#sometimes the story seems different because of it

[bringbackmaes14]

My mom has her TV on in her room almost 24/7 and it's always on some news outlet or other. We talk a lot about politics and world/national/local events. And we do have a lot of varying views on a lot of things but we're both adults who are capable of saying "well we've both stated we have differing opinions and it's clear that we're actually arguing at this point and not just talking so let's put away the topic for now." But there are also other times where I'm just too overwhelmed by my own life to think about what's going on in the bigger world around me, so my mom knows to be hesitant to bring up news stuff with me (i.e. she doesn't just start talking about politics/world events with me rather she'll ask if I'm in the mindset to discuss things when she wants my opinion on something). This is all relevant.

We've always been able to talk about nearly everything from the economy to the school system to human rights to human tragedy and we've never tried to censor ourselves around each other (outside of getting too emotional with our language). But about two weeks ago when the United Healthcare CEO was assassinated, my mom, who is in her 50s, came to me and she said "Did you see that the CEO of United Healthcare got unalived?"

And I just sat there and looked at her completely confused and she was like "did you not hear about it? It's all over the news. It happened in clear view on the street." Like the problem was that I hadn't heard of the event not that my Gen-X mother had just in a real life conversation said the word "unalived".

And I told her as much. "Yes I've heard that. Why did you say 'unalived' instead of 'murdered'?

And she told me that she just thought that since I'm touchy about heavier topics sometimes (which is definitely true, that does occasionally happen) she thought it would be better to just not use the "heavy" words. I asked her if she realized, honestly, how stupid that was because regardless of the word she used, she was still talking about a murder, it didn't change the subject matter, she was only making the subject matter seem less significant and severe by changing the word to baseless internet lingo that a bunch of misguided, clout-chasing influencers spread.

She hadn't. She's doesn't use the Internet replacement words a lot, online or otherwise. This was a first. She thought this was a different situation, and a fine one to use it in, and like the above stories people shared, it's still not.

I'm allowed to say there are days where I want to avoid heavier topics because I'm overwhelmed. I'm allowed to not ever really discuss certain topics because they actually trigger me based on my own experiences. But people who are out here living their whole lives like just talking about about difficult or controversial topics, or asking questions about it, or enjoying media where it's portrayed (especially when it's actually portrayed respectfully) are being ridiculous, and they're handicapping themselves. They're never going to learn how to talk about hard things, or how to handle hard things. And honestly I feel bad for them.

Luckily, in my case, once I explained why my mom saying what she said was incredibly weird and honestly devaluing to the conversation, she backtracked and told me that (like I said above) she doesn't talk like that regularly and she has no intention to start; it's just that this was a huge news event and that day had been particularly rough for me emotionally and she wasn't sure how to approach it. So her intentions were good and I'm very lucky that she understands and also agrees that the Internet censorship language is incredibly unnecessary.

we have GOT to kill tiktok/twitter self-censorship i just witnessed a grown adult say the word “smex” out loud to our professor

[doctorho]

dripping velvet, purring dark

Academy era Viktor x fem! curvy reader, 4.5k, no warnings only love in this house (ok there is a conversation about some people being idiots which can be interpreted as the reader getting unwanted attention at a party but it's nothing graphic or anything i promise and no-one is mean to her) also i made viktor horny and slightly subby because that's what the gremlins in my brain wanted. you're welcome. yeah! hi! not sure what this is, but here you go. the reader is described as she/her here (and curvy, and soft, and she is wearing an evening gown, because i wanted to think about pretty dresses). idk. have a thing. happy friday.

Viktor likes to think of himself as a person who's usually capable of focusing on things pretty well. On the task at hand. Give him a faulty circuit and he'll poke at it long enough to find the broken component, no problem. An error in the calculations? He'll find that missing minus sign or forgotten exponent, easy. He'll strip a wire in his sleep.

The task at hand now, though? The problem?

He had to sit through a whole evening of presentations at the academy end-of-year party, put on a polite face for the investors, and pretend not to care that one idiot after another was lining up to flirt with you while he was watching from the sidelines. You were wearing a dress that felt sinful to look at, and there was something primitive gnawing at the inside of his chest begging to be let out, and he had to just stand there and nod through the conversations, pretend he wasn't slowly boiling from the inside out.

And he was failing miserably. 

He’d known he was in trouble from the moment he saw you that night – all expensive fabric covering smooth curves and soft-looking skin, sparkling eyes and easy smiles, and he’d been done for. Before this, it’d been much easier to compartmentalize his feelings; before this, it'd been easier to ignore them. 

Before he’d kept his distance, emotionally and physically speaking, because, well, it’d been easier. He'd seen you around the Academy, all bubbling laughs and raw-honest radiant smiles and confident solutions, and he'd known that you looked…appealing, but he wasn't in the habit of holding up any illusions about what you might think of him in return. His place was in the dark dusty corner of the lab, turning over the ever-ticking problems, while you were out there shining like the sun. And sometimes you came by the lab, with new ideas or suggestions or just to borrow some equipment or ask about a shipment, and he had resigned to his role of staying at his desk pretending he wasn't burning to be closer to your orbit. 

But when he sees you in the low lighting of the party, leaning to the bar and laughing, something just breaks in him. And then he can’t pretend to ignore it any longer. And sure, maybe he’s a little bit drunk, it was easier to stand these events that way, but it still feels like a solid-honest truth in his bones that he wanted to get closer to you, and suddenly he couldn’t stand the conversation he was in the middle of. Because one of them – the sour idiots he’d catalogued in his head for the whole night, the stupid people trying to impress you with their embellished stories and inherited wealth who weren’t worth your time – one of them was circling you like a hyena again, smiling.

You were wearing a dark, floor-length gown that wasn’t, on a purely technical level, much different from what about 50% of the other guests were wearing. However, it seemed to create a significant caveat that even though there wasn’t anything indecent in the dress itself, seeing it on you made him feel like maybe he shouldn’t look at you for too long or he might spontaneously combust. There was a slit on the side that revealed a more than generous amount of leg when you walked, and his focus kept wandering from that to your silhouette, the soft curve of your hips, your chest, your face – no, that’s worse, don’t stare, she'll notice – and truly, he had to force himself to keep his eyes at least vaguely on the vicinity of the person who was currently talking to him. Something about statistics and return investment. Yes. 

He nods, pretending to look interested.

The dress drapes over your hips in soft little cascades, the fabric shimmering lightly as you moved, and something in his brain was itching, begging to run his fingers over it, to know what it feels like, to know what you feel like under it, all soft and warm and pliable under his fingers, and preferably sighing something into the crook of his neck, and–

“We'd like to get our investment back within a year,” the guy that's talking to him says – Viktor can't even remember his name, and he doesn’t really even care – and he just shifts his eyes back to the guy slowly. 

“A year?” he repeats, with the barest amount of feigned interest, and the guy goes off in a whole new tangent. Viktor shifts his posture, and lets his eyes glide over to where you were again. 

One of those idiots, one he thankfully doesn’t have the displeasure of knowing personally but who must be the son of some crooked diplomat, says something to you and you scoff through a smile, roll your eyes, and lean further into the counter at the bar. Viktor has to pretend to be present for his own conversation – yes, the new coating material for the wires was more heat-resistant, no, there was still the issue of mechanical stress, they were working on it – and you say something in answer to the current idiot (third of the night, he’d counted), and it is killing him that he doesn’t know what it is. 

You’d turned down the first two, from what he could tell. But this latest idiot was still talking to you, like he was in any way entitled to your company. And it's making something inside Viktor raise its hackles, and he doesn’t especially like feeling like that, because he couldn't justify feeling like that to himself in any tangible way, and then it all just boiled down to a resigned even if she deserves better than that i have no business dictating that for her. 

He's just about to focus on the conversation he was supposedly participating in again when something happens. He can't make out the details, but imbecile number three seems to lean way too close to you, says something, and smiles in a way that makes something cold creep down the back of Viktor's neck. And your expression coldens, too, and you say something to him, and turn away, more rigid than you'd been the whole evening. 

“Excuse me,” Viktor is saying to the Investment Guy before he can fully think it through, his own voice feeling distant in his ears, and then he's walking to the bar. 

You're alone – the idiot had had the sense to leave you alone quickly, at least. That's good. Viktor isn't sure what he's doing, but then he's leaning to the bar next to you and ordering another drink and trying to look like he isn't thinking too hard about what to do next. 

“Whatever he just proposed to you,” Viktor says slowly, looking over the bar instead of directly at you, “I assure you you can do better.”

He can hear you take a deep breath, shift a little, and sigh it out with what sounded like almost a laugh. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “I don't know what it is about people like that that makes them think they can just…” You sigh again, and make a hand gesture towards the room. ”You know.”

“Unfortunately,” he answers, resigned, “yes. I do.” 

He gets his drink and thanks the bartender, and then leans to the counter too, mimicking your posture, holding the drink and letting it swirl around in his glass. “Have you talked with anyone actually worth your time tonight?” 

You hmm. Then, “there was a little girl earlier that told me some fascinating things about insect metamorphosis.” You say casually. 

And Viktor laughs. Without meaning to, he laughs, and you smile in response, visibly relaxing a little.

“I don't think she was on the guest list though.” You continue. 

He hums in response, and rearranges his grip on the handle of his cane. “Sounds much more interesting than the conversations I've been in tonight.”

“I know,” you answer, and he can hear the smile in your voice, “you think we could swap out one of the main speakers with her?” 

He hmms again, looking over the stage thoughtfully. “I think it would count as a public service,” he nods a little, considering the list of speakers yet to come, “what do you think, who'd be a good target?”

You shift in your place, looking over the same list of speakers, plastered over the walls on both sides of the stage. “The financial talk,” you answer, “Mr. Ross. I'd much rather listen to insect facts than another boring talk about investing.”

Viktor nods. “You distract him, I'll whack him unconscious?” he offers, and you laugh. You laugh, and it warms something in him. 

“And then what?” you continue, still smiling, and he has to look away to keep his composure. 

He shrugs. “Eh,” he answers, “we drag him to a bathtub somewhere and act like he just passed out there?" He shrugs, "I happen to know three ways to get out of this room that I'm pretty sure we could use unnoticed.”

“Uh-huh,” you answer, “and then we just find the girl and ask her if she wants to talk about bugs for half an hour. Easy.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, “and then we congratulate ourselves for making the evening better for everybody.”

"Except maybe Mr. Ross."

"No," he counters, looking over the crowd, "I think he would prefer a nice little nap. Surely not even he wants to hear himself talk all the time." He takes a sip of his drink, "and I think waking up in a bathtub would be a nice change of pace to the rumors of other places he seems to have a habit of waking up in after events such as these."

“Good point,” you shift in your place, settling to lean to the counter a bit closer to him. “Perfect plan. But why'd you get to whack him unconscious and not me?”

Viktor blinks. Lifts one eyebrow. “Because you are by far more distracting than I am,” he answers, “and I thought the plan could use the distraction.”

“I don't think that's true,” you answer, “I think you're plenty distracting on your own.”

Now, he lets himself look at you. Really, properly look at you, and not even half-trying to hide it. You're smiling now, shoulders relaxed, holding your drink with fingers wrapped loosely around it, and in the warm lights of the bar there's a golden glow on your skin, and something breathless at the bottom of his stomach is aching to get closer to you, to touch you, to see if his hand would fit on your waist as well as he thinks it would, to see how you would react to that, if he could make you smile in a different way, what sounds he could get you to make for him–

“Agree to disagree,” he says, averts his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink. 

Tries to tell that wild-hungry purring thing in him to behave. 

Someone reasonable comes to talk to you – and it's about work, which is…something, probably, he has to stop himself from thinking it's better than those earlier idiots, because who's he to decide that for you? He gives you a casual wave and a nod as you depart with a smile and get swept up in the conversation about new ideas and solutions and this-new-thing you've been looking at. And he watches as you start talking excitedly, all golden and glittering, easy conversation and confident smiles, and quietly (not-so quietly) he concludes that maybe you hadn't had many worthwhile conversations with any of the guests that night because you were the most worthwhile person in there to talk to. 

He stays there sipping his drink and wondering what would be the closest appropriate time to slip out. He'd made an appearance, and technically nothing could be expected from him beyond that point. Sure, Jayce might tell him he could've stayed a bit longer, he could use the support, but nothing dramatic would happen. 

The party drones on, and he makes no effort to move – and really, he tries not to think about it too much, but that was at least in part because he wanted to keep looking at you. He promptly ignores this, even when you're laughing at something someone else said and that heavy-dark-purring something at the bottom of his stomach doesn't like it very much. 

Someone comes to ask for his opinion on something, and with a tiny sigh, he lets them pull him into the loop of conversations again. Yes, we are trying to simplify the design, no we can't cut back from the materials, they are what they are for a reason. 

Somewhere around his third ‘Why would you think that?’ of that particular conversation, he's had enough. People were stupid, and he's had enough. He's just trying to come up with ways to get out of the conversation preferably without starting a scandal of some sort, when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turns around to look at who it belongs to, and then everything in his head is quiet for a moment. 

“Hey,” you say, smiling, “sorry to interrupt, but can I steal you away for a moment?” you ask, slipping your hand feather-light down his arm, and he has to suppress a shiver. 

Viktor furrows his brows and opens his mouth, and then, like an idiot, says nothing. But he turns to leave, thankful for the window of opportunity.  

“You remember that thing we talked about before?” you continue as you steer him away from the earlier group smoothly, “I found someone who's interested in those three escape routes you had up your sleeve.” 

“Who?” he asks, because that's the only thing he can think of. You've linked your arm with his, and you're leaning on him, and you're soft and warm and you smell good, and he doesn’t trust his ability to form a full sentence. 

“Me,” you answer, “and judging by how you just looked out there,” you continue, “you.”

Viktor swallows, and something in his brain purrs at the idea. 

“This way,” he says, nodding towards an old stage exit, and honestly, he doesn’t even care why you want to leave, he's just grateful for the distraction and the company and drinking in every warm square inch of skin contact that you're willing to give him, even if it is just walking with your shoulder pressed against his. 

If it turned out to be a plot where you actually wanted to whack someone unconscious, he'd worry about that later. For now he was just happy to leave, and happier that you were leaving with him. 

It's easy to slip away from the crowd, and into the space between the stage curtain and the wall, if you know where you're going. You effortlessly fall a bit further from his side but keep his hand on yours, letting him pull you along, and quietly he wonders how and why and holy shit. He decides not to question it though, and keeps walking through the dim space between the cold old wall and the cascades of warm heavy velvet curtains. 

“Do you want to leave the party,” he asks, voice quiet now that the background buzz of people was muffled by the curtain, “or just get away from it?” 

You hmm behind him, clearly through a smile, and he makes the mistake of looking back at you. Surrounded by the dark red velvet curtains and only slivers of light from each side, his head – and the rest of his body – get entirely the wrong idea of what you're doing in there, because you look like a goddess in the small dim space, and he might crumble into ashes if he keeps looking at you, or he might do something stupid like pull you closer and press you into the wall, to see if your eyes would widen, if you'd gasp from the cold wall, if he could find other ways to make you gasp–

so he turns his eyes away and keeps talking. 

He quickly finds he has to clear his throat before he can do that. “There is a staff entrance that goes past the kitchen a little ways further,” he says, and motions forwards, “or there is a disused indoor balcony surrounding the stage. You would be able to see the party, but it'd feel…removed.”

You lean closer, close enough that when your voice is muffled by the surrounding velvet, it feels like you're speaking right in his ear, and he has to swallow and remind himself that that's just situational coincidence, nothing more. 

“Why do you know so many ways to get out of here?” you ask, “You sneak out a lot?” 

“I am a fan of interesting architecture,” he answers, “and not as much a fan of pretentious social gatherings.” 

“Fair,” you answer, then lean your chin on his shoulder, and he feels like his spine might spontaneously melt. “In your expertise, what would you recommend?”

“Well,” he says, trying to make it sound casual and like he wasn't breathless at all, “I think the balcony has some fairly interesting architecture.” And the lights of the party would look pretty from there. And you'd both get a breather away from the crowd. And he'd get to keep talking to you a little bit longer. And, as selfish as the thought felt, he couldn't deny it; he'd get to keep having you to himself for a little bit longer. 

“Show me the balcony,” you smile, and he obliges. Happily, he obliges. So he pulls you into a narrow staircase, and then, up. 

At the end of it there is a room that could, only by technical definition alone, be called a balcony – it was more like a hole carved into the wall, having at some point been used for seating or equipment space at events and concerts, and now just served as half-forgotten extra storage. It had, he supposed, once upon a time looked like the banquet hall did, all smooth surfaces and warm lights and thematically switched-out decorations, but now it was mostly the standard red velvet and dark wood and light marble, forgotten by the party and some of the golden light from the hall spilling into it by pure coincidence. There were velvet curtains on each side of the room, and you drop his hand to go look over the railing, and down at the party. 

His hand instantly feels cold without yours in it, but he tries his best to ignore this, and follows you to look down at the party, too. 

It looks much smaller from up there. Less chaotic. 

“I didn't know there was a space like this here.” You say quietly, “can they see us?” 

“Part of the design,” he answers, “you're not supposed to notice these spaces unless people want you to. Good place to hide extra orchestra pieces and make it feel like the sound is coming from nowhere. And–” he looks over at the people, colorful and mingling, “no, they can't. Not unless you want them to.” Then, he smiles, just a little. “But they'll be able to hear us, if we direct our voices upwards and wait for things to quiet down there first.”

You turn to look at him. 

“Sloped ceilings,” he explains with a shrug, “again, good for a hidden orchestra accompaniment.” 

“But they can't hear us talking?*

“Not over themselves,” he answers, “ironic, I know.”

You hum thoughtfully and turn around, with your back to the railing, and then you look at him and he needs to kick his brain back in line. You were gorgeous in the dim lighting, all relaxed and smiling, and–

He grips the handle of his cane a little tighter. 

“Good,” you say, and the way you say it – all quiet and warm and liquid – makes something in him purr again, entirely against his better judgement. 

“Why is it good?” he asks, because he has to hold on to some semblance of logic here, because otherwise he might just vaporize out into the atmosphere. 

“Why do you think?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, and oh that just isn't fair. You're just there, just a warm breath of space away, all soft and pretty and languid–

He doesn’t know what to say, so he goes with what feels like the safest course of action. 

“In case we want to plot any more ways to violently derail the evening's program?”

You exhale a small laugh and lean back. 

And then you lift a hand on his chest, and he's pretty sure his heart might be overheating soon. 

“Sure,” you answer, “that.” You inch closer, and Viktor is having a hard time remembering how to breathe. “Or anything else we might not want them overhearing.”

“Like?” He exhales, careful not to break the moment, and then you smile, warm and private and for him, and his insides liquify into warm, honey-thick goo, and oh, he’s not going to recover from this. 

“Like,” you repeat slowly, and then you push yourself away from the balcony railing, just slightly, into the side of the wall covered by the velvet curtain, and he lets you pull him with you, he's not stupid. His brain – along with the rest of his body – might be in the process of actively melting, but he's not stupid. If you wanted to pull him into a shadowed, velvet-covered corner, he would follow no questions asked, especially on a night like this when his insides were buzzing and you looked like that. When you looked at him like that. You smile again, and stop moving when your back hits a wall, and then you pull him just close enough to whisper into his ear. “...Anything else we might not want them overhearing.” you repeat, and, yeah, Viktor is close to becoming the best documented case of human combustion in recorded history. 

In the dim lighting, he searches your eyes into his, and you watch him, waiting, radiating heat between him and the velvet-covered wall. He's not sure why you were acting like this, but all signs were pointing towards you wanting the same thing he did, and he's not sure what he did to get this lucky, but with his every cell buzzing and vibrating and keening over to get closer, he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass. 

He wants to ask ‘why me’ or ‘are you sure’ but what comes out is a broken, desperate whisper of a “can I touch you?”, and you answer with a grin and with your fingers tangled to the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “please.”

And really, he wouldn't have thought it would be so simple, but it's the please that does him in – just one whispered word and his brain short-circuits in an overflowing flash of white-hot need. Need to trigger that again, need to please, and need to finally give in to the pleasure waiting to boil. And then it all comes rushing out; the hunger. 

His hands are on your waist in an instant, and his cane clatters to the ground as he leans his weight on you and the wall and for a moment, he has the sense to hope the curtains don't come tumbling down, and they don't, which is good enough for him, because then he can let go of that particular worry and focus solely on finding your lips to his and making the most of every second of this that you're willing to give him. 

The sensations hit his brain like flashes of bright light; how soft you are under his fingers, like he'd hoped, the fabric smooth and silky, giving away easily under his touch. How warm you are, warm and breathing in a fluttered little gasp, the dusty old velvet mixing in with your sweet scent, and then when he gets his lips on you–

After that it's just golden-dark-velvet-honey-thick bliss. You breathe out a small sound that drips down his spinal cord and goes straight to the purring pit at the bottom of his stomach, and he swallows it with a hungry, greedy, desperate groan that comes from somewhere deep inside his chest, and his head is swimming with warm and real and soft and for me–

He is happily overloading his brain with this, and he doesn’t even care. He presses closer to you and you exhale another sweet little sound that makes him bare his teeth, and then his lips are on your neck and he doesn’t know anything except that he wants you to keep making those sounds and he likes the way your hands tangle in his hair and tug. 

“Tell me what you want,” he mutters to the skin of your neck, pulling you closer by the waist, and absolutely relishing in the way your chest rises and falls with short little pants he can hear you take in and out. In and out, and as he tugs at your waist again, just a bit closer, and drags his teeth against your pulse lightly, one of those exhales turns into a sweet little whine. 

He grins against your skin. 

He doesn’t waste the time or energy pretending he isn't an absolute mess over you, right now – his own breathing ragged and fast and his heart hammering in his ears, his whole body buzzing with want – but that didn't mean seeing you react that way didn't make him want to purr. 

Didn't make his insides heat up with I did that. I got her like this. She made that sound for me. For me. It's mine. 

You take a breath, slow and rugged, and then you tug him towards one of the velvet-covered seats. And he moves like he's floating, letting you guide him, because what else is he going to do? You tug him into the seat and he sits on it, gladly, and stays there looking up at you with his eyes wide and only half-lidded and his heart hammering, waiting for more. 

You give him another one of those small, private, knowing smiles, your eyes hazy, and then you step to stand right in front of him. 

And then you hover over him, just waiting for him to pull you into his lap. He does, because he is selfish and greedy and burning, and he's pretty sure he's going to implode if he doesn’t get that delicious pressure on him soon, and his hand fits your waist perfectly, and then when when you do straddle him, your hips pressing down on his, he whines. He lets out a breathless little whine, he can feel it in the base of his spine, and it makes that hunger in him want more. 

“Only the voices directed upwards travel down there, right?” you ask, voice quiet and dripping right into his ear and pooling at the bottom of his stomach. 

He swallows. “Yes.” 

You hum thoughtfully, and press your body closer to his, all soft and warm and perfect, sinking your lips down to his neck and he shivers, instinctually tilting back his head with a sigh, exposing more of his neck to you. 

“Better keep quiet, then.” 

[yuurei20]

how muscle is the boy and who the most buff because i think silver gym clothes is lying

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question! I have been hoping to talk about this for so long ⚔️

There is something special about the school uniform and gym clothes cards 👀

Summary 1) Sprites do not always visually represent what is actually happening in the game 2) Yana does not have full control over what can appear as sprites 3) Yana illustrated the gym clothes and school uniform cards from start to finish by herself!

Details/Sources 1) There is sometimes a disconnect between what the sprites are doing and what is actually happening in the stories, as the limits of the medium mean that they can only portray so much.

We will be told via dialogue that what is actually happening is different from what we're seeing on screen, which is where the "novel" part of "visual novel" has to do some heavy lifting.

(above: We are told that Idia is riding Ortho, Jack has tanned and Kalim is wearing glasses, without anything represented visually.)

This is also true of Silver being unusually well-muscled, with characters referencing such repeatedly! (especially in Book 7, for spoiler-reasons that cannot be shared on this blog)

(Ortho: "Silver is also incredibly built!")

In a vignette Silver explains he was able to beat a man in an arm-wrestling contest who had successfully beaten several "burly" members of Savanaclaw:

"All of Ruggie's burly friends had tried, but each lost within seconds. At first the owner went easy on me. Worried he would hurt me, he said. But once he realized I was no pushover, he stopped holding back...It was no easy feat, but all their encouragement helped me eke out a victory."

As for how Silver can possibly be so well-muscled, he explains it is from life with Lilia:

"I've never really struggled with anything involving physical fitness...my daily life back home was training enough. Drawing river water, chopping firewood...Chasing around the animals who lived nearby must have helped strengthen my legs as well...once I stalled while climbing a sheer cliff, and (Lilia) climbed right up beside me to show me how it should be done."

2) In a tweet posted on 2020/5/12 Yana talks about submitting her idea for Crowley to be wearing a vacation outfit in Book 4, despite expecting it to be rejected.

So it seems that she does not have complete control over how the sprites look: she designs the characters but is maybe not doing the game development work of physically implementing them, and there are others who can approve of or reject her ideas based on in-game limitations.

Was a canon-accurate Silver sprite maybe one of those rejections?

Effort was even made to give Silver muscle in the 2nd anniversary PV, so it does seem to be an important point.

3) We do not know too many details about the team that is helping Yana with card illustrations but we know they have been there from the beginning, with the recently released English-version of the first visual book (called "The official art book" in English) providing translations of Yana's notes to the colorists for the ceremonial robes and labwear art.

(Above: hand-written notes seen on Kalim's labwear and ceremonial robes base art)

She also references a graphic artist in her 2020 interview for the Magical Archives:

"As for the illustrations, this was my first time having my original drawings cleaned up by a graphic artist. I am a very rough draftsman by nature, and I make overall corrections before a piece is complete. No matter how careful I am in my original drawings, sometimes details get confused, so whenever I receive a draft back from the graphic artist, I become a useless original artist who is constantly going back to say, ‘I am so sorry, but can you please make these corrections?’" - Toboso Yana (Magical Archives game guide)

But the gym clothes and school uniforms (the original batch of R cards) were different: Yana says she did them all by herself from start to finish, as they were going to be most people's first introductions to the characters.

Disney Twisted-Wonderland has been released today.  ・Character design ・Main scenario creation ・Card illustration (all rarities / including finishing for the R cards) ・Supervision of personal scenarios (writing several as well) I handled everything above. I hope you enjoy it! - Toboso Yana (Twitter, 2020/5/8)

I felt that the initial R school uniforms and sportswear cards are special, as they are likely to be the first introductions to these characters, so I was in charge of them all. I am grateful to have been trusted with them. - Toboso Yana (Twitter, 2020/4/13)

So there we are! 🥳

If anything we can maybe consider the base card art for the gym clothes and school uniforms as more "canon" than the sprite designs of those same characters, even though the sprites are what we're used to seeing, as card art is not being forced to change the characters' appearances in order to fit the limitations of Live 2D sprites ⚔️ Maybe!

(The sprites have this same issue with height! At 156cm Epel maybe only comes up to Malleus' elbows? But in the game Epel is made taller while Malleus is made shorter, in order to fit his horns in the screen.)

[faithshouseofchaos]

sergio x wife reader plus his kids. They all cuddling watching the old claymation cartoons (rudolph, frosty, the year without santa, here comes santa clause, etc. )

A Christmas movie marathon — checo Perez x wife reader

Word count — 713

Fluff

Tagged @diaryofarandomkid @purplephantomwolf @selfishpresley

Checo was stretched out on the couch, dressed in a cozy sweater and flannel pajama pants. His hair was slightly tousled, a testament to a long but rewarding day spent playing outside in the snow with the kids. Your youngest son, barely old enough to form full sentences, had already given in to sleep, his tiny body curled against Sergio’s chest as his hand softly rubbed his back in rhythmic circles.

You were tucked under his other arm, your head resting against his shoulder. Your middle child Sofìa was pressed to his side, her blanket pulled up to her chin as her wide eyes followed Rudolph’s red nose flickering on the TV screen. In your lap, your oldest Luca clutched his stuffed Rudolph toy, his face alight with the wonder that only came during the holidays.

“Why does Rudolph’s nose shine like that?” Sofìa whispered, breaking the comfortable silence in the room. Her voice was soft but full of curiosity.

Checo smiled, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the soft fabric of your sweater. “Because he’s special,” he said, his voice low but warm. “Sometimes, the things that make us different are the things that make us great.”

You glanced up at him, your heart swelling at the way he always seemed to know just what to say. Moments like this—seeing him not as the fast-paced, always-traveling racing driver but as the patient and loving father and husband—were the ones you cherished most.

As the familiar ending credits of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer began to roll, your youngest stirred slightly in his sleep, letting out a tiny sigh before settling back into Sergio’s chest. He adjusted his hold on him, his movements so gentle that it was clear this wasn’t the first time he’d had to master the art of not waking a sleeping child.

“Can we watch another one?” your oldest asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper as he hugged the stuffed Rudolph closer.

“Please?” your middle child added, her wide eyes darting between you and Sergio.

You laughed softly, reaching over to tuck the blanket around their shoulders. “Alright, but just one more. Then it’s straight to bed.”

“Frosty the Snowman!” your middle child declared, her energy momentarily revived at the thought of seeing the cheerful snowman again.

Sergio grinned, carefully shifting your youngest to lay across his lap before grabbing the remote to queue up the next movie. The opening notes of “Frosty the Snowman” filled the room, and both kids let out squeals of delight.

“I love this part,” Luca whispered as Frosty sprang to life, his jovial “Happy Birthday!” ringing out on the screen.

As the story unfolded, you found yourself marveling at the scene around you. Checo’s free hand was laced with yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand absentmindedly. The kids’ laughter rang out in perfect harmony with Frosty’s antics, and the soft crackle of the fireplace completed the idyllic picture.

When the credits rolled and Sofia immediately piped up with, “Can we do one more? The Year Without a Santa Claus this time?” you exchanged a glance with Checo.

“One more,” he relented, chuckling softly at the enthusiastic cheers that followed. “But after that, we’re all heading to bed. Even me.”

As the kids settled back into their spots, checo leaned closer to you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I think this is my favorite part of the holidays,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You smiled, squeezing his hand as the Heat Miser and Snow Miser burst onto the screen, their catchy song drawing laughter from the kids. “Mine too,” you whispered, your heart full to the brim with love for this little family of yours.

[bisnes-socks]

Dr. Professor I have a question. Maybe it has been talked about before and I had missed forgot it, is there any correlation between English articles and Finnish language? Ik Finnish doesn't have articles, but maybe there are context clues?

In other words, does Jere have any reason to keep saying "The Bojan"?

Anon, have you been spying on me? Can you read my mind? Because I have been thinking about The Bojan a lot lately. Mostly trying to figure out if he uses the article for literally anyone else, and I honestly cannot, of the top of my head, think of examples of him using The in front of anyone elses name as consistently as he does with Bojan.

So here's the thing. There basically isn't any correlation between Finnish and English articles, and so I cannot like point to a specific thing that would make him do that. But I can guess at the connections he makes.

I think sometimes he uses it to translate Finnish words like "toi", which is a spoken language/colloquial version of "tuo", literally translating to "that" in English. There isn't like a direct equivalent in English to use as an example of why we use "toi" like that, because like, "that Bojan" is not the same vibe as "toi Bojan".

Instances where i think this would make sense are moments like:

"Who did you connect with in Eurovision?"

"The Bojan."

If the conversation was in colloquial Finnish, it would not sound out of place of him to say something like "toi, tota, Bojan."

It's like a filler word, spoken out loud it can even be sort of drawn out (almost like just to make a sound, like "umm") but it's one that you would use when you can reasonably assume the listener knows the person you're talking about (at least in his regional dialect, i know some dialects might use it differently, but i speak the same dialect as him and this is my feeling on it.)

Which takes us to how articles in English are taught to us: the is to be used, instead of a or an, when we're already familiar with the subject. A cat is "a cat" only once in a story, before turning into "the cat".

So, i think he keeps saying The Bojan, because he simply assumes everyone knows who Bojan is. Bojan doesn't need an introduction or a qualification. Others get titles or explanations: "my sister wife Alessandra" or "my friend Joost", "manager Jesse" or "guitar man Jukka"... everyone else gets a title that explains who they are to him. Bojan doesn't need that, and Jere seems to have a reason to believe everyone knows who Bojan is. So he's not just any random Bojan. He is The Bojan, you know the one. And if you don't, you should.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

My view on the dreams is that they are a twisted image of a desire that the boys have. They are simplistic in nature though, and that is reflected in what desire they portray. Deuce cares more about making his mom proud than going the easy way, but as shown in book 3 he does sometimes take the easy way out. He misses when this were simple and he could solve problems by just throwing punches. If I had to guess, in Deuces dream his mom supported him being a delinquent so he could solve problems with his fists and make his mom proud. For Cater, I think it has more to do with wanting to been seen. When Cater arrives at the courtroom everyone cheers for him. With how he is with magicam, I think he wants to been seen but is scared to show his true self. I think that Malleus' magic took his desire to be seen as a desire for attention--Which Cater typically portrays it as too--and put him in a position where he would be admired and praised. I also think it is interesting how Trey and Riddle are kinder(?) to him then canon. We see Trey complain in canon about Cater not opening up to him, so maybe this shows that Cater wants to open up to Trey but he doesn't know how. It is midnight for me and I can feel my sleep meds getting annoyed that I am fighting them to write this, so if you want me to elaborate on anything lmk and I will do so when I am not mostly asleep.

I understand what you’re trying to say about the nature of the dreams; that’s my basic understanding too 💦 The bare bones of how they work is… fine, in isolation. I just wish the main story didn’t try to be super ambitious with the concept because the more they try to explain it, the less sense it makes and the less it sounds like the writers themselves seem to understand what they’re saying 😔

I think there’s a difference between acquiring someone else’s study guide to guarantee a passing grade versus dropping all efforts to excel academically in favor of trading fists instead, but I think I still understand the general idea. This ends up rounding back to the question of how much do the dreams pull from conscious desires versus unconscious ones, because there’s a clash between the desire for simpler ways to resolve issues and Deuce actively wanting to turn over a new leaf.

I think this could lead into other issues as well. For example, if Deuce’s mom (Dylla) theoretically supports him being a delinquent, would that not trigger an emotional response in him and cause Deuce to wake??? I’d imagine that this would conflict with his reality in which he overheard his mom’s emotionally distressing phone call, which was his motivation to abandon his days as a delinquent. Lilia woke when the dream!senators praised him for hatching Malleus rather than berate him for it; his brain registered the discrepancy and reacted accordingly. In Cater’s dream, the dream!Riddle trying to collar everyone ended up waking him—so isn’t this proof that the darkness trying to keep them asleep can fuck up and accidentally be the trigger that causes them to wake up too?? Would this not become a concern for Deuce as well if his dream begins to struggle to maintain the logic of his delinquent school?

Cater’s dream provides a similarly confusing scenario. If his desire is just to be seen, there were several much easier situations he could have gotten. Why would his dream actively hand him a position, power, and responsibilities he doesn’t want instead of… I don’t know, simply making him a popular, admired, and well-liked upperclassman??? You don’t need him to be a dorm leader in order to accomplish this. You could literally only change it so that Trey is HIS childhood friend instead or Riddle’s. Wouldn’t that be the easier solution????

It continues to feel like the writers are picking fanservice scenarios rather than what actually makes the most sense in-universe. Again, it’s a big inconsistency with the writing of the dreams and as a result it has been a major point of my criticism for the writing of book 7 as a whole.

I do think it was interesting that both dream!Trey and Riddle were more lenient with Cater than they are irl, though Trey is generally lenient with everyone. Maybe more indulgent is the right word?? This behavior change is much more noticeable with Riddle, whose attitude most likely had to be adjusted to avoid any “party poopers” in Cater’s dream. Can’t say I really see why dream!Trey and Riddle being this way with Cater would imply him wanting to open up to Trey…? They didn’t really seem to demonstrate any more intimacy or familiarity with one another than they do irl. Dream!Trey isn’t all that different, and any changes we do observe are not exclusive to him and are, in fact, more notable in dream!Riddle than in Trey.

And that speaks to another recurring issue I have with book 7’s dreams… They don’t make a ton of sense on their own and have to rely on fan interpretations, most of which will be imperfect or flawed somehow because the game failed to explain the parameters beforehand. If the game wanted us to come to a certain conclusion, they should have granted us the clues and the tools to do so. The way it is now, it’s like a mystery that’s full of red herrings (but hey, at least they’re “fun” red herrings) and everyone is looking at different clues and coming to radically different answers because of that. As I suggested in this post, maybe this was intentional because dreams irl are vague. If could have been done this way to promote character analysis and theory crafting in the fandom… but since no one has found a “perfect” explanation and no general consensus has been reached—on top of the many, MANY plot holes—I doubt it 😅 It feels like you’re trying to repair a dam by slapping a band-aid on a leak, only for two more leaks for spring up with every corrective attempt.

Those are my thoughts!! (And remember to stock up on sleep!)

[t-a-a-1]

The Darkest Hour

Ch.4: Guardian

Summary: After being labeled as crazy for trying to report that robot aliens exist on national television, you lose your job and move to Jasper City. In a drastic turn of fate, you meet Optimus Prime. You and Team Prime get together to find ancient relics that are vital to the Autobot's cause.

Along the way, you and Optimus start to develop feelings that go beyond comradeship.

But what happens when he discovers you've been lying all of this time?

For a better reading experience you can read this story on Ao3:

>>>

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60642838/chapters/157365316

Ch.4: Guardians

     It was rather quiet at the base. Ratchet sometimes would look at the hangar's elevated floor. He thought he would see you there. He didn't find you as annoying as other humans. You were rather curious. Asking about all things Cybertronian. It was like talking to a child sometimes but he didn't mind explaining especially when you had questions about Cybertronian biology.

    He didn't want to admit it but he-

Beep. Beep.

"Oh? I got a video from (Y/n)!"

    Ratchet hears Jack exclaim from the sofa and this immediately gets his attention.

"I don't have enough time. I have been abducted by Decepticons. I'll lead them to the relic located in Fingal's Cave, Northern Ireland two days from now. Retrieve my cell phone from my house. I am sorry."

.

.

.

    You didn't have time.

You rapidly click 'sent' before breaking your laptop in half. You know they were coming for you and as soon as you heard the doors open, you quickly grabbed one cigarette.

    Two Decepticons dragged you across the Nemesis. You couldn't walk a lot, probably due to a broken bone or something else.

    It took about three minutes to reach another door. Everything looked the same except for a few purple colors and other doors that had guards.

    One of the doors opened and the two Decepticons pushed you inside, making fall to the floor.

"What is our status with the machine?"

"We still need to make modifications. The human mind is different from that of a Cybertronian," Knockout tried his best to figure out a way to make his machinery work. "Getting into her memories will be difficult without the proper materials."

"Then I trust that you will be making progress soon, Knockout."

    The lights in the room blinded you.  Not because they were too bright but due that you were deprived of light for two days.

    Two Decepticons carried you by the arms, you were too weak to walk, your stomach hurts, your head too and your energy was low.

"Prisoner was seen scavenging on the vault."

"I was looking for food!" you muster all the strength you had to defend yourself. "I've been here for two days and haven't eaten a thing."

"Wasn't the Energon cup I left on your cell enough?"

    The Decepticon was an automobile that you found a bit strange but you didn't have the right mind to question it. Things were just the way they were.

"Humans don't eat Energon, I'll die! Shouldn't you be smart enough to know that?"

    A taller figure walks in front of you. His steps made the entire floor move but you had gotten used to the feeling of it. He studies you, walks around you and his optics pierce through your soul.

"The fact that you are still standing after yesterday's event is admirable. I wouldn't expect anything less from Optimus' pet."

    You didn't like the sound of that but you were too tired to fight it. Your body is in pain from all the bruises and maybe a few other injuries. They had beat you up after you refused to speak. It wasn't for a long time, Megatron seemed to know that you would be a difficult one.

"What were you looking for in the vault?"

    Megatron asks and you don't say a word. You look away.

"I won't ask again," he gets closer to your face. So close that you could see his optics and the mechanics behind it. There wasn't a single thing that didn't move as small as it seemed. Everything had a function and it fascinated you. "What were you looking for in the vault? Was it your bag? Anything of importance in there?"

    You took a few seconds to respond and you raised a hand. You slowly opened it, putting one cigarette in front of his face.

"What is this ... artifact?"

    Megatron takes the cigarette in his hand, inspecting it.

"I was looking for my bag ... because I wanted that. It makes me less hungry."

    The Decepticon leader drops the cigarette on the floor and steps on it. Crushing your hopes.

"Pain may not be enough to make you speak," Megatron keeps looking at you and as much as you would like to keep the eye-staring contest, you struggle to keep your eyes open.

"But let's wait and see how you react after hunger takes over you."

"I won't talk."

    It hurts to even do so.

"Oh, but all of this would be so much easier if you did," he turns around and walks towards a berth. One that is not completely functional. At least it doesn't work with humans. Yet. "Regardless, we'll get what we want. Talk or do not talk, the choice is yours."

...

    It has been a couple of days since you had left the base. It has been quiet around here without you. The kids can be a bit nosey but nothing the Autobots couldn't handle.

    Optimus wonders what you would do if you were here. Would you be on your laptop? Maybe have a conversation with him? If you wanted, he could talk to you for hours, giving you information about Cybertronian culture. In exchange, he could ask you about human traditions. After the talk you two had about the human process of creating life, he was particularly curious about the human body.

    He had just come back from patrol duty with Bumblebee when he heard a lot of talking between his Autobot friends.

"Optimus!"

    Ratchet's preoccupied voice was something he wasn't fond of. It could mean two things. One, someone had messed up with one of his experiments. Two, bad news.

"(Y/N) has been captured by the Decepticons!"

Or three. Horrible news.

....

Bombs. Guns. Granades.

Screams. Fire. Blood. Pain. 

    When you were told that you were going to report on the war in a faraway land, you were excited. This was going to be your big step. The thing that will mark your career forever.

And it did mark you. Forever. But in ways you thought unimaginable.

It wasn't until you saw men, women and children being killed that you truly realized how stupid the world really is. It's a war and no one ever wins. So why? Why?

"Will I ever stop ... being so useless?"

    Another day of not eating.

You didn't know when you were going to start to hallucinate. Maybe you already were. You wished you could smell the outside air. You had not realized how different the air is when the majority of living creatures occupying the area are alien robots. It's a different type of smell. Clean and sanitized, kinda like the smell of a hospital but with a more metal element to it.

    The doors from your prison cell open. You are thankful because you hated the dark. Not really a phobia but many thoughts cross your mind when there is no light around you.

    Megatron slowly makes his way towards you.

He is not that intimidating. Are you afraid? Yes, of course. But if you had to compare, Optimus had a more menacing frame. Although Megatron's eyes could frighten anyone, the way he moves and presents himself does not imply any harm. You won't underestimate him. Not a bit.

"I won't say a word."   

    You say as you look at him. You sat in a corner, nothing was tying you down. Not like it matters, it's not like you could do much against giant robots.

"I did not come here for that," his voice is way less intimidating. In different circumstances, Optimus could very well have been the villain. "I have come for a small conversation."

"If you think you can manipulate me into talking-"

"I would rather like to call it ... convincing you with words."

    You knew this was going to be an interesting conversation.

"Words are powerful."

    You say as he stands in front of you. You don't stand up, having a nice view of his posture. You can tell so much by the way someone moves.

"Agreed."

    You wait for a few seconds, keeping eye contact. The room didn't look so dark now as Megatron had this purple aura that surrounded him.

    You didn't know what he wanted but you were waiting for him to speak. But he was also studying you, trying to find the best way to talk to you.

"Eons ago, I was a young gladiator trying to survive."

    Out of everything, you didn't imagine Megatron to be a storyteller. Oh, but how much you loved a good tale. Especially the ones about myths and legends of great warriors doing the impossible. Even if it's a story about a bot becoming a destroyer of worlds.

"Every day, as I exited the pit after killing comrades, I would watch the upper classes cheer for me."

    He seems to remember the cheers, the chanting crowds. But his optics had changed, for a second, he was lost. Going back to those moments. There is some fear in them and you didn't know if he was being honest or it's another manipulation tactic.

"But what was there to cheer for? I had massacred Cybertronians. Someone like me and them."

    You didn't doubt his words. At least there is some truth to them, you could tell as much.

"I would kill as I watched them eat the best kind of Energon. Drink the rarest of oils and wear the highest of tech accessories."

    Megatron gets closer to you but he never kneels. He still believes he is above you. It's comical. Telling you stories about the inequality he suffered when there will never be a time he will see you as equal.

"Do you know what that feels like? Being tortured if you failed? Your spinal cord breaking and have no spare parts to repair it? While I see others throw parts into the pit, like their lives meant nothing."

    Rage. He is filled with it. Finally, an emotion you could sympathize with or at least recognize. You didn't break eye contact nor were afraid. If he wanted to kill you, he had done so a very long time ago. You are more curious and in awe at the being in front of you.

    His metal was damaged and scratched, his tall figure and spiky demeanor. He appears to be fierce, he had to be, otherwise he wouldn't be here. But you can't help and wonder if he had been allowed a different life, would he be different?

"I don't fight for freedom," Megatron says. "I fight for my survival."

    You sigh heavily and your eyes show nothing but exhaustion. You muster the strength to speak. You can't give him anything but your sympathy.

"... You must be so tired."

    You must be hallucinating because for a moment you could have sworn you saw something else in those red eyes.

    Megatron turns around, no longer allowing you to see his face.

"Optimus was just like those Cybertronians I hated and he continues to be one. The system I fight to break, he continues to fight to repair it."

He steals a glance your way and he notices your concern.

"He was part of the crowd. Enjoying every match, every death. Laughing as it happened. How did you think we met?"

    He walks back towards you but you notice his steps have become slower. The floor didn't tremble as much as if he was being careful without knowing.

"Oh? Didn't he tell you?"

    You part your sight away from his. After a heavy sigh, you take up the courage to look at him again.

"We've been looking for ancient Cybertronian relics," you don't have another option. You had to sacrifice a little bit of truth to survive. "We don't know their function yet but we believe that they might be parts of something bigger."

"And do you know the location of these relics?"

"Just of one, the rest of the information is on my cellphone."

    He seems to be interested now or rather atypical about your wording. He probably doesn't know certain terminology.

"And where is this cellphone you speak of?"

    You muster a smile. You know Megatron can be a great negotiator, but so are you.

"If you want to know, I'll have my bag. With my cigarettes."

....

Fingal's Cave, Northern Ireland.

    The night is dark and full of mysteries. Especially in dark caves where the waves of the sea clash against the rocks. It would have been a perfect vacation, had you not been kidnapped by evil alien robots. This might be nothing for them, maybe just a nice bubble bath. But to you? It's a certain death. You don't even know how to swim.

    You stand next to Megatron. Behind you, there are a few warrior Decepticons. It was cold and humid and your intrusive thoughts made you want to jump into the crazed waves.

"The relic should be right there," you point to one of the walls and Megatron quickly looks at his army. It took only one look for them to know what they were supposed to do. Excavate.

You waited for a few seconds and noticed how fast they were putting away rocks and dust. Soon they will reach the relic and once they have what they want they will take you back to the Nemesis.

    Suddenly, a green moving circle appears on the other side of the cave. You are a bit relieved. For a moment you genuinely thought they wouldn't appear.

    It's the first time you see a ground bridge. It's beautiful and even more the aliens coming out from it. Tall, big, strong. Everything you weren't and for a moment you feel guilty. They shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be worrying about an insignificant life such as yours.

"Took you all long enough."

    Optimus stands in front of his team. A battle mask covers half of his face, he looks fierce. You had never seen him like this before. He was intimidating and you were a bit scared of what he could do.

"Let (y/n) go, Megatron."

"Did you bring her cell phone?"

    A shiver runs down your spine. You look up at him and he looks at you. Your eyes and his optics meet for a second. Unable to control your confusion, your voice betrayed you. With Megatron, showing emotion is a fatal mistake.

"What? How do you-"

"Nothing happens in the Nemesis without me knowing. Or do you think I was careless enough to leave your cell-door open?" his voice resonates within the containment of the cave. Not even the waves crashing could subside his voice. "I wanted you to contact them so they could do all the work for me."

"I am sure you must have led them to other relics. If they want you, they must turn them in as well."

    You began to panic, your plan was crumbling. It was your fault for believing you could outsmart a million-years living creature.

"It's not true! They don't have them, I never-"

"We have one."

    If looks could kill, your eyes would have killed Optimus. In fact, the Autobots have two relics. Optimus is lying and although a part of you is glad to know he could lie, right now you wish he had stayed quiet.

"Then you know what you must do."

    Megatron suddenly picks you up, putting you a few meters above the water level.

    You didn't know what to say. There was no guarantee that after receiving the relic, Megatron would let you go safely. Most importantly, you didn't understand. Why would the Autobots risk losing a valuable item over a human? There were many of you and only a few of those artifacts.

    Optimus doesn't hesitate and uses his comm-link. Speaking clearly, he calls Ratchet, ordering him to bring one relic through the ground bridge.

    Meanwhile, you see the Decepticons work on obtaining the other relic. They must be close as their excavation has become slower, maybe due that they do not want to damage the relic.

    You try to find a way to break free but Megatron's grasp is too strong.  Your body has started giving up, you haven't eaten in four days and your mouth tastes like cigarettes.

    After a few tense minutes, Ratchet comes from the groundbridge, holding the white pot that contained the relic. You instinctively move your head from side to side. You didn't want to be the reason they lost it.

"Starscream, retrieve the relic and the cell phone."

    You didn't notice the Commander before. Your senses must be failing you by now. He passes by Megatron and you know that if he could, he would push the leader of the Decepticons into the water.

"My pleasure, my liege."

    And as he passes by, you can see Ratchet's disappointed face. All of their faces, as a matter of fact. You hated being useless and being used. You thought that staying quiet was the best option. But after seeing Optimus hand down your cell phone to Starscream and his cocky smile, you couldn't have it.

"Just go!" you scream, hoping that your voice is loud enough. "I'll figure it out! You don't have to do this!"

    But it's like they weren't paying attention. Like your opinion didn't matter at all. Like you were a liability that had to be taken care of, not listened to.

    Ratchet hesitantly gives the white ceramic pot to Starscream who aggressively takes it in his claws. He happily walks back to his Master as if he had finished completing the hardest of missions.

"You have what you wanted. Now let her go!"

    Optimus threatens Megatron but it only amuses him. He looks at you, taking a few seconds to appreciate your face one last time.

"Lord Megatron, we have retrieved this place's relic."

    Starscream says as the army of Decepticons had successfully extracted the artifact and that's everything Megatron needed to hear.

"A deal it's a deal," Megatron crossed optics with Optimus.  "But this is for lying."

    He opens his claws, letting you go and dropping you into the wild waves.

    Megatron watches as Optimus jumps to save you. A selfless act, very much like him. What he was doing for you, he would do for anyone else. But there was something about it. Something that Megatron knew would catch Optimu's attention. Whatever it was, he would figure it out eventually. For now, he will let Prime have you. To let him enjoy his human pet as much as he can. Before taking you away.

"Next time, bring me all the relics you have, Prime. Or she will pay the price."

    Bulkhead, Arcee and Bumblebee didn't even hesitate to go after him. They focused on helping Optimus and it was too late regardless. Megatron was already one step inside the groundbrige, ready to go back to the Nemesis.

"How did you know they had more relics?" Starscream walks behind Megatron, curious about his actions.

"I didn't," he says. "It's all a bet. Besides ..."

    Megatron stops walking and quickly glances back. Getting a glimpse of Optimus coming out of the water, holding your fragile body.

"She's not half bad."

....

    The first thing that crossed your mind after waking up was ... work.

Fowler told you to not worry about it and that things had been taken care of.

    You didn't want to ask any further.

Especially after learning that you could no longer go back to your home.

    It took you a couple of days to recover.

Falling into the wild waters of Fingal's Cave had done more injuries than the ones the Decepticons inflicted on you. Your body crashed a few times into rocks before Optimus rescued you.

     But the pain in your body did not compare to the disappointment you feel.

    You couldn't even look at the Autobots without feeling ashamed.

Now you can't even go home now.

"I apologize as for you now have to remain here. But it must be in your best interest to stay since the Decepticons know of your home location."

    You didn't hear Optimus come through the rooftop door. Even with his massive steps and weight. Maybe you had gotten used to the sound of walking bots too fast.

"You may not be too fond of sharing a home but I promise you we are not too loud."

    The top of the hangar gave you the best view of the Nevada desert. With sad rocks and a few cacti... alright maybe it wasn't that visually appealing.

    But the night sky made up for it.

"I don't do good with people ... and bots," you pull out a cigarette from your jacket's pocket and light it up. Hearing Optimus coming closer and sitting down on the cliff with you.

    You immediately move away for a few centimeters, feeling uncomfortable at the closeness. You didn't notice your body had acted this way but Optimus did.

"I can sense some hostility emitting from you."

    Optimus optics lay on you but you wouldn't spare him a look.

"Optimus was just like those Cybertronians I hated and he continues to be one. The system I fight to break, he continues to fight to repair it."

    You didn't know if you should bring up the matter or just keep it to yourself. But after the events at the Nemesis, you find yourself unable to look at Optimus the same. Not like it matters much, but deep down, a part of you wanted to trust him ... to believe in him.

"If there are any concerns-"

"Megatron told me," you interrupt him, the act feels disrespectful but you hope he didn't feel like that. "That you used to enjoy watching him fight and kill others in the gladiator's pits. That you fight to bring the caste system back."

"While is true that I used to attend such activities, I never supported it," subconsciously, Optimus wanted you to look at him. He needed your acknowledgment, something you refused to give him at the moment.    

    "Megatron and I used to share similar ideologies. But he believed that equality could only be obtained if the other classes were eliminated."

"And you?"

"I believe that every sentient being has the ability to change."

    You let out a subsided laugh, looking down at your lap and then up again at the desert night.

    "So what? You were hoping to change a whole social class with pretty words and inspiring speeches?"

"We cannot build a new world founded on violence."

"And where has that led you? To a strange planet and your race almost extinct."

    He had good sentiments, you admired that but at some point you consider naivety to be stupidity.

"Cybertron will be rebuilt on tragedy," you say.

"And what am I supposed to do? Let him have his way?"

    You have noticed that Optimus speaks less formally when he finds himself in a tough spot. Now, it was one of those moments. Your words had hit a circuit but you didn't want for this to turn into an argument. Not when you wanted to gain his sympathy.

"I am not saying I know what's best. What I am saying is that I thought you..."

    You couldn't continue with your sentence. Because what you wanted to say was stupid and based on old ideas. Maybe deep down, you wished Optimus was that hero the world needed. But he was a leader. The leader of a war where there is no winner. He could only do what he did best. And that was making the hard decisions no one else could.

    You had put too much expectations on his shoulders. He can't be a hero and a leader at the same time. If he were to be a hero, he would have been dead long ago. But his team needed him alive, he couldn't afford to die a martyr. He must know that.

"Listen to me Prime," you called him by his first name. Now more than ever, you believe there will never be a time when you will call him by his first name. "Everyone is a slave to something. Even you are enslaved to your own stupid ideologies of hope."

    You were always precausious to never show your beliefs. Maybe years ago, you shared similar sentiments as Optimus. You saw yourself in him and you wanted to save him. Save him from the disappointment of the real truth of your world.

"But let me tell you this; you have those views because you lived through better times. You have tasted peace and solemnity," you had no stand to be lecturing him. Yet, you didn't see it that way. You were just speaking your feelings.

      "But them? Working as miners, being gladiators just for your entertainment? They never had what you did. This is their hope to have better times."

    You sigh heavily and feel your lungs struggle to breathe.

"And you just took that from them."

    Seconds turned into minutes and you thought Optimus would stand up and leave you alone. But he instinctively got closer to you. He probably didn't notice his actions.

"I used to really enjoy watching your old reports."

    The leader of the Autobots looks back fondly at the younger version of you. A few years back you had done a story about a small town that had been struck by a tornado. Many died and homes were destroyed.

    But instead of focusing on the downside of things, you talked about how the community came together to help each other build back their town. The resilience and strength. Optimus was inspired by how such small things could build things bigger than themselves.

     "Even when the report was about a catastrophic event, you always ended things positively."

"In the days where I had doubts, where I thought I couldn't do this anymore, I ... "

    He pauses, he can't understand the feeling in his spark but his voice box struggles to process words.

"I would watch you on TV and you would give me inspiration to continue my mission."

    His formality had dropped drastically and you wonder if this was his way to let his guard down and open up to you.

"But now that you are telling me this ... I think you are right," his voice cracks and your world crumbles.  "What is left worth fighting for?"

You didn't know Optimus could feel doubt and hesitancy. You are reminded of the power of words. How you, a small insignificant human could make a robot full of wisdom question the truth of his life? It was too much power and you didn't want it. You didn't want Optimus to view life the way you do. So pessimistic, so gloomy.

    You didn't believe in any of it, hope, love. None of that was enough to change the world. But Optimus didn't have to know that.

You wanted him to keep believing. To belive he could change the world with just words.

Fuck the truth.

"Megatron is full of rage," you say. "And sometimes rage allows us to live. To survive."

    You decide to overstep boundaries and you put a hand over his servo. But you don't look at him, too shy to do so.

"But faith does too."

    You were no one to question his beliefs. If you were completely honest, you would like to keep enjoying the company of this Optimus. The optimistic one, resilient, strong with unbreakable morals.

But in the back of your mind, the question still remains. There's no victory without sacrifice.

What if to win the war, to give meaning to the lives of fallen ones, he has to sacrifice his ideologies and beliefs?

What would you do ... Optimus?

"(Y/n)," Optimus calls your name so sweetly you feel your body shake up a little.

    He holds your hand, so delicately, so softly as if he is afraid of hurting you. As if he is afraid you might break. You had never been held so fondly,  your heart feels like melting.

"I have failed miserably in protecting you," He looks at your body and you feel like his optics pierce through your soul.  You feel seen but you didn't mind it one bit. "The injuries in your body are proof of it."

"I am aware we are strangers to titles but I would like to establish a new relationship."

    You didn't understand how he could make you feel in such a way. In a state of warmth and peace. How his presence alone was enough to comfort and heal wounds that go beyond physical pain.

"If you accept me as your guardian, I'll protect you and no harm shall ever find your way. I'll give my life for you if necessary. I'll do as you ask and have your safety as one of my purposes for living. Under these stars as a witness, I swear this to you."

    Like the stars above, there were many mysteries you didn't understand. You thought that maybe Optimus was one of those mysteries as well. Otherwise, you didn't understand how such a beautiful creature would ever put your life above his own. Does he see you as a bothersome being? Probably. But you don't mind. A part of you wanted to be protected by such a powerful creature. A righteous one at least. Maybe he does see you as a pet to be taken care of.

    But now that you think about it ... You don't mind devoting yourself to him either.

"I accept but under one condition," you wish you could be closer to his face, you feel a need to look closer at his optics.  "If you protect me ... then I'll take care of you."

"Care for me?"

"If you ever have doubts, if you feel lonely, or if you just want to talk,"  all of a sudden you feel shy and you quickly part your sight. You didn't have the time to think the reason why. "I want to share the burden of your decisions with you, please."

"You will do that for me?"

    He blinks multiple times, unsure of your words and you find this cute.

"You are willing to give up on your life for me," you make a small pause before continuing. "It's the least I can do."

    Looking at a desert wasn't fun. But talking always was. Especially with an alien robot with millions of years' worth of wisdom. It's strange how you always felt better after talking to Optimus. He doesn't seem to be the type to judge and that's what you appreciated the most about him.

"(Y/N), You have proven to be more than meets the eye," you hear his voice closer and immediately turn. He had slouched significantly to be able to see you face to face. It must be an uncomfortable position but he still made the effort to see you at an eye level.

    Maybe he also had a certain need to be as close as possible to you.

"I am glad the universe allowed us to encounter."

And before you could have the time to blush again, your brain replayed his words.

"Don't you mean optic? You guys don't have eyes."

    Optimus straightens his back, no longer looking at you. This time he looks up at the sky, he looks curiously at them. Putting a servo on his chin, he looks to be in deep thought.

"That is true. But that is an ancient saying of my people."

"If it's an ancient saying then can we assume your kind and mine have met before?"     You tilted your head, imagining the possibilities. You move your feet into a yoga position, feeling more comfortable.

"That is an interesting theory although I don't remember reading such things back at the archives. Maybe it's something worth investigating."

    Optimus also thought of the possibilities, maybe this could be tied to the relics.

"Oh! Do you want to investigate it together?" this could be an important piece to your report. It would also be more credible if you had an actual Transformer help you write on what is probably one of the greatest discoveries in human history.

     "We could write a report on it and give an informative presentation to the kids and the Autobots."

You put your hands up and them move them slowly in a parting motion.

"Cybertron and Earth: A Deeper Look Into Cybertronian-Human Relations and Why Our History Is Longer Than We Think."

The topic sounded more interesting to Optimus and the archivist in him started to show. You knew this by the way he would blink more often. It happened whenever something excited him.

"That sounds like a remarkable and revolutionary subject. I could try to look into Cybertron's' old archives and see if I can find something related to the topic."

If Optimus could always be excited like this, you wish you could hear him talk forever. Could he tell you all the stories and tales of his people. But would it hurt him to speak about them? To reminiscence the past may open old wounds and you didn't want to be the cause of it. You won't push it but you'll wait until he is ready.

"And I'll interview Fowler and see if he knows something or knows someone that knows more of the topic." That will be a challenge but there hasn't being a single person who never gave you an interview. Of course, you find your way. Ethical or not, it didn't matter as long as the truth was revealed.

"I  am looking forward to hearing about your findings."

"I am excited to look at your research too!"

That night you learned many things. About Optimus especially. About how he would blink a lot whenever something got him excited. About how he loses his formality in words when he gets comfortable, excited or angry. Things like this made him feel closer to you as if he wasn't from an alien race but rather just another living creature existing in the same universe. And that's exactly what it was.

One hour turned into two, then three, four. Time passed by so fast, just talking and enjoying each other company. You smoked a few cigarettes and promised Optimus to buy a few gallons of oil for him to enjoy next time.

Although you were still downhearted for being unable to return to your home, you tried to look at the bright side of things. It was something you weren't used to do. But being with Optimus, his optimism rubbed off on you.

    You two talked endlessly until you fell asleep on his servos. Optimus watched the sunrise; grateful to have met you, thinking how beautiful it was to love the ordinary. For at least, and with all the certainty in the universe he knew ... he was worthy of this.

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A/N: This chapter took longer than I expected and I think after this one I am going to work on another fic (from another fandom) because I am so close to finishing that story and I just haven't uploaded in sometime. But! I'll be writing one shots for tumblr. I'll start working on a one shot for Christmas! The poll is over and we have a winner. Thank you to everyone who voted and all the comments, notes and likes. I'll take my time to respond to each of you :) My inbox is always open for any comment, ideas, concerns or prompts ideas.

I definitely want for Reader and Optimus to have chemistry. I think it's very important to show interaction with each other and show why they are attracted instead of them just having them fall randomly? Like I want to show Optimus and Reader have similar interest and passions but having contrasting ideas. I'll probably have them dancing and being silly together at some point.

On the next chapter I'll have Reader do some actual work. She's gonna be undercover (she has to dress seductively to fit into the world of car racing where she meets a hot mechanic who teaches her a lot about cars and Optimus has to follow her around cause that's his job as his guardian. His circuits go crazy cause he can't understand why all of a sudden he finds a human attractive-)

I want Optimus to feel like he has something of his own, something only he can protect and take care of because he can and wants (by choice) and it's not forced upon him nor a responsibility to bear (like the matrix) and that lovely thing being you ofc.

Sorry for an errors and grammar mistakes, I don't proof read.

I also feel like I haven't used much of the other bots so I'll make sure to use them more often now if the plot requires it.

I think that's all for now. Thank you so much for reading and see you in the next chapter!

Previous Chapter:

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/768513873838030848/the-darkest-hour?source=share

Next Chapter: Soon

[rotationalsymmetry]

So, once a long time ago I had a boyfriend. And there were a couple times we had misunderstandings. Where I didn't want a sex thing and he did the sex thing. And I knew they were misunderstandings, because he used to talk, a lot, about how he used to have a hard time figuring out when women wanted to have sex with him because they wouldn't say so directly. (I was 20. He was in his mid 40's. I'd rather not get into the age gap stuff right now, it's not like I didn't know that people didn't approve of 40 somethings dating 20 year olds.) (although, if you happen to be pretty young and reading this: this sort of bullshit does seem to happen more often in these situations.)

Several years later, I was dating new people again for the first time in a while, and I didn't want more of those misunderstandings, so I was trying to figure out how I could communicate better. You know how it is. The thing is though, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the number of things I could have done differently in the situation were actually quite limited and also not clearly better. Whereas what he could have done differently, well.

I do not, in fact, think my ex was confused. Not any more. I think he knew damn well what he was doing and was covering his ass. Creating plausible deniability. (Which, clearly, worked. At the time.) So, yeah. I know what the song means. And I know neither that song nor any of the many other songs I could name that have blurred lines around consent caused him to do what he did. But, that song and things like it -- rape culture -- and more importantly the absence of counter narratives that describe rape and consent accurately, did contribute to how *I* saw things, did mean that when I was raped I didn't think it was rape. I figured it was understandable, because of course sometimes women don't say when we want sex or play hard to get, so of course some men have trouble telling real no's. I thought he was confused, not malicious.

I don't hate It's Cold Outside because I think it describes rape. I hate It's Cold Outside because I think it and songs like it contributed to me seeing my own violation as an honest mistake.

And in general I think adding information, ideas, stories is better than taking them away. And also. I do not want to have to listen to that damn song.

*sigh*

Yes, I know that Baby It's Cold Outside is supposed to be fun and naughty and flirty. I know the social context in which original listeners heard it. I know the social scripts they were playing with.

But - and here's the kicker - I don't exist in those contexts, and in my context, where the vast majority of people listening to the song don't have that context, it feels fucking gross and creepy and I don't like it. And! No amount of lecturing and hectoring people about what it's really about is going to change that we aren't in the same social context anymore.

Lecturing people about how they're wrong about how they feel about a song because that art doesn't land on them the same way it does on you just makes you look like a smug twat who doesn't get how art works.

"Let people enjoy things" comes with the correlating idea "let people fucking hate things."

And I just didn't like that song before I had to go through the annual ritual of listening to the lectures on why I'm wrong to dislike the song at all.

Now?

Now I violently fucking hate that fucking song.

[starsfic]

Monkie Kid prompt:

Nezha discusses his sacrifice against the dragon king with MK after the events of the pillar

(He seems like the right person to talk to about this with MK)

Anon: nezha seeing mk was yet another prophecy child of chaos, that would sacrifice himself for his family sake. He wishes he'd have listened to the group sooner, maybe they could of avoided that heartbreaking outcome had he just helped them from the beginning

Nezha’s death had never been discussed in the family since their welcome to the celestial court.

Some part of it may have been because they all had different things to do and stayed far from each other. Nezha had certainly made sure he was never really alone with Li Jing since then. It may have also been because that was what had been expected of him. Nezha had shamed the family, put their home at risk, and enraged the gods. 

If killing himself would deal with the problem…

Nezha absently wondered if, at least he and his brothers talked about it, he would stop having nightmares about it.

Qi Xiaotian was ready to have nightmares, he could tell.

In the aftermath of whatever happened at the pillar, Sun Wukong and his little band had gathered at the pig’s noodle shop. Nezha hung outside, unsure whether to knock or just go away. The windows were open, allowing him a peek inside the building.

Most of the mortals were talking, doing this and that, setting up the table or making food. A fresh pot of tea was being poured by the demon with the cat, Mo, who seemed content to just sit and watch, right next to Qi Xiaotian.

He was the only one sitting and seemed to be by himself, despite the room being filled with people. As Nezha watched, he could see at least one person look at him, try to smile, and look away, wiping away tears. Wukong looked visibly haunted as he cut and diced vegetables and fruits, wearing a loose hanfu Nezha hadn’t seen him wear in years. 

It only made the guilt in his chest sour even more.

Nezha crept to the door carefully and pushed the bamboo aside. His eyes met Xiaotian, who gave a start. “Nezha?”

It was enough for everyone to whirl around, teeth bared. He immediately held up his hands at the sight of Wukong and the knife. He knew, logically, that his friend-not-friend would never actually stab him, but Wukong’s glamor on his eyes was dropped and he was clearly upset and the logical thing at that to do was put his hands up. “Can I speak with you? In private?”

“No,” the pig said as Xiaotian said “Sure.”

“Kid-”

“If he does anything, you’ll probably hear,” Xiaotian said, standing up and picking up Mo. “I promise, I’m not going to do something stupid.”

Nezha’s mouth went dry at the words.

…It was more than he ever got.

Xiaotian walked out and led him to the mouth of an alleyway next to the shop. Mo squeezed his way out of his arms and settled on his shoulder, meowing at Nezha until he pet him. “I thought you were in Heaven already,” the mortal man said. “What brings you around?”

“You should go to therapy.”

The minute he said it, he was tempted to bang his head against the nearest wall. It was there, it was just a step away. He didn’t even give a hello! Xiaotian blinked, gaping at him. “Excuse me?”

“I- You should go to therapy,” Nezha said, deciding to dig down. “I…I’m starting therapy because when you offered to sacrifice yourself, I agreed with you.” He felt his hands clenched. “If I was in your place, I would have done it without a thought.”

“Then why do you make it sound like it’s a bad thing?” Xiaotian asked, not unkindly. “It’s the world.”

“Sometimes the world isn’t enough,” Nezha said, his thoughts scrambling together. “I killed myself to save my village.” Xiaotian’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t look surprised. It was, after all, an important part of his story, right next to the slaying of Ao Bing. “I thought, when I was resurrected, that I would be at peace or at least determined.” There was no regret, even now, and Nezha knew that wasn’t normal.

Xiaotian blinked. “But you just felt tired,” he guessed, drawing attention to the grey under his eyes.

“Yes,” Nezha nodded. Some urge seized him and he reached up, squeezing Xiaotian’s other shoulder. Mo reached out to sniff it. “You and I are a lot alike. I…worry that we may be similar in this as well. So, please.”

The warmth of the home seemed to increase.

“For the people who love you, take care of yourself.”

[trashisstillhere]

Guess whose parents I have just designed? (And didn’t feel like cleaning up, do better line art and colouring along with shading for yet?)

Yeah that’s right, it’s New Ninja’s!!! Meet their big workaholics yet loving mother and father!!

I still am trynna work on some stuff, I’m even planning on redesign Randy’s parents in my headcanon as we speak, also gonna do my own version of First Ninja’s family too, like I think of them alot in my head but barely drawn anything out so I wanna do that too really much hehe- yeah I got a lot to do.

Aaanywaysss. Let me tell y’all a bit about these two!

-NN’s parents are often really busy at their jobs so they can barely get to hang out with their child because of it, the only times they kinda get to interact more often are in the weekends but other then that, NN is often left home alone.

-just like everyone else, they don’t know that NN’s the ninja. And they don’t know about their relationship with Randy as their mentor and good friend either.

-just like their kid, they don’t have any names neither yet lol. Coming up with names one of the hardest parts of making ocs. For now, let’s just call them NM (new mom) and ND (new dad). Yeah I know it’s a little bit weird but until I finally can think of something for them, these will have to do.

-NM is a Japanese woman with sectoral heterochromia who works as a therapist! If you’re wondering what kind of therapy she does, it’s mostly behavioural. She’s almost very soft spoken, genuine and really wants to do her best to help people with their issues, including her own kid. However, she barely knows much about the shit her poor child goes through right now with their current life, she doesn’t know about NN being the ninja after all.

Most of the time, the people she work with in therapy sessions are usually normal but there are times that she has met some who seemed to struggle after being STANKED. Yes you heard right, some of her patients are stanked victims! A few past ones during Randy’s time as the ninja and now a lot more in the current time with NN now being the current one, those kinds of patients are kinda a whole other story.

-ND is an American man who works as a doctor! He is pretty skilled in a lot of things at his job, surgery is one of them. He’s more calm, serious and strict. His voice is kinda like monotone and very deep, a lot of people who sees him at first glance and hear his voice might think he’s quite cold but that’s far from the truth. He’s just a man who takes his job seriously, he also has a soft spot, mostly for his wife and child.

Like NM, he also has no clue about the struggles NN has right now. However, he did have his suspicions. He couldn’t talk much about it due to being so busy in job tho but whenever he has time, he’ll always make sure to tell the kid that if they ever need someone to talk to, they can talk to him.

-now back in their high school days together before NN was even born, they didn’t really know that much people other then themselves. They were high school sweethearts.. however, ND did actually know one guy the whole year. They weren’t like bffs but they did know each other very well so they were close and even now as adults in the present, they still interact sometimes, maybe even get some tea or coffee if they have time and aren’t busy. They went to different universities back then but that did nothing to their pretty nice bond.

You’re probably wondering who this ‘guy’ is and if he’s even important or just a random oc I made up…well he’s actually a canon character from Rc9gn. Yes, he is actually in the show. So who is it??…

……Willem Viceroy III.

HeheheheheHEHEHEHE- no I am not explaining this, ya gotta figure out yourself! What I will say tho is that yes, this will have an effect in NN’s story. 😏

——

And that’s about it!

[florsial]

The Soldier and the Violinist: Overall 

Regulus is 6 and Rabastan is 16. Regulus is a child who is still very curious and pampered while Rabastan is an angsty teenager with his personality all over the place and a poorly built knight complex. There is definitely an immediate interest since I think Rabastan resembled what Regulus saw in Sirius. A fire under the skin and restlessness behind the eyes. While Rabastan sees Regulus as the youngest Black, and desires to save him from the madness of the Black Family. So he hangs around Regulus. But while Regulus likes him quite a bit, his loyalty to his family is more important.

It definitely develops and they become sort of friends. I think when Rabastan starts liking Regulus more, it’s more advantageous, and grows more and more personal. Regulus views him as savior, a Shepard, a guide, because Rabastan is this older figure telling him things and giving gifts and love, compliments and does whatever Regulus wants him to. A puppy crush definitely spouts. 

But it’s important to remember that Walburga and Sirius are both extremely possessive over Regulus. So while he had Rabastan, the hold of Sirius and Walburga is definitely stronger.

As Regulus grows older, a spoiled teenager who never got over the puppy crush, not that Rabastan bothered to. He liked the sole attention Regulus gave him. They became closer. Rabastan becomes more handsy and closer towards Regulus, who fully enjoys the attention and allows him.

When the War starts, they are still ever much closer.

Dynamic:

Basically, they mimic/mock the traditional nuclear family. Provider/the provided. But it doesn’t work because they don't understand the family part. Love makes it a family but Reg and Rab are both selfish and possessive individuals over each other, to an extent, they view each other a part of THEIR respective life, dehumanizing part of each other for their own benefit. There is fondness, but love is something different for them.

Regulus is naive and can be easily influence and Rabastan does take advantage of that when he can. But also he’s completely weak in the sense that he will do anything to keep Regulus by his side. Regulus is naive and gullible sometimes more often than not, spoiled. Rabastan can’t view Regulus as mature as he is because he’s clinging onto the childish crush to keep Regulus close, the childish crush that kept Regulus to him through naivety. <-- it's creepy ik, please understand that just because there seem to be "justifications" (Rabastan doing whatever Regulus wants), it doesn't mean much.

I love the fact that they act out such a traditional role while fully aware of the power each other hold over the other. Rabastan knows Regulus has emotional control over him and it’s the one thing he isn’t a big fan of. He knows he’s at the mercy of the younger. And I definitely think Regulus extends it in small ways when he really wants to even if he doesn’t realize it.

OUTSIDE POV:

Their love story is very normal. But only on the basic surface. They both cater (soldier that fights for and a violinist that performs) to the another (us, their society).

The biggest thing with shipping them is remembering the age/maturity imbalance. Rabastan groomed a child and Regulus didn’t have anyone telling him otherwise. They are discomforting because the outsider is picking at what is wrong but no one says anything.

They are actively trying to contort themselves into something they are not and it’s a creepy sight. Seeing their height difference, the roundness of Regulus face, the aged, tired look in Rabastan’s eyes. All while they act like a married couple.

Minor Stuff: I think the importance of their age difference should be highlighted differently compared to other things. They knew each other when Regulus was basically a baby. Their relationship is more horror than anything.

[saelterlude]

If you’re curious about the affect of story pacing. Especially in a released medium such as weekly manga and seasonal anime. Look no further than Hawks in season 6 of My Hero Academia and the equivalent chapters in the manga.

Twice’s death take place in chapter 266. The battle that killed him ended in chapter 267. After the battle, Hawks shows up in the manga several times but only in the background and never in a prominent role until his origin story in chapter 299. Thats a 32 chapter gap. Chapter 266 was released in March 2020. Chapter 299 was released in February 2021. That’s almost a one year gap.

Meanwhile in the anime, Twice’s death take place in episode 3. The battle lasted until episode 4. Hawks origin story takes place in episode 16. October 2022 until January 2023. That’s only a 3 month gap.

I didn’t realize how much of a difference that makes until I saw people’s reaction to Hawks this season. When chapter 266 was released, people hated Hawks for killing Twice. It lasted quite a while too. It only begins to slow when chapter 299 came out a year later.

In contrast, I was expecting pretty much the same reaction after season 6 episode 3, only for 3 months later people are simping for scarred short haired Hawks instead???

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀

[florainkingdom]

"Well, if the Keeper was to put up a bit of a fight about it, he'll have his hands full with my sister out there. Hopefully he'll at least work with her so that doesn't happen, because she isn't the greatest at pulling her punches. Then again, if the Keeper has a personality like her, well, I guess a fight is unavoidable." Blitz had seen a lot of time gods, and they sure loved to be in control of things. Made sense given their job.

"Well, I had a feeling you might be tempted to ask if there was something we could do to not have them marry. Figured I'd get it out of the way first." Blitz would take a seat. "I wonder if dream tea still stays after you leave the dream," the fox said before taking a sip.

"Oh, trust me, I know all about divine twins. When I became a primordial all the others were up in arms, well, expect for one. Anyway, they decided to ask Forger to create an opposite for me, just to take me out and take the power I was given back. And they nearly got me to a lot of times." Blitz then looked off to the side seeming to think before looking at Sol and leaning forward slightly.

"They said I only had one choice, end them and each one who holds their power next. Though I knew that would only start a cycle, one that wouldn't end. So, I made a different choice. I let them get back up, watched them recover, and we just kept going at it. Fought for six months, and made he realize there was another choice, to exist together."

"Because if there's one thing I learned about fate, is that it can bite me. Sometimes, we have to make our own branch. I won't say we get along, though we don't try to kill each other. We keep the balance in the universe, just in our own ways. That said, it's easier to find a balance when it's broken. Wish I could give you an easy solution where everyone walks away happy." Blitz doubts his story would even help, though never hurts to share in this situation.

The fox then looked at the orb, chuckling a bit. "Sorry, not finding your offer funny. I just have a bit of a better way." He would pull out a seed from his pocket, holding it out for Sol to take. "A primordial seed. Plant it, and you'll always be able to contact me and I you. Besides, it's a bit safer than me carrying something I could lose. I get in a LOT of fights. As for the Keeper, I think I'll let my sister handle that. By now she should've gotten the ticket I made. Can't have something with a small amount of my energy around."

Sol wasn't a fool, she'd lived long enough to see stars born and blink out of existence. She knew any change to a timeline could ripple along the sands of time creating a great wave that could shatter reality. It was why only gods of time were ever allowed to manipulate time in any capacity. She knew the care taker would see that nothing was damaged or changed to drastically. It was his duty to oversee time until such time as the keeper returned. Still she knew that this would happy the moment Poppy decided to bind herself with that Flora girl. But it made her happy, and that lone made Sol happy.

" The Keeper of Time's assistant is the only one who can truly facilitate any alterations to the time stream. With the Great Keeper missing, he is all that maintains the great clock. His realm is not easily accessed however. "

She only smiled as she poured them both a cup of tea and nestle down onto a great chair. Her smile as bright as the sun, there was naught but joy in her smile when speaking of her daughter.

" Talk my daughter out of her notion of marriage? I doubt i could or you or anyone else. She is quite smitten by Poppy, though i hope she does not grow to regret this choice. She has all to often rushed into love without thinking... but i suppose that is the mortal part of her... "

She glanced to one side her eyes looking softer still as the conversation shifted to her cycle. Her inevitable death, and the ascension of her daughter. It wasn't sadness at her own passing but of the trials that yet awaited her daughter. She knew every goddess faced there own troubles and Blazes she feared might be the greatest yet.

" I understand what you intend and i do appreciate the kind sentiment. But i must decline the offer, there are reasons i am locked away as i am... "

She spoke with a somber tone as her eyes looked out her window toward what appeared to be a great darkness in the distance. As if it threatened to consume her dream and yet the bright light kept that darkness at bay.

" You must have guessed by now that i did not lock myself away out of simple paranoia. Or to avoid the war, the truth is... every divine being has there twin. A divine opposite, whose power is equal to there own. In my case... we are eternally bound together... two halves of the equation. If i were to wake so to would he... and his darkness would consume all of Sol... so i must remain, until the fated time arrives... "

The dark truth revealed, a truth not even the priests of Sol knew. That the darkness that nearly consumed all of Sol during the cataclysm was her dark sibling. Together they were life and death two halves of the coin. She could not wake without also waking them, and so to protect Sol--- She remains in her slumber eternally.

To his final question she looked conflicted as if she was unsure if Blaze was ready for such power. Ready to take on this mantle, and to assume the role of guardian. To keep the darkness in check, to become its warden.

" Blaze is far from ready to face the trials of Ascension. But make no mistake... she's far more powerful then she knows. I have confidence that my little flame will be ready when the time comes. until then i shall be there in her dreams to console her as best i can. "

She created a little orb in her hand, a well of knowledge a simple way for gods to pass on information. She offered it to Blitz with a humble smile as she held it toward him.

" The location of the great clock... you will still have to convince the Caretaker of your plight... and do be careful. Not all gods in Sol are as kindly as Morpheus and myself. There are those who will see your presence here as a threat... "

[ourhouseishaunted]

people acting as if laios can Do No Wrong and infantilizing him because he is autistic are annoying as hell. especially because laios belongs to my favorite genre of character: "person who desperately wants friends and deep relationships because they're lonely, and while part of their problems stem from people not wanting to understand them and refusing to meet them where they are, they also genuinely come across in a way where you Completely Understand why others can get turned off from them"

[the-lark-ascending69]

If Robin were a boy she'd be everyone's favorite character but since she's a girl she only gets to be Steve's gay best friend.