling, damaged and "bloodied". Shockwave scrolls under them, saying "Indeed" END]

also. check this shit out

anyway WHATS going on between shockwave and megs?

[ID: Shockwave pointing to the still bound Megatron: You will explain now how you permitted our position to deteriorate so drastically, Megatron. Megatron, mostly off panel: As… Commander… it is your right to demand anything of me. It is my privilege to oblige. END]

OH. its like that huh?

[ID: Shockwave offpanel "--Should logic so dictate." A close on Megatron, he thinks "Talk, Shockwave..." A close on his repairing hand twitching "...talk while you still can!" END]

well maybe not for long...

anyway... turns out the WAS a reason we saw ratchet helping those EMT's

[ID: Ratchet driving into the hospital parking lot. Buster calls out "Ratchet!!" who responds "Greetings, Buster Witwicky how nice to see your carbon-based face again!" Buster asks "Ratchet, where've you been?" END]

I hope your all ready to become extremely endeared by ratchet, or else just put up with it. cause...

[ID: Buster and Ratchet, still in alt mode, continue to speak, while EMTs are searching for the source of this mysterious voice. Buster: If they attacked the Autobots they should all be broken-down junk-heaps by now! Ratchet: Wonderful! I knew your father was a human we could trust EMT 1: I'll look behind the grill, Mel! EMT 2: I'll check under the seat cushion, Gus! Four people react in shock as Ratchet shouts: Do you organic creatures mind? I don't go poking around your mouths to see how you talk, do I? END

my beloved....

[ID: Ratchet on the road, stopped at a red light, as Buster rides inside. Ratchet: Listen, friend traffic signal, we're in a hurry, so if you could please turn green… Buster: It doesn't hear you, Ratchet, it's only a machine. Ratchet: I'm a machine, and I hear you, Buster! Buster: Yes, but you're different, you're-- Inside view as the light turns green. Ratchet: Ahh, he changed! Thank you, friend traffic signal. May the rest of the day find you in proper working order. You see, Buster, you have to learn how to talk to people. Buster: I… I'll try to keep that in mind, Ratchet. END]

this is so charming can we get corey burton and uh. well rest in peace don messick.., so just corey burton twice will do, to record his.

oh and anyone interest in timeline of when tf lore gets introduced (me... thats... mainly just me)

[ID: Shockwave points to Megatron: As always, you underestimate Optimus Prime, Megatron. No, he will not be cut up into wires and microchips. His value is far greater to us if we keep him functional, for it is logical to assume that an Autobot of his stature contains within him--The Creation Matrix! Megatron thinking: By the divine weld! The Creation Matrix is the computer program that allows its possessor to construct new transformer life! Its power is the stuff of legends! Shockwave continues: It is said once every ten millenia a new Autobot leader is chosen and encoded with The Matrix. END]

MATRIX MENTION? everyone have their lore bibles out? someone WRITE THAT DOWN.

[ID: Buster stumbling through the Ark in shock, "N-no… it can't be true! There must be some explanation! There must be! Wait a second… I didn't see Optimus in there…there's still optimus… there has to be--" He walks into a room with Optimus Prime's severed head, plugged into grand machinery. Buster yells "--Optimus!" Prime, weakly: Buster Witwicky… You must help me… you are… the Autobots… last hope…" End card-- Next: Oil Rig Assault! END]

OH MY GOD!

[thatneoncrisis]

You see but traditional griddlehark smut lacks the proper characterization and complexity necessary for many fans to enjoy it…

you say that but something like. oh i dont know. yellow card. has well over a thousand kudos and over 46k hits. i have come to terms with the reality that what i am selling is Not what the average gh fan is buying

on top of that, due it being the most popular ship by a long shot means there is WAY more variety in between each subgenre of stories. the characterization i dislike tends to crop up more overall but if i dig i can find some stuff i gel with

meanwhile i literally think theres like One pash and alecto fic that isnt mine and pash isnt even in it. also i dont like it its one of those fics where the author got mad someone called their ship problematic and wrote a whole story about how it doesnt matter but also the story itself is incredibly tame

point being. its smut. most of it Isnt going to be complex. the vast majority of people writing on ao3 do it because it makes them happy, and thus write stories that make them happy. i just happen to be one of those people who thinks its really fucking funny if its just strange and off-putting and barely sex at points. one of my favorite fics with those two is just them talking while harrow has her entire fist in gideons chest simulating a heart beat. they start arguing about if most people have ever tasted a bit of bone before. its a riot. my other favorite one is harrow and alecto where alecto acts like a dog. i may not respect the median of tlt porn but i acknowledge the state its in and act accordingly

tldr: if you REALLY want to write in character griddlehark sex you better be prepared to have them stop halfway through because it fucking sucks and nobody cums because harrow kept insisting on doing weird necro shit in bed. also so much talking. like too much talking

[sirfdabba]

And after all that has happened, after all that could potentially happen, I still choose to hope. I hope. I try to hope. I force myself to hope. I am standing in front of the wash basin, I have applied the himalaya neem facewash on my face, some of it has entered my eye, it had turned red, I could barely look into the mirror. I wanted to look into myself, but now I could look into just one eye of myself, the red eye is not able to open itself up. Thus I continue to stand and stare. In the meanwhile, the logical compartment of my brain is bombarding facts onto the sentimental layers of the mind, but I use physical force, give it a tight metaphorical slap and command it to hope.

The brain is logical you know, it questions. It asks me, what do I stand for. Yesterday, I was reading an article on human rights violation, it suddenly asked me the meaning of the term hypocrite. It asks, do I still like history? If I dont then where should I dump all the history that I have known till date? The brain says, it wants to throw away all the dates, numbers, deads - the dead names, the dead blood, the dead who are now stories (stories which are lying somewhere under the rubble of a long lost bird called secularism) out in a gutter. Last night, the brain said, it wants to relearn the history. A history which is conveniently picked to satiate the ego and doesnt cause any uncomfort, a history which was all gold and great, a history which was never wrong, a history which was always glorious. I hope it was being sarcastic.

I hoped all day long. In the evening, I looked at the sky and hoped that I was oblivious. But then I went on hoping. Didnt know that even hoping can lead to a vicious cycle. I hoped that the black smoke, coming out of the stubble burning of humanitarian principles, dont come and clutch me. And even if it does, I instantly hoped that it let me go. I hoped that while the smoke's guides are about to behead me by forcefully making me chant something which I dont believe me, and I beg them, let me not be vulnerable enough to instinctively tell them that, at the end of the day (if they consider the mitakshara school, if they consider the blood line shebang) I belong to their team only.

I hoped to never be in such a position that I have to lie to them about the books that I like to read and the movies that I like to watch and the thoughts that keep me up at night. But, you know what, at the very same moment, deep down, I also hoped, that when the "survival of the fittest" animal in me comes to life and I finally prove to them that I am, in the larger schema of things, on their team, I guitfully, yet sincerely, hoped that they accept it and leave me. I hoped that the orange pollutants which make up the black smoke, dont take my life. I guess I have watched way too many documentaries, the ones which have compiled the screams of the minority, that, I sincerely fear being a minority. That on the d-day, on the h-hour, I will shed everything and, while begging the majority to not to kill me, will accept infront of them that I too am a majority.

But then, after a while, (by while I mean, a few seconds) I also hoped, that after begging for my life from the orange polluters, let I have enough hope to kill myself. Because it would be a hopeless thing if I continue to breathe after telling them that I am on their team. I am sure, after the begging ceremony, the reamining hope in my body will, itself, choke me to death.

However, this train of approximately hopeful, somewhat hopeless thoughts, made me wonder, how we all fear them, dont we? We all fear that someday it is going to be me. The ones born in the majority will always have a way out, for sure, no matter what, "their birth in a particular sect" will always be their most powerful weapon, just like my thoughts thought of using them when I thought of myself getting killed. But, I wondered, how we all are at the mercy of the jingoists.

However, then and there itself, I again hoped, preposterously hoped for a day where we would not be at the mercy of the jingoists.

All the books that I have read, all the documents that have stayed with my mind, all the numbers and blood and horrors on which I stand, they collectively come to visit me. They often do, perhaps to check whether my conscience is still alive. Does "having conscience" have anything to do with "hoping"? I dont know. I am exhausted by compelling myself to hope. Hoping is not even a choice, you know. Lately, its been a need. If I were to believe all that I am learning in the classroom, all that I wish to practice in the coming future, then I need to hope. Or else I might die. A death due to lack of hope. A death due to suffocation of hope. A death because one got exhausted by hoping that they chose to stop to hope.

[pasharuu]

my process of making a comic for public vk ask is precise: pick a question, get the general idea and make a silly doodle teasing it, brainstorm about that (i usually write it up so i wont forget everything in a second), compose and finally illustrate. so today i wanna show you one of the brainstorms. i usually write these up just along the way, noting everything that comes to my mind, and in russian of course, but this time i made it as clean as possible, and also as short as possible... these are sometimes super massive, especially if i get to theorizing (i usually do). its just a funny thing to share because i too think that my texts are very absurd fr. and also its a practice, i have english exam in less than a month. alright, lemme copy and paste it from my memos and pretend we're getting started.

=======

so there is an age old question lying in arana's askbox (literally september 2nd.. and its unanswered, luckily for me) that is basically about why arana ended up befriending rana, and the person specified how could she become so devoted solely to rana. when i saw that, i once again confirmed to myself how poorly people know the story of aranyaka, but im not mad about that at all, its rather an opportunity for me to tell a story! simply answering the question with a little of a correction would be too boring, so i decided that i will only use post-aranyaka arana as a talking head to make things more interesting. the key is that she had forgotten everything we learned during the questline, so with that she will only have to assume stuff. stories are a thing, of course, but a very different thing. so this is a setup that hopefully will make things more intriguing. with that said, let me try to solve a problem the asking person stated previously to debut myself.

first of all, i want to state why arana is not devoted solely to rana. she actually told us otherwise: she is basically a babysitter for all the children of vimara village, probably she's even been caring for generations of them considering how old she is. plus, rana is an adult and she cant see aranara, and so arana. arana still does watch over her, but she doesnt hang out with her anymore. with such a summation theres no way arana would be dedicated only to rana. we get to focus on rana because she is in trouble, and thats how things always go: when someone is ill, they need more care to get healthy again. arana is just committing a genuine help in a serious situation, just like she did with iotham by the way.

so the little misunderstanding is solved, now moving onto the difficult part. how will arana explain herself? of course i will not let rana speak majorly, best at all even. this is the difficulty, because rana is the one who remembers. arana still must be aware of being friends with rana and the children from the village in the past, but lets get into her perspective for a moment.

its a cool concept to have someone who barely knows the subject to talk about that subject: they will make mistakes, make assumptions, be unsure about their statements, etc. meanwhile everyone else are well aware about the subject, so they will notice all the inaccuracy. just let arana assume! let her make as many wrong statements as possible, but end up being sure about one thing: rana is still dear to her no matter what. perhaps she doesnt fully realize the value of this connection, but this is not important. despite aranara being largely focused on memories, arana lives the current moment, and that may be why she rejected on becoming vasara tree, to live freely and feel this current moment. i went kinda philosophical about this, but thats a necessary part. this is basically what i want to say with this, a moral of the story. sure thing the past may be dear to you, but you will never have an opportunity go back there, doomed to stay in the present. however, its up to you what you want this present to be, to make it a precious past one day.

lmao this is literally where i might end playing role of arana for making the most philosophically filled comic of all i ever made. only have to compose it well now, which is even harder than this brainstorming to me, so now i retreat and start making the idea alive, because all the previous steps are completed.

[enu-kui]

making covers in vocaloid vs. making them in synth v is such a different experience.

vocaloid is so bare-bones in its offerings that you have to make 30 hours worth of tweaks to get it to sound exactly like how you want it to. meanwhile synth v generates something almost perfect on its first try.

it takes out all the work! which is sometimes good, but it feels so wrong to me to not spend five to six days making small micro-edits to a song. id like to clarify, it's totally not cheating — or if it is cheating, it doesnt matter if you cheat. but im still feeling strange that i didnt do boatloads of work to get it to where it should be.

[bitchoftruth]

satoshi exists and also, is it just me or is it really hard to tell apart shion and rena in these few pages? They wear the same uniform and the front of their hair looks the same too, only way to tell is their hair length... rena has become a sonozaki in her old age

its watanagashi time, kururu joins them for club activities

and teppei is there too. die.

the rest of the kids object to kururus inclusoin more than teppeis though.

after more festival hijinks we cut back to adults discussion village politics. The situation with polaris unfortunately isnt something keitarou can resolve by being besties with everyone.

of course theyre also pressed about rika leaving, no wonder she doesnt want to be recognized.

kimiyoshis in the core arcs are always in the background, the console arcs tried to highlight them a bit, but natsumi is barely a kimiyoshi really. In any case, it does make sense they would try to get back to power in an absence of furude's, and sonozaki inaction.

Also makes sense that sakiko would be the one most against polaris, seeing as her family thinks this way.

Tamaki seems relatively neutral on the matter, like her family, while kihiro is more concerned about keitarou himself than polaris.

The kimiyoshi's plan on getting keichi on their side after he returns, but keitarou choses that moment to introduce them to kururu , so they just stand there awkwardly.

yeah, I imagine rika is quite sick of it.

the kids each to it in turn, and keitarou insist on doing it together with kururu

afterwards she flees presumably to cleanse herself from being so close to a hinamizawan

cringe fail tomitake choses this moment to appear for some more exposition

okay. they got like. a suborganizations of fuckinggg jrpg villains. i change my theory, i bet not-tomitake is one of them , and theyre the ones manipulating polaris, the bulk of polaris are victims too. or something.

anyway, he says that they are probably mixed in with the crowd right now, keitarou is initially excited because he likes the thoguht of polaris joining the festival, but is set straight when told they dress like anime villains.

meanwhile kururu..

seems upset!

and rika has the appropriate reaction to a video call while youre in bed