#neurosity

[neonblack]

Turns out we don't need neuralink to drill holes in our heads in order to increase the bandwidth of our brain-computer interface. Electroencephalographic (EEG) sensors can measure and process your brainwaves. So, you'll be able to use computers without having to lift a finger. The future is exciting!

[straightlightyagami]

u ever see someone with extremely fucked up views (or actions) and think wowww if a couple of things in my life went the tiniest bit differently that would have been me

[vinelark]

Kon: If I had a nickle for every time I fell for an emo twink from gotham who's weirdly intense, has blackmail and stalking as hobbies, and crafts elaborate plots to convince people he's okay, I'd have two nickles. Which isn't-

Robin: One.

Kon: What?

Tim, taking off his mask: One.

tim being like how dare you imply there’s someone else who could pull off this impeccable combination of neuroses. i am wholly singular thank you

[epiphainie]

day three mindset is maybe i could engage with canon compliant content too bc god their breakup was really juicy i hate that it's juicy

[hellenhighwater]

How does one bring out the lap cat from a terrified tiny?

It's like 90% trust, 10% communication.

The thing about being a tiny frightened animal alone in a world of giants who do not understand what you are saying is that it is understandably terrifying. You, the giant, have to demonstrate that you are safe. You are friendly. You will help. You will learn to hear what the small scared creature is trying to tell you--I am afraid, leave me alone--and respect that. And you will bring food, and touch gently, and scratch the hard to reach places, and play, and be kind-kind-kind, for years, and then, eventually, around you the small scared thing will be safe.

When I am home and both of us are conscious, Vice is almost always in the same room as me. Even when I'm doing something scary, like vacuuming or wearing shoes. He knows the house is safe and he knows that I am the safest thing in the house, because I have put a lot of work into slowly gaining trust.

And because I am the safest thing, he wants attention and affection and petting, and the last leg has just been getting him to understand that 1. laps are a safe place to be and 2. I want him to be on my lap.

He gets it now.

[shrugemojiidk]

“Why do you think sladejay works” well, you see-

[bad-tf-fic-ideas]

(335) Ultra Magnus gets briefly dumped in a plasma lake and, immediately after he wakes from a medical coma, he discovers that he has developed the ability to sense, identify and fully comprehend the feelings of everyone around him, no matter how well-concealed. If he's concentrating, or the feeling is powerful enough, he can detect it from all the way across a military base.

Ultra Magnus considers this highly inconvenient, obstructive to his work, distracting, and, frankly, invasive. He spends many hours with Ratchet, trying to have the condition fixed. But they don't know how it works, and it's very hard to get a handle on how to change it.

There is a long period of neurotic resistance to change. But, in the end, other than being blindsided and silently appalled (and, oh so quietly, stressfully, flattered) by how many of his subordinates — and enemies??? — are sexually attracted to Ultra Magnus when he's giving commands, this ability does turn out to be more of a gift than a curse.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

Nico’s hands still on the stubborn pillowcase. “To…my cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He resumes, sliding slowly away from Will’s wide round eyes, stuffing the puffy square of feathers into its fabric prison. The ghost of geese past are not happy with him. He is their prince. They will submit. “Yeah? You could all those other times, too.”

“Yeah, but I want to come over.”

“Yes,” Nico agrees, wondering if this is perhaps one of those moments Kayla warned him about. Has it reached day five of Will not sleeping? He doesn’t think so. He was napping when Nico came into the infirmary this morning to help with the tidying he promised to do. At least he was drooling enough that Nico hopes he was sleeping. “You mentioned.”

“So I can?”

“Yes, Will.”

Maybe it’s just an American thing. Nico has been noticing some Moments lately. He’s not sure if all teenagers have unanimously decided on some code they’d like to speak in during the few months he was busy defeating his great grandmother, or if maybe he’s finally stuck around long enough to notice, but nobody says what they mean, nowadays.

(He has gathered, thus far, that ‘on fleek’ is a synonym for ‘aflame’, although ‘yeet’ continues to evade him. Perhaps because Cecil and Lou appear to have indulged in the sick delight of replacing their every word with the term with the sole purpose to Confuse. Or perhaps, as Will has so indicated, they have each endured one concussion to many and are beyond any hope.)

“Sick!” That one Nico knows, at least. “I’ll come by after my morning shift? Connor got cursed by the Hypnos, Hecate, and Aphrodite cabins this morning so I have to do brain surgery before he forgets how to feel genuine human connection again, but I’ll be done by noon. Probably. I mean, Connor has a thick skull, genuinely I mean, which is why his lobotomy has been delayed so many times, but so long as I —”

It has been under Nico’s notice lately that Will eyes, genuinely, sparkle. He has read the cliche time and time again and rolled his eyes almost every time: diamonds sparkle. Water sparkles. Snow sparkles. Eyes reflect, and sometimes glow with reflection. They do not sparkle. To claim a set of eyes are sparkling is to profess to the world and all capable of registering your words that you are a brainless idiot who cannot dredge up from the depths of your mind, the most barren and bereft back corners, a single unique or clever comparison; a minutely original way to describe excitement or animation.

And yet.

Will is indeed very animated, and very excited about very many things, and it shows on his face; in the wideness of his grins, the springing mass of his curls, the stilted and flailing gilt of his languid limbs. It also shows, perhaps most obviously, in his genuinely magnificent eyes — Nico has seen the Logan Sapphire. He has touched the precious thing with reverent hands, stared in awe as it thrust out the light shine upon it like the golden ichor of Ouranous swirling with the sweet saltwater to birth Love Incarnate. He knows glittering, he knows gleaming, shimmering and shining and twinkling.

Will’s eyes sparkle, like the very tip of a mountaintop, like the crackling ends of a flame, like dewdrops on spider silk. It is transfixing. It is alluring.

“—ico. Nico! Hello-o?”

It is also a trap.

“Sounds great,” Nico says loudly, voice like cold soda over vanilla ice cream. He clears his throat, twice, to no avail. His vision begins to blur as the heat pouring off of his face warps the air. “Um. See you then?”

Will nods, or at least Nico hopes he does. His curls bounce, anyway. They are hard to miss. They remind Nico tangentially of how laughter sounds, unimpeded by shame; how the shimmering satin of a ribbon would curl and bend under the smooth slide of the scissor’s blade.

(His father’s circuit of jesters often included poets playwrights. They also doubled as Nico’s babysitters. Surely no lasting consequences, that.)

“Yes!” He flashes a smile, then, and it becomes imperative to note that his eyes squint at the force of it, and his slightly-too-big teeth brush his bottom lip, and he has, in fact, on each cheek, a dimple.

Now, Will is often and even frequently called Apollo Junior by just about every living soul in camp, up to and including Immortal Camp Director And Horse, Chiron; and uproariously once even Mr D, God of Wine. Allegedly, as taunted by Kayla, even by Will’s own mother. The golden hair and unfortunate habit of winking and legs for days do most definitely create an image.

Nico, however, contrarian he be, must deny: he has seen Apollo. Apollo is beautiful and golden and charming, but Will is not quite his spitting image. Will, more aptly, is the son of the Sun. He glows; the glare of his smile leaves impressions behind in the cells one’s eyes, the glide of his limbs is almost dragging, languid. To look at him is to commit yourself to blinding. To seek so desperately the solace of the light as to ignore the unsettling sting of the burn.

“I can’t wait!”

As a blissful cloud moving in front of the solar system’s brightest star saves your eyes the eternal fate of darkness, Will’s duty so saves Nico from an eternity of shadow. He returns, humming softly and horribly, to his work, sifting through folders and updating patient files, and Nico exhales the breath setting foundations in his lungs, slumping forward in fervent relief. A melancholic reprieve from the summer rays, if only for a moment.

He waves goodbye, or at least he hopes that he does, rushing out the infirmary doors and tripping down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurrying somewhere, Nicholas Claus?” drawls Mr. D, throwing darts a perilously balanced apple atop the horns of a satyr bleating in morse code.

“That was not even an attempt,” responds Nico, and hurries away before he can be dolphinized. Dolphinified? Made into a bottle-nosed beast. (Why bottle? Of all comparisons to make, who decided bottles were the utmost separate object to which the snout of the slippery beasts should be named? Oh, wait, drunk people. Bottles. Okay. Mystery solved.)

He manages, in his heroic retreat across the common, not to destroy entire swathes of grass and plants, a feat for which the Muses could perhaps write epics about. Truly he is capable of the utmost restraint and self-control. He does raise several full sized wolf skeletons, but they seem primarily preoccupied with hunting down the the Stolls, so a win-win as far as Nico is concerned. Probably not for Connor, who is apparently cursed or concussed, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he has managed thus far with his startling amount of daily braincell loss so by statistic and happenstance he is bound to survive another incident.

“There has to be away to shut myself off,” Nico says, out loud to himself, proceeding the slam of his cabin door and the heavy breathing upon it. He turns to his altar. “You mentioned an off button, Father. I don’t suppose it has been successfully implemented.”

No answer comes forth. He indulges in a brief moment of self pity, wherein the Nico who lives in his brain clears his throat, digs around the messy confines of his mind to find an imaginary black hoodie, slips it on, digs around again for a dagger, and stabs himself, choking and twitching pitifully. Real Nico then walks with great purpose to the exact geological centre of the stone cabin.

“Okay,” he says again. He nods, once, narrowing his eyes in determination. The Nico in his brain opens one curious eyelid. (Does Will do psychiatric assessments?) “Okay, this is. Hm.”

It is not the first time they have been alone together, after all.

In the weeks following Gaea’s defeat and Will Solace’s nonstop, irritating persistence, Nico has been thrust in his proximity an incredible number of times. From his three day stay, during which he was simply so unconscious for so long his father was concerned enough to manifest onto the mortal plane and poke at his soul until he responded, to his unofficial indoctrination (ha) as a nurse, to camp clean-up efforts, to cabin renovation, to general life — they have become friends. Coworkers, at least. Together they make the camp a little more bearable for everyone in it, including Nico. It is rewarding work. It is illuminating work; Will is a good teacher, and he is funny, and he is good company (and he happens to have very long legs that he does not bother to cover up very often and Nico has eyes that do what they please). They have been in Nico’s cabin together several times over the last few weeks.

Never before has Will come over without some kind of stated purpose.

At least, not and absence he has made so obvious. True, the renovations took longer than expected, and the paint on the east wall is smudged from where Nico shoved Will, shrieking, off the stepstool, and they have perhaps, on occasion, used Nico’s illegal Wii when they were meant to be helping Annabeth make plans for Capture the Flag, but —

But.

Intent.

Is important.

It has been made abundantly clear to Nico over the summer that he has friends upon which he can rely. Reyna has made a point to Iris Message him at whatever Roman tryhard time she believes he should be awake, prompting an attempted murderous shadow travel that left him unconcious in Missouri and at the unfortunate end of many people’s shouting. And Will’s friends, who can perhaps at this point be called his friends also, have created a game entitled “How Many Grapes Can We Flick At Nico During Lunch Before He Goes Ballistic And Sends Us To Purgatory For A Little While” (four), which they are inclined and inspired to play every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Piper enjoys dragging him around to do Things. Jason is just around constantly. (Does he sleep? Nico should check on that properly.)

He had a point, somewhere. He’s sure he did.

It was maybe the impending anxiety attack, helpfully informs Brain Nico.

“Ah,” regular Nico replies, then grapples around for his least favourite pillow, slams it into his face, and screams at the top of his lungs for several minutes.

Brain Nico decides once again that commentary is the way.

I think we are an all powerful demigod of something, he muses. Dirt, maybe? Bad vibes? I can’t quite remember.

“The dead?” inquires regular Nico.

Do you think those years isolated in the Labyrinth perhaps situated us firmly on the shores of mentally unwell? responds he, blissfully unhelpful.

“I think that was Tartarus, actually,” says regular Nico, and promptly banishes his brain self to the deepest recesses of his mind, among memories of the taste of liquid fire and Calculus.

With the remaining, functioning (well.) part of his brain, he places both palms on the cool floor and attempts to focus.

Juicy Fruit It gets right to ya Juicy salt Hmmm Juicy Fruit, The taste the taste that’s —

For the love of all holy things, Nico begs his brain. It doesn’t work, but what ever really goes right in his life, so he pushes past the increasingly louder replays of eighties commercial jingles and maps out the ground below the cabin floor, pushes through the layers of underground.

Ah. Perfect.

He pulls up the very aptly placed skeleton of a cat, letting it scratch and sniff about his cabin before cautiously approaching him.

“You will be sure to tell it to me straight,” Nico says solemnly, holding out his hand. The cat bobs its nasal cavities in and out of Nico’s fingers and, apparently deciding him to be worthy of its attention, rams its skull against his knuckles. Nico snorts, running a fingernail along its cranial sutures and grinning as its purring echoes in his mind. “You seem very wise.”

The cat’s caudal vertebrae rattle in indignation, miffed at the mere idea that it could be anything other than wise. Nico is honestly quite impressed by its ability to glare without actual eyeballs, eyelids, or thought power.

“I am going to name you after my sister and pray that’s not weird,” Nico says. “I mean, I don’t think she would mind. You’re pretty cool, actually, and Hazel’s cool, kind of, so. Win win.”

Hazel the Cat seems unbothered by her christening, curling up in Nico’s lap. He runs his hand from cranial base to coccyx, finger dipping and bumping along the ridges of her spines, and settles against the cool floor, attempting to breathe evenly.

“It’s just.” He swallows. It takes a try or two, to work around the massive stone borrowed in his throat, and Hazel the Cat nips playfully at his fingers until his lungs settle again. “Before we had something to do, you know? We’d be cutting bandages, and he’d be all, hey, did you know bandages are mentioned in one of the first ever medical manuscripts and definitely predate it by many hundreds of years, and I would say I did, actually, I talked to the guy who made that clay tablet, and his eyes would get all wide and he’d be like no way, tell me everything, and then I would just talk forever.” Nico huffs. “We had something to talk about, you understand. Something to do.”

Nico tries to imagine what Hazel his Sister would say. Probably something along the lines of you are an impossible person, which is code for I have about as much luck as you do in this century, pal, the best I’ve got is hope for the best and remember adults no longer smack you for standing wrong. Which. Fair.

Hazel the Cat just purrs in his head again. It’s as encouraging as anything, he supposes.

“Am I supposed to have…conversation starters? He likes twizzlers and intentionally bad poetry. Maybe I could do something with that?”

Hazel the Cat shrugs at him.

“It’s not even — okay, it’s not just that, though. What is — how close is close enough in a casual setting? Or too close? How am I meant to greet him? Am I supposed to offer something? Make something? What do I do if there’s a lull in conversation? Or if it’s all lulls? Oh, gods, how much silence is socially appropriate —”

Hazel the Cat twists in his hold, meeting his eyes as if to say well I don’t think you’ll be struggling with that last one.

“Shush,” he tells her, but his mouth is twitching. “I’m just — I don’t want him to finally realize I’m weird. Or boring, gods. He’s such a hyper person, you know? He never stops. And I am supposed to entertain him! I think!”

This time he can actually hear his sister’s voice, in the back of his mind — you’re such a dummy. Ringed with fondness from the many times she’s said it to him, shoulders nudged carefully together, head knocked gently against his. You are weird and boring. Most people are.

“Ugh,” he sighs, tipping his head back until it rests against the mattress. “Friendship is hard work.”

Hazel the Cat swishes her tail, rattling the discs of bone like a rattlesnake. It’s a surprisingly soothing sound, like rain pinging softly against his window, or the flutter of the poplar trees outside of his father’s palace. Unconsciously he matches his breathing to it, slowing until it’s even, gentle, deep. His eyes, without any direction from his brain, drift until they blanket his hazy eyes, heavy as stone..

“S’not that serious,” he murmurs to himself, soothed under the weight of his feline friend. “S’just Will, I guess.” A beat. He smiles, slightly, a small, curling thing, mimicking the coiled heat in his belly. “It’s just Will.”

———

part two

[chitaayakuqing]

I'm sorry but I don't think a 60-year-old man raised in New Jersey has any conception of what a panic attack even is

[dilidos]

Rewatching season 2 and people probably talked about this to death already, but I just gotta whinge like a bitch or I'll explode. There's so much missed opportunity for Sydney&Carmy content bro. It's not even a ship thing, it's like...all these times Sydney went around eating food, we could've had Carmy going with her. Like, ordering too much because they overestimate their stomachs, shit talking the menus and restaurant decorations, eating from each other's plates - "Hey this is really good. Try this" "Yeah? Okay, uh, yeah, try mine", nerding out over specific cuisines, sharing utensils because they're weirdos, Carmy showing off his fancy connections, Sydney bouncing her ideas off him, talking about their past and their dreams for the new restaurant, talking to other people, sharing that huge fucking sundae at the end. Fuck, I just love it when they talk about the food man. It's the biggest reason why I can't accept Claire, like Carmy ditched that whole wonderful experience to go on a fucking date and it's so goddamn devastating seeing Sydney shouldered the dream of two. We could have a roadtrip episode. We could have a roadtrip episode.

[tswwwit]

I was very amused by a specific joke in Cipher's Personal Portable Portal when I wrote it, so I decided to write Bill's POV of that part of the fic!

Here's a short thing:

Despite the annoyance, the interloping, and a pair of completely ruined shoes -

Holy crap, it must be Bill's lucky day!

Bill chuckles, taking this human's face in both hands as he watches him struggle. Kid's putting up one heck of a fight, considering the position he's in.

And man, is it adorable!

Here Bill was, thinking it'd be a full week or worse until he finally managed to drag his fun-times partner into an actual date. Dipper's been a real stubborn goody-two-shoes cookie, with more brains than common sense. Convincing him of anything is almost impossible, even when it's a great idea.

Bill had resigned himself for a bit of a wait. Who knew how long it'd be until that stubborn little jerk finally gave in to some good ol' fashioned hedonism, and took a break? Or maybe he'd catch that 'criminal', finally, and they could get back to the fun stuff.

Turns out, he didn't need to! No scheduling was even involved, because his date took the opportunity to show up all on his own!

Though for a minute, Bill thought he was the other guy.

Not that getting attention from his other suitor was bad, at the outset Having a guy chase after you that hard? Keeping up with every scheme and tracking all your plots? Putting on a full blown pursuit, just for you, heedless of any other major threats? It's almost enough to make a guy blush!

All that faded to the background with his awful friggin' timing.

This asshole only caught up to him, meeting him for real - AFTER Bill already found a cutie to basically go steady with! Now THAT was real rich of him. Months of pursuit - flattering, hilarious chases, some truly annoying thwarts - and for what? Stubborn jackass human couldn't the decency to do this before the position was filled? Seriously? It's like he was designed to be the most irritating human being in the universe.

Too bad for his prospective suitor, though. Too little, too late shoulda been his motto, because Bill had a new squeeze, and a sharp and sassy one at that! Someone much more fun, equally clever, and adorably feisty. He really had a mouth on him, in more ways than one, a combo impossible to resist.

And this loser showed up at the exact right time to throw wrenches into their first friggin' date.

Jealous stalkers apparently get the best luck in the universe, when it comes to ruining a good thing. Soap operas have less dramatic timing than this asshole did!

If he knew how he'd kept Bill up the last week, pacing and wondering how to best slam the door in his face without sending the wrong signals - or worse, having to alert his soon-to-be date that some other guy was after Bill's ass -

And he had the absolute temerity to be incredibly physically cute, while he was at it. That crap really rankled.

But that's all in the past. For once, Bill can let bygones be bygones.

Because surprise, surprise! Turns out the hot nerd and the annoying stalker... are the same guy! No need to choose when the whole package is right here!

Man, what a fluke. Bill could date around for a million years and never manage this much luck again.

From the ground, Dipper makes clinking sounds as he pulls against the chains. There's banked fury in his expression, eyes narrowing in Bill's direction like he wants to spit.

Bill beams back down at him. He pinches the cheek again, and grins wider at the sight.

And there's the second-best part - his cutie-pie is a cutie-pie! The lack of visual through the portal had him totally missing out.

Look at that face! The shape of his jaw, the big brown eyes, the look of true irritation - the way he snaps at Bill's fingers like he wants to bite them off -

Great sight, ten outta ten! Bill could stare at it for a thousand years, unblinking, and never get bored.

He also can't stop touching it.

The very first squeeze confirmed what he already knew - yep, this is the guy he'd been fooling around with for a while, the shape of him memorized after the first check out. Now he traces over his human's cheeks, and along his jaw, just for the feel of it.

Every inch of his human is made clearer now that Bill can see as well as touch. The twin senses are fantastic together, peanut butter and chocolate and anchovies, a delicious combination. Trailing down over his neck, and around the back of his ear. His skin is smooth and soft, sending little tingles of his magic tingling under Bill's touch.

Overall, this human's super great for petting! Soft brown hair runs through Bill's fingers, damp from rain. It's delightfully messy and made more so by Bill's intervention.

A particularly enthusiastic stroke slides it away from the mortal's forehead - and Bill raises an eyebrow.

Aha! So there's where the name comes from!

Figures, really. That kinda appellation doesn't come from nowhere. A cute little birthmark cherry on top of this delectable human sundae.

The motion really seems to bug the guy, too! A bonus, in Bill's eye.

Dipper strains against his chains, hissing through his teeth. Arms struggle in their confines, neck twisting to bare an arc of pale skin. Muscles shift under the thin material of his t-shirt. The damp, rain-soaked fabric clings to his chest, leaving basically nothing to the imagination.

Bill grins wider. Hell, he nearly whistles.

Very, very nice! That lean body of his has seen its share of fights, alright. Mostly running by the look of it, but it's done him a bunch of favors!

Mind you, the mind was plenty on its own. Total smokeshow of a neural network, feisty and quick on the draw. Now Bill can toss in the stubborn, defiant bits from the stalker as well! And Knowing the way he fights. Irritating and clever in equal parts, while being totally willing to pull some downright dirty tricks? Bill nearly wants to give him a round of applause.

Now take all that - plus all this?

Today really went from the most miserable bullshit slog to totally great!

And there might be more, if he plays his cards right.

Bill hums in thought, idly petting his squirmy little human as he makes cute little annoyed grunts.

Now. How to introduce himself?

Obviously the kid's unaware of who he's dealing with. Which has so much potential for fun - but should he make the guy wait, or go right for it?

Both options are tempting, with his human completely at his mercy. Wriggling around in an eye-catching way, equal parts fury and exasperation. Dipper's expecting torture, probably! Or, pow, getting one right in the kisser.

Ha! He might just get one, too - but not in the way he expects! That'd be delightfully ironic! Tilt his head up, wait for his mouth to be less bitey, then Bill can make his move. It'll totally shock him into silence! Maybe even make his mouth drop open a bit, enough to find out if he tastes as good as he-

Then his human twists away, head jerking out of his grip.

"You lay another finger on me," Dipper glares daggers at him, tense and furious. Leaning away as far as he can get, which isn't much! "And my boyfriend will kick your ass."

"Boyfriend," Bill repeats.

Wait a sec, Pine Tree here said he was single! No dalliances or affairs, AND that he was bad at sharing.

Was that wrong? Is he that good a liar? It'd be a credit to him if it wasn't such a kick in the pants.

What the hell, Bill didn't detect THIS one coming. Guess the date couldn't go off completely without a hitch, adding the first unpleasant surprise to the mix.

Who's his human gotten close to? Another human? It's gotta be, there's no other demons sniffing around - and there's no way he's totally lacking in attention, with those looks.

Of course someone else would be after Bill's hard-won prize. Friggin' competition. Now Bill has to find this loser and make sure there's only one in the running.

And another thing - that's a stupid threat. This guy knows he's facing off against a full-fledged demon, here. The kid's not delusional, and they just fought. He knows how hard it'd be to take Bill down. Whose dick is he sucking that's smart enough, and powerful enough, to kick THAT much -

Bill blinks twice.

Then he grins.

"Aha!" He exclaims, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. "Boyfriend, you say!"

Of course. Of course!

Obviously it's Bill, who else could it be?

Takes a demon to threaten a demon after all, and the kid's too sharp to pull anything else. Dipper here HAS been sucking some real incredible dick from a very intelligent and handsome being!

Pulling on that relationship makes for a way better threat. A little presumptuous to toss Bill's name around like that, but eh, he gets a pass. As far as he knows it's a life-or-death deal going on right now. Plus, the assumption's not even wrong! Bill would obliterate any loser who touched a hair on his head, since they're -

'Boyfriend', huh. Whoo, THAT'S not a phrase that comes outta nowhere.

This guy's brain's been lingering on the word, hasn't it. Practically marinating in the concept of Bill Cipher and 'boyfriend', together in the same mental picture!

Hell, Bill would bet good money that this cutie's been obsessed! He totally thinks Bill's so cool, and smart, and powerful, that he dreams of being Bill's boyfriend, wanting to tie him down along with tying him up. Imagining dates with the impossibly amazing demon he's been chatting with. Sighing with longing as he awaits their first kiss. His whole mind flooded with thoughts of them together, kicking his legs and fluttering his long eyelashes with gooey feelings in his squishy mortal heart. Bill bets if he dug through that crummy notebook he saw earlier, he'd read 'Dipper Cipher' scribbled all over it with kiss marks on the pages.

And hey, if his mortal wants to make things 'official', then there's Bill's in! No scheming needed! The prize has been handed to him on a silver platter, just the way he likes it.

Everything's falling into place, like a perfectly toppled building.

This human's a rare one, that's for sure. Practically unique! Too cute, too fun. Too annoying and smart. Bill really landed one hell of a looker with the brains to boot, and in a way better than he'd hoped!

So yeah, he can be generous, and grant his human's wish. They've practically been going steady already!

And he's gonna get a smooch when he makes it solid between 'em, for sure. Ten smooches, even! With tongue! It'll be great.

What a day this has been.

Annoying stubborn interloper, amusing banter, then a fantastic fight with multiple surprises, each one more entertaining than the last. A total whirlwhind of fun and romance - AND they both get what they want in the end!

Which officially makes this the best first date ever.

[scorchedhearth]

- Traci Brimhall

[thewiglesswonder]

You know the TFA Decepticons aren’t an oppressed minority right? DJW even said their Rise Up rhetoric was a jab at how conservatives preach about Protecting Freedoms, and in the Allspark Almanac it’s explained they wanted to colonize other planets and the Autobots objected to that. The Decepticons were exiled for being military fascists.

I'd really, really love to know where I've ever said that on this blog, but since you seem very convinced that I did, let's look at the lore again. I don't feel like trawling the internet for this specific tweet/whatever form this DJW evidence has, so if you have that, I'd love to see it.

This timeline from the Allspark Almanac II pretty clearly states that the entire crux of Cybertronian society as a whole has rested on colonization, very early on in their species' history. Their "Golden Age" 8 billion stellar cycles ago is characterized by expansion that led to the colonization (!!!) of their solar system, further colonization only prevented by isolationism.

The earliest indications of the factional split that mark their history exist within the ruling class Guardians and the Malignus, defined as a "military caste". This implies that Golden Age Cybertron existed as a caste system. Which I would take a guess as not being particularly great.

And when we get to the first (again, quoted from the text here,) "military coup", it's executed by the political ancestors of the Autobots. Not a peep about the Malignus while that was going on.

This faction eventually becomes the Protectobots, and the most notable thing about them is that their leader attempted a Great Purge of "undesirable elements" from their society. I'd be hard pressed to think I'm wrong in thinking that's kinda fucked up. We're not given explicit reasons for this 17 million year war, but wars don't happen without someone to oppose someone else, and we get this in the form of the Destrons.

As for the point about colonization: my point is not that the Decepticon's motivations are not what we see in canon. Not at all. My point is that the Autobots have the same fucking motivation.

The Age of Expansion literally begins when the Autobots take power! It only ends when they butt heads with the Quintessons! Colonization, militarism, and facism, as you put it, are not traits that are unique to Decepticons.

And, according to this timeline and historical reasoning given, there is no mention of either faction's position on further expansion. The formation of the Decepticons is rooted in the divide between labor and military aligned Cybertronians. Both sections are equally responsible for the imperialistic efforts of their Empire/Commonwealth/whatever you want to call it, and make no mistake, this does continue into the present day! From both factions!

Assuming you're referring to my hefty lean towards the Cons in terms of character/exploration interest in the gist of your message, my goal here is not to elevate them to the same Good Guy Status the Autobots have by virtue of being the protagonists. I am fully and completely aware that they are a group of insane zealots that have rallied under a guy who was described by his own VA as an "elegant bully". Rather, I think what you're picking up on is my focus on the fact that the Autobots in Animated have more than their fair share of insidious shit going on.

They retain what is essentially a military dictatorship, with the position of Magnus being only theoretically beholden to the will of the Council and Guilds, as seen when Sentinel was able to fire Fortress Maximus with no approval from the Council and got nothing more than a disapproving sentence from Alpha Trion. We have no word on how their schooling institutions work, but all of it seems heavily centered on their version of the military they've concocted in the absence of warbuilds. And, just in case we forgot about Sentinel's proposed budget...

And that's not even getting into how fucked up Autobot culture is! They're unspeakably xenophobic, throw around propagandistic phrases like they're nothing ("Cogs in the Great Autobot Machine", anyone?), have an incredibly questionable justice system if Wasp is anything to go by, and this only seems to be getting worse at the end of Season 3, if Sentinel's curfews and public service announcements are anything to go by.

I'm not trying to make the Decepticons look better. I'm trying to make the Autobots look worse.

[cringefailvox]

radiobelle has a terminal case of and they were both bottoms because alastor is the laziest pillow princess imaginable and i truly do believe that charlie can only access her dom abilities with someone she is codependent with. and alastor would rather gouge his eyes out of his skull than rely on anyone

[ducktracy]

compilation of my villagers bullying me. this will be a growing collection. these are all from today alone.

[taravangians-storming-balls]

am I being too critical or does it really feel like nearly every kaladin chapter has kaladin looking into the camera and clunkily reciting a Fandom TakeTM that doesn't have the decency to even be thinly veiled