#there are so many moments i would like to see as an anime...

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

When I lived in the Midwest region of the US, we were taken to local farms for field trips. We learned a lot about animals, especially how they're treated. The dairy cows were set up in damn near luxury. The dairy farm we visited had pads covered in hay specifically so the dairy cows are super comfy. They explained that if the calves were allowed to roam around while the cows were milked, they would injure themselves, and we were show how that happens. They had several goats on this arm as well, and they demonstrated how the horns are moved and explained why. The kids (that's what baby goats are called, and you'll see why we call human children kids when you see goats play) like to play around, lots of jumping, bouncing, and climbing, and head-butting. Namely the male goats. If they had horns, they would seriously injure each other and everyone else. Especially as adults, because they may attack their human caretakers, and breeding season is when the rams (male goats) get most aggressive and territorial.

The dairy cows and nannies (female goats who are rearing kids) are treated like royalty because they are the primary source of income. Milk, cheese, butter, and goat's milk is used in many skincare products. They're given food to meet their needs, deprived of nothing, get veterinary care the moment they show symptoms of anything (like an infected udder, which happens regardless of milking them or not), their bedding is changed daily, and their caretakers build strong bonds with them.

We also visited a beef ranch, and it's much the same. They're the primary source of income. A sick animal is a massive loss. That's thousands of dollars right there. Beef cattle are more aggressive, so their care is adjusted specifically for this. For vaccinations, they're placed in a very highly cushioned device that squeezes them in place, causing no harm, then vaccinated, and off they go. This ranch put permanent tags on their ears, like an earring, with a number on it. It helps them keep track of each animal, what veterinarian care they've received, their age, breeding status, etc. Yes, it hurts when it occurs, but it hurts when humans have their ears pierced as well. This is also done when the calves are barely weened, as does the branding. They don't remember either of these things happening.

Animals do not have rights. If they did, they would be voting, paying taxes, etc. They are animals, not people. Farm animals are the primary source of income for many farms and all ranches. If the crops fail, the animals are what save the farmers from losing everything. Many ranchers and farmers are also open to educating people about how things work on a farm and ranch. You just need to ask. Ignorance is dangerous, and has resulted in the deaths of many animals. A farm we visited explained that PETA had trespassed onto the property overnight. They released all the chickens and goats, resulting in the deaths of nearly every chicken and almost a quarter of their goats. How? Predators are most active at night, and foxes are especially fond of chickens. The goats wandered off the farm, and predators made a meal of them. Several other farms and ranches in the area suffered the same thing within a week, and hundreds of animals died. PETA even posted an article in the local paper, claiming to have done this, stating they're proud they "saved" the animals.

Stop watching the bullshit documentaries. Anything claiming to be about "animal rights" is to be avoided. It's not going to help you, it's not going to educate you. Talk to actual ranchers and farmers, and you can often do this at a farmers market. Some may even offer you a tour of their farm or ranch. One of the local goat farms in my area actually advertises tours, and you only have to pay by helping on the farm while you visit. Said farm also rents out their goats to help "mow" your lawn. Blackberries are an invasive plant here, entire businesses are dedicated to their removal, and these goats fucking love these things. They also leave some natural fertilizer in their wake, and help reestablish native grasses. How is this evil? How is abuse?

I'm vegan, but I'm also educated about how farms and ranches work, and I don't go trying to force my dietary choice on everyone else. Being vegan does not make you superior in any form or fashion, so stop acting like anyone who has animals (zoos, farms, ranches, etc) is evil.

This is an opinion brought to you by a rancher, who knows quite a few other ranchers and dairy farms.

I recently watched a documentary called Earthlings, which gets praised on a lot in the Vegan, animal rights, and animal welfare tags.

This documentary is complete, biased, exaggerated, and twisted bullshit (At least when it comes to beef and dairy, which is what I’m talking about)

It opens on beef with branding, showing an animal being hot ironed on the face. In my state, you cannot register to brand a cow on a face. In fact, the face is the least common branding site available, as it can damage the cow’s jaw and make it difficult for her to eat. The most common branding site is the hip, rib, and shoulder, but the documentary simply says, cows are branded on their face.

Does it say why? No. Because obviously we scar our animals for fun, right? Cattle don’t have microchips like a dog. If your dog gets stolen, you can usually find it because of it’s Microchipped. Cows don’t have that. Cows are so expensive, they’re like gold, so often Ranchers brand their cattle. If a cow has a brand, she cannot be sold without the brand owner’s authorization, meaning, someone can not steal young, healthy animals from my pasture, and sell them for slaughter.

Next they go on to dehorning, stating that it is cruel, painful, and often done with simple pliers. HAaha.

If I have an animal, I don’t want to ruin it by painfully tearing off it’s horns. This animal will never let me touch it again!

Most cattle, and I DO mean most, are dehorned either as calves (Less painful, not remembered), or have a shot to numb the area at the base of the horn before it’s CUT off, not YANKED off. This way, the cow can still be handled.

Does the documentary say WHY cattle are dehorned? Does it mention that a cow with horns is a danger to itself, humans, and other animals? No? Of course not!

Beef cattle are not stuffed into trailers until it’s so full the animals die. This makes absolutely no sense. If the animals die before they reach the sale ring or slaughter house, no paycheck for you! You make less money if the animals die before slaughter.

Nothing the documentary covers is explained why. WHY do they do that? It’s biased. It makes it seem like ranchers and farmers WANT to hurt their cattle. They don’t. Most of us get attached to our cows. It exaggerates EVERYTHING

Dairy

According to the documentary, Dairy cattle are CHAINED to their stalls, in their own feces, with no water or food, pumped full of hormones to make them milk more. Wrong.

A dairy barn consists of a long isle down the middle of the barn, with a large alley on each side for the cattle. The cattle can walk down the main alley, or lay in a padded stall. They can stick their head through railings to eat food specially mixed to meet all their needs, or drink water. Dairy barns, because they produce milk that MUST be clean, cannot milk a cow pumped full or hormones and chemicals, and clean their barns daily to avoid bacteria. WOW! It’s almost like we take care of our animals so they produce! WHO KNEW?

Most dairy cattle are allowed to graze in a pasture with their calves, until they’re milked in the morning and the evening. Others keep their cows in a well airated barn. Calves are removed to avoid injury! Calves are often kept it smaller pens, with calf huts, pads, soft bedding, and even blankets! It is counter productive to not care for a calf. A calf is your future cow! Dairy farmers feed them the highest quality milk so the calves grow into strong, productive animals.

Dieing cows are not left in the isles. If a cow begins to appear sick, a vet is called. Simple as that.

The documentary states that a cow’s lifespan can reach 20. WRONG. at the age of 8 or 9, a cow starts to lose her teeth. If you kept a cow alive until 20 she would be malnourished and miserable, unable to eat. The average cow lives until 8 or 9, at which point they are sold. It would be cruel to keep an animal who cannot eat or fulfill it’s own needs.

Cows do not, on average, die at FOUR YEARS OLD because of exhaustion! Four years, at almost any dairy or ranch you visit, is a cow in her PRIME! We do not run our animals to death. We do NOT torture them.

You don’t eat meat? Great! Do your thing! Eat your veggies! That’s fine! But don’t make me out to be devilspawn if I eat meat. Don’t make me out to be cruel, (As stated by the documentary, as cruel as hitler to the jews), because I raise cattle. Fuck. You.

The shit thing about that documentary is it preys on people who have never been on a farm or dairy. If you’ve never been to one, it’s easy to believe things like this. If I made a documentary about how vegans grew their food, and showed it to people who have never met Vegans, or seen how crops are grown, I could easily exaggerate and make Veganism seem horrible, like this documentary does to livestock owners.

Please stop hating on ranchers and farmers. Please?

[serpentface]

THE KHAIT BRIDEGROOM (South Wardi variant)

(A romantic folktale in which a girl marries her khait, kinda)

There once was a poor maize farmer, living in a mud hut at the edge of a village on the Brilla river. His beloved wife had died in childbirth, leaving him with only a daughter to raise on his own. The two led very difficult lives, and he mourned that he could not grant his daughter the ease and safety that she deserved. She had to work the fields just as hard as he did from the moment she was able to walk.

The most valuable asset to the farmer’s name was a beautiful young bull khait, who he had found roaming wild in the scrub. The khait was big and strong, with fur that shone gold like sunlight and was spattered with white spots like stars. He was never gelded, for he was a gentle and docile animal that bore none of the wild ferocity of many an intact bull. He took the yoke without complaint, and bore a rider with unwavering patience. Many had tried to buy the great beast from the farmer, but he refused all offers. Having such a fine working animal of his very own was a gift beyond the farmer's wildest dreams, and the khait was worth far more to him than anything he was offered.

The farmer had no fear that his khait would ever harm his daughter, and so she spent many days working him in the fields on her own. She always treated the animal with a kind, gentle hand, and he trusted her deeply and worked himself hard for her sake. The girl and beast became dearly bonded during the years of her childhood.

But the farmer’s daughter had just recently come into womanhood, and he was now tasked with finding her a good husband, and perhaps a better life in the process. He approached every man of good standing that he could find, but each laughed in his face. His daughter was too ugly, they said, and the farmer certainly couldn’t offer a good enough dowry to make up for it.

And it was true that his daughter wasn’t all that pleasant to the eye. Her hair was loose and matted, her skin was sun-worn and rough, she was often dirty from her labors, and the only cloak she owned was tattered and worn over her naked body. But beneath all that she was kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. A man could not truly ask for a better wife, and so the farmer persisted.

The only potential suitor he had yet to approach was the son of his village’s chieftain, who was newly a man and as of yet unwed. The farmer knew he had little to offer the man, but hoped that the son of a wise elder would see his daughter’s virtue.

And so brought his young daughter to meet the chieftain’s son. He supplicated himself before the youth, laying one hand on the man’s foot and one across his own breast.

“My lord, I would offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son held back a laugh. He certainly could ask for a better wife, and quite easily! He found the very proposition to be insulting. But he had a rather lowly and vicious nature, and thus he pretended to contemplate the offer.

He looked the girl over with a deep frown, and shook his head.

“As tempting as this sounds, I must refuse. Her hair is too matted and ugly, I cannot have an unkempt woman for my wife. Perhaps if she manages to fix it, we can discuss engagement." The chieftain's son said.

And he sent the father and daughter away.

The girl had nothing left but to attend to her chores. It was the beginning of the planting season, and she had far too much work to do to wallow in her sadness. She held back tears as she placed the yoke on the khait’s neck, and began to cry to herself as she hitched him to the plow.

“What’s wrong?” Asked the khait.

“The chieftain’s son won’t marry me. He says my hair is too matted and ugly. He thinks I am unkempt.” The girl wept.

The khait felt great pity for her. It was true that her hair was quite disagreeable, but through no fault of her own. She had no mother to teach her to braid it finely, and her daily labor was too dirty and strenuous to keep it neat. It hurt his heart to see her so sad. And so he asked his friends, little egret and magpie, for help.

Magpie flew off to a distant town, and there he stole a ball of sweet-smelling soap and a jar of sesame oil. And meanwhile, little egret sat upon the girl’s shoulder as she guided the plow, picking lice out of her hair and teasing apart the tangles with her nimble beak. 

The next morning, the girl rode down to the river upon the khait’s back. The great beast stood guard and shielded her body while she washed her body and cloak with the fine soap and oil. She scraped the dirt from her skin and oiled and rinsed her hair until it was clean. Little egret taught her to braid her hair finely, and together they wove it into two neat strands, scarcely a hair loose.

She thanked the khait for his help, and he nodded his great head, relaxing as little egret and magpie took flies from his ears in payment.

The girl returned home and excitedly showed her father the good news. Her once filthy hair now shone bright and clean like chains of bronze, fragrant with oil and falling in two tight braids down to her breast. Both rejoiced, and her father took her to meet with the chieftain’s son again.

The farmer supplicated himself again, and said:

“My lord, I would again offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. Her hair is beautiful and well-kept, and shines like bronze. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son looked her over with a deep frown, and shook his head.

“I suppose her hair is quite beautiful now, but on second look-… Her cloak is tattered and worn, and she carries herself like a barbarian, wearing nothing underneath. I cannot have such a lowly woman as a wife. Perhaps if she manages to clothe herself properly, we can discuss engagement.”

And he sent the father and daughter away.

The girl returned to her tasks, humiliated and miserable. She flung the seed as if she disdained it, stomping through the freshly tilled fields in her anger.

“What’s wrong?” said the khait, gently nosing her shoulder.

“The chieftain’s son still won’t marry me. He says my cloak is too tattered and worn, and that I am naked like a barbarian. He thinks I am lowly.” the girl said.

The khait was upset for her sake. She had only one cloak to her name and walked near-naked underneath, this was true, but she took precious care of what little she had, and carried herself with modesty and dignity. It hurt his heart to see her honor insulted.

“Go down to the river and gather a bushel of the sweetest, greenest grass you can find, and take your father’s sharpest knife. Return to me, and I will take you to someone who can help.” the khait said.

And so the girl and went about gathering grass, taking only the most succulent of stalks and wrapping it all in an old blanket. She returned to the khait, knife and grass in tow. He took her upon his back, and together they rode into the brush.

They traveled for half the day, all the way to the Red Hills. There they came across a big horse with wool the color of snow, surrounded by his brightly spotted yakintsi wives.

The khait saluted him with a loud bellow. He stood nearly thrice as tall as the horse, but bowed his head in deference all the same.

“Lord of the hill, I humbly ask you to give this girl some of your wool. She brings fine riverside grass as a gift in trade.” the khait said.

This horse, though of tame stock, was himself wild and proud. The thought of being sheared was a bit humiliating, and he considered leaving his visitors in the dust then and there. But the forage of his hills were poor and sparse, and the bundle of grass the girl had brought was quite enticing. And his wool had grown a bit too thick and fine for the hot weather, and he could certainly stand to lose some.

“Fine,” he said, “She may shear my wool for as long as it takes for me to finish eating, and not a moment longer.”

And so the horse chomped away at the grass while the girl made quick work of shearing him. By the time the horse finished and ran off, the girl had gotten herself a hulking pile of fine, white wool. She carefully bundled it into her blanket, and the girl and khait rode back home.

She spent many days spinning the wool, and meanwhile the khait brought her kolis flower and foxgloves to make dye and precious feathers and cowries for adornment. She then spent many more days in weaving, until she had a fine cloak and veil of yellow, a grass-green headband with white stripes, and a pure white dress to wear underneath.

She happily showed her father her new clothes. Both rejoiced, and her father took her to meet with the chieftain’s son again. This time, the girl rode astride the khait so that her dress would not be dirtied by walking. She was a resplendent sight atop the beautiful animal, her brown braids gleaming against the rich yellow of her cloak and lovely white gull feathers and shells ornamenting her headband.

The farmer supplicated himself a third time, and said:

“My lord, I would again offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. Her hair is beautiful and well-kept, and shines like bronze. Her cloak and veil are fine and well-made, and she wears a dress of pure white. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son looked her over with a deep frown, and shook his head. 

“Her hair may be very beautiful, and her clothes may be fine, but on third look-… Don’t her hips seem a little narrow to you? A little too lean? She will never be able to bear healthy children.”

And, seeing a possibility, he added:

“But perhaps that could change with a good offering. Give me your khait as part of her dowry, and I will offer him up to bless your unfortunate daughter. Then we can discuss engagement.”

The farmer was pained at this. He could hardly bear to lose such a precious and hardworking animal. But the thought of seeing his beloved daughter sad and alone pained him far more. He reluctantly agreed.

“This khait is a fine and noble animal, gentle and docile, and agreeable to hard work. He is young and has never once been bred. One could scarcely make a finer offering than him.” The farmer said sadly.

And with that, the khait was handed off to the chieftain’s son. But he had no intent on making an offering of the animal in sacrifice, just as he had no intent on marrying the girl. The khait was a very fine beast indeed, and the chieftain’s son wanted him for his own herd.

But his satisfaction at his play soon turned to frustration. He had hoped to use this fine bull as a stud, but the khait refused to cover any mare. He thought that certainly he could pull a plow or carry a rider, but the khait shook off the yoke and bucked and kicked at the sight of saddle. The man couldn’t even bridle the khait, who would lower his horns and paw the earth at the mere sight of him. The chieftain’s son finally decided to geld him in hopes that the beast would become less spirited, but he couldn’t even make the approach. The khait charged him on sight, and ropes meant to hold him seemed to slip off his neck like water.

“That wretched plowman lied to me, this animal is bad-tempered and wild. He probably has a better khait hidden somewhere, that greedy dog. This one is useless.” The chieftain’s son said to himself. He decided there was no remaining use for the khait but to butcher him for a feast.

It took ten men to capture the khait, and ten more to hold him down. The chieftain’s son, who by now felt quite vindictive towards the great beast, decided he wanted the honors of the slaying himself. He held the furious khait by the horns and sliced a deep gash across his neck.

But to the astonishment of everyone watching, no lifeblood poured from the wound. Instead, the khait’s form seemed to shift right before their eyes, its great bulk shrinking beneath its flesh. Its golden hide fell open, and out from underneath climbed a human man. He was tall and handsome, with freckled skin that shone like bronze, and a thick beard and long curled hair the color of gold. He covered himself in his own shed hide, and spoke to the chieftain’s son with great disdain.

“You are a pathetic dogfaced excuse of a man, a liar and a thief. You live crawling so low that you can’t see a good thing standing right in front of you. If you won’t marry her, I will.”

And with that, he left the man and his entourage behind in astonishment.

The khait-man did not head back home straight away, but instead slipped into the brush where little egret and magpie were waiting for him. He had bidden his time under chieftain’s son’s care so that they could help him collect a great bridal gift.

He clothed himself in a fine cloak and skirt, and said farewell to the birds, who mourned their loss of lazy spent eating flies off his back. Hefting his gift onto his strong, broad shoulder, the khait-man made his way back to the little mud hut.

The farmer answered the call at his door with his daughter hiding behind him, frightened of this strange man. But as she looked at him she quickly recognized the gentleness in his eyes, the familiar sunlit shine of his hair, and her heart was glad.

The khait-man knelt and bowed deeply, and said to the farmer:

“I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient, and more beautiful than the sun. I could not ask for a better wife.”

And the khait-man laid out his gift- rare and resplendent feathers, precious shells, fine wool, and his own lovely golden hide. This would more than cover the girl’s dower and the farmer’s loss of his khait, and leave him a hefty sum of wealth behind as well.

The farmer agreed to the proposal with great enthusiasm, and the girl and the khait-man were thus betrothed.

And so they were wed, and had many children. The girls were beautiful and the boys were handsome, but all were a little strange- their hair was shone gold like sunlight, and their skin was spattered in freckles like stars.

NOTES:

Animal stories feature heavily into Wardi folktales. There are two distinct (though not wholly separate) traditions of animal stories- the older tales focus more heavily on talking animals as archetypal figures- a trickster hare, a greedy hyena, a cowardly jackal, a brave lion, etc- interacting in the wild with little to no human presence, or with Human being just one animal figure. These are at least in part the remains of original animistic religious traditions among early Wardi groups, wherein animal spirits would be used as figures in tutelary and/or explanatory fables (and for entertainment).

The modern era tradition tends to focus more on talking animals interacting with humans within the framework of human society. In some cases the animal’s ability for speech is unquestioned, in other cases the animal is explicitly magical in nature. These variants still tend to retain old style animal fable elements and their learned archetypal relationships. IE: a khait having a little egret and magpie as friends is an old archetype- (the little egret is a bird that follows large ungulates to feed on flies and stirred up insects, and a type of magpie in the region is known to eat flies and ticks off of large ungulates, and to be more tolerated than oxpeckers), these birds would often be cast as friends or servants of large, noble ungulates. The theme of the khait having access to a sort of separate animal society also resembles the theming of the older animal stories.

This particular fable has many variants across the Wardi sphere. The girl is usually a peasant’s daughter, but is sometimes a noblewoman mistreated by her family. The animal is usually a khait, but sometimes a bull, very occasionally another animal (a horse in some North Wardi traditions, one highly derived Highlands variant has a dragon as a spouse).

The khait bridegroom story is just one part of a much broader folktale archetype, whose core points are:

A virtuous young woman is unable to find a husband, is beautiful but made ugly and dirty by her lifestyle (usually either poverty or abuse)

An animal helping figure assists her (sometimes its an actual animal, sometimes its the spirit of a dead relative in animal form, sometimes its a shapeshifter, a wild spirit, a minor deity, or a cursed human)

There is a conflict between a good suitor and bad suitor- in some cases the good suitor is the animal, in other cases he is a third party.

This archetype extends far beyond the Wardi cultural sphere, and directly connected variants can be found among all the Viper and Mouth seaway adjacent peoples (Burri, Kos, Titen, Finn, Royal Dain and some other Dain groups, Ubiyan, Uboe, Wogan, Wardi, Cholemdinae, Hill Tribes, Yuroma), sometimes in addition to or merged with separate animal bride(groom) folktales. This spread is through a combination of common ancestry of some groups, and regular historical interaction of others. Very similar folktales occur elsewhere in the world, but likely developed independently.

In this variant of the story, the khait's ability to talk and transform into a human is not explicitly explained, as it's not a core concern of the narrative. In some other variants, the khait is specifically a nobleman or prince or otherwise upstanding man who has been cursed into animal form (and is cured at some point in the story), or he is a benevolent shapeshifter (belief in people with the ability to magically change into animals via wearing skins is very common, largely considered silly commoner superstition by the urban elite but still very popular in folktales). The latter is heavily implied here, especially by the khait removing his skin to transform and giving it up in marriage.

A perhaps unexpected subset of this folktale's popularity is its imagery being a common motif erotic art objects, particularly the matter of inevitable consummation of the khait-man and girl's marriage. These are usually not considered outright pornographic (as is true for most Wardi erotic art), and often are mildly humorous in nature, fully embracing the strangeness of a girl marrying what was, up until recently. an animal. The suitor is usually depicted with a head of a khait, even when in human form. Animal headed figures in Wardi art are almost never meant to be taken literally, and instead are used to describe inner nature (in this case, him being a literal animal, but in other cases it's nature in a more abstract sense- ie: some visual representations of Odonii or the Odomache depict them with the heads of a lion) or as a visual shorthand for shapeshifting.

The less explicit cup in a matching pair depicting the khait-man and girl's wedding night (though is only tied to the story by its concept, and is otherwise quite tonally disparate).

He's shown presenting her with a courtship gift of an ornamental domestic duck, which will read as comical- it may suggest that he's nervously trying to secure her affections despite being already married, or that he doesn't know how courtship works (because he was an animal up until, like, yesterday) and thinks he needs to give gifts to get sex. The oversized phallus will also be read as humorous. The tapered shape is not intending to represent an ungulate penis, and is instead a visual pun on the phrase 'a bull led by his horns'.

While this cup is intended to function as a decorative and mildly humorous art piece (rather than outright arousing to the audience), the depiction of the young woman is straightforwardly sexualized, with the high focus on her thighs and buttocks (which is a cultural focal point for feminine sexual beauty) and her wavy un-braided hair (common in erotic scenes, as it gives the audience a voyeuristic sensation that they are VERY specifically looking in on a highly private scene (due to women normally keeping hair braided outside of the home)).

This cup is a very fine art piece made by a devoted craftsman. This degree of stylistic realism is rare in Wardi art and a largely contemporary phenomena, due to the increasing demand for accurate visual representations of public figures in statuary, frescoes, and coinage partly leading to the rise of a highly skilled, wealthy craftsman class. The relative surplus of these elite artists has led to some instead making a living on such things as antelope-man erotica objects for nobles to leave out in their domiciles as conversation pieces.

[catcake24]

Universal Misunderstandings

Summary: Based on @keferon's Mech Pilot Jazz AU. Jazz is a Mech Pilot who gets lost in space.

I wrote this in like... an hour, so I'm sorry if it isn't very good. I just needed to get it out, even if it's a little clunky. (Also I don't write Jazz and Prowl often, so they might be a bit ooc)

If you had asked Jazz what was the craziest thing he ever saw, he would say the moment the giant ships entered earth’s atmosphere for the first alien invasion. Or maybe when he joined the mecha program to fight those aliens, and saw the mecha suits they would be piloting for the first time.

He wasn’t sure if meeting a race of giant robots was any crazier than that, but it was at least top three now.

Being a mecha pilot was surprisingly routine in some ways, similar to the times he was a NASCAR driver in some strange ways. How he would check his machine before every mission, how he piloted it like it was an extension of him, and how painfully aware he was of the danger all around him.

Only now, instead of being at risk of crashing into another driver or spinning off the track, he was at risk of being killed by giant aliens with five faces and so many tentacles.

No one was even sure why the aliens attacked in the first place, only that they desired some sort of potent energy source that was only discovered after they drove the aliens from one of their mines on Earth - and what was found in them revolutionized their technology forever.

They called them Lightning Crystals, based on the blue glow and the little shocks they delivered. The crystals were rare, but extremely potent in energy unparalleled by anything on earth.

Exactly what they needed. Oh, sure for solving global warming and creating efficient technology of course. But they also were the missing element in the new M.E.C.H. program – giant robots which could be controlled by a single person, able to pack as much punch as the aliens. With the Lightning Crystals, they could power these giant machines and finally drive them from their planet.

Jazz was one of the top pilots, though his Mech Suit was focused on rescuing people from peril and buying time as they evacuated a city that would be attacked. It was almost once a month, or several times if they were unlucky – the aliens would land, attempt to get a foothold on their planet, but were driven off by the Mecha. Only to appear again the next time.

And so, the routine was set. Go out, punch some aliens, retreat and recover, and start all over again later. It wasn’t glamourous, but Jazz knew he was doing his part in protecting the planet.

That changed when the Space Program was initialized.

The director of MECH realized they needed some sort of foothold in space, to fight back before they landed on the planet and destroy the ships they had just out of striking range out in the void.

Jazz was selected as one of the first, as his smaller robot would be more ideal for space travel – or so they told him, he wasn’t totally sure if that was bullshit or not anymore.

And so, Jazz found himself being launched into space to fight Aliens. He wasn’t sure when exactly his life turned into an anime, but it definitely felt like one.

During the fight though, something went wrong.

Jazz had been thrown into one of their ships, there was frantic beeping and flashing, and suddenly he felt his whole body feel every sensation at once – and when he got his bearings and noticed the ship was in motion again, he realized, with a sinking terror, that he couldn’t see earth in any direction around him.

His worst fears were only confirmed when he was thrown off the small space shuttle, and couldn’t contact ground support after he crashed onto an unknown planet.

He had to take a few hours to himself, and screamed inside his mech suit’s protective armour. Jazz didn’t know when he passed out from crying, but he felt somewhat refreshed. Not any better, but… not exhausted.

All things considered… he would be alright for a little while. He found more lightning crystals on the planet, and had some rations he could stretch out for awhile. But he wasn’t sure what to do, without any idea where he was or how to contact home.

He set up his homing beacon, and just hoped again all odds that maybe it would be picked up by someone.

-

Prowl wasn’t a very social cybertronian, everyone knew that about him. He wasn’t anti-social, but he didn’t have an easy time communicating with others.

He would be too blunt, or maybe just not react the right way, and suddenly they were upset for reasons he didn’t immediately recognize. He got better at learning what was and wasn’t acceptable in the broad terms, but he struggled with specifics sometimes.

But Prowl was also brilliant – that wasn’t ego, it was repeated often enough that even he had to accept it. The Tac-Net within his processor was faster than any standard internal strategy computer, but that was only a tool. His processor was able to churn through all the data it gave him, and utilize it to its fullest extent with his own creativity and intelligence.

It made him one of the vital assets to the Autobots, and later to the combined cybertronian armies which fought the Quintessons – a walking battle computer, able to analyze a battle field and begin a counter strategy before the opponent even realized it.

So, his communication issue was merely a minor inconvenience in comparison.

Even still, he didn’t have many friends, and he was used to his own company. Prowl didn’t think on it often, just focusing on his task.

Prowl was alone while crossing a large stretch of uninhabited space, a spiral galaxy system which consisted of planets either barren or void of sentient life, when he received the ping on his console.

Unknown Energy Signature, Distress Beacon Detected. Prowl frowned as he read across his screen, because it didn’t make sense at first. He pulled the ship around for a second look before he lost the signal, and saw it was located on a nearby planet.

His Tac Net spat back possibilities when probed, ranging from “Quintesson Trap” to “New Emerging Sentient Life”, and he deemed the risk low enough to check at least.

Prowl wasn’t a social mech, but he wasn’t as heartless as some soldiers said he was.

-

Jazz didn’t notice the ship until it was almost right above him, but he was still in his Mech Suit luckily enough. Using the larger bulk of this robotic body, he tried to wave the ship down using his long arms with a burst of frantic energy.

The Mech robot was psychically linked to himself, and so it was easy enough to arrange the machine’s body to look like a crazy person looking to hitchhike on the highway. He didn’t care though, only happy that someone, anyone, had found him.

It definitely wasn’t human, there were basically no ships of this design and even if there were none had launched yet. Another alien race didn’t seem too far off either, whoever they were. But really, they could be made of goo and Jazz would probably hug them in thanks.

He only really started to realize that this might be a bad thing when the ship landed, because that thing had some pretty big guns. Or maybe those weird energy blasters he saw before, and this was one of the aliens trying to colonize his planet.

Still though, he swallowed his fears and put on a brave face – even if no one else saw. He strutted up to the large ship like he owned it, and… waited.

The ship door opened soon enough, lowering down into a ramp, and out stepped… another robot?

Jazz blinked, suddenly very aware of his body inside of the mech suit, when he saw it… or them?

He didn’t know what to think, seeing the human-like face and odd proportions of their body. Was this another mech suit of some sort? Why did it have wheels?

Jazz had to snap out of it, because the robot started talking to him.

“Dobbqfkdp,” they said with a stoic demeanour, “xj F ql xpprjb vlr ibcq qeb afpqobpp pfdkxi? F txpk’q xtxob qebob txp olylqfz ifcb qefp cxo lrq fkql qeb dxixuv.”

Unfortunately, Jazz didn’t understand a word of it. The robot was holding the blaster on their hip, obviously ready to attack if Jazz proved hostile.

Hesitantly, he turned on his communications radio and spoke.

“Umm, sorry my guy, but I don’t know what you’re saying? I’m a bit new around here is all,” he said with a somewhat nervous laugh. He almost wished his own mech had a face, so he could express how he wasn’t hostile.

There was silence for a moment, the wind blowing by around them and picking up a barrage of maroon plantlife that looked like flowerpetals. It was serene to see, but Jazz kept his focus on the robot whose eyes were widening in surprise.

They then cleared their throat, deliberately taking their hand off the gun and offered something. Jazz stepped forwards hesitantly, seeing it was a small chip.

The robot gave a forced smile, obviously trying to not appear threatening but looking awkward instead. “Jv xmlildfbp. Bah-weep-Graaaghnah, weep ni ni bong.”

Somehow, against what was rational, the phrase they said made Jazz relax a little. It was a ridiculous nonsense in English, but somehow it made the offer seem less unknown.

Hesitantly, Jazz accepted the chip and plugged it into his mech. His eyes nearly bugged out when it started interfacing with his systems, almost pulling it out, before seeing what it was doing – it was scanning the coding and language of his mech’s sytems, pulling them out into a strange dictionary. Soon, it was done with a PING, and the chip ejected itself.

Holy shit, he thought, they have a fucking universal translator, like Star Trek!

The robot’s hand was extended again, obviously asking for the chip, and Jazz gingerly placed it back in the robot’s open palm – somehow having five fingers, which somehow was one of the first things Jazz noticed right now.

He was really overwhelmed, okay?!

The robot inserted the chip into the back of their head, and Jazz had a sinking realization.

Maybe he was jumping the gun, but the way the robot’s eyes went dim briefly as it processed the chip, made Jazz think is this an actual sentient robot?!

“Thank you, I suppose this must be very confusing for you,” the robot then said, in perfect English.

“Ugh… kind of?” He said, shrugging slightly which translated to his robot around him. It was a reflex hard to break, even if it was unnecessary for his mech to emote.

“We’ve known about aliens, but this is the first time I’m meeting one that doesn’t want to kill me,” he said, with a slight laugh at himself. “Sorry, this is really weird.”

“Well,” the mech said, giving a soft smile which looked much more genuine, “I’m sure my kind will be eager to welcome another robotic race to the galaxy.”

Jazz’s mind went blank, as he had two sudden realizations.

Holy shit, I was right, this is an actual sentient robot who is actually talking to me, quickly followed by, they think I’m also a robot.

This… might be messy.

Despite this, Jazz just gave a nod, “Well, I’m sure the feeling is mutual!” He said awkwardly.

“Now… can you help me off this planet?”

The robot gave a brisk nod. “Of course, it’s not uncommon for new space faring species to have transwarping incidents like these. Come with me, my people will help you get home.”

Without any better options, Jazz hopped onto the ship. As he went inside, he realized the whole thing was scaled to the giant robot he was with. Scaled to his mech as well, conveniently enough.

“So, could I get your name?” Jazz said, as he finally was getting ahold of his anxiety. At least he wasn’t dead, and he was going home, so suddenly this was feeling a lot less intimidating.

“Of course, I’m Prowl of Praxus. You?”

“Ummm, Jazz. Jazz Wilson,” he said.

“Very well, it’s nice to meet you Jazz Jazz Wilson,” Prowl said, and somehow that phrase, which wasn’t nearly the craziest part of this situation, got a bark of laughter from Jazz.

“Just Jazz is fine. It’s nice to meet you too Prowl.”

He got a nod of acknowledgement, as the ship flared to life and prepared for takeoff.

Jazz might need to sleep for a decade when he gets home.

(Translation for Prowl Earlier: Greetings, am I to assume you left the distress signal? I wasn’t aware there was robotic life this far out into the galaxy.)

I also won't apologize for using the transformers universal greeting :P, I love that thing. Canonically, it's a phrase so ridiculous that anyone who says it must mean no harm - which is why Jazz somewhat relaxes when he hears it despite not knowing what it means.

I hope you liked this short little story (≧∇≦)ﾉ it's more just exploring the concept than anything.

Also sorry for using the term mech or mecha wrong, I don't watch enough anime ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)

[riality-check]

Viktor thinks his leg should go without saying. Everyone else seems to disagree.

He is a cripple, not deaf or blind. He is perfectly capable of hearing the whispers over the thud of his cane as he passes by, not so focused on walking that he cannot see the way their gazes track him as he shuffles down the Academy’s halls.

There are too many stairs in the Academy, he is finding. Every time he encounters another set, he grits his teeth, hefts his bag a little higher on his left shoulder, and climbs, despite the growing ache in his right hip and the inordinate weight of the tomes he carries.

There is only the work, he reminds himself.

The number of people does not shrink as he climbs up to the fourth floor. They eye him in a way he cannot easily describe. It is not… hate, that is in their eyes. It is not quite suspicion, though Viktor is sure it would be were it not for the too-loose, too-stiff, too-fine Academy uniform he is wearing. It was a courtesy of Professor Heimerdinger, who had sent it along with the books and a map of the Academy, annotated with Viktor’s class schedule.

Heimerdinger has worse handwriting than the “doctors” Viktor is well acquainted with in the Undercity. Hence the early-morning visit to his office, where he is the entertainment for the other early Academy students. The ones who are more assured of their belonging here, if he can judge by their jewelry and their shoes.

(He wears no jewelry, has never owned any, and he stapled the outsole of his right shoe back together this morning.)

The other students, congregated around classroom doorways in their impenetrable social groups, stare at him in the same way he used to look at strays back home. They were a good source of amusement, given the absence of human company that plagued his childhood. He liked those animals. He fed them when he could, pet them when he couldn’t, and learned early how to tell when one would bite.

He realizes, as he spots the plaque outside of Heimderdinger’s office, that these students stare at him like that. They smirk with bemusement or avoid his gaze altogether. They hide their remarks poorly behind their hands.

They regard Viktor as a stray. Something to pity. Something to be cautious of. Something to be nice to, if he can prove himself by rolling over enough times.

Viktor supposes he is a stray, with how Heimerdinger plucked him off the streets of the Undercity and gave him a new “home.” What, does he now need a bell around his neck? Perform tricks?

He breathes and takes a moment to unclench his right hand from around his cane before it cramps too much to be useful. He resolves to do what he has done all his life: ignore the way they make him a spectacle, though they are worse up here, like they have never seen a cripple before.

Maybe topsiders have not. Viktor cannot recall seeing anyone like him so far.

He knocks on the office door before his brain can take him too far down that path. Unproductive.

Heimerdinger answers promptly. It is odd for Viktor, at his height, to have a superior he must look down at. He supposes it is something else he must get used to.

“Viktor,” the professor says, surprised, though he does let him in. “It’s early. Very early, my boy. Classes don’t begin for another half an hour.”

Viktor stands in front of the massive, dark wood desk and waits for Heimerdinger to sit back in his chair before he says, “Your map is illegible, and there are too many stairs.”

Undercity habits beget speaking quickly and directly; in an environment in which nothing is wasted, words are no exception. Topsiders, however, can afford waste.

“Professor,” Viktor tacks on in a too-late attempt to adhere to topside standards of respectability.

Heimerdinger, thankfully, chuckles. “Terribly sorry. You’d think that after enough decades of scribbling on blackboards, I could use a pen well enough.”

Well, no. After seeing this map, Viktor began to fear for this man’s students, himself included. Professor Heimerdinger teaches his introductory engineering course.

He draws up a new map, humming as he works. With nothing else to occupy himself, Viktor leans his cane against the desk, placing both hands on top of the furniture to take some weight off his hip, and surveys the office.

A bookshelf, matching the dark wood of the desk, stands along the far wall. Its shelves are bowed under the weight of the tomes it contains. Most of the spines are in languages he can read, some are not, and his fingers twitch toward them all the same. He stands on a plush, patterned rug - that explains the instability of his cane, and of his leg, he should rest a little more weight on this immovable desk - that would be better used as a blanket down below. Trinkets and baubles clutter the desk, the biggest of which is a globe. It spins of its own accord, illuminated by… something.

Viktor wants to take it apart. See how it works.

He takes his weight off the desk to kill that temptation and barely muffles a hiss at the flare of pain that shoots up his right leg from ankle to hip. He stretches his right hand surreptitiously behind his back, preparing to grab his cane once again.

This office looks exactly as he had expected it to from his one previous meeting with Professor Heimerdinger. It is practical… by topside standards; it is as large as his kitchen and bedroom back home put together, and any one of the items on the desk could pay three months’ rent, though that is… “low-balling” it, as he has heard some people say.

“Here you are,” Heimerdinger says, handing him the new, blessedly legible map.

Viktor takes it and scans it quickly. His first course is on this floor, thank goodness, but the rest…

“Professor, these are,” he pauses, trying to think of how to phrase his concern. He cannot seem ungrateful, not when Heimerdinger has already helped him and when he has him later for class, and he cannot be annoying, not when he was already ignored when he brought up the stairs the first time. 

But his leg screams at him, and to prevent the pain from giving him a sympathetic headache, as sometimes happens, he grabs his cane. To hell with the hand cramps.

“Is there any way to have all my classes on the first floor?” he finally says.

Heimerdinger glances at his cane, and his furry eyebrows raise. This is not the first time he has seen it, but Viktor thinks it is the first time the professor remembered it was there, or that it meant something besides… well, he does not know. A fashion statement, maybe?

Perhaps topsiders haven’t seen a cripple before. They would see plenty if they ever went down.

“We can’t move classes this late, I’m afraid,” Heimerdinger says sympathetically.

Viktor hears the unspoken “but if you had asked earlier” and bites his tongue against excuses.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I will manage.” And Viktor will, because Undercity habits mean that opportunities are not wasted either. A little pain is worth it. It will be no more difficult than anything he has already done.

Heimerdinger hops down from behind his desk and totters toward the door. As he passes Viktor, he pauses and makes an aborted movement to reach out to him before correcting course.

At least he stopped himself, but that was probably only for practical reasons. Unless Heimerdinger wished to replace his cane altogether - and what a shoddy replacement his bouncing steps would be for solid wood - there is nothing he can do.

And Viktor can walk on his own just fine. It is why he has the cane in the first place.

He grips the map a little tighter, hefts his bag onto his shoulder, and turns toward the door.

He makes it one step (on his injured leg, cane in his right hand) before Heimerdinger asks, “Viktor, which one of your legs is the bad one?”

He grits his teeth. There is no moral attribution to his body. It is neither good nor bad. It just has parts that work and parts that do not. He has one leg that works and one that does not. If he could chastise it into functioning by calling it “bad,” it would have been fixed when he was a child. But that is not how it works, and it is wasted energy.

“My right leg, Professor,” he says because he always wishes that any and all conversations about his leg be redirected to important matters as soon as possible.

Heimerdinger hums. “You’re using your cane incorrectly. You should hold it in your left hand, not your right.”

He mimes the motion, and Viktor tries not to feel… insulted? Ashamed? Coddled? Belittled? He cannot quite put a finger on it.

But there is no time for him to articulate it. Heimerdinger checks his pocket watch, squeaks, and runs faster than Viktor estimated his legs could carry him, leaving him alone in the threshold of the hallway.

He tries Heimerdinger’s suggestion, out of curiosity. The class is on this floor, and he has more than enough time to get there.

When he was a boy, no one taught him how to use a cane. He did what felt natural and what let him move the fastest. It was awkward, sure, but anything that caused him less pain was deemed a success.

It is awkward now, with the cane in his left hand. Slower as he walks down the hallway, because it is new. But it is more stable, he finds. A little less painful, as the pain stays localized to his ankle and knee, rather than his hip.

He could get used to it rather quickly, once he stops feeling so stupid about not knowing.

As he gets to his first class - it is in a room bigger than most big Undercity shops - the thump of his cane and his slow pace prompt more students and even his professor to stare at him. Viktor takes the closest open seat and is briefly, ludicrously, tempted to bark at them.

If they are going to treat him like a stray animal, should he not act like one?

No. He should not. Nothing is wasted, least of all this opportunity. He ducks his head down and opens a book on subjects he knows, matters he gets right, instead of wrong, like how to use his own cane, apparently.

Viktor thought he knew the comprehensive list of all his nonworking parts: the leg, of course, but also the childhood rickets, his lungs, his spine, the calcium deficiency that left his teeth stained slightly more yellow than topsiders’, whatever made him bendier than the average person, and not always in a good way.

Evidently, topside is intent on adding more to that list. Like the cane.

It does not matter. When he is the only one in the lecture hall who can answer the professor’s question - a leading one that she said they will know by the end of the semester - as a largely self-taught trencher, he relaxes. He even smiles.

There is only the work.

[goldengamer2500]

My theme would probably be the 3AM theme from Animal Crossing New Horizons. It's confusing but silly.

I mean I only realized that I might be trans slightly under a year ago by now, but honestly it wasn't much of a shock, it just... made sense.

I don't have that many "oh my god, I did/said this thing and I didn't think I was trans?!" since even as a child I was at least aware of the existence of trans people but I at the time I just didn't see it as something that was worth seeking out because "Well, I don't really feel like a man and I'm not interested in feeling like a man, but I also don't feel like a woman already so I cant be trans" (apparently that kind of circular logic is pretty common among unhatched eggs...)

To be honest I don't even know what clicked, I didn't go through anything traumatic, I didn't have a sudden epiphany, it just happened one day, probably while I was watching Onimai or something (which like, totally cis thing to immediately seek out and binge after hearing the name ONCE) and even then it was like "Wait, cis people don't think that it'd be fun to be the opposite gender? What do you mean most of them haven't even considered it or completely reject that possibility? I guess that makes sense... wait, does that mean I'm not cis?" and everything else just started coming naturally from there.

I still have my doubts every now and then and I still haven't come out of the closet but I've given my family (particularly my brother) so many hints that I'd be surprised if they didn't at least suspect it, so for now I'm just waiting for a good moment to bring it up.

It's not like i can do much else anyways since I'm a broke college student that still lives with their parents... knowing my parents I doubt that they would try to kick me out or something if i told them but I don't think that they'd be completely supportive either... and even if they were supportive I doubt we'd be able to afford HRT with our current financial situation so for now I'm just... existing, being openly trans on the internet and overtly trans in real life.

Hence the music. It's just, there, vibing in its own silly way.

Source

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

Thinking about giving Bucky a bath for the first time after he gets away from HYDRA.

You and him escaped after the Potomac fight, he'd come back only to free you from HYDRA. He knew that you had never wanted to be in their clutches. You were the only one in that had showed him any kindness in his decades of imprisonment, he couldn't just leave you behind. Now the two of you sat in what was once HYDRA safehouse, trying to figure out your next move. He sat on the opposite side of the couch from you, his knees pulled against his chest. You watched him, unsure what to do. In all the time you two had been imprisoned together you'd never seen him like this. He looked scared, confused...vulnerable.

You debated reaching out to touch his hand, but decided against it. He was like a wounded animal in this state, and the last thing you wanted to do was something that would spook him and break the fragile trust he'd placed in you for all these years. So, you simply moved closer to his side, just trying to remind him that he wasnt going through this alone. You looked him over from your spot. He was still wearing his tac suit, covered in a layer of grime and blood and dirt and smelling of river water, mixing with smoke and sweat. You saw your in. This was a former HYDRA safehouse, set up for agents to stay here for who knew how many days. Surely there had to be some clothes in the bedroom, and some soap in the bathroom?

His body went tense for a moment, but he shook his head. He didn't know how to explain to you that the idea of standing under a spray of water reminded him too much of being stripped and hosed off after missions. He could almost hear the icy water slamming into his naked body.

"Soldat," you gently called him by the only thing close to a name that you had for him. The man startled, but his eyes met yours, "why don't you go grab a shower? I can't imagine sitting around in that wet leather suit is very comfortable."

"N-no," he stammered, "I... I don't want to do that."

He thought for a moment. A bath sounded... Nice. Safe.

"Okay," you spoke to him gently, as though trying to comfort a scared injured dog, "what about a bath? Would that be better?"

"Yes. Okay."

You nodded and stood, motioning for him to follow.

"Bucky."

"Come on Soldat."

You cocked your head.

"Uh, the...the man on the bridge," he explained, "he said my name was Bucky."

"Sorry?"

The man, Bucky, grunted in response and followed behind you like a lost puppy. You lead him into the bathroom. You checked the shower/tub combination, and were relieved to find a bar of soap and a hotel sized bottle of shampoo sitting on a small shell. You closed the toilet lid, motioning for him to sit, and he complied. Bucky said nothing as the tub filled up, just simply sat and watched the water rise through vacant eyes. Once it was full, you got up and turned to leave.

"Well, it's nice to finally have a name for you other than 'Soldat'," You gave him a gentle smile, "its nice to meet you, Bucky."

"Alright, Bucky," you gave him a reassuring smile, "you get undressed and clean up. While you're doing that I'll go find some clothes-"

You were taken aback. This man, Bucky, who had endured so much pain and abuse, was now entrusting you to see him in such a sensitive state. To wash him, to take care of him. You nodded shyly.

"Wait." He looked up at you with pleading eyes, "will...will you help me?"

You turned around to give Bucky some privacy while he undressed, and when he said he was ready you turned to see him sat in the bath, looking up at you with nervous eyes. You'd managed to find a wash cloth, and knelt by his side.

"Of course."

He leaned forward, allowing you full access. You began to carefully scrub the grime from his body, asking for consent before moving onto another body part. Bucky leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as you cleaned him, a small display of trust that made your chest ache. Once he was fully lathered, you went to grab the shower head and his eyes shot back open, his metal hand grabbing your wrist. Not harshly, not to cause you pain, just enough to grab your attention.

"Can I start washing your body?" Bucky hesitated, but eventually nodded, "okay. I'm going to start with your back."

"I..." You thought for a moment, "okay. Hang on, Bucky. Let me see what I can find."

"N-no," Bucky murmured, "please. Not that."

You managed to find a cup in the kitchen, and held it up as you returned.

Once his body was free from bubbles, you grab the small shampoo bottle and smile.

"is this okay?" You asked. He nodded. You resumed your spot on the side of the tub and began to dunk the cup in the water and pour it into his skin, removing the bubbles. Bucky was shocked at your behavior. You didn't push his boundaries, you didn't yell at him for expressing he didn't want something. You simply found a new way that made him feel comfortable, even when it would take longer. Comfort and safety were things he had been denied for so long that he didn't believe they were even things he was capable of feeling, or receiving. And yet, here you were, being so careful and looking at him with eyes full of an emotion he had trouble placing. It was like he was something precious, something worthy of loving, and it filled him with so much longing it was almost painful.

He did as instructed, and you began dousing his brunette locks with cupfulls of water. Bucky hummed at the feeling of water slowly tracing its way down his locks and onto his back, and you repeated the step over and over until it was sufficiently wet. You grabbed the small bottle and squeezed a small glob into your hand, reminding him of your intentions before reaching up to start shampooing him. Bucky closed his eyes and hummed involuntarily as you worked. You took your time massaging soap into his roots, reveling in the fact you could make him feel so good. After rinsing the suds from his hair you repeated the steps over and over until it was free from grime. You smiled a bit at the little whimper he let out as your hands pulled away from his head.

"I'm going to wash your hair now, is that alright?" He nodded and you grabbed the cup, "alright Bucky. Keep your head back, I'm gonna wet your hair."

"Why don't you go lay down in the bedroom?" You ask when he's finished, "you must be exhausted after the day you've had."

"You stay here and relax, I'm going to grab some clothes for you." Bucky nodded, and you went into the small bedroom. You didn't have many options, but you managed to find a dark red t shirt and black sweatpants that look like they'll fit, and bring them into him alongside a towel. When you returned, you left them on the counter and turned around to give him time to dry off and dress.

Bucky's eyes found the ground as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

You cocked your head.

"Would, uh... Would you...," his cheeks were turning a light shade of pink, "will you, uh... Will you stay with me?"

You hesitated a moment, but nodded.

"I just," he finally forced himself to look you in the eyes, "I don't want to be alone."

"Let me shower and I will," you gave him a soft smile. He nodded, and left you to it. You rushed through the shower as quickly as you could and dressed in the too-big T-shirt and sweats you had grabbed for yourself before joining Bucky in the room. He was sitting on the bed, once again with his knees to his chest, his back leaning against the headboard. You pulled the sheets back and helped him lay down. Bucky sighed as you pulled the covers over his shoulders and sat by his side.

"Of course I am," you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out and gently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, "I'll sit here with you for as long as you want."

"You're going to stay, right?" He asked. You nodded.

Bucky chewed his lip for a moment.

"Do you want to lay down?" He asked, lifting the covers. He had no idea when the last time he'd invited someone to sleep in his bed with him, but it had to have been a while. It scared him, but the warm look on your face gave him confidence.

"I'd like that," you told him, and settled down by his side. The two of you laid on your backs in silence for a long moment.

You smiled and nodded. Bucky wrapped his arms around you from behind and pulled you close to his chest. He buried his face in your neck, and you reached up to stroke his hair.

"Can I," you turn to look at him, "can I hold onto you?"

"You should rest," you whispered.

"You'll be here when I wake up?" He asked.

"Of course."

Bucky slowly drifted off with you in his embrace, soothed by the feeling of your hand in his hair. Tomorrow, the two of you will figure out your next move, where you plan to go now that you're fugitives. But for tonight, you were content to lay here, tangled up in his arms as he slept peacefully for what was probably the first time in decades.

Anyways, I love this sweet baby boy 💕💕

[nayafanfic]

Can you do rotb Optimus (Or whatever bot you feel like) x platonic human single mom reader? Reader moves to the countryside and tries to start a farm to feed herself and her five-year-old kid. She notices strange happenings around the woods, like large footsteps, and strange vehicles driving on the roads, and has a feeling there's something in the woods (maybe just the bots trying to hide from humans). One day, reader looks away just for a second and her kid wanders off, getting lost in the woods. Reader looks for her kid desperately and her kid wanders too close to a cliff, ending up falling, but Optimus saves the kid just in time. He then carefully returns the kid and reader is confused when her kid constantly talks about 'Mr. Truck', making a drawing of this giant red-blue robot. However, reader then starts to believe in the possibility of Mr. Truck being real and one day finding Optimus with one of his injured Autobots. Reader is not scared and helps fix his friend, even offering them to stay in her barn. Then maybe that's just the start of a beautiful friendship?

(Sorry, if this is a bit long. You are free to ignore it.)

(platonic) Optimus prime x single mom reader

You lived alone, even though a few years ago it seemed impossible. Completely hypnotized by love, you hadn't seen the red flags. Always on the couch, yelling at you for any little mistake or letting you do all the chores.

The final straw was the slap on your face during one of many arguments, that night you left with a bag on your back.

Now 5 years later, you live in a small house with your adorable son and your 2 dogs. The little house is in the middle of 2 field of various vegetables (Tomato, cucumber, carrot, lettuce, wheat and recently, spinach). At the back of the house, is the mini farm with some animals.

But, even though you were fulfilled and exhausted from your new life, you noticed a strange event.

1- There are very few cars that pass in front of your house, but when there are, they are always the same ones. A large red and blue truck, another yellow, a pink motorcycle and another blue and white that drives like crazy (he already ate a stick, because he was driving fast and almost hit one of the chickens).

2- You noticed Mr. Truck's huge footprints? Finally, that what your baby boy has been saying since he got lost in the forest.

This day you will remember for the rest of your life. Everything was going so well, he was playing outside while you were fixing your old truck and in a second he was gone.

You spent the day looking for him, shouting his name and even sending your dogs at him. Until night fell and he reappeared out of nowhere. Never before you had cried, been relieved and angry at the same time other than at that moment. When you started to go home, he started talking about his experience with a big smile.

-Mom, when I fell in a water, a BIG robot picke me up!

-When did you fall? Where did you fall darling? And a big robot, that must have been so impressive! As a mother, you played into his game (thinking he was just talking nonsense).

After that day, he didn't stop talking about him, drawing pictures and dreams of the big Mr. Truck.

At first you thought it was just his imagination, young people have an extremely overactive imagination. But, It became so intense that you started to believe it.

So for good measure you installed fences all over your home (as if it would protect you, but also to prevent your son from returning there after his 5th attempt to run away).

But now you know it is real, because what is in front of you is the same thing in his drawings.

You had heard loud noises in the forest, so you went there and thought that one of the cows had run away again. Your son had already been sleeping for a good hour so there was no chance of him waking up, you took the shotgun, put on your boots and go outside.

Optimus didn't mind seeing you, he had been watching you since he meeting your little sparkle, but only to protect you of course. And usually at this time there is no more light in your home otherwise he would never have come near your home.

But now with a wounded Bumblebee, and no other protection he wasn't sure if you were a bad person or not, you were armed after all.

He didn't know how to act, should he talk to you or say nothing? The only thing he was sure of was that not a single bolt in his body moving. And you, damn it, you didn’t move more than an inch either.

the gun is held tightly in your hands trembling from the cold and the fear.

Your eyes were fixed on his glowing blue orbs until movement behind him caught your attention. The yellow bot was starting to lose consciousness due to his loss of blood. The larger robot turned towards him and tried as hard as he could to stop the bleeding while keeping his eyes on you.

Seeing what is happening in front of you, you remembered what he had done for your son, so taking a deep breath you gently placed the gun on the ground and began to walk towards it.

-My son, talk my about this day. In fact he doesn't stop talking about this day. Your laugh caught the attention of Bumblebee who hadn't even noticed you were walking towards him.

-He told me that you saved him from a fall, no? The cliff north of my house, the one overlooking the lake?

Now with the two of them looking at you closely and this close to the yellow robot you can see his wound, a hole on his cables. It looks quite serious, as a strange substance is coming out of the place in big quantities.

The big blue had all his attention on you again. -Yes, it was me. His serious and deep tone made all your body vibrate with fear? no, with surprise? You don't even know how you feel about yourself at the moment.

So, as a normal and intelligent person, your first action was to take off your shirt and place it as delicately as you can at the level of the hole and putting pressure on it. Then in a sure and calm voice you reassured them.

-So it's my turn to help your family now, Mr. Truck, everything will be fine.

[knightanni]

Mr. Machete

So one of my favorite things about Homicipher is the fact that the monster men aren't just cute boys in spooky makeup (but it's totally fine if you're into that), but they actually look like gross monsters that you would run screaming from.

But they're also... really hot? Maybe it's because I have cuteness aggression when it comes to cute anime or manhwa boys, cuz whenever I see conventionally cute/hot boys in visual novels, my typical reaction is to feel repulsed and I-want-to-kill-them.

But like, with all of the Misters in Homicipher, I don't feel that. I actually feel like that vine with the boy who looks at a girl puffing out a huge cloud of smoke, and then he gets right in the camera and goes, "Wow."

(Which is probably because I've read too many manhwas with hot boys who think that the female leads exist only for them, so they treat them only slightly better than the dirt they walk on.)

Anyways, when Mr. Machete broke down the door... that was definitely a wow moment for me.

[lunarmoves]

I know it's cliché in pressure fics at this point but I can't help but wonder how "who I see" would go if seb and reader's situations were switched. I like to imagine human Seb lives in an area where there's wild animals, so he has a gun just in case. The first time he meets his fishy spouse, he whips it out and they frantically have to explain himself so he doesn't shoot. Seb stays strapped in every universe

"seb stays strapped in every universe" LMAOOOOOOOOOO. funnily enough i dont think ive seen many swap aus! but i imagine it wouldnt be too different ngl. like, sebastian would still probably move out to the coast, or a house next to a lake that's connected to the ocean or smth at the very least—where the area is very forest-y so he's got his shotgun at the ready. he would hallucinate you throughout the years and you would find him after getting into contact with innoinc post-urbanshade. the only difference i can think of in contrast to "who i see" is how you'd reveal yourself to him

sebastian would not have that "happy bday" moment out on the docks, so you would never really get the resolve to actually go up to him. he's quite good at hiding his feelings, yk? you wouldn't be able to tell he's still grieving, especially not with the glimpses you'd catch of him from the opposite side of the lake. i imagine the catalyst that would bring the both of you together would be... well.....

(ahem. cw injury, blood, gun. NOT caused by sebastian dw)

maybe one day you're out on the sea after having a meeting with some reps at innoinc and you get harpooned by a fisherman who thought you were a shark or something. it's easy for you to slice the rope of the harpoon, but now you've got this big ass weapon embedded in your side and you know it's a bad idea to pull it out and that you need to get help immediately. the only thing on your mind, however, is to get back to sebastian. so you swim and you swim and you swim until you find yourself washed ashore by the lake one night. it's an area shrouded by trees and bushes alike, and you spend hours half-conscious under the shade of the overgrowth.

dawn comes and goes. by the time the sun has crawled halfway across the sky, you're just on the cusp of dehydration. the injury to your flank has stopped bleeding as heavily by now, but you feel weak. you can feel dried blood stuck to your hands and plastering the thin material of your stupid shirt to your skin. any smallest movement jostles the harpoon and sends waves of agony running up your torso. you're still partially submerged in the lake's water, but you're definitely not strong enough to pull yourself back in to escape the noonday glare.

that's when you hear it—the sound of branches and twigs snapping under thick boots.

it makes your eyes snap open. but before you can do anything other than crane your head to the direction the sounds are coming from, someone steps into view.

it's sebastian.

and he has a gun trained on your face.

you freeze. it's like a plug was pulled on your brain, sending all your thoughts washing helplessly down a drain. there's a terse, terse moment where both of you don't do a single thing. you can't see his face beyond the barrel of his gun.

it's like the very forest is holding its breath.

and then you make the mistake of reaching out to him, another sharp lance of pain shooting down your body.

you groan—your hand instead moving to clutch at your side—and his name leaves your mouth on its choked tailend.

"seh— sebas... tian," you rasp out, tilting your head in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his face. it's too bright out here, it's too fucking bright. everything hurts. you try again, breathing in haltingly. "sebastian..."

you think it startles him, a little, for the gun lowers a smidge. blue-green eyes—wide yet sharp—make contact with your own

"you—" he starts, then abruptly stops, his gaze moving up and down your body rapidly. processing, you think. "why do you—"

"fuck, sebastian, it's..." you take in another deep breath. your vision is starting to waver along the edges, muddled like you're underwater. "it's me."

the gun gets pointed back at your head and you feel something jump in your stomach when you hear the click of the safety latch disengaging.

"why the hell," he snarls, "do you sound like— like—"

you swallow, closing your eyes momentarily, then reopening them so you could look at him. really look at him.

"baby," you say quietly, so quietly you're almost not sure if he hears you. you don't break eye contact with him, taking in his smooth face. the dark circles under his eyes. the glint of his lip ring. the sharp gleam of white teeth bared at you. and you exhale, long and broken. "it's me. it's me."

he makes a strangled sound like he doesn't know what to do, what to think. his lips press against each other, his eyebrows furrow down at you like he's trying to piece together what he's seeing. trying to parse it out like he's not sure if what he's seeing is real.

but you're getting woozier by the minute. and he still hasn't lowered that gun.

"i missed you," you slur even as your eyelids flutter in your vain attempt to keep them open. "so, so much."

and when you finally pass out, the stricken look on his face follows you into your dreams.

[superyoshisisland64]

I know these are minor compared to what others are talking about, but the two things that come to mind are 1.her Pokemon video and 2. Her problems with genres.

The Pokemon vid made me so mad when I watched Ant's streams. There were so many points that I had to pause and yell at my phone bc of her terrible takes 😅. I think the thing that annoyed me the most was her hacking in a Ralts, a very weak pokemon and constant whining about the difficulty when they keeps getting KO'd. Maybe Lily, if you played the game as intended, you wouldn't be having this problem.

The fact that she's hacking in a Gardevoir in the first place is also so annoying. Like I get that its your favorite pokemon, but like, c'mon. This is supposed to be a retrospective, shouldn't you play the games as close to intended as possible, so there's no bias? I love Giratina and Wooper, but I'm not hacking them into every game, let alone replacing my starter. I think the most egregious example is in Pokemon X, where Ralts actually is in the game, and pretty early on too. Literally right after the first gym, you can catch a Ralts literally in the first patch of grass you see. It takes, what, 30-45 minutes to get to Route 4. Maybe if she had waited a little bit and actually kept her starter Pokemon and had a Ralts, maybe then she wouldn't have complained about X being difficult. (Side Note: XY are considered one of, if not the easiest mainline game)

It really feels like so many of her complaints in the video come down to two things, 1. the fact that she just mashes through dialogue and thereby misses important context, to which she then complains about not knowing what's going on, and 2. I think she's just bad at Pokemon. Like watching her gameplay was painful. I'm no MLG Smogon Pro-Gamer™ or anything similar, but it really looks like a lot of her complaints about difficulty could be dealt with if she just played better.

I understand Lily brushes this criticism off as "her playing the game her way" which is perfectly fine, I have no problem with that. However, she the turns around and talks about the difficulty being unbalanced and the devs doing a bad job a the difficulty curve. Lily, you can't blame the devs for poor difficulty balancing bc they didn't think that someone would hack in a Pokemon with the defense stat of tissue paper. I know tons of people who do pokemon challenge runs where they only use one type or just one pokemon, but when ever they face difficult moments, they're not blaming the game designers for not being balanced for a Magikarp only run.

The other thing being her problem with Genres. Lily notoriously despises Shonen, claiming that the genre is just dumb fight scenes (or something similar to that). When someone pointed out that an anime she really likes, Spy X Family, is Shonen she went full denial mode, instead claiming it's a "thriller" instead. Here's the thing, Shonen does not refer to a genre like action or comedy, Shonen describes the age group being targeted by these manga, in Shonen's case 8-18 year old boys. Meaning any genre could be Shonen, action, comedy, romance, etc. So Spy X Family may be a Thriller, but it's still aimed at teenage boys , ergo it's still Shonen. I don't know why she could be like, "I hate Shonen, but Spy X Family is the one exception." Like I dislike strategy games, but I love Project X Zone.

There was also the time she claimed that Pokemon didn't start out as a JRPG, and those elements were added later. I have no idea what she means by this, under the two most common definitions of JRPG is : RPG with turned based combat and/or an RPG coming from Japan, definitions that Pokemon has always fit. She didn't clarify what genre she thinks Pokemon was before the JRPG elements were "added in," the closest thing I was able to come up with was at the beginning of her Pokemon video, she called it an "open-world RPG" which it's hasn't been open world until Scarlett and Violet, (Maybe Legends if we're being generous). The only reason I could think of why she would consider all of Pokemon open world is bc in gen 1 and 2 , there is some slight choice in gym order, but it's like in the mid game, and only 3 of them. And even then, it's still pretty linear. Not to mention, a game can be both open world and a JRPG.

What has Lily said out of everything that's made you irrationally angry?

For me it's this

I'm a writer and it activated my fight or flight, I won't lie, and I'm a flightless bird.

[livi-in-digital-circus]

The Abuse || a short Bunnydoll angsty story

I wrote this only because I'm having worse days now (also I started writing the new fic but I'm already stuck at the beginning of TwT)

TW: abuse

Through the glass wall of the infirmary, Ragatha stared at the guests of the Digital Circus. Once in a while, people from the real world had the chance to meet their favorite characters in person, not knowing that they were actually normal humans just like them. It was unfair that they could go home the moment their visit ended. But that was what the circus was all about. Every single member of the crew was an animal trapped in a cage, released only to perform silly and often dangerous acts.

And since Caine was especially busy when they had visitors, Ragatha couldn’t ask him to help her get back to her pristine self. Instead, she had to spend the entire day under the care of a nurse-like NPC who stuffed her with more pills, like painkillers, hour after hour. Even though the rag doll didn’t seem to have any bones in her plush body, she felt like her bruised arm was broken. Not to mention that she had vomited at least three times that day and felt dizzy all the time.

It was a pure torture.

The girls in the main area were loud enough for Ragatha to hear what they were saying, so she leaned carefully against the wall. Due to her current state, she wasn’t allowed to greet the visitors. After all, Caine had to keep the reputation of the circus at its best, and if anyone found out there was a serious case of abuse going on behind the scenes, he would lose everything he had worked on for years.

“Did you see the way he looked at me? I’m definitely his type!” One of the girls exclaimed. Her digital avatar resembled a cute Lolita-style doll, making her look like an innocent angel. Another one, Ragatha thought.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t mention our shrines full of his limited merch.” The other said, her cat ears and tail moving on their own from time to time. “But then again, who wouldn’t want lots of Jax for themselves?”

Ragatha trembled. These two clearly had no idea who they were talking about. Judging by their behavior and appearance, they were mostly underage and delusional. The rag doll looked at her arm again. She should be jealous, it was her boyfriend who was the center of attention that day.

Instead, she felt anger, especially when she heard the girls mention all the things they wanted Jax to do to them. Ragatha smiled bitterly to herself, the familiar metallic taste tickling her tongue. She had lived too long in the circus to understand today’s teenagers. Some of them were born into rich families and had everything they could wish for. It could be anything, like an expensive dress worn by many famous models, or a bottle of sweet-smelling limited edition perfume. And yet they chose to be used by none other than Jax.

Little do they know that he is a real abuser.

And abuse is not something you should wish for.

Year after year, the rabbit became more mentally unstable. Several times he promised Ragatha that he would change, that he would try to be a better boyfriend. She was very proud of Jax when he managed to go a whole week without hurting her. But when she was about to visit him in his room after one of their adventures to watch a movie, she found him torturing the little version of herself that she had made for him to hug when he felt alone.

Caine had no idea how to fix Jax. His first assumption was that he would soon abstract, but Ragatha quickly shook her head. That had been going on for a long time, with no clear signs of improvement. However, she didn’t feel any hatred for Jax, even though she was sore and bruised the last few days. She knew it was because of his poor mental health and that inside he was still the bunny she had fallen in love with.

The girls disappeared from her view after a while. Ragatha groaned as she made her way back to bed. All she wanted was to fall asleep and wake up the next day. The moment her head touched the pillow, she heard someone enter the infirmary.

“Feeling better?” Jax sat on the edge of the bed, his gloved hand gently stroking the bandage on the rag doll’s cheek. Ragatha shivered, yet her lover’s soothing touch was all she needed at the moment.

“Still a little sore, but it’s okay. Did you enjoy the meeting with the viewers?”

“Not really, this group was annoying as hell.”

“I don’t like what those girls said about you.” Though Ragatha didn’t want to tell him exactly what. She knew Jax felt bad after each time he lost control and hurt her, and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable now that he was temporarily sane again.

Jax let out a soft laugh and pressed his lips to Ragatha’s forehead. God, she loved his kisses so much.

“I actually brought you something to drink. You must be thirsty after I… you know.”

Ragatha gladly accepted the water bottle and began to pour the liquid into her mouth. But just as she was about to stop, she felt Jax’s hands suddenly tighten around her neck, causing her to cough and choke. The taste of water and blood mixed sickeningly in her mouth.

Jax knew it was only a matter of time before she started vomiting all over the circus from the ‘water’ he gave her.

Everyone told Ragatha to break up with Jax, but she was too kindhearted to do that. He was mentally ill and she wanted to help him. She hoped that one day everything would be okay, that her boyfriend would overcome this.

And before that happens, she would be tortured in many more different ways for the next few weeks, months, or maybe even years.

Still, Ragatha would manage to survive all this. It was impossible to die in Digital Circus after all.

Thanks for reading!

(I'm sorry, please don't be mad at me for writing this ;-;)

[derekscorner]

I've yet to sit down and watch the TYBW anime because I refuse to give Disney money (I'm buying the dvds) but I do see anime additions from time to time and I have to say that this is a damn good one.

The manga didn't touch on this at all. Once Ichigo learned that he's a quincy it more or less ended there aside from the moments where Yhwach uses that against Ichigo.

I'd even go as far as to say the manga didn't do as much with it as I had hoped. Yes, I know Kubo had health issues so don't take offense. I just found it a shame is all just like I find it a shame that Ichigo has so many power-sets but does little with them.

But I digress, this is something I find very good because it;

A) Shows that either Ichigo or Zangetsu is using Blut actively now.

B) We finally see someone else react to the revelation.

Just imagine that you're Uryu in this scene. His arc through Bleach revolves around his hatred for the Soul Reapers for what they did yet his conflicted feelings to help his friends.

Then BAM! He's no longer the "last quincy". I do not mean Uryu learning that his father actually still has his powers, no no. I mean he learns of the Wandenreich. He learns that his forefather (Yhwach) killed his mother.

Whether Uryu is solely joining to avenge his mother, to stand with his people against the Soul Society, or both he's found a conviction here.

And truth be told, between this final arc and the reveals by Kubo on his fan site, the Quincy have a good reason to hate the world order. Yhwach is not wrong when he says the world was made without them in mind.

However that too doesn't make what Yhwach has done right either but despite how evil the Soul Society or Yhwach are there's some legitimacy to both sides.

Just look at that expression. He likely knew Ichigo would be in opposition but he likely saw that as Ichigo, a human and substitute soul reaper, defending his home.

He did not expect to see that Blut Vene. That expression says so much yet makes you question what is running through his mind right here.

Even now there's stuff about the quincy that neither his father nor Yhwach told him. Even now, a friend that should have some semblance of understanding is standing against him. Even now Ichigo is pulling another power out of his ass.

I hope the anime goes back to this. I hope we get some insight to what Uryu is feeling right here. I want to know how Uryu feels knowing that the Substitute Soul Reaper isn't a human with Reaper powers but rather a quincy with reaper powers.

[d3athmaskd1v1n3]

Hello, welcome to the Yandere side of fanfic! I have seen your first fanfic, and it is good! Can you write another one with Dr.Crane as a psychology professor who takes an interest in his quiet student and decides to kidnap her one day because he feels he is the only one who truly knows her?

Case studies

Johnathan Crane x Fem!reader

(Squueeeee! My first request! I hope you like it. I took a few creative liberties with it, I hope you don't mind. I got to writing as soon as I got the request.) (TW! Kidnapping and inappropriate student/teacher dynamics)

She was a good student, but she was… spacey. One could call her meek, odd, quiet, like she'd shatter and break at any moment. She had the demeanour of a prey animal.

She would often space out during lectures, lost in her daydreams. Because of this, she often asked her professors to repeat themselves. As you could imagine, plenty of professors found (Y/N) annoying, but Professor Crane was different. He took his status as an educator very seriously, and almost seemed delighted to help (Y/N).

The small chats they had after class, the emails she’d send to him to inform him she was late, the questions she’d ask during lectures, it all painted the image not of a dimwitted girl, but of one who was clearly intelligent yet far too…

Fearful.

It was elementary to deduce that was the source of his obsession. Fear was his domain. It's what his research was built on. To see somebody who's natural state of being seemed to be that of trepidation was like dangling a piece of meat in front of a hungry dog.

“I'm sorry for asking too many questions during class today, sir.” she said one day after an especially lengthy lecture. “I didn't mean to drag it on like that. I know I must have ticked off the other students.”

“It's quite alright, Ms. (L/N). In fact, I was glad to see you speak up more.” he smiles as he reassures her. He isn't the most handsome man, being rather tall, gaunt and gangly, but his words and his smile filled her with a warm, comforting feeling.

“You did?”

“Of course! It makes me happy to see young people who are so eager to learn.” he paused for a moment, the gears in his head turning.

“You know, I find it interesting how quiet you are. You're an intelligent young woman, yet you go about your day constantly worrying about the thoughts and feelings of others. Tell me, Ms. (L/N), why is that?”

That question made (Y/N) falter for a minute. It came out of left field.

“To be honest, I don't know. I’ve always been like this, I guess.” she answered.

“Most people don't know why they do the things they do, or act the way they act. They simply believe it's in their nature. I disagree, however. People tend to learn unconscious lessons in their childhood that carries into how they behave in adulthood.” Crane explains.

“Yes, yes, I know. We’ve covered this in class, remember?”

“Of course I do, Ms. (L/N). I'm merely thinking out loud, you see.”

“You're wondering what happened in my childhood that taught me to be so flighty?” (Y/N) asked. This made Crane let out a soft chuckle.

“Always quick to follow, aren't you? I like that about you.”

“So what is your guess?”

Crane liked how bold she’d become when they spoke one on one. Seeing her come out of her shell made him feel prideful.

“You were bullied and your teachers didn't do anything about it. Because of this, you learned to keep your head down and not to complain when things go badly for you.” Crane replied with confidence. “You learned that other people are out to get you. That anyone can be a potential bully. Those who aren't bullies are enablers, and enablers are always those who have authority, like your teachers.”

“That's pretty specific. Suspiciously specific.”

“Did I get it right?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath before nodding. It was eerie how spot on he was.

“I'm a psychologist. I know how these things work. I also get the feeling you have had your brain picked before. Have you ever gone to see a psychiatrist?”

Again, he’s spot on.

“Yeah… I’ve been to my fair share of psychiatrists.”

“I thought so. You have a unique mind. It's a shame people dismiss you.”

She couldn't lie, hearing him say that makes her feel happy.

With that, she quickly and politely said her goodbyes and left the lecture hall. Crane lingered there for a while, still thinking, analysing and dissecting everything about (Y/N).

As she got off the city bus and made her way home, (Y/N) felt the November chill hit her skin. It was dark out.

Damn these late classes. She thought to herself.

She didn't hear the footsteps behind her.

With one swift motion, her assailant grabbed her, putting a cloth over her mouth and nose.

She thrashed about, trying desperately to shake her attacker off of her.

“Deep breaths, Ms. (L/N), take deep breaths.” a familiar voice rings out in the night. Is that…?

Before she can finish that thought, the world around her fades away.

When she awoke, the first thing she noticed was the smell of food wafting in from another room. Then, she looked around. It appeared like she was in a guest bedroom. The bed was covered with warm quilt blankets, and the room was nicely yet sparsely decorated. It would have been rather cozy if she knew where the hell she was.

The next thing she noticed was the fact her hands were tied. Shit. She can't do much without the use of her hands. She can't even grasp the doorknob.

She felt panic start to set in. Just what the hell is going on?

The door to the small guest room opened, and Jonathan Crane entered with a plate of eggs and bacon.

“I knew you'd be hungry when you woke up. You slept through dinner last night.”

Last night? So it must be the morning, then.

“I can't eat without the use of my hands.” (Y/N) said. Despite the panic she felt, she had to be smart. There's no use in putting up a fuss if it could get her in trouble.

“Right you are. I didn't want you sneaking off while I wasn't in the room to watch you. You sleep very soundly, you know?”

He set the plate on the bedside table, then untied her hands.

“Now, I know you must be very alarmed, but do not fret, my dear. I’m not going to harm you like my other students.”

“Huh?!” she couldn't even hide your shock at what he just said.

“Oh, surely you've noticed a few of your peers missing from class as the semester went on.”

“I-I just assumed they dropped the class.” she stammered a bit.

“No, no… I merely needed some test subjects for my research. I can't study fear without scaring the living hell out of people, now can I?” he let out a laugh like he just told an innocent joke.

“But don't worry, dear (Y/N). I don't see the use in subjecting you to such a thing.” he watched as she picked up the plate of food and slowly begin to eat. She didn't even feel like eating after hearing your professor just admit to torturing people, but she was hungry.

“Do you like it? I hope you enjoy scrambled eggs. If not, I’ll make sure to make them differently next time.”

“Why aren't you going to torture me?” she asked, setting the plate back down on the table.

“Why? I have much more interesting things to learn from you than how you’d respond to fear. After all, you're always such an anxious mess, aren't you, dearest?” he responded with honey in his words, as if he was talking to his beloved and not his student. “No… I want to know about the rest of you. I want to know the sides of you that even you don't know about. The parts of you that are buried beneath that fear.”

He lifted a hand up to her face, cupping it gently. She looked into his eyes. His eyes were full of warmth, but that did nothing to comfort her at all.

“(Y/N), it's alright. I’ll take care of you…

As long as you let me study you.”

[crepes-suzette-373]

Is this an error or on purpose?? It's driving me insane!!!

(I'm just parsing through my own theory and doubts, you don't have to read this)

Ichiji's eyebrow that's under the bangs is the subject of fans' theories, and I wrote about it too, but I really just... sometimes have very strong doubts about it. With the insane time crunch of Shounen Jump schedule, what if it's really just a mistake that nobody caught?

One of my line of thinking was "this panel is so big, surely sensei can't possibly screw it up?" But the answer is, yes, he can screw up a panel that's that big.

When Venus blocked Zoro's attack, not only is he holding the sword in the wrong hand, but the sword is also missing its iconic Kitetsu cross-shaped guard. That Venus vs Zoro panel takes up half a page. On the manuscript paper, that would've been massive, and yet there it is.

As far as I can tell, this was not edited, changed, or fixed in the final volume version. So, I dunno, maybe all the weird eyebrows is literally nothing and he just messed up.

If I may use myself as an example, I have drawn their eyebrows facing wrong directions multiple times, and sometimes I never noticed there was anything wrong until days or even weeks later.

I not only drew the lines, but also rendered the colours in detail. I didn't do it all in one sitting. I went over the image multiple times with fresh eyes, across many days, and not for a single moment did I notice the eyebrow was wrong. It's not impossible that sensei experienced the same thing.

The anime scene cannot be used as reference because I don't think the anime staff are privy to any future lore or backstories from sensei. I would assume that they often had to fill in the gaps with educated guesses on their parts.

Pre-timeskip the anime have once displayed Sanji's other eyebrow facing the wrong direction and/or simply missing its curl.

Also in Whole Cake's finale episodes, the anime included a short filler bit where all of Sanji's bros made it safely back to the Germa ships. This is proven to be wrong when the cover story revealed Niji and Yonji got caught while still on land by Big Mum and didn't manage to escape.

The only way you can reconcile these is if you imagine a scenario where Niji and Yonji initially made it out just fine, but had to jump off the ship to fight Big Mum. Otherwise there's just a flat out discrepancy between manga and anime.

I don't think the Pirate Warriors 3D model rips are also any solid confirmation that Ichiji and Reiju's eyebrows are different either, because I found what is purportedly a model from the first game, where Sanji also has the eyebrows facing wrong directions:

(left: all siblings from Pirate Warriors 4, right: Sanji from Pirates Warriors 1)

In my guess, what happened was that they just made half a face (and body), which is then mirrored to create the other half. See below for what I mean:

In my opinion what happened was that with Ichiji and Reiju they just left the brows in mirrored state because they didn't know for sure. Look at Reiju's irises. The highlights are also mirrored. It really looks like they just created one half of the face and copy + flipped it:

The eyebrows are modelled onto the polygons and not just textures, so they really could've just copy + flipped the half model and never bothered changing it afterwards.

Or, if not, maybe they saw the anime scenes, thought that Ichiji and Reiju's eyebrows are facing different directions, and then followed suit. The Pirate Warriors models are made based on the anime rather than the manga (as you can see with Reiju's eyes being blue and not purple).

Whereas with Niji, Sanji, and Yonji they might have went through the trouble to edit the eyebrows to be more accurate to the series since they know for a fact what their brows look like.

So yeah, I don't know, this thing has no answer at all until Germa shows up in the series again (or revealed in Vivre Cards).

[tigerincahoots]

WHILE OTHERS WOULD VIEW THIS AS WEIRD… Kevin saw this as something so normal and casual that was barely worthy of a footnote on a report. He could transform into a tiger. He had dealt with vampires, witches, werewolves and other creatures of the dark throughout the years. Someone who talked to spirits and helped them cross over was by far the most natural thing out of everything. Someone had to keep the balance. Someone had to assist the innocent fuckers that would be caught in something that was way over their heads. ”I MET SOMEONE LIKE YOU BEFORE.” Maybe not as GIFTED as Henry apparently was but close. “While most people don’t believe in shit that is beyond the normal routine, I like to keep an open mind.” It’s like someone believing that they were all alone in the universe. What sort of bullshit was that? His gaze remained on the scene of the crime for a while longer before turning to Henry – focusing on the now steady heartbeat that lingered inside his chest. How many people knew about his gift? How many had considered it odd and unnatural? How many fuckers had called him a freak? ”WHY SHOULD I FREAK OUT?” His head tilted to the side – a ghost of a smile lingering for more time than it should on his features. It was kind of cute to see how relieved Henry was that he wasn’t running to the hills or calling him names. That was not his style. “I’ve seen shit, Quinn. You talking to spirits is by far –the most normal thing out of a bad bunch.” Not that he would tell him about what he really did for a living. Not that he would share with the detective that he hunted other monsters in the night either to capture or kill under someone else’s orders. But he also couldn’t just sweep how casual he was about this whole thing under the rug under the guise of a very open mind. Kevin did not lie. Clever half-truths were the way to go and Henry being a detective would easily spot a lie a mile away. ”YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH EXTRAS, PRETTY BOY.” And let’s leave it at that. His head turned North toward the direction that Quinn mentioned and a quick sniff of the air around was enough to indicate that too much time had passed. The trail was probably gone cold. “You’re not even spooked with the concept of hunting a werewolf? Do you happen to have silver bullets in your gun that I don’t know about?” He could handle a werewolf but Henry? Kevin’s jaw clenched for a moment. He did not and would not put an innocent man in the line of fire. “I can DO you later.” Teasing Henry was now a pastime that Kevin would fully give into whenever the chance presented itself. “If I ask you to stay back, would you do it?” Probably not but he had to ask. Chances were that either the creature was still in animal form and roamed around or if it was someone with more experience – returned to human form and covered their tracks. And if they cross any river… tracking would be hard. “I want to check where it went but I am not a fan of the idea of having you caught in the crossfire.” OR SEEING HIM FOR WHAT HE REALLY WAS.

”IF I SAY PLEASE, WILL YOU STAY?

Mr. Mean Tough Guy over here had not only defended Henry to his peers, and wanted to fuck him, but now accepted this new information like it was a breeze.

For a moment, the usually chatty blonde was at loss for words. Kevin had made him feel wanted and cared for in such a little amount of time, it was like day and night compared to what he was used to. Being on his own, the loneliness, the weight of a secret he would rarely share. Replaced by relief, and not to mention the shiver this man gave him from whispering in his ear. He had to collect himself and keep on the trail instead of wanting to fall into Kevin's arms.

"Yes," He finally said after a hard swallow that made his Adam's Apple bob in his throat. "I talk to spirits, I help them cross over, they tell me things. You've got it all figured out." He took a long breath, "That's a relief, saves me from explaining." Henry was glad the usual speech he had learned over all his life didn't have to be recited tonight.

He was not expecting his heart to crack with gratitude over such a small thing.

"He was just a kid, about 16. Got the weed from a friend, was going to his party. No animal, no villain, just a kid looking to party and maybe do some underage drinking as his worse offence." It was all so terribly sad, it always was.

"Thank you for not freaking out on me. This gift of mine, it helps with this job sometimes. He said it was a werewolf, like you said, my scribble is just all I managed to get down in my fugue state. And he went north."

It seemed like it was gonna be a long night, so Henry didn't know when drinks and dinner would happen. Even with all this new information, he was still thinking about that.

"I guess being in the military also gives you good tracking knowledge, what would you like to do next? And don't say me." Henry smiled, his heartrate returning to normal.

[misciouscave]

Water witch 🌊🪄