#metaphorically covered in flies

[vivsinkpot]

Writing Characters with Wings: The Beauty, the Burden, and the Biomechanics

So you’re writing a character with wings. Angelic, draconic, demonic, fae, fallen, or otherwise — gorgeous. But if you want them to feel real, grounded in a world where wings are more than just aesthetics or metaphors, here’s your deep dive into everything you need to consider when writing winged characters.

Wingspan 101: The Numbers That Make It Work

Let’s talk size — because wings aren’t small, and the human body isn’t light.

A human-sized character needs massive wings to fly. The general rule from biology is that the wingspan must be at least 2.5 to 3 times the total body height to achieve lift — often larger if the character is dense with muscle or armor.

A 6-foot tall character would need wings at least 15-18 feet across (that’s 7.5–9 feet per wing!) — and even larger for powered flight or with weapons/gear/clothing.

Bat-like or dragon wings will be longer due to needing more surface area for lift, while bird wings rely more on shape, feathers, and aerodynamics.

And that’s not even getting into takeoff — unless they’re leaping off cliffs, running starts or magical assistance are necessary.

✍️ Tip: If your winged character flies easily from the ground, consider making flight magically assisted rather than biologically plausible. That frees you from gravity’s judgmental eye.

Everyday Difficulties of Wing Ownership

Having wings isn’t all ethereal silhouettes and poetic metaphors. Here are the gritty, unglamorous realities your characters would face:

Sleeping

Wings get crushed if you lie on your back.

Side sleeping is awkward if your wings are large or jointed.

Custom bedding? Absolutely. Maybe even hammocks, curved cushions, or nest-like bedding.

Clothing

Normal shirts and jackets won’t work.

You’ll need wing slits, open backs, or wraps that tie around the body. Think Roman togas or modern backless dresses.

Armour? Custom-forged and probably a pain. Don’t forget feather damage or joint pinching.

✍️ Consider how your character feels about their body being constantly on display. Wings often mean exposed backs and shoulders, which may create vulnerability, vanity, or resentment.

Doors and Crowds

Wide wings = tight doorways, smacking people in corridors, and no stealth in crowds.

Imagine folding your wings every time you sit, walk through a room, or pass a stranger.

✍️ Tip: You can give them a signature motion — like a wing flick when annoyed, or folding them tightly when anxious. Use wings as expressive body language.

Anatomy & Pain: The Biology Behind the Beauty

Let’s be honest: if we’re slapping wings on a human back, we’re violating all kinds of anatomical logic — but that’s okay if you build consistency into your world.

Placement

Real wings (like bird wings) emerge from the shoulder blade area and require massive muscles in the chest and upper back.

This means your winged character would likely have a thickened thorax, and expanded ribcage, and potentially a modified spine to support the muscle and articulation.

Pain and Maintenance

Wings get sore after long flights.

Molting? Yes. Feathers die and fall off.

Injuries like tears, broken bones, or ruffled feathers aren’t just painful — they can be humiliating, especially if wings are a sign of status or identity.

✍️ Treat wings like hands or limbs — they require grooming, get tired, and define personality.

Symbolism & Emotional Weight

Wings often carry metaphorical meaning — and this is where your story can shine.

Liberation or Burden?

Are wings a gift? A sign of divine favor?

Or are they a curse — a mark of something inhuman, a heavy cross to bear?

Intimacy

Touching someone’s wings might be deeply intimate, even erotic or sacred.

Wing injuries could feel like a violation, akin to broken hands or scarred faces.

✍️ Try writing a scene where someone helps preen feathers, cleans wounds, or covers their wings with a blanket. That’s not just care — that’s vulnerability, love, and trust in one.

Emotional Tics

Wings can curl inwards when frightened or sad, flare open when defensive, or shudder when someone’s overwhelmed.

Use them to externalise emotion without needing dialogue.

Societal & Cultural Impacts

If some people have wings and others don’t — that matters. A lot.

Are winged beings seen as divine, or dangerous?

Can they fly freely, or are they kept grounded by laws, jealousy, or architecture?

Are winged people segregated, idolised, or feared?

✍️ A culture that evolved around flight might have multi-level cities, mid-air rituals, different greetings, or class divisions based on wingspan.

Dark Wings, Darker Implications

If your character can’t fly — even with wings — that’s a story.

Maybe their wings are damaged, too small, or shamed.

Maybe they’re haunted by a fall or terrified of heights.

What does that do to a person — to have wings but be bound to the ground?

That contradiction can become a core part of a character arc — not just about wings, but about freedom, failure, and fear.

In Summary

Characters with wings are so much more than “a human but cooler.” They’re a walking contradiction — majestic and awkward, powerful and vulnerable, soaring and struggling.

So write their aches. Write the mornings they wake up with crumpled feathers. Write the power trip of rising above the world, and the terror of falling. Write them like people — winged, wounded, wonderful people.

💬 Reblog with your favorite winged characters, your original ones, or the best wing-related scene you’ve ever read or written! I’d love to see what you’re working on.

[spenceragnewfics]

I know it's silly, but can I ask for a soulmate au with Spencer and female reader? Like they discovered they are soulmates in a dumb way

Sorry if this sucks! I don't know why it was difficult to write this.

Summary: Most people get romantic, poetic soulmate marks. You? You were blessed with: “Is that your Mountain Dew Kickstart?” Word Count: 844

People talk about their soulmate marks like they’re holy scripture.

“Your smile is the sun.”

“You became my everything when you entered the room.”

Even the dramatic ones are revered like Oscar-winning monologues:

“I’ve crossed galaxies for you.”

“I’d bleed just to find you.”

You?

You were cursed.

Your soulmate mark, the first words your destined partner would ever say to you, reads:

“Is that your Mountain Dew Kickstart?”

That’s it. No flourish. No poetry. No cosmic magnetism wrapped in metaphor.

Just a neon-green energy drink and a question you swore you’d never hear unironically.

You’re not even a Kickstart girl. You’re a cold brew enthusiast. You like your caffeine smooth and morally superior, not tasting like a science experiment wrapped in citrus. But fate, apparently, has a sense of humor. Or a sponsorship deal.

You gave up hoping for romance years ago. Told yourself it would happen when it happened. That you’d laugh about it someday.

You just didn’t expect “someday” to be today.

You're behind the camera on set for your first Try Not to Laugh shoot as a production assistant. The energy is pure chaos: props flying, bit wheels spinning, people screaming into megaphones for no discernible reason.

You’re trying to keep up, managing props while helping reset the stage, when you set your roommate’s Mountain Dew Kickstart on a prop crate for just one moment.

And then it happens.

Spencer walks by, picks up the can, and—without an ounce of awareness of the cosmic chaos he’s about to unleash—glances at you and asks:

“Is that your Mountain Dew Kickstart?”

The world slows.

You freeze.

Your entire bloodstream turns to static. The can. The voice. The phrase. Your mark.

You spin around so fast your headset nearly flies off your head.

Spencer stops, Kickstart still in hand, confused by your deer-in-headlights stare. “You okay?” he asks, brow furrowing.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You just stare.

He lifts the can again. “This. Is it yours?”

And that’s when it hits him.

Your stunned face. The look of sheer existential panic. The unmistakable moment of realization that everyone fears and dreams about in equal measure.

“Oh my God,” Spencer says slowly. “Don’t tell me that was your—”

You nod. Just once. Like if you move too much, you’ll combust. “Soulmark,” you croak. “Yep.”

He stares at you.

Then stares at the can in his hand.

“Mountain Dew Kickstart?” he repeats. “That’s what the universe gave us?”

You both blink at each other, completely horrified.

And then, like a switch flips, you both burst out laughing.

It starts soft, like a trickle of disbelief, and then spills over into full-on wheezing hysterics. Spencer doubles over, the can still in his grip. You cover your mouth, tears in your eyes.

“Oh God,” you gasp. “My grandma has ‘I’ve waited a thousand lifetimes for you’ and I got this.”

Spencer’s laughing so hard he almost drops the can. “My brother’s is ‘I knew it was you the moment I heard your laugh,’ and mine’s freaking soda-based.”

You’re both laughing so much you don’t notice Courtney walking up until she’s right beside you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What’s going on?”

Spencer wipes a tear. “Soulmark moment.”

Her face lights up.

“No.”

You nod, still recovering.

“What was it?” she asks, already too excited.

Spencer just holds up the Kickstart and says it again with full dramatic flair:

“Is that your Mountain Dew Kickstart?”

Courtney immediately chokes on her LaCroix.

By lunch, the entire cast and crew knows.

Damien starts calling you the Kickstart Couple™ and threatens to make a fake ad campaign. Olivia insists your first wedding dance has to be to a remixed Mountain Dew commercial jingle. Ian offers to have merch made.

You’ve never been so embarrassed or so secretly happy in your life.

Later that afternoon, you’re alone at the edit bay, trying to get some actual work done while everyone else takes a break. You’re sipping your boring, refined cold brew when Spencer slides into the chair next to you.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just leans his elbow on the desk and watches you scroll through footage.

Then he nudges your arm.

“So…” he says casually. “Do I owe you a replacement Kickstart? Or like… a soulmate date?”

You glance at him.

His tone is teasing, but his eyes are kind. Warm. There’s something real behind the grin.

You lean back in your chair and smirk. “Both. I expect emotional commitment and carbonation.”

He blinks.

Then smiles. Slow. Bright. Like he can’t believe you just said that.

And he rolls up his sleeve.

There, in unmistakable silvery ink, is his soulmate mark:

“Both. I expect emotional commitment and carbonation.”

You burst out laughing. Again.

“I’m gonna kill fate,” you say, shaking your head.

Spencer leans back beside you. “You can try. But I think fate just wants us to be... effervescent.”

You groan. “That was terrible.”

“But you laughed.”

You don’t say it, but your grin says everything.

Yeah. You did.

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: It's been a while since I've wrote something for my beloved, and I miss him 🥺💕

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, lots of hunter and prey metaphors, implied kidnapping, gn!reader.

Rook's smile is sharp as he hands you the bow, his eyes gleaming with that unnerving mix of admiration and obsession that makes your heart skip a beat — for all the wrong reasons, few months ago you wouldn't mind how his fingers remained touching yours or how his eyes kept staring at you. But now, after you caught him burying one of your friends, blood on his hands, the same hands that used to pat your head or massage your shoulders, or hold you in his arms. You couldn't help but shudder.

His touch lingers on your hand as he helps you grip the bow correctly, his voice a low murmur in your ear, like the hiss of a predator close to its prey.

"Mon trésor," He whispers, the endearment curling around you like a hook. "You must learn to wield this with precision, with grace, it has to be as natural as breathing. And no one's better to teach you than a hunter like me."

The word sends a shiver down your spine. You know he isn't just referring to your normal hunter; there's a duality in his words, a hidden message that reminds you of the dangerous game you've been forced to play. Rook’s obsession with hunting isn't limited to the creatures of the forest. No, his most cherished hunt is the one he conducts every single day — the hunt to keep you by his side, to ensure you never escape his cruel clutches.

He stands behind you, his breath tickles the back of your neck as he aligns your body with the target. The air is thick with tension, each inhale feeling like it's laden with a hint of danger, a promise of what will happen if you ever dare try to escape him.

“Steady, mon amour,” He purrs, his hands pressing down on your shoulders, holding you in place, as if testing just how easily you could be trapped beneath his grip. This soft touch used to make you giddy, now the only thing you feel is dread. “Feel the tension in the bow, the way it quivers, longing to release… like a heart yearning to be free, n’est-ce pas?"

Your fingers tremble as you pull back the string, the bow straining under your touch. He’s close, too close, his presence overwhelming, making it impossible to focus on anything but the feeling of being trapped. You feel like a prey caught in his web. Rook’s hand covers yours, firm and unyielding as he adjusts your aim.

“A true hunter understands the delicate balance between freedom and captivity,” Rook continues, almost purring, his voice a silken thread winding around your thoughts, binding them to his will. “The prey… it runs, it flees, but it always falls, in the end. Always.”

The arrow flies from your grip, slicing through the air and embedding itself in the target with a solid thud. Rook’s laughter is soft, approving, but there’s an edge to it, a dark satisfaction that chills you to the bone.

“Magnifique,” He praises, though you can’t tell if he’s admiring your shot or reveling in the power he holds over you. His hands don’t leave your shoulders, instead sliding down your arms, his fingers brushing over your pulse, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath your skin.

“You are my perfect prey, mon couer,” He murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “So fragile, so beautiful in your attempts to escape. But no matter how far you run, the hunter always catches his prize. I will always catch you, that I promise you.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a stone. There’s no escaping him, no slipping through his fingers. You are the deer caught in his sights, the rabbit trapped in the hunter’s snare. He has trained you with the bow, but the weapon feels useless in your hands, a cruel mockery of the freedom you so desperately crave.

You can learn how to hunt, how to hide. But are you a truly hunter or just a prey playing pretending? You don't know.

Rook steps back, allowing you a moment of space, though the distance feels hollow, meaningless. His gaze is still on you, piercing, possessive, as if he’s already decided your fate. The forest around you is silent, the trees closing in, forming a cage with no visible exit. Even the wind seems to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

“My dear,” Rook says, his voice carrying the weight of a promise, a warning. “Remember this, my beloved, no matter how skilled you become, no matter how fast you run, my heart always knows where you are, for it beats for you and my eyes always know where to look for you."

You lower the bow, your hands shaking. The lesson is over, but the real lesson was much harder to swallow. There’s no true escape, only the illusion of it, dangled before you like a carrot to a starving animal. You’re trapped in Rook’s twisted love, and the knowledge of that truth settles in your bones like ice.

The bow falls from your hands, landing on the ground with a soft thud. Rook’s smile widens, a huge grin, and he steps forward to claim his prize; a kiss from your lips, the breath from your lungs.

And the worse part is that you let him.

[nihilsan]

(incest, csa, suicide cw)

umineko is full of complicated and fucked up parent/child dynamics, so the way kumasawa and genji were like the parent figures sayo always wished she could have and then turned out to be the people who hurt her with the most intent often flies under the radar. but I'm constantly thinking about it.

they never saw her as more than an extension of her biological mother and a way to personally atone for failing her... by ultimately failing her daughter too and in very similar ways. kumasawa incentivised young sayo's beatrice roleplay and taught her magic bc "it was like it was meant to be". in kumasawa's eyes, it was as if beatrice's daughter unknowingly shared a connection to her mother thanks to the whims of fate. but to sayo, the magic she was taught became an intrinsic part of her identity, her primary way to cope and to find some confidence in the face of the hardships she was going through. of course the idea of no longer being 'yasu', the clumsy servant mocked by everyone, but rather the powerful witch beatrice who inspires their respect became so important to her! but then as she learned later, she spent all her life playing the part of her dead mother who was horribly abused (and whose abuse was enabled and covered up by sayo's parent figures!) and by then she had all but absorbed her as part of her identity and sense of self, all while being secretly primed to ultimately play her part and finally "become" her in genji's bullshit redemption arc plan for kinzo. kumasawa knew everything and intentionally encouraged this while sayo had no idea. it's no wonder beatrice went from being something empowering to sayo to the cruel voice tormenting her in her head, reminding her of her worst thoughts. beatrice became an embodiment of trauma! not just sayo's trauma but also her mother's, which she took upon herself. all of the people who knew the truth manipulated her into walking the path of becoming her mother and saw her as nothing but that. a replacement, a vessel for the "true" beatrice. the very same idea behind her mother's grooming and abuse.

the cruel irony here is how all of this was done to prove a point about kinzo not repeating his actions and to relieve his guilt in time before his death, with genji/kumasawa/nanjo celebrating kinzo being "successfully redeemed" by not raping his daughter again... all while sayo comes out of this horrific situation terribly sexually traumatized regardless. all at once, she learns the depth of violation she suffered from some of the few people she thought were on her side. the way she was manipulated and gaslit all her life about the circumstances of her birth, her parentage, her body, her entire identity and personhood. how they were willing to risk her safety by making her work under kinzo to prove that he wouldn't sexually abuse her. the shock of learning what happened to the mother she was unknowingly raised to become, and how those people did nothing to help her back then either. how her mother, too, was groomed into playing the role of her own mother for kinzo!!! the horror doesn't end. the traumatic impact and consequences of all of this on her life were never in their minds, only making sure sayo would play her role in granting kinzo a peaceful death. putting kinzo's guilt to rest was always the priority, and by trying to prove he wouldn't repeat the past, they did so themselves by dooming another beatrice into becoming a vessel for her mother and shouldering generations worth of trauma.

there's this metaphor in umineko about the powerlessness of children before their parents and how many are born to fulfill a specific purpose for them, becoming an extension of their parents who project on their children and try to shape them into a specific kind of person to successfully play a role. having a child is compared to creating a fictional character which is compared to inserting a piece of yourself on a gameboard. this goes for every parent/child dynamic in the story including allegorical ones such as bern/erika, and of course this reflects the way the only people sayo could call her parent figures shaped her into an accessory in her father's narrative. she was always their means to achieve that, not even a person in the grand scheme of things. a piece of their own creation, shaped and molded into a role, without autonomy of her own. furniture in every meaning of the word in sayo's personal lexicon.

it hurts how she trusted them and even made fantasy versions of them to include them in her world! she wanted them to be part of it and that's a precious thing to her! and then turns out the characters she created were much better people than their human vessels. even more encouragement to reject reality altogether and immerse herself even deeper in a rabbithole of fantasy to cope with her real life being almost unsurvivable after nonstop betrayal and hurt!

the nail in the coffin is, after doing all of... That out of his fucked up sense of loyalty to kinzo, genji goes on to enable and help out with sayo's mass murder-suicide plan... as his way to atone for how much suffering he caused her? the results of his actions were a major driving force in her suicidality and furniture complex among all the many factors pushing her into a corner, and then he reasons that agreeing to help her kill herself along with literally everyone and providing her with the means to do it is the correct thing to do for her??? genji's undying sense of duty and loyalty is truly his worst and most terrifying quality. he'll stop at nothing to honor it.

[pissylittlebirdboy]

Ulysses. How would you like to help me with something?

It wasn’t a pretty sight.

The metaphorical hole in the wall he had been living in looked dreadful. The floors were glossy with grime and muck, the room itself decrepit and dark. The air was stale, the walls threatening mold that would force him to uproot his fragile stability once more because he refused to subject his child to anything more than she already was. The only furniture in the place was an ornate dark desk, carved and carved and glossy with varnish, that looked to be way out of his budget. It must’ve been a gift. It had baskets for incoming and outgoing paperwork that still floated his way despite his exile and drawers for days. One of his own feathers, likely from his tail given his lack of wings, sat in an inkpot. Other than that desk, there was the basket of food hidden away in the ceiling, a precious resource he had to keep carefully protected, along with a little claw-footed bathtub that he had to pay for with acts that still made his skin crawl accompanied by little bottles of bubble bath, conditioner, and soap. The only other thing was the pile of sticks, blankets, and hay that he felt awful for everyday, a bed for his child and occasionally himself. His own feathers helped pad it.

He sat on his knees in the corner, a bucket of soapy water before him. The feathers on his forearms were damp, a cup of dark brown sludge with enough caffeine to stop a human heart and a bucket that seemed to be prepared to catch nothing but stomach acid was at his side, and the upper half of crown-appointed uniform that refused to die or be lost sat in a lumpy pile next to him seeping many colors of viscous liquid, his waistcoat, collared shirt, sash, and cape stained from some unfortunate event.

He was covered in blood, the white feathers on his chest soaked with every color but his own blue. It was splattered on his face, on his swords, which, too, were in the pile to be washed, on his hands and neck and legs. His head feathers were out of their usual functional half up, half down situation, the white waterfall of feathers cascading down his bruised, bony back, joined as well by his comb flattened against his head. His tail trailed behind him on the ground, brought around to his side. Discarded feathers were everywhere, plucked out in his remaining perfectionism or simply fallen out. All the eyes, on his tail, head, and occasionally on his torso, looked exhausted, void of vitality and light.

His bones were visible - not poking out of skin, no, but stretching said skin over themselves. He was the picture of one of Dr. Sable’s success stories, starved to that beauty that made people flock to tuberculosis. Oh, the romance, the tragic beauty! Beauty. Right. He didn’t feel beautiful. Sure, everyone else bought the facade he put up, but when one’s throat is raw from stomach acid and one’s mind is raw from every tragedy the world has to hit one with, it’s hard to have even a false ego. He scrubbed the blood from the feathers that tried to hide those bones, trying not to take out his frustrations on his feathers given that even that he didn’t want to look like a plucked chicken.

He was despairingly tired. Alas, the world didn’t bow to his whims and he still had to clean himself, his clothes, and his swords. As he choked down the ‘coffee’ that was keeping him going, he wondered if he could just burn off the blood by allowing all of his demonic force to go free. He decided against it. He didn’t have the energy to find some secluded place in which to do it nor did he want the attention of demon hunters or poachers or those lunatics who still thought they could become best buds with the Almighty through violence or any other nasty beasts that roamed his godforesaken earth. He finally finished ‘drinking’, if it could even be called that, set down his cup, and dipped his face just below the water to try and get the blood off his face. His stomach rumbled, with the flies beginning to buzz soon after. If they crawled into his arms, or really went anywhere other than his stomach, he was pretty sure he was going to do bad things.

As he brought his face up from the water, wiping the blood off his face and in the end only making it worse, a shiver ran through him. Someone was here. His comb flared open, pupils panicked, though the rest of his eyes as well as his main set, which had a glow so dim that his pupils were visible, couldn’t be bothered to react. His hand went to his sword. He hadn’t heard anything-

He hadn’t heard anything walk up. Lords, was he really that out of it?

Whatever it was was standing in the doorway. He knew that much.

He crossed the floor so fast he practically flew, silent as he did so, having a few seconds of time in the air before getting hold of the shirt collar of whatever it was and sending himself the direction he came in by pushing off of the doorframe with one leg. With the collar of the person in tow, he landed flawlessly back on the floor without sound, throwing the person to the ground on their back as he did. He had his sword hovering above their neck, tail flared open and blocking out everything beyond it, face only about a few inches from that of whoever he’d thrown. One of his feet had a death grip on the ankle of who he’d thrown, metal-covered talons digging into the skin. He’d done this so many times he was practically on autopilot, which helped with the head rush he’d gotten from standing up so fast. Despite his exhaustion, he tried put on his most fierce expression.

[melodyofthevoid]

The Crane Wives: Beyond, Beyond, Beyond

(The finale, for now. Hard to believe that I've been working on these for almost 2 years. Anyways, enjoy)

Now we arrive at the threshold, album five. The first studio album in nearly a decade, and a testament to all that came before and between. Themed and defined by change in all its forms. The lack of, the desire for, the consequences in both its wake and absence. The price of moving forward and the price of standing still. Even the sound isn’t immune, with the newer tones and style developed over the singles shown off in solos that range from electric to more traditional. Some songs challenge ones from years past, others a continuation, but all part of an ongoing conversation that ends with resolve. A desire to cross through. 

The question is, will you follow through the looking glass?

Scars

How did this happen? It’s a question that comes naturally whether or not there’s truly a reason. Why am I like this? The eternal feud of nature vs nurture, whether the tangled mess of anger and bitter emotions stemmed from a single event or bloom from somewhere within. If the well was poisoned before the symptoms started to show. 

And does the source even know that they left the poison to begin with? 

The first few chords warp those of another song, a crooning cry from a parent who’s severed the ties and left the singer adrift. Their mournful tone twisted and distorted until it turns into the sharp twangs of a guitar, heavy footfalls that drive the song forward. A tired trudge burdened and haunted. 

The singer is not who they thought they were. The refrain that carries over and over again- starting each train of thought. They’re struggling to keep their head above water, aching in a way they’ve always known. Born to in a storm that left them with a piece of itself forever. The anguish hereditary. Or maybe there’s another reason. The effect is still the same. This misery is a constant companion, 

Ruefully they acknowledge all of the effort put towards them, the love and kindness, plans made with all good intentions to guide them towards a brighter and better future. Futile efforts made to no avail. They watched as they failed time and time again, trying to cross the gap to understand where the singer was and give a way forward, but a bridge constructed from only one side is doomed to fail. Letting that hard work near them risked vulnerability and letting the other close. 

And how could they let them close to who they are? Broken in some fundamental way from the beginning. Destined to fail and shatter leaving them scarred, to signal to the outside what was wrong within. 

Then the subject switches from those who’d tried to help, to the origin of their suffering. The piece is a companion to “Never Love an Anchor”, and the one left behind sees only the abandonment, the fact they weren’t enough to stay for. The anguish their parent felt at their personal failings and inability to care for the singer now passed on, a wound to their ego. A tire fire, caustic and toxic that refuses to be put out. 

They were meant to fall apart, to wind up with scars. 

Because isn’t it easier if there weren’t any other options? If this flaw sabotaged all of the work put in and rendered it all futile? Then there’s no fault, no blame to be laid. An easy surrender to the inevitable.

The question is will they continue to live like this. To allow the scars to fester, or seek out a balm despite the pain. For now, they accept their fate as the music cuts all at once. 

Bitter Medicine

Hard truths go down easier with a bit of sugar, you catch more flies with honey, axioms to explain the act. Of using a veil to cover up the unpleasant parts of life. Without it what’s left? Just the ugly, twisted, reality of it all. Sometimes it’s all you have. And it’s stifling. 

The singer looks at where they are. Wasted, inebriated either in a literal or metaphorical sense. Unable to be trusted to take themselves home or to drive their own life. A pathetic state of affairs, one they’re all too aware of. It’s the bed they’ve made for themselves, the consequences of their actions they accept with a blithe and self-effacing smile. They wonder how the one they love sees them. If they’re ashamed or if the front they’ve put on until now. A cheap imitation of some “better” person that isn’t long for this world. 

They could be worse, so much worse. Poison sits on their tongue and they swallow and bite it all back to keep it inside. The toxicity accumulates in their body and slowly kills them inside as it has nowhere else to go. No one else deserves it, to know how corroded and hollow they are on the inside. They’re sick, but they can’t let anyone in. They’ll play the part of everything they’re not in hopes it distracts and entertains but it’s hurting them just as much as the rest. 

And if someone sees through it, what then? Can look past the facade? The singer both yearns for it and fears it in turn. They need someone to clean up the mess around them, the mess they’re unable to touch. The accumulation of a thousand small cuts bleeding out into a river. Each on their own barely noticeable but together they build upon each other. 

Accepting an offered hand is another question in and of itself. Do they deserve it? Is it a gift given or is it taken? Someone’s else’s good intentions wasted on their act, for their own faults. It’d be a waste on them, and so they continue on as they were. Suffering in their own skin and hiding behind the mask that chokes them. 

In another life, they’d let it all go, but this isn’t that life. The singer’s convinced this is all there is. Convinced that their arsenic laced words are medicine. The truth. But they’ve decided that it is. 

And so it is.

Higher Ground

When you’re lost in the midst of an upheaval, when the earth itself is turning on its head, sometimes the only option, the only means of survival, is to go, to remove oneself from the situation. But there are things left behind, an impact not intended. A decision that can be as consequential as the event itself. 

Such is the singer’s predicament. They’re trying to look out ahead, but they can’t see the horizon, can’t see beyond today. Higher ground could give them a better view, a larger picture and save them, but there’s a cost to that choice. A domino effect is spiraling out after they spoke their mind, let go of the truth. What’s done can’t be undone and now everything is changing, shifting. What once was close drifts apart, what once was parted clashes, titanic shifting of tectonic plates. Inexorable forces that leave nothing untouched. 

And nothing undamaged. Someone’s going to get caught up, hurt. Once they come down they’ll see the full extent of it all and that terrifies them. But again, it’s out of their hands.  

Every warning sign is flaring, ravens and crows are heralding incoming danger. A predator. A threat to everything in sight. But with all that they’ve set into motion, is the warning for them? Or about them? This wasn’t the plan, not to hurt anyone, not to change everything, but they won’t know for sure. Not until the dust settles and they stand above it all. 

They’ve survived, at least. 

Predator

When every shadow becomes a claw, every smile hides a threat, the world becomes an endless hall of mirrors, reflecting back all of one’s fears. Nowhere is safe, not when you’re the world’s prey. 

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The rhetorical question, that to the anxious, isn’t rhetorical in the least. It’s the risk they measure the outside against, the guide to all actions. If they can imagine the worst possible outcome then it can be prepared for, warded against. Because disaster will come, inevitably. Staying on guard at all times, lest their comfort come at the cost of their safety (even if the sky is not falling, it’s easy to panic at every little crack. Perhaps they’re too prepared.) 

When it hits, as it always does, it’s their own fault. They know better. They let in a predator, lowered their walls and their guard to someone who, not for the first time, left them wounded and vulnerable. Signs were missed that they’d seen before, a lesson they should have learned the hard way but failed to truly comprehend. So it’ll happen again. 

Regardless of the fact that someone else took those actions. It’s their fault. It has to be. 

To the prey animal, confrontation is to be avoided at all costs, so the response to danger is to fawn. Follow the path of least resistance and never put up a fight. If there’s a problem, it’s probably their own misinterpretation of the situation, because… If they say no, if they push back, there could be consequences. They could get hurt, cut by sharp teeth and sharper words. 

But there’s only so much that someone can put up with and stand before it’s too much. Gaslighting finally igniting a spark of resistance. They’re already struggling to breathe, struggling with the constant anxiety and fear and this? They don’t need this too. What if they didn’t have to live like this anymore, and they finally said no? 

And at last they confront at least one of their fears. Calling out their treatment, the fact they’ve been used. Trying to better this person, hoping that they’ll see the harm they’re causing on their own, they’ve done it a hundred times and it’s never happened. They keep getting hurt. The predator can’t see the blood on their teeth, doesn’t know their own strength, the bodies in their wake.

But no, not this time. 

Say It

No one wants to be the first to leave. The first to sever ties. Admit defeat. Even in spite of years of change, of what once was withering on the vine, sometimes there’s still hope that the garden can recover, however impossible and slim. A loyal dog that waits, tied to a post, for an owner that won’t come back. Because what if it goes back to the way it used to be? That honeymoon phase where everything blossomed and bloomed. But it won’t. 

The singer wonders where it went wrong? Staring at the person they once considered so close and begging for an answer. Was it them? Was the reality of their personality, their flaws, too much to bear? Erasing the idealized version that their partner once held of them? Were they, are they disappointing to know truly? 

Without an answer, they demand a different one: tell them it’s done. Let them out. Let them stop hoping for a spark to rekindle the flame of passion. Otherwise they’ll remain there in the dark. Pining for better times. 

Because once upon a time their lover gave them everything. Provided a haven and home. A gentle hand that wiped away their tears and pulled back their layers. All of those memories of warmth against the bitter cold of the present call into doubt their sincerity. Did they really care before? Was it all pretend? 

Would it be better if it was? 

The guillotine hangs over their head, a blade that could sever and end their suffering but instead hovers. A reminder that it could end at any point but won’t. They wait dutifully, a dog who can’t help but take what they’re given. Loyal and faithful even when that love and devotion isn’t returned. 

But if it was real once, they would do it over again. Wouldn’t they? Or would the one the singer holds so dear choose to avoid their relationship altogether. To alter their paths so that they never met. Have things fallen apart to where it was never worth it in the first place? Is the thought of what they’ve become so toxic, so tainted, that they'd give up whatever good came of it to spare themselves?

The question lingers, and so the singer does nothing but wait, too afraid to take the first step. 

Waiting for them to say it. 

Mad Dog

A fruitless pursuit, an endless chase, the eternal drive to reach for that promised oasis shimmering just beyond the horizon a few steps away. There is no exit condition when a paycheck is all that stands between you and losing it all. Enter the workforce at 18 (or younger), keep working until you’re 72 (or older), then you can maybe lie down. Can’t grind yourself to the bone too early, can’t run out of steam yet. If just a little more money is made, a few more spare coins stuffed away for later, maybe it’ll resemble happiness. 

The singer’s blinders keep them on the same track they’ve always known, striving to achieve when all it’s done is lead them further and further from home. Tunnel visioned and yet it’s never in reach. No matter how far they run. How hard they work. 

But no one else is keeping their bills paid, no one else is going to make them a millionaire, so they keep repeating and repeating. Hoping that they’ll get an answer back that isn’t the same as before. 

Thus, the chase continues, a dog chained to a post snapping after a rabbit it can never catch. Running, and running, and running, yet forever tied to the same spot. Once that leash runs out of room the retaliation snaps back with a vengeance. Punishing the hound for stepping out of its role and putting it “where it belongs”. Daring to yearn for more cannot be tolerated.

As if the empty race weren’t enough, there’s debt to be paid too. A rock burdening every step, forcing those bound to it to step lightly. Any misstep could spell disaster, drop the guillotine, it’s a constant tightrope cutting into their feet. And it’d be easier if someone else, anyone else, could choose which way to go. To give a direction that won’t lead to disaster. To take that burden off their shoulders. 

Because water’s coming in, the debt’s getting worse, and they’re going to go down. The shore’s visible, it’s there, there’s something beyond the current situation, but it’s not getting any closer.

Whatever hope there is, it’s almost manic. The only thing keeping them afloat. Maybe they’ll get lucky and strike it rich, maybe they can make this paycheck go a little further. But there’s no support, no one to wipe their tears, keep them from teetering off of the edge. 

So the race continues. The pull and snap, the desperate clawing up the hill until Sisyphus’ boulder falls back down again. Stuck in a cycle out of their control. 

At least until they can find the one that chains them. They may not catch the rabbit, but they can bite a hand.

Arcturus Beaming

There’s something special about that moment at rock bottom. Not in the state of it, the despair, the agony, no. There’s something about that moment when it changes. Changes from an endlessly growing pit to… simply the bottom. A moment in time where suddenly the perspective shifts and now there’s a way out and up, a perspective changed by a sight once taken for granted. Maybe it’s the leaves changing in the fall, the sound of people laughing and talking in a cafe. A favorite drink you want to have again. 

Or maybe, it’s the sky. That shimmering tapestry. Dotted with a trillion points of light (should you live far enough away from any pollution to see it) it has served as an inspiration for so many. Ever changing and yet… always there. 

Arcturus glimmers as the 4th brightest star in the solar system, visible during summer in the northern hemisphere. Visible to those even in more light polluted areas, reminding them that there’s more out there than the limited vision of the pit.

The singer begins there, thanking that dark place, where despair threatened to ravage them. They hid from the world there, sheltering to wallow in their pain as it became all they could see for a time. It shrunk their view of what could be, leaving a feat that seems all but impossible. Plato describes a scenario in which a prisoner lives their entire life within a cave like the singer’s own, shown only shadows of objects. Those simulations as their only context, all that they know. But the singer is curious, and that fear can only hold them for so long. They may understand the cave, the pain, but what else is there? 

Hurt accumulates over time, sediment that solidifies into a weight that’s carried wherever one goes. It can be an impossible challenge to free oneself of it, to breathe easy after lifting that stone for years. One’s ribs aching from the strain. But stone is not permanent. Not invulnerable. A steady drip of water can erode, a river can carve a canyon so impossibly wide it’s visible from beyond our atmosphere. Those layers, both easily added, can also be worn away. Leaving something new in its wake. 

That time spent has a cost, of course. Dreams left abandoned, relationships broken, so many avenues that could have been simply… gone. That grief will linger, and that’s alright. But what exists beyond that? What happens when we look up and dream? 

Beyond what we know, beyond what we understand, are there others who look at our sun and wonder? Beyond ourselves are there others crawling out of their caves and seeing more. Maybe we could all dream more

It’s not too late to do something once the revelation hits. To forfeit is the only ending, when we resign ourselves to suffering. But that’s not all life is, it can be changed. We just have to do it. Have to take the steps to push past the indulgent self-flagellation of the cave, and resolve to keep moving. 

This experience rings true for myself. I found I’d dug into a mindset where I feared so much. The future, stagnation, the impossibility of becoming anything other than what I was. Littered with the half started remains of failures, hesitant half starts cushioned by a numb resignation. Couldn’t be disappointed if I never hoped. Cycles of self defeat. Overwhelmed, I laid on the deck outside and stared up into the same sky that inspired this song. Clear inky darkness pinpointed by a million specks of light. I laid there for some time, the same music I’ve detailed in these pages my only companion to a realization that felt so obvious in hindsight and yet I… I needed to come to the conclusion myself.

I can start again. 

It doesn’t matter if I’ve tried a hundred times and the patterns didn’t stick. I can try again. Old behaviors, failed coping mechanisms, they can rear their ugly heads but there is tomorrow. There is a future that I can find. A me I can guide with new tools if the old ones don’t serve me. It may take time, it may hurt. But that’s my decision to make. 

Nothing will change until I change. And we can. 

Time Will Change You

The constant, the inevitable, the sensation of sand slipping through fingers and waves wearing down a shore. A metronomic beat follows the sound of a rusted hinge, thudding footsteps from a never ending march that never relents even as a guitar twangs above it. A companion in the flow. 

The singer too is dragged along with it, pulled along as they almost gasp out the words. It hurts, some part deep inside them finally gave way and broke. It aches and it won’t end- They’ve loved and lost, planted the remains of their heart into a grave, a seed watered by their grief that may or may not bear fruit again. 

And yet there is a twisted comfort on the horizon. Time will continue as it always does, seasons will pass, and with it, things change. For better or worse the singer will change. Everyone will change, and as they do they’ll leave behind what remains stagnant. Phases and traits that once defined are now locked in amber. No longer a part of the present. 

Time doesn’t affect all equally, there is no system that doles out appropriate fates, some can swim and survive the current while others are subsumed entirely. The rush overwhelming in the moment, and it’s impossible to tell which way is up. But the tide will ease, nothing is forever, good or ill. Relax, let time move you and you’ll float along it. 

And you’ll be changed. Like the stone smoothed by a river, edges worn away, the place you once rested, now far in the past. 

And letting go takes effort, make no mistake. Healing even more so. If the grief never grows, doesn’t evolve, doesn’t become more than what was put there before, then it can stay where it is. Left to fade into nothing more than memory. A step along the winding path to the end. 

The journey no one leaves the same.  

Black Hole Fantasy

The concept of a black hole needs no explanation nor introduction. The complete and total collapse of a star, pulling in all light and substance. The basis of many a metaphor for endless hunger, destruction. The end of all things. Yet- they’re often theorized to contain more. Maybe the end of one thing could lead to somewhere else entirely. 

For her part, the singer finds herself stuck in place, whether by some inexorable gravity or circumstance. Repeating the same orbit, going through the motions of life and losing sense of herself. If there’s more to living, a chance or opportunity for a different path, it’s fading from view. The longer one stays complacent, the harder it becomes to move. To find that missing piece that their soul longs for, but doesn’t have the words for. 

Every day blends into the next, the walls of their home becoming smaller as their world shrinks. At the center lies the Black Hole, the gnawing yearning, the pit of absence that they’re ignoring. Hoping it will go away, but it won’t. Ignoring hunger won’t fix a want of food, pretending not to hear a leak won’t prevent the damage. 

And they know what they’re yearning for, or rather- who. But it’s- surely it’s nothing. Nothing more than a chemical reaction, serotonin and oxytocin playing tricks on her. It’d be easier if she could suppress it. She doesn’t know if it’s real, and so what if it is? Confessing, taking a chance… There’s a cost. The foundations she’d build could all crumble to ashes. 

That is if the hole in their chest doesn’t collapse it all first, the time lost to routine is getting longer, time speeding by even faster, with whole weeks passing in an indistinct mass. 

So she goes to confront it head on, driving to confess on the doorstep. But then she stops. What happens next. What happens if it all goes wrong? What if they lose them forever? What if they don’t feel the same? How could they feel the same. The singer doesn’t believe in a happy ending, frankly. Why would any dream of theirs have one? Even in the best case there’s so much that could go wrong that it’d be safer to leave the car running. To leave. Retreat back into themselves where they won’t get hurt. 

But the world keeps crumbling in around them, their room is suffocating, as they’re consumed by the limitations they’ve put in place. Months, years, what does any of it even mean? None of it means anything… and the temptation to look into the black hole finally wins out. 

Instead of a small, enclosed world, there’s more on the other side. She catches a glimpse of herself and there’s light in her eyes, laughter on her lips, and- is she even capable of that? Could she be? Can she find what could bring that life, that joy, that love- 

No, she does know. 

Stars shining above, the singer returns to the dream she shows away from once. But this time she’s turning off the car. This is what she wants. Throwing away the keys and the fear and running up to the door. And it opens. Their love is there and every doubt is gone as arms reach out for her. 

Wrapped in an embrace, the singer can finally catch her breath, and when she pulls back, she smiles. Laughing at how complicated she made this simple moment. Maybe she wasn’t alone in that, as her love joins her. They were waiting on the other side of the door, after all. Twin stars pulled into each other’s gravity, destroying what was before and starting something new. 

Gentle guitar replaces the singer as she walks towards her new life, no longer bound to what was. Closing the scene, rolling credits. 

Red Clay

Work harder, just put more effort into it, the struggle makes it worth it, nose to the grindstone, phrases that are ingrained into the zeitgeist. The more pain experienced, the better the outcome. 

Right? 

An endless climb up a clay mountain, never fully able to get a grip, a Sisyphean struggle that feels like reality. With the Sun beating down, the top never coming closer, the question occurs: what is this for? Why keep pursuing this path that’s only lead to more suffering? Suffering that’s self inflicted no less. 

That one pause is all it takes to break through the tunnel vision, for the singer to take in all of their surroundings. Another path, shaded and just within reach was there all along. They don’t need to do this “the hard way”. It may be all they’d known, but they can see beyond that mound now. 

Their struggle wasn’t for naught, they were afraid for many years, yes. But they understand their fear now, they can be brave, even with that fear. They don’t have to keep on this path. 

The shaded trees beacon. 

River Rushing

Something finally gave. The frustration mounting day by day, it’s too much. Dammed up and now the singer’s had enough. They’re breaking down the walls, the barriers, everything that keeps them crushed under the weight of their regrets. They’re going to change. To let loose their desires and follow the river. 

The singer craves freedom, the person they once were buried under layers of concrete and expectations. If they hold onto these regrets, all the grief of time wasted, then they’ll never grow. Beneath every thought is the phrase they know is true: that there’s no shortcuts here. The only way out is through, charging ahead no matter what. 

Maybe they hesitated before, waited too long and lost something. Someone. But a voice reassures them to hold themselves steady. To go when they’re ready. Because they are ready now. 

Just believing that everything will work out kept them in place, they’re full of defiance, they have bite, a voice that demands to be heard. They’re going to pry the hand around their throat off once and for all. They’ve set their mind to it. 

They’re ready to go beyond. 

[moonlitbeth]

the Valleydream Bloom yapping session, hear me out on this one please. share your thoughts, too!

as someone who lives for lore and every little reference, i'm always picking apart each piece of content we get in the game. but tbh, i mostly do it in my head, since my brain's too overwhelmed to turn those thoughts into words. it's basically a cliché detective board with red strings connecting one clue to another (you got that It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia reference).

but i can't stay quiet after finishing Valleydream Bloom. perhaps it's becoming a bad habit to say that each new Sylus' card is better than the last, but honestly? that's a pretty logical conclusion given how their relationship keeps evolving.

after Where Hearts Live, i saw some discourse popping up abt the recent cards starting to feel "repetitive" — flowers, grasslands, them lying in said flowers and grasslands. but here's the thing: when you have one limited myth and one anecdote, with scattered hints and fleeting phrases open to a thousand takes, there's only so much room to work. and yet, Sylus' team keeps delivering and adding new layers to his character, expanding old themes into fresh ones, and leaving more clues for future content. that's top-tier writing and clear devotion to his character, my dears. ppl have gotten used to fast, easy-to-digest content that's stripped of any real depth. a nod to a character’s core topics? that's gold, not just some shiny fluff. and Valleydream Bloom hit me with such raw honesty and bittersweet ache that i needed to reread the story three times through tears.

we got everything we wanted, from the story itself to the kindled part. the main story Sylus is back, delivering this perfect power couple dynamic with MC — playful and so well balanced with the Sylus we see in the beginning of the card, who goes to the movies and puts his beloved's comfort over his own (tho i can't help but laugh imagining this grandpa grumbling abt his knees after).

and the part where he buys the castle after the mission? that detail isn't even abt his absurd wealth, it's abt his long-term intentions and faith that what’s deep-deep inside matters more than what’s outside. that someday, once MC's memories return, they'll both share the true meaning of that castle and the secret spot next to it.

🐉 and now to the main course... (the course is quite chaotic)

Sylus repeatedly cut off parts of himself that defined who he was, but now, he's embraced every piece — the "dragon" parts of his attire, the book of myths, and the undeniable traits of his true nature. but most importantly, the words he says:

"This is the perfect place for dragon tales. Dragons make homes in flower-covered valleys. If a dragon knows it will die soon… It flies to a valley far from its kin and waits alone. In the dragon's final moments… flowers will bloom from its body. Only when the flowers cover every bone does the dragon pass away."

it's not a dragon tale, but his tale, his story. at least the happiest part, wrapped in careful metaphors, told in a place that mirrors his final resting spot, where he died in MC's arms. the valley of the past has become the valley of the present.

and please, this? It flies to a valley far from its kin and waits alone (present) — We fly over the black obsidian chapel and crash into a valley filled with blooming datura (myth).

it hurts. even in their shared dream in Abyssal Blossom, before "justice" was ever served, he showed her this valley, almost as if he knew what was coming. and right before his death, he took MC there again to share the solitude of death with his beloved.

also, the idea of death that gives birth to new life — flowers that bloom from the dragon's body. his body nourished the soil and turned death into beauty. given that, it feels like the whole Blossom Escape event fits Sylus so perfectly (i mean, this man's soul smells like flowers).

this post is getting so long and chaotic that i can't fit all my thoughts in (i did warn you). but i'll say this — the card is a major piece and not a filler banner. huge kudos to the writing and dev teams, they deserve a round of applause, while we deserve a solid pat on our backs, because i can't stop thinking that smth painful and heart-wrenching is coming soon for us, Sylus mains 🐦‍⬛

[smoked-salmon-official]

A UPDATED Comprehensive Guide to Everything Transformers

I previously wrote this a while back and now have a lot i would like to add.

As a newcomer to the fandom, I found many fandom knowledge and terms to be quite confusing and at times contradictory, so I decided to make a guide to essentially everything TF related, meta and in-universe. I will try my best to get the basics of “everything” but this is a fandom that spans dozens of pieces of media and four decades, longer than I’ve been alive. I will probably miss a fair bit and might get some things wrong, so feel free to reblog with relevant editions.

This is intended to be a basic guide, so only the most bare bones of info will be provided. Meant to be a reference, not the sole point of understanding.

First, the in-universe stuff. I will simply provide a list of terms and definitions I find to be useful. Keep in mind that the majority of this, or all of it, in some sections, are just fan made terms that have little to no canonical merit. They are fun to use, but don’t feel pressured to do so.

Note that I won’t cover the NSFW stuff as I don’t read or write it. With that said I would first like to get out of the way the CANONICAL Cybertronian biology.

Cybertronians reproduce asexually, via the Allspark. This is why both factions try so hard to recover it in many continuities. Because of this, they are all biologically the same, but present their gender in different ways. Some are male and others are female and in Earthsprk recently we finally got our first canon non binary TF character.

This is not to say you can’t write the robots doing it, but do note that in canon they do not.

BODY PARTS (the majority of this is fandom head canon):

Helm - head

Pede - feet

Optics - eyes

Chassis - chest (chest plates refer to the actual armor on top of it)

Servo - hand

Energon line/fuel line - vein

Spark - This one is difficult, because it’s their literal physical heart and their metaphorical soul. For the sake of physical terms though it’s a heart.

Spark chamber - The chamber within the chest where the spark is kept safe.

Audials - Ears

Vocalizer - voice box

Frame - body in general

Processor - Brain/mind

Dentae - teeth

Glossa - tongue

Energon (in terms of the body) - blood

Lubricant/coolant/trans fluid - non-blood bodily fluids

HUD - An internal screen where files are stored that can also display warnings like low fuel

Fuel tank - Digestive system/stomach

Intake - mouth

Vocalizer - voicebox

Battle mask - a protective piece of plating that goes over the face in battle. Think Optimus's

Anything with “plates” in it (I.e wrist plate or back plate) - the armor over a certain area

Armor/plating - the tough outer shell of a Cybertronian, made of metal. The part we see

Protoform - the definition of this varies wildly from continuity to continuity but I consider it to be the softer more fragile part of a Cybertronian under their armor

Transformation cog/t-cog - the organ that allows Cybertronians to transform, including their integrated tools and weaponry. Can be disabled or removed

Recharge - sleep

Stasis - a more long term state of rest, akin to hibernation or a coma. Can be induced medically in states of emergency or for long distance travel

Alt mode/vehicle mode - What a Cybertronian turns into. Usually a vehicle but can also be something else.

Minicon - A very small Cybertronian. May deploy off of a bigger one, such as Soundwave and his cassettes

Flight frame - the body of a Cybertronian who turns into something that flies

Seeker - a very particular type of flight frame that turns into a jet. Usually generalized as “any flight frame that looks like Starscream”

Grounder - usually an insulting term used by flight frames to describe ground based vehicle modes

Combiner/gestalt - Multiple Cybertronians who transform and combine to form a very big one

Titans/cityformers - very large Cybertronians who turn into something masisve

Sparkling - a very young Cybertronian

Modesty panel/interface panel - the panel between the legs

For anything I missed, check here for a more detailed and comprehensive guide.

There is also a whole other list of NSFW terms that I won't get into - however you are welcome to reblog w/additions.

GENERAL

Cybertron: The home world of all Cybertronians. However, Cybertronians also inhabit other planets like Velocitron, or, during the war, Earth

Primus: Not only is he the Cybertronian equivalent of a creator god, but he is quite literally Cybertron (that is his alt mode). The embodiment of good. Produces normal energon.

Unicron: The embodiment of evil. Sometimes he transforms into Earth itself. Sometimes a planet eating monster. Produces dark energon. Sometimes Primus’s brother

Energon: The fuel source all Cybertronians require to survive. In its raw form it is a blue crystal that can be processed into liquid cubes (in some continuities it may be other colors). Cybertron is rich with it and it also powers most Cybertronian technology, such as ground bridges and ships. It can also be found naturally in other planets like Earth.

Synthetic energon: Artificially created energon

Dark energon: A purple form of energon from Unicron. Had the power to corrupt and tie those who consume it to Unicron himself

Datapad: a computer or tablet.

Berth/recharge slab: Bed

Berthroom/habsuite: Bedroom

Brig: Prison/holding cells, usually on a ship

Stasis pod: An escape pod or other small ship component meant to induce stasis artificially for long distance or long term travel

Stasis cuffs: Cuffs that restrict movement and the ability to transform or used integrated weaponry

Mechanimals/mechafauna: Cybertron’s native wild life that is also made of metal and has some transforming abilities

Allspark: What creates new Cybertronians and where all Cybertronian sparks and souls go when they die. Sometimes a physical object.

Vector Sigma: A super computer at Cybertron’s core that has immmense capabilities

Prime: a position of extreme power and leadership chosen and bestowed by the Matrix of Leadership toward those it deems worthy

Matrix of Leadership: Resides in the chest of the current Prime. Chooses those it deems worthy. Can be passed on. It’s power can be of great use, such as to aide in combatting Unicron

Functionism: the belief that one’s alt mode at birth determines their worth and their place in society. Led to the creation of the Decepticon movement in some continuities

Senate: Cybertron’s pre-war government that was extremely corrupt

Iacon: The former capital and seat of the Senate. Sometimes the Autobot base of operations. Optimus is from here

Kaon: a more rough and rugged city where the Decepticon movement began. Megatron is from here

Pits of Kaon: Megatron likes to reference this a lot. Essentially the gladiatorial arenas

Sea of Rust: a very dangerous sector of wilderness on Cybertron

The Ark: primary autobot ship

The Nemesis: primary Decepticon ship

An addition to the definition for kibble: No one fucking knows. Probably armor?

Another note about kibble is that it usually describes physical qualities in toys, but can also be used to describe parts on the character themself.

Mech/femme: Used to describe male and female robots respectively, but mech can also be used as more of a gender neutral term. Mech specifically can also be used in slang as a substitute for words like “dude.”

Time: Cybertronian time is complicated and it’s worsened by the fact that every continuity seems to have a different way to tell time. Fans will use versions that they like or make up their own. With any luck, there should be a conversion chart in the notes. Here are the most common and essential ones:

Nano-klik: second

Klik: minute

Breem: 8.3 minutes

Joor: hour

Cycle: day

Vorn: 83 years

I am almost certainly forgetting a ton so please reblog with your additions!

Second, the meta stuff. AKA how the fuck am I supposed to get into the media itself? First of all, it’s important to establish that there’s no wrong way to enjoy Transformers. Some people only watch one or two shows, or just the movies, or just the comics, or just like the toys themselves. It’s such a diverse and large fandom and there’s no way to do it wrong.

A short detour to explain Hasbro and Takara, which are two companies you'll hear thrown around a lot, especially in the toy section of the fandom. Hasbro is the company that owns Transformers and does most of the marketing and makes the toys, shows, movies, etc (while of course working with outside studios). They're quite a big company that owns a number of other properties too.

TakaraTomy is a Japanese company that Hasbro has been business partners with for as long as TF has been a thing. They do a lot of designing and manufacturing work alongside Hasbro, along with releasing their own Masterpiece toyline and exclusives. That's why their company name is on the box the same as Hasbro's logo.

I can’t possibly list every piece of TF media but here I will put a few that are often discussed within the fandom and have high degrees of popularity. Most of the shows are now free on YouTube on the official Transformers channel. By no means do you have to watch ALL of these, but I will put asterisks on the ones I feel are relevant or the fandom seems to like the most.

COMICS

The IDW comics are typically what people

The comics are very long and complicated and span over a decade. IDW lost their license recently so ever since then the comics have been (long) out of print. There isn’t really a place to easily and legitimately buy them.

If you want, you could try to hunt down the collections - IDW has made a few big collections of the different phases of their comic run, although not too well - on the “aftermarket” (re-sellers on places like EBay and Amazon). However, these go for hundreds of dollars each. You could also try to hunt them down issue by issue online, which is slightly easier but also tedious and most likely just as expensive. Lastly, as far as physical copies go, you could check local libraries and comic stores, although I’m unsure if the luck you’ll find there.

If you want all of the comics, online, for free, you have to do it illegally. I recommend this site - batcave.biz. Type in the name of the comic and it should pop up. I recommend switching in the settings the reading mode to web so you can scroll instead of flipping page by page. readallcomics.com, what I used to use, has been down for several days (2/17/25 time of writing) but if it ever comes back, it is great too.

Laptop might be the best reading experience since you’ll probably have to zoom in.

A reading order is necessary to follow given how long and sprawling this series was. There are about three distinct Phases. Phase two with Robots in Disguise and More Than Meets The Eye is considered the best, and MTMTE is considered some of the best Transformers writing out there, so some people jump directly to this one. I’m not an expert in the comics at all, so below I’ll link a reading order and a better guide:

And another reading order that’s roughly the same:

IDW had a brief generation 2 run from I believe 2019, but most people don’t read this. Also worth noting that IDW had a number of crossovers with other medias, but these are not at all necessary reading but don’t enjoy them.

Dreamwave and Marvel might be worth checking out too, but I’m to familiar with those, so if anyone else would like to add on about them, it would be very welcome.

Skybound is the currently running comics issue, and I believe it’s fairly cheap to buy physically or online. No reading order necessary, just go from Issue 1 to the current ones

Happy reading:)

SHOWS

There are much more than are listed, but here are some notable ones. People like or dislike for different reasons, so this meant to be a starting point for new fans to decide what to watch.

*Transformers: Prime

*Unicron Trilogy (three shows with one season each meant to be watched back to back as one interconnected story)

*Transformers: Animated

*Beast Wars and its sequel, Beast Machines

*The Transformers (now commonly referred to as Generation One, or G1) - the first ever TF series

Transformers: Cyberverse

*Transformers: Earthspark - the only currently running transformers show

Robots in Disguise (2001)

Robots in Disguise (2015) - there are two shows with the same name so the year they began is used to distinguish. The majority of the fandom seems to dislike RID15

Here is a wikipedia link to every animated TF show

GAMES

There are two main TF video games - War for Cybertron and Fall of Cybertron. I don't know too overly much about them but they are discontinued and no longer sold, so you have to find them used or pirate. They are available on playstation, xbox, and PC.

If you are interested in seeing what the games are about but not playing them or going through the piracy to obtain them, here is a movie style video with all key moments for WFC and one for FOC.

There are other games as well but I don't know nearly enough to talk about them.

MOVIES

The Michael Bay movies are somewhat controversial in the fandom, seeing as some characterization and design was not faithful, and the movies are generally not very strong plot wise anyways. That’s just brushing the surface, but I won’t get into that.

The Michael Bay directed live actions movies are (in chronological order): Transformers, Revenge of the Fallen, Dark of the Moon, Age of Extinction, and The Last Knight. The first three are generally considered the best of the bunch but in my opinion they are all worth a watch. A fair note, they tend to be a bit crude and sexual at times are not not considered 100% faithful to the source material, but the CGI is excellent and there are definitely fun characters and moments.

The reboot live action movies, intended as prequels to the Bay movies, but also seemingly occupying their own universe are: Bumblebee, Rise of the Beasts. Bumblebee is a solo movie following, you guessed it, Bumblebee, while ROTB is a more classic ensemble movie.

Transformers One: An animated prequel released this year that occupies its own universe.

Predacons Rising: It’s up to you if you actually consider this a movie, but it’s meant as a direct conclusion to TFP, and should be watched after its third season. Budget cuts meant that TFP’s third season was not done as well as it could have been and this provides a good conclusion.

Transformers (1986): Meant to be watched as part of G1, between seasons 2 and 3

At the time of writing, Hasbro has killed funding to the movies and a lack of interest in TF movies means that sequels to any of these are highly unlikely.

THE TOYS

Transformers began as toys, and it remains a center of the franchise. Some people like to collect the toys too, but as it stands many are very, very expensive.

There are two main lines aimed at adult collectors:

Generations: A toy line starting in 2018 that amassed figures of forty years of TF history from all different shows and continuities. These are for show and comic characters.

Note: Generations is never really labelled as Generations on the toy boxes. There are various lines of toys that are released over the course of a few years. The latest one, Legacy United, just wrapped up at the time of writing (early 2025) and Age of the Primes will begin soon in April.

Studio Series: A toy line that features movie characters, as seen in the movie. This includes the Bay Movies, the reboot movies, the 86 movie, and TF One. It will also include any further future movies.

There are also toys that are sold as not part of either of these lines, usually to promote whatever film or show is in progress or upcoming. These tend to be inferior quality wise and aimed at little kids.

Generations follows a rough layout for price and size, which is usually stated prominently in the package. Over time, the prices of all of these will go up so I will instead state the size, although this can be somewhat inconsistent as well. Studio Series has no size classings as far as I am aware.

Core class: Small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.

Deluxe class: 5-6 inches.

Voyager class (most collectors aim for figures in this range): 6-8 inches.

Leader/commander class (only some characters will have those): 9-10 inches I believe though I could be wrong.

Titan class (reserved for massive characters like Metroplex): very, very large, as in will not fit on your display shelf.

TOY REVIEWERS

Very useful for knowing what a figure is before you buy it, especially because some of these are very expensive. Usually they will tell you the articulation, general quality, posability, transformation, vehicle mode, and robot mode, along with some other things you might want to kow. These are some I personally watch, there are definitely other ones out there you should support!

Note: Some of them do review stuff other than Transformers.

That Toy Guy

Dr Lockdown

PrimeVsPrime

Patriot Prime Reviews

Jcc2224

MechaZeeReviews

If you have trouble transforming anything, you can also always go in youtube and type in the figure name and then transformation. There will almost always be step by step instructions in a video - if not, find a review and there will almost always also be transformation there.

BASIC TOY TERMS

-Articulation: How well a figure can move and pose. Articulation points are the joints at which things can be moved and adjusted.

Mold: The basic body type and structure that will often be reused on multiple characters. For example, the Tetrajet Seeker mold.

Gimmick: A small, fun addition to the figure that might range from fun to annoying depending on what it is. Usually, “gimmicky” is a bad term

Kibble: Robot parts that stick out in vehicle mode or vehicle parts that stick out in robot mode (usually the latter). These can add personality to the appearance of character and sometimes be quintessential to who they are, but in cases of bad engineering, will just be ugly and annoying.

Mainline: A toy that comes directly from Hasbro, as part of the Generations or Studio Series toy line.

Third party: A figure made by a company other than Hasbro, usually to improve upon an existing figure or character, to make a figure for a character who doesn’t yet have one or doesn’t yet have a good one for one iteration of them or in general, or just to do it better than Hasbro did. Companies officially licensed by Hasbro to create products, such as Blokess, are usually not considered third party.

KO/Knock-off: While third party figures are unique in design, KOs are illicit copies and reproductions of existing mainline figures. They may do it better or worse than Hasbro themself, and their selling point is usually a lower price.

Note: Some KOs and third parties are in fact much better than mainlines, or just more affordable in general. Many collectors buy a mix of third party, KO, and mainline.

Upgrade kit: A set of pieces, such as additional weaponry meant to elevate a figure beyond its original design and accessories.

Accessories: What the figure comes with in the box. This mostly constitutes weapons.

Re-issue: Figures that Hasbro re-releases and makes more of after demand has overcome supply following the toys original run.

Scalpers: People who buy the figure at its cheapest and sell it for horrifically high prices once supply has run out. Model/model kit: A gundam or bionicle style kit that you must put together yourself. Blondes and yolopark notably make these. Most are non-transforming.

Non-transforming: Exactly what it sounds like. Transtormers toys that don’t transform. Often, they are third party and make up for it with more show/movie accuracy or some kind of upgrade, such as more articulation.

Custom/custom figure: A figure that has been modified in some way to better suit the preferences of the person who customized it or paid for it to be customized. This can range from a simple repaint of an existing figure to creating your own figure that no one’s made before.

HasLab: Hasbro creates exclusive projects once a year for several of their major properties, including Transformers. These are available only on their website, and have to reach a certain backing goal (people who commit to buying it) before it reaches production. It's then in production for about a year before being shipped out ONLY to those who backed it. Prices are usually $200 and above.

Masterpiece: Takara Tomy's line of Transformers G1 style figures, but adapted and updated with modern engineering. They tend to be quite expensive, but also of pretty much some of the highest quality you can get.

I don't know the exact word for this but some toys are Studio Series or Generations and others are not of either series and produced for the latest show or movie. These are usually oriented at kids and generally of not very good quality, or tend to be super gimmicky. Some of them can be quite fun, but in general, if you're looking to collect, go for Generations or SS.

Some general collecting tips:

-Figure out what exactly you want to collect. Some people like to complete casts, or only collect a certain character, or something like that.

-Amazon often sells both mainline and third party/KOs

-Watch reviews of any figure you plan to buy, especially if it’s expensive

-Ebay often has the same figures at half the price, just slightly more used

-KOs can look extremely similar to the real thing. Some people don't mind KOs, but if you want only official figures, look for amazon listings that show them in the official box, with the official box art. KOs also notably do not have any faction insignia. This is easy to tell on Amazon but on places like Ebay, it can be a lot harder.

-Check the distribution at your local department stores. In the US these include Target and Walmart. While the selection is usually a bit pathetic, you might strike gold sometime.

USEFUL LINKS

Amazing link of all canon Cybertron locations

TF wiki

Awesome channel that does short introductions to various characters and concepts in transformers

Hasbro transformers link

transformers subreddit

if you lose your instructions, you can always type in the toy name here and find a pdf of instructions

Essentially every toyline, show, movie, and comic series released

QUICK NOTE

Shattered Glass is an AU where the Autobots are the bad guys and the Decepticons are the good guys and everyone has different colors. It has a few comics from a few different companies along with a toyline.

FANDOM STUFF

Transformers has a very big fandom! I find it quite active on Tumblr. I've heard there's also communities on Bluesky, Twitter, Reddit - basically everywhere else. You just have to find it.

Why are TF posts everywhere tagged with #maccadam or some version of that?

Maccadam's Old Oil House, or some variation of that, is an oil house (basicaly a Cybertronian equivalent of a bar) that was super popular on Cybertron even during the war that served everyone regardless of faction with one major rule - "no fighting." It's been in several continuities and somewhere along the line, it evolved into a general tag for transformers. Basically, people tag TF stuff with this. You probably should do.

I don't know that many ongoing fan projects but with some exploring and diving into the fandom you'll def find some you'll want to support. A lot of people also do very cool stop motion animations with TF figures, most of which are on youtube.

Note: You may see a project/fan film called Galvatron's Revenge on youtube or it being talked about elsewhere. Please don't support or watch this now complete project - Optimus's VA is racist and homophobic and generally a terrible person. More info here

The fandom is generally pretty chill. Find your own corner and spaces, there's something here for everyone.

Thank you for reading!

[the-possum-writes]

[Day 5] Facesitting

Character: Marceline Tags: NSF/W, gen neutral pronouns, AFAB reader, oral, facesitting, casual hook up, use of the pet name "Baby" Word count: 1033 Synopsis: A fun night at a dance club leads you to meet a stunning woman who has you both aroused and scared for your life.

There are flashing strobe lights, cigarette smoke and music beating into your eardrums as crowds of people fill your peripheral vision but even in the busy space of the night club you managed to see her through everything covering your sight.

Her long black hair is raised into a high ponytail, cascading down her bare back and striking out from within her bright red tube top and leather mini skirt, trailing down the fishnets surrounding her long legs and ending in a pair of punk boots with metal accessories dangling from them. She caught you staring at her and disappeared in an instant, you look around hoping to see her again but to your surprised she manifested right beside you and threw her arm around the back of the booth you're sitting on.

"Heeey~"

"Hi." You're voice is barely audible through the music and the chatter.

Marceline notices your gaze focused on her teeth, prompting her to smile even larger. "What's wrong, baby? Do they scare you?" Her innocent tone does not match her gaze, and you are taken aback, but she then leans closer to your ear and says something that makes your face flame. "You should see me in action and they won't look so scary, I promise they don't hurt." Despite the loud music, she manages to speak to you in a sensuous voice that sends tingles down your body and into your core.

"Promise~?"

Marceline grabs your hand and leads you backstage, both of you giggling and exchanging desperate kisses that felt like they were about to devour you, but she takes her time, pressing you against the rugged wall and lifting your leg as she trailed her kisses down between your thighs. You're not sure if it's the music, the thumping, or your own heartbeat, but there's a deafening ring in your ears as you watch Marceline pull your underwear aside and give a long lick upward your slit, with the tip settling on your clit, swirling it around to add pressure on that spot in particular.

The excitement of the whole event is heightened by the possibility that someone could stroll in or she could end up actually biting you; you could never be certain. Marceline licks your slit a few more times before dipping her tongue inside of you and swirling it around you as she pokes and prods your gummy walls. You had no idea what she was thinking, but you guessed she was having as much fun as you were. Her moans echo through your pussy, and she tightly grips your thighs, almost to the point of bruising. She growls a little as you attempt to break free of her grasp, but all it does is make her clutch tighter and cause her claws to pierce your skin. She then does the unimaginable and floats upward, carrying you with her. Marceline flies in such a way that she is on her back, forcing you to hold onto her head for support as you ride her face. The movement causes her to eat you out more erratically, slurping and licking your folds and hole, switching to rub your clit with her tongue again while her thumb penetrates you repeatedly. The stimulation has you unconsciously lurching forward as the build up has you dangerously leaning on the edge, both literally and metaphorically.

"Hah... Maaaarcy..." You're on the verge of tears, your body deliciously trembling as you try to hold back whether it's because you're scared of falling or because you don't want to create a mess on her face. In any case, she safely supports you with an otherworldly grasp as she speeds up her ministrations on your clit, abusing the heck out of your g-spot while fingering you.

"Come for me baby, I wanna hear you. See you... Taste you~"

That was enough for you to cum on her face, experiencing the most intense orgasm you've ever had with your body while sobbing and pulling at her beautiful long ponytail. Marceline is merciless, continuing to stimulate your sensitive clit to the point where you squirt a little all over her, leaving you absolutely satisfied and a little embarrassed, but Marceline was overjoyed as her fangs and lips glisten in the residue of your climax, licking them as if she had just had the best meal of the night.

"Oh baby, you're the sweetest little thing... I could eat you up." Marceline moans, hugging you upwards as she whispers in sinister tone that doesn't match her playful flirting from earlier. "...maybe I will."

You nervously laugh it off, but the tight grip she has on you feels like that of a boa snake as she transforms into an enormous bat creature with coarse black fur that scratches your face as she moves closer to your neck. You struggle to free yourself from her clawed hands as she breathes heavily into your jugular, and panic sets in. Instead of suffering a horrific death by her fangs like you come to expect, she pinches the side of your neck and you scream in surprise, while she bursts out laughing and returns to her regular form.

"I'm just messing with you baby! I wouldn't hurt someone so sweet like you. I made a promise didn't I?" Marceline lowers you onto your feet, supporting yourself against the wall as you join her with an exhausted chuckle. "Alright, you had me there for a moment not gonna lie."

"So, you wanna come back to my place~?"

"Promise you won't rip me to shreds?" You raise an eyebrow at her and this has her laughing again.

Marceline holds out her pinkie finger. "Promise~!"

[iilumoria]

To any other, the act of walking into a blisteringly hot warehouse and seeing the reflection of your own death would drive them into madness. To Ada, it's not the first time, and she would hate to say that some part of her was taken off guard.

The stench of death was thick enough that a thin layer of the scent stuck to her skin like sweat, a heavy metaphorical mist that hung over flies and bloodstains numerous enough it reminded her of a slaughterhouse. Bodies covered the floor in an unrecognizable pattern, dumped and left, several hanging from the rafters from chains that had already sunk through muscle and bone. And then there was her, Ada, restrained and with nothing but thin air underneath her heels. It was an odd reminder of mortality that she doesn't particularly find in good taste, not when she's brushed against it enough already, though perhaps it continued to provide her with a way to spin it somehow to her uses.

Eyes lingered on her own corpse for an amount of time that was far longer than anybody in their right mind would pay towards their own death, that same unsettling feeling rising in the base of her stomach as a head snapped back to the position it should be. She can't exactly identify what she considers towards it, not when her feelings on the situation was complicated at best and there's a mix between irritation and genuine curiosity. Ada's spent enough time after China rebuilding every asset she lost for it to repeat itself once more, but this holds her intrigue far more to destroy every chance of it for nothing but the sake of finality.

She remained firmly on the ground as the once-corpse pulled at the hook keeping her raised, beginning to swing just like a ticking clock — and a ticking clock it was, what with the serial killer still on the loose and everything in this room about to wake up seriously unhappy.

"Thought you'd have picked somewhere more comfortable to wash up — unless our friend caught something on his line."

@mettamorph from here

[everlastingfable]

as much as I love robbie's silliness, I think this line about him is my favorite because of how it says so much in so little. robbie is impatient, distractible, easily frustrated. heartsong in particular well establishes that. he's can't finish his dramatic wolf thoughts without getting distracted by a squirrel and chasing after it, he gave up relatively quickly on catching a deer because it was too fast, he couldn't last more than 15 minutes when he decided to give kelly the silent treatment etc etc

so it makes moments like these hit hard. here is robbie, finding a pack nearly broken by grief. though they are kind enough not to immediately run him out and even kinder to give him a place to stay. but the house is blue blue blue, both physically and metaphorically. it was where it all started to fall apart. a constant reminder soaked into the living room floor

did it remind robbie of his own mother? seeing her covered in flies while the wolves that found him whisked him away from the carnage? her death loomed over him for years, preventing him from truly bonding and becoming part of a pack. but somehow. somehow he managed to remove the stain. how long did he spend scrubbing it away? trying to fix something that he didn't have to. but he did because he cared. and I think that's one of my favorite characteristics about robbie, he's naturally impatient but he'll try anyways for the people he cares about

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

【Part 1】

你先通過我的城市-高雄柴山的挑戰之後我就向你推薦和建議其他台灣的山脈 After you pass the challenge of my city - Kaohsiung Shoushan first, I will suggest other mountains in Taiwan to you ha!

👆 我這張封面頭像的故事背景就是我住的城市有一座人盡皆知、依山傍海並且滿是台灣猿猴的"柴山"，山上有很多爬山的路線，退休老人當然都選比較容易健行的路線，而我們卻挑戰一條俗稱"A線攻頂"。(The story background of my cover photo is that the city where I live has a well-known "Shoushan／Monkey Mountain", which is surrounded by mountains and seas and there's full of Taiwanese apes. There are many climbing routes on the mountain, and retired elders of course choose the easier ones to hike. route, but we challenged a route commonly known as "A line to the top" The path very less people go even young guys under the sun heat day.) ～

We chose a way It's really terrible difficulty climbing path to top of mountain, especially way to back I still remember clearly want me die at the time. lol and look my face… XD I was serious thinking & praying secretly : Jesus, Did I use my two legs get down to moutain or could you give me wings flying but rather a ball rolling down straight to the hospital better?! You know that I even almost cry to please : Oh No!

柴山 (Shoushan, Kaohsiung/Taiwan) - 入口位於中山大學文學院旁 / A線攻頂記 ◠‿◠ in 2015, April. 28. (It was 9 years ago. Time flies! lol)

Since a story He was a New Zealand mountaineer, explorer and philanthropist. On 29 May 1953, Hillary and Nepalese Sherpa mountaineer Tenzing Norgay became the first climbers to reach the summit of Mount Everest. once He said: "The key is not just to climb to reach the summit of Everest, it should be able to secure more important down." And as people said that " It's not ending on the hilltop, Must be returned safely to be successful. If you want to mountain climbing, be sure to leave enough time to come back. "  then climbed on mountain, though laborious, but not prone to danger. If down the mountain, It's easily slip down. so have to grasp the balance. And if the speed is too fast, legs and feet will be sore and trembling. Accidentally, it became a free fall and fell directly down the mountain. In addition, the metaphor ~~~ "When a person's social status will improve honored, It's easy for their life, but if It became lower status, it felt embarrassed and sad days. Must be learn and To face it also." ...much regard.

距今約70年前第一個登上珠穆朗瑪峰的紐西蘭的登山家和探險家艾德蒙·希拉里曾經說過：「攀登珠峰的關鍵並不只是登上頂峰，應該是能夠安全下山更為重要。」以及「登山不是登頂就結束了，還得安全返回才算成功。如果要登山的話，一定要留夠回來的時間。」意指上山雖費力但不容易發生危險，下山雖省力卻容易失足。下山時重力重心是向下，自身作用力也是向下，所以要確實掌握住平衡，弄不好前衝力過大，會發生危險。以及速度如果太快，腿腳會發酸並且發抖。一不小心變成為自由落體直接滑落山下。另外，比喻~~~「當一個人的社會地位提高時感到榮耀，日子容易過，但若是地位降級時感到丟臉，日子難過。」

[themoonlitsojourner]

The dread blooms in the pit of his stomach as Dick's hand lands on the doorknob. Muscle memory turns the knob before his brain can puzzle out the who, why, where, alert his body that they should wait-

The voice hits him as the door opens. A right hook to the nose. Against his will, he's pausing in the doorway. Metaphorically bleeding from the face. Dripping onto the hardwood. While the guy who did it watches.

"Hey," he says, because what else is he supposed to say?

Slade surveys him coolly from the living room chair, head turned and ice glass eye sweeping head to toe. Tara doesn't look. Brow furrowed, she's arguing in tight tones, anger staring down the barrel and vibrating her hands. Jarring her aim. After a moment, Slade returns his attention to their conversation.

The grocery bags bite into Dick's wrists. The refrigerator hum fills his head, a colony of wasps, flies, as he opens the door and kneels to put it all away. The breakfast bar hides him from view of the living room, that feels important. Tara's doing most of the talking. Deep low words undercut her wild-aimed bullets.

Deep breaths, one, two, three. Pulse pounding in his neck. Done with the fridge, on to the cupboard, still that roar in his ears, where's it coming from, oh the heater in the ceiling. It's still cold. Fingers numb. But he just came in from outside.

What are they talking about? Plans. Battle plans, contract plans, plans of attack, weapons, war, that time He... Violence. Fluent in violence, words like knives rolling oil slick off their tongues.

Dick's hands are covered in blood. Glistening under the kitchen light as he crouches in front of the cupboard and he's done but he can't stand. Hypnotized, locked joints, ducking in a trench there is fire above his head. If he rises, he will lose his head.

Shuffle, socks on linoleum, Dick jerks his head up, Tara looks down through her hair. Expression rearranging itself into a question.

Dick rises and smiles. His lips fumble around something friendly and normal and unafraid to say. He says something. It's lighthearted. Twelve year old Robin. The concern doesn't leave Tara's eyes. She slides a glass out of the cupboard, pretext, sideways glance, I came here for you.

I know. Thanks. I'm fine.

...Right.

It's filthy, disgusting, the games they have to play, vomit in Dick's mouth. Offering Slade a glass of water like he's a guest. But if Tara didn't, Dick would. He would have to.

Socks treading back into the living room. Back into the line of fire.

The coward hides in the kitchen.

~~~

Hush, the heater again, the noise penetrating to the center of Dick's ears, gripping the organ of hearing buried in his skull and shaking.

Cold sweat across his arms and lower back. The doorknob silent, hairs on the back of his neck pricking, don't look back, he escapes into the bedroom.

Relief, temporary and false, the roar cutting out under the sound of the latch clicking shut behind him.

Silence. Black shifting to gray. The room fading into view. The comforter is pulled up past her shoulders and she lies on her side facing the door.

Five minutes between when Tara brushed her teeth and Dick doing the same. Stilted performance. Three hundred seconds, ticking past one. by. one as a man past six feet tall in a black dress shirt gazed idly out the window. As Dick's broken-skinned knuckles gripped the kitchen counter and he answered in one word sentences.

(Is He lying on their couch? Still filling up the chair? Popping open the gin in the cupboard?)

Dick thinks her eyes are closed. He rounds the end of the bed and climbs onto his side from there, muscles aching from the effort and control of being quiet. Tara doesn't move. She's not asleep.

Dick lies on his side and faces her. Her hair tucked behind her ear, and beyond, the door. Saliva pools in his throat, tasting horribly, suspiciously like guilt. Dick faces the wall.

Not between her and the door. Dick has the side of the bed he always does but he's not between her and the door this time and He's closer, nearer than He ever was in the basement, the apartment is tiny there's nowhere else He could be but on the other side of the wall and Dick's not between her and the door.

He could have been. He should have asked her to move over, could have done it with a smile and a joke and it would have been normal and innocuous (liar liar li) and then he would've been between her and the door.

Fingers digging into the pillow so hard his bones bite into each other. Starving dogs.

Doesn't dare look. She doesn't either. It's stupid (both of them), because if they didn't sleep here (both of them), then where? The couch is for their guest. The questions would have been worse, anyway. "Do you take turns? Flip a coin? Or is one of you just plain unlucky?" A smile gleaming from beneath white bristles. And there's no point in lying. But Dick can't, somehow... It's different here. The door could always open any second, but here it could really open any second. It would be just like Him to...

Inhales. Exhales. The mattress springs and the rough circle in front of Dick's nose where someone punched the wall and someone plastered it over and someone painted over that.

...Is she still awake?

The creak of the mattress and Dick is already throwing his shoulder rolling over a ballet a musical cue and then she's right there.

"Hey," whispered. Warm minty breath on his mouth. Forehead to his.

"Hey." Her midnight eyes not quite visible at midnight. Her hair tickling his cheekbones. Calculations build pyramids in his head. With the heater fan, they should be able to talk at this decibel without Him knowing. Or hearing. Any louder...

Does the door have a lock? Something Dick never thought to check, how loud is it, would Slade hear, would that make Him... Idiot. He could just pick the lock. Would pick the lock.

Fifty percent chance He could slide in and do- do something and Dick wouldn't wake up, would be none the wiser, she wouldn't wake him up and-

Look, there was nothing Dick could do there, and there's nothing he could do here, this is all a desperate attempt to soothe the boiling rampant his chest when he knows damn full well what his options are and there are-

...Tara's eyes have closed. Her breathing is already starting to even out.

Dick rests his arm around her waist. He would kiss her temple, if that didn't mean pulling away and maybe waking her when she'd almost escaped into sleep. It was going to be hours for him. Maybe he wouldn't go. But he wouldn't stop her.

Lying like this, if he turns his head a little, he can look past her and watch the door. There's nothing he can do if it opens. But he can watch the door. Ears burning, straining for any hint of movement on the other side. Tensing at creaks, thumps from kitchen cabinets, tensing when it's been quiet too long. It's been quiet too long.

But he can watch the door.

Dick watches the door.

[doctorstrangereview]

0156: Defenders #31

Cover Date: January 1976 On-Sale Date: October 21, 1975

Returning from last issue's silly interlude, our regular creative team gives us a Nighthawk-centric story. We also get the return of the unfortunately named Headmen. Also: Hulk gets a pet in a very Disney-esque way, a certain elf returns, and Jack Norriss is still making his unwanted presence known.

In a metaphorical splash page, Nighthawk is being crushed by a giant hand sporting claw like fingernails and a fetching gold bracelet while the other Defenders look away. Moving on to the actual story, Kyle appears to be in a hallucinatory daze. The hand lets him go and he flies toward a vision of his ex, Trish Starr at the edge of a body of water. He flies toward her. She asks why he let it happen, then turns and wades away.

Arms from the ocean grasp at him and the illusion ends when he bonks he noggin on a tree branch. Back to reality for Kyle! Nighthawk scares off a young couple with his mere presence and is promptly shot by an unknown assailant. It's a tranquilizer, not something fatal.

At a carnival, Jack seems to be out on a date with the body of his wife which is inhabited by the Norse goddess Valkyrie. (Actually, her name is Brunhilde and Valkyrie is technically her title.) Jack wins Val a big rabbit plush. Val is confused by this. Jack's marksmanship won the prize, why is he giving it to her? Jack seems to think his wife is still in there somewhere. The pair walk over the the strength machine where Jack wins Val a bear. Val then tries the machine and let's say things don't go well for the machine.

Val continues to address Jack as Mr. Norriss much to his annoyance.

We know look in on Hulk who is wandering around the Ozarks. He comes across a doe and her fawn. Suddenly, poachers shoot the doe, to Hulk's displeasure.

I certainly wouldn't want this coming for me!

Hulk proceeds to wrap one hunter's rifle around his neck and skips the other one across a lake into a tree on the other side. Ouch! He then takes the fawn and promises to take care of it. Jumping away, he searches for a smart person to tell him how to do that.

Now awake, Kyle confronts his kidnappers, now revealed as the Headmen, Gorilla-Man, Shrunken Bones and Chondu the Mystic. Their nefarious plan is to transplant Chondu's brain into Kyle's body. As Chondu seems to have a perfectly functioning body at this point in time (it's not a condition that lasts) there doesn't seem to be a sensible reason for this. It probably would have been more fun to create a thing with two heads.

We now have an interlude where a couple, Charles Lester and his unnamed wife, are leaving a Las Vegas casino. Charles complains he was about to hit a winning streak and hails a taxi. Mrs. Lester tells the driver their destination. He pulls into an alley and Mr. Lester asks what's going on. The driver's head falls off revealing it was dummy and an elf crawls out of the body. The elf shoots Charles while Mrs. Lester's fate remains unknown. Perhaps she went back to the casino, hit Charles's winning streak and found a less grumpy new husband.

Hulk is flying toward Doc's Sanctum Sanctorum cradling his new friend when he encounters Nighthawk. Nighthawk's ominous though bubble telegraphs the reader that Kyle isn't inside there anymore, but Hulk believes he's run into his old friend, Bird-Nose.

Back at the Sanctum, Doc is ruminating over a fiery cauldron with some figures made of smoke doing something. This is his recreation time and some guests have rudely interrupted it.

Wong does not appear to "take care of them like he did the last issue's guests." Hulk starts going on about the Fawn while Nighthawk asks Doc about a statue that he recognizes as a pre-cataclysmic artifact. (What cataclysm isn't specified, but I'll assume Atlantis.) Nighthawk's sudden knowledge seems to trigger something in Doc, but they all get distracted by Val and Jack's arrival with their plushies in tow. Hulk drags the conversation back to taking care of his fawn. In the background, Nighthawk/Chondu (it's finally confirmed) attacks the group and mystically paralyzes them.

Nighthawk/Chondu disparages Doc's abilities and leaves. The moment he's gone, Doc effortlessly escapes and frees his fellow Defenders all while calling Chondu third rate. The group then go after who they presume is a false Nighthawk. They quickly find him. Nighthawk/Chondu drains the strength from Val and Hulk. Doc banishes him to another realm and follows to continue the fight.

Chondu admits to himself how awesomely powerful Doc is and takes some mind-expanding drug to give him a chance against Doc. He distracts Doc by conjuring images of his loved ones. Still, Doc is able to defeat his foe.

Doc returns him and his unconscious foe to Earth. The Defenders pull back the mask of who they assume is an imposter to find out it really is Kyle. Doc reveals that he unleashed his full mystic might and Kyle may not survive.

The series expounds more on the history and character of those who aren't currently supporting their own book. I suppose that's necessary, but it makes Doc and Hulk more like instruments of story advancement than actual people.

While Doc doesn't get any character growth in this, beyond the reaction to possibility of killing his teammate, we do get a nice battle and some idea of the extent of his power. Doc has always been difficult for writers because magic has no rules and Doc's upper limits are constantly shifting based on who's writing him and the needs of the story. Sometimes Doc is invincible and other times he gets taken out by a well placed punch.

The story is a fun one. It started a bit slow and mysterious but ended with a bang. We have lots of possible pieces for future story lines. The elf subplot will drag on for years and in about 90 issues we'll get something of climax for it. Hulk's gentle giant nature is show here. It's not really anything new, but I smile every time I read about it.

Val and Jack seem to be winding down the identity crisis with a journey to acceptance. That's a good thing, I believe.

Overall, I liked it and look forward to the next issue.

[philosophersystem]

⚠️ Trigger Warning (TW):

This track contains metaphorical depictions of warfare, psychological fragmentation, and covert survival roles, specifically framed from the perspective of a gatekeeper subsystem.

The lyrics explore what it feels like to be a constant invisible frontline — shielding the system, absorbing chaos, and being misunderstood as "cold" while silently fighting.

Please take care while listening — pause or stop if it feels too much.

You’re not alone.

This piece aims to empower, not exploit — to express, not retraumatize.

🦊 Artistic Intention:

This soundblade is meant to empower every Gatekeeper. It's how I, NB#4 "Nightmare" [S–0:5] Sayuri, survive.

For those who need it.

『小百合 — Sayuri』 – A soundblade. Forged traditionally, folded countless times. Hardened in blood. Infused with the souls of the damned, fallen & smith. For every Gatekeeper.

"Ich bin überall — Still – Spürbar" // "I am everywhere — Silent – Tangible"

— Inscription by Sayuri, the smith.

— LYRICS // ENGLISH —

Position: deep in enemy territory;

Status: active;

Enemy contact: permanent;

// Signal stable — despite fracture points //

– I’m in.

— Staying in.

– I am Splinter Brigade.

— I am shield.

– Shattered, not fallen –

Frozen between hail of bullets and artillery

— Five men on the team —

Shadow hunters – Gatekeeper Brigade – Paratroopers.

Gray garment – No shine – No glory.

– Yet worn with pride like an ancient oath –

– Jump fearless — land in pain –

\\ – Barriers built with bare heart – \\

// signal flicker – Fox in the field: looks through fog //

Always behind enemy lines, deep inside

Where memories spin like mines

Not gone, only buried deeper

Not dead – spread in shards with scars

Every splinter a sensor – every crack a path

Orders flow in neural splits.

Only silence visible –

— Troop movement tangible. —

Only silence audible –

— hostile radio-signal excitation measurable. —

Thought to be out? – Thought wrong.

I am everywhere

Where the war still rages.

Shattered in fire, yet never defeated

Crawling through smoke on hidden paths

An echo in every war of thoughts

— The silent sentinel – who never flies —

\\ Good luck \\

No scars on skin – yet in data and limbs

— Never visible, only deeper in songs —

No hero monument – only system archive

– but when it burns, then active –

Replacement was not found — it was forged from tactics, codes & everything that shies away.

No value on glory –

Screw glory.

Cover counts.

Not how loud a name booms.

Structure carries when troops break

Reformation instead of perishing

Green Devils — no end in sight.

We hold the lines when the rest shatters.

// jamming frequency – fox dances in the dirt: position unknown. //

No echo — structure in the code.

— Always on receive – until death —

Shattered in fire — yet never defeated.

Crawling through smoke on hidden paths

An echo in every war of thoughts

The silent guardian — who never flies.

I’m not out — but around you.

Like code in the system — inaudible and mute.

No exit — only welded deeper.

Never lighter — only sharper and frozen.

Radio open: Mission runs permanently

Last order: Fox stays concealed

— Shattering is no end —

It is distribution.

– I am everywhere –

Silent — but tangible

[dicenote]

This is so, so self-indulgent and rushed but I had a shower-thought and had to realize it. So here's part of a Hurricane cover but instead it's Matsuda in the last episode. (Audio transcript under the "Read More")

The metaphor of the "Hurricane" is really interesting because I feel like it can be taken in two ways. One is the more obvious "force of nature" comparison that Light uses. He believes he's God and that the world is going to feel his power, like the winds of the hurricane. Essentially, he's the one in control, and everyone is going to fear him.

But the other way to think about it is that Light is swept up in the power, like the water is pulling him under. He isn't the hurricane itself, he's a victim to his own power-trip. This kinda comparison also works with Matsuda in the end of the story, as Matsuda flies into a rage and nearly kills Light himself.

Also something about "writing is a gun, I only have to aim" when Light is literally shot is kinda funny ngl. It turns out that the thing that can beat his metaphorical gun is... a gun.

LYRICS:

You say you're God of a trembling world But you will have to pray If he could be here, what would your father say?

"Oh, there are lines That can't be crossed" But he told you those words in vain

To you, the lives That we all lost Meant nothing!

The hardest rains The coldest winds But you are not a hurricane

You're just a man With all his sins On display

I'm gonna shake, I'm gonna scream 'Cause it's like I'm drowning in the hurricane!