#universal reference unpack

[aeide-thea]

this is such a real and infuriating issue—the fact that female athletes have actually gotten fined for wanting to wear actual clothing while competing, and not just underwear, is absurd and enraging—but i really wish people wouldn't react to it, as the linked article does twice, by turning around and making claims about a need for 'women's specific design,' as if all women were the same shape???

i mean, setting my actual gender identity aside for a moment, i'm afab with a totally endogenous hormonal situation, so from a binarist perspective on physical sex, i get shoved into the girlbox without any real hesitation—and yet i not infrequently find men's clothing a better fit than women's, because my shoulders are broader, my ribcage wider, and (of late) my waist-to-hip ratio smaller than women's clothing tends to expect; and because i find pressure on my abdomen uncomfortable, i've been very grateful to be able to ignore womenswear's turn to high-waisted pants, and stick with midrise menswear.

i could list more examples, just drawing on my own physique and the physiques of cis people i know, but i'll spare you—really my point is just, i wish we were better at the kind of feminism that reacted to gendered inequalities by making more space for individual people and individual preferences, instead of falling back into the trap that says women deserve special consideration because they're a special case. women aren't an asterisk; they're an enormous swath of the spectrum called humanity, and there's variance within that swath just as there's variance within any subset of humanity you care to define.

[rainbowgod666]

... yeah im downloading this, it IS close to how the SCP multiverse works, but still

Never posted anything worthwhile in Tumblr, but today is the day post this map of the SCP Multiverse I did a couple of months ago.

It burned me out pretty heavily, but it turned out as confusing as I expected.

[xcziel]

.

[toto-the-cactus]

Primarchs + Daughters

My perception of how each Primarch would behave when nosediving into parenthood if they had daughters. Enjoy!

I wanna personally thank @moodymisty because a great deal of their works inspired this piece.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Lion El’jonson

The embodiment of 'tough love' made man. Having a daughter doesn’t do much to soften this guy… or at least that’s what others believe. The Dark Angels Legion are probably the only ones aware of the small gestures the Primarch often gives to his little girl in the safety that privacy offers. Where Lion lacks words of compassionate and parental love, he appropriately makes up for it with actions. He isn’t one to go over the top and prefers to give modest gifts to his daughter as the last thing the man wants is to raise a spoiled brat. Father-daughter bonding time can be summarized with strenuous training using the sword. This man will not let his precious Princess go through life without learning how to protect herself, even if he has made an oath to forever shield her too.

Fulgrim

The complete antithesis of Lion. Where this man views the Emperor as the perfection anyone should strive to reach, his beautiful daughter comes close to the second place in fulfilling that ideal. There’s a big fat chance that he teared up a little when his little gem called him Papa for the first time, but managed to wear his ever unshakable mask because he absolutely refuses to break character even in private. Has the mistaken notion that his baby is a blank canvas ready to be painted to its fullest potential; aka, molding her to what HE wants and expects of her. Fulgrim probably spoils her rotten but only through conditions that she must follow, as the Primarch understands the importance of fighting and earning for what you wish to obtain. He makes sure that any of his gene-sons are in her company as he refuses to let even a single scratch happen to his little girl. Honestly, a grown-up version of Fulgrim’s child has the chances to go both opposites of the spectrum with no in betweens: A shy aristocratic lady who is unable to speak her own mind or a completely haughty, sharp and manipulative noble woman. Too much to unpack there, yo.

Perturabo

(Slaps this bastard's head loudly) This bad boy can fit so much family trauma in it! Okay no but seriously, there’s a good reason why so many people agree that this bitch has a thing for gilded cages and all the fucked up poetry that comes with it. The good ol’ classic Greek tragedy of Medea. Perturabo may have big and insane expectations for his gene-sons but when it comes to having a daughter? The apple of his eyes. The sunshine of his life. For this Primarch, his little princess is the only living thing in the entire universe that loves him genuinely and unconditionally, making his love the equivalent of a child crushing a bird between his hands. While still easy to anger and with a resting-bitch face, he is incredibly tame and careful with his girl; always making sure that she is well versed in all kinds of science and engineering that could easily label her as a genius (but we all know how stressful can be to try and live up to big expectations). Most of his Legion finds the child either an annoyance or don’t even care enough beyond the factual point of her being the child of their mighty Primarch, beyond that? This poor girl is probably the loneliest child to ever grace the world. Remember that I referred to this like the Tragedy of Medea? Yeah…

Jaghatai Khan

Probably one of the few best papa-tier out there. This man will see his little daughter and think the only thing a good parent should do: To love and guide. He’ll be not afraid to say “I love you” to his baby girl no matter where they are, but he’ll know when to be stern and wise so she grows to be a fine and humble woman. Honestly, this guy would learn how to make a sling just for the single purpose of having his precious princess close while also being excited to teach her how to ride on a horse like he did in his childhood. The thing that makes this dude the best in this list is that if his daughter ever expresses to follow a different path in life like becoming a remembrancer or anything that doesn’t involve the Imperium, this Chad of a man will look deep into her eyes and tell her that he’ll support her no matter what. The only thing he asks is that she stays in contact as he’ll miss her terribly. Kudos to him, fr.

Leman Russ

Another one for the ‘tough love’ guys list, yo! On his defense! Hear me out… in his defense, this guy was literally raised first by Fenrisian wolves before even knowing what a proper bath entailed, so of course he’ll sometimes be a bit too much on his poor little baby girl. Roughhousing was his best first approach to teach her how to fight, trying to make his little pup have some proper backbone worthy of being called the child of a Primarch. Sometimes he’ll get carried away (either with words or actions) and is in those moments when Leman would learn what genuine and heavy guilt feels like; a very alien emotion for someone as brutal and fierce as he is. There’s no worse feeling than knowing that you are the reason behind your daughter’s tears. No one would ever say it out loud, but the way this giant of a man apologizes is by slowly and silently hugging his little girl while pouting until she hugs him back. He may suck at expressing verbally his love towards his baby, but actions are his best way to communicate and this is something his daughter eventually learns and accepts from him. Forgot to add that the entire Space Wolves Legion are not only suffocatingly protective of their Primarch’s child, but everyone takes turns when she asks them for piggy-rides or let her braid their hair.

Rogal Dorn

I don’t wanna be too mean to this poor man but lord have some mercy, trying to squeeze any emotion that doesn’t range to watching paint dry from this damn guy is already a miracle on its own. He’s probably the kind of dude that’ll leave his poor daughter in the care of his astartes and serfs while he works. Workaholic in bold, yo. It literally will take watching his poor little princess cry her eyes out for him to attempt some bonding time but man he just sucks at trying not to have a stick up his ass (Again, I’m not trying to be mean but god this is painful). This is the kind of man, besides Guilliman, that will search high and low for some paternity books to help him. At the end this father-daughter relationship can be salvageable by having a heart to heart between them both and even then, is the poor girl the one that gives more than she receives. Honestly, any daughter from Dorn has the patience of a saint. Besides this Primarch's ineptitude to properly communicate his feelings, everything else doesn’t change the fact that he loves his little princess and will do anything to make her as happy as possible so he gets some brownie points for the try.

I'll later write the second and third part of this, I swear <333

[twelve-forfend]

Well, I did say this was a multi-fandom blog... Alright, let's do this.

The Qing Jing Peak Lord's Bamboo House

(and the symbolism therein, as recorded in the donghua)

I was snooping through the establishing shots of the Qing Jing Peak Lord's Bamboo House, and had to laugh as I always do at all the gay symbolism that managed to sneak its way inside. But then I looked a little closer, and was floored by just how much passive storytelling was packed into background assets. I talked about it at length over discord, and at the urging of others decided to make a shareable post on social media as well.

First, the shots which first piqued my interest in this topic years ago:

Shen Yuan transmigrates into the stallion-genre webnovel entitled 狂傲仙魔途 (translated as Proud Immortal Demon Way). The author's and his own usernames are dick jokes.

Notice the chrysanthemum vase, the cock vase, and the stallion statuette.

The stallion and cock are obvious nods to these jokes on their own, but for the uninitiated, the chrysanthemum is a symbol of gay sex between men, as the asshole itself is often euphemistically referred to as a chrysanthemum. This should have been Shen Yuan's first clue that not all is as it seems here! These are the personal quarters of Shen Jiu — the original Shen Qingqiu!

But let's move to the main room you first walk into upon entering the bamboo house.

There it is: the writing on the wall.

As the Peak Lord of strategy and the scholarly arts, Shen Qingqiu would naturally have calligraphy and paintings hanging everywhere! So let's break it down.

On the top we have 道㳒自然 ("Dao Follows Nature"), which comes from a Dao teaching by Laozi (founder of Daoism) meaning that life, death, the entire universe, the heavens and earth and everything outside and inbetween, all follow a set of laws referred to as the nature of things. Although unrelated to the Buddhist couplet below, it's certainly relevant!

Originally hanging in right-to-left order, I've arranged them to read left to right here to make things easier to keep track of. The calligraphy reads 西方竹葉千年翠；南海蓮九品香 and is a couplet commonly found in Guanyin temples. My classical chinese is not as strong as I'd like, but this translates roughly to "The bamboo leaves in Paradise are green for a thousand years / The fragrance of lotus flowers in the South China Sea is as thick as 9 sticks of incense."

The character 西 for West is used to denote the destination of enlightenment/purity: the buddhist Paradise (think Journey to the West). The South China Sea is where Guanyin was born. Upon the Lotus flowers is where Guanyin is commonly depicted as sitting. The "9 sticks of incense" though literal can also refer to the 9 tiers/grades of reincarnation lotuses with the 9th tier being the lowest, meant for those who in life committed the most evil of crimes — the 4 parajikas — and who can only manage a sincere Amitabha recitation 10 times and no more than this.

To put this in context with Shen Jiu (the same jiu as in 9/九), the 4 parajikas committed by the 9th Tier Lotuses Reborn (officially entitled the Lowest of the Low) are:

Sexual Intercourse

Stealing

Murder

Claiming attainments of stages of pure mental concentration that have not been achieved (in other words, rushing or lying about your cultivation/enlightenment, or maybe even becoming a Peak Lord without having formed a golden core beforehand).

From what we know in the context of the novel, Shen Jiu is innocent of at least the first of this parajikas, but the overall view of Shen Jiu in the eyes of others in the story is that he is guilty of them all. This calligraphy can be seen as a condemnation or a reminder for the character Shen Jiu, who even as the Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu is widely thought of as a scum villain and the lowest of the low.

Phew! That's a lot to unpack.

But if you turn your gaze to the original screenshot, you'll see to the right that there's a vase painted with a blue bird. This vase appears in several rooms of the bamboo house, and seems to be the image of a qingniao (青鸟; lit: Qing bird, wherein 青 can mean blue/green/clear-but-brackish black).

These qing-coloured birds are messengers and foragers of the Goddess-Mother of Paradise (Xiwang-mu 西王母, the "west/paradise" character from before, lit West-King(unisex)-Mother). They're a highly intelligent species who are exceptional in song (a good representative for Qing Jing's scholarly arts and pursuit of qin!), and the older ones might learn to speak human tongue. As a subspecies of luanniao (鸾鸟 lit: luan bird), they're thought to be related to The Phoenix and indeed thought to be the lifetime/samsara just before being reborn as a Phoenix.

If given to a "master" they don't like, the qingniao may refuse to pass messages or sing until they're set free, but if they do get along with you then they're loyal to the end.

As a point of interest, the Qing generation of Peak Lords uses the character 清, which is 青 ("colour of nature; brackish black, blue, green; young) + the radical for "water," resulting in the meaning of clear (as in water or heart; see-through); distinct; quiet (as in still); just and honest; pure; to settle or clear up; to clean up, expunge, or purge.

And as a bit of trivia, Liu Qingge's sword Cheng Luan 乘鸾 means "to ride the luan, take flight on the back of a luan." (Relevant, because the qingniao is considered a subspecies of luanniao).

With the Lords of both Qing Jing and Bai Zhan referencing this bird, I really wonder about its significance! It's spawning plenty of theories and headcanons for me.

Heading back outside for a moment, you'll find that in the Quiet Pool (清静小池 qingjing xiaochi (yes, the same Qing Jing the peak is named for)), there are lotuses, and on land there are flower shrubs which are either wide-petaled chrysanthemums (gay bottom jokes ahoy), or a type of peony, the king of flowers demarcating wealth and prosperity. Either way, a blossom fitting of our Qing Jing Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu!

My one regret is that I cannot get a clear shot of the fan hanging on the wall to try and translate the calligraphy on it. If anyone can snag one, please tag me! I also couldn't translate the paintings with poems hanging in Shen Qingqiu's bedroom (it's just too small and blurry for my bad eyes to make out). If I make another post attempting these things, I'll append them to this initial post in an edit afterwards.

[lvrcpid]

pyramids. - F.S

based on : pyramids by frank ocean.

pairing : farleigh start x nb!reader

warnings : drug usage. swearing. slight ooc farleigh. sexual references. kinda short but i’ll be making a part 2.

notes : oh i am SO BACK. 😛 also i love this movie sm.

you always knew you’d end up in college. just at least not at oxford. you always read about the school over the years and it seemed too prim and proper for your liking. a true bore of you will. so when you found yourself in the middle of the campus, hearing the commotion of the students around you, you thought to yourself. “what the fuck did i get myself into?”

your parents were well off, upper middle class even. so when you received a letter inviting you to attend oxford, your family forced you to apply and attend the university. you finally said your goodbyes and finally unpacked. the room had a slight chill and was a bit dreary, even further confirming your suspicions. this school was like purgatory.

the days turned weeks at oxford truly changed your perspective of the entire school. the party life was insane, that’s where you were right now. a party. the music blasted in your ears as the room reeked with the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and weed from here and there. you weren’t exactly sober yourself, having a few drinks you were given by an acquaintance you made over the few weeks.

you held the beer in your hand, walking and slightly pushing people in your way. “excuse me” you mumbled less than pleased at the sight of people completely ignoring your presence. you made one final shove before someone, a boy, swung his head around, cigarette in mouth and said. “are you fucking kidding me?” you weren’t looking where you were going, more so not even paying attention to your drink. when you looked up, the stranger in front of you had beer dripping from his back. “oh shit- man i’m sorry” you said slightly embarrassed, trying to use your jacket to pat the area dry.

“stop just- stop.” you picked up on the fact the stranger was american. it wasn’t foreign to see americans at oxford, you’ve just never actually heard their accents before. “i really am sorry. i wasn’t looking where i was going.” you said, still apologetic and remorseful, still a bit because of the alcohol in your system. “oh whatever it’ll dry- hey i’ve seen you around. you’re that super quiet kid in my literature class. i’m farleigh.” he said, raising his eyebrows in a cocky way and taking a cigarette from his pack. he leaned the pack towards you, offering you one, to which you reject. you want to at least try to live to see 50.

“suit yourself.” he says, looking down at your beer. “i could kill you for messing up my shirt..but i’ll let it slide this time. so, what’s your name mystery person?” he looks down at you. the boy was freakishly tall and now that you’re getting a good look at him. you do recognize his face from your literary class. “y/n.” you said, finishing off your beer. farleigh gave you a look that rocked your world, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the depths of the night.

from that moment, you and farleigh hit it off. he was a party animal, a wild child and it made your heart race. every moment with farleigh was an adventure. you soon realized farleigh was into hard drugs. what drugs you may ask? cocaine. but that just made the ride even wilder. although the friendship was platonic, you and farleigh always found yourselves entangled in dances only lovers would dream of. sneaking away from class to make out on his bed or even sneaking touches and glances, enough to make the strongest weak in the knees. farleigh was a passionate person, it made your body jelly and your blood run ice cold, but only in secret. to him, you were his secret sin.

one night , weeks after you and farleigh came together. he decides to open up to you. about his mother, his struggles and even his home, saltburn. you were curious about this place. so curious to the point farleigh had to silence you with a kiss. it was late at night and the campus was silent, only the sounds of the wind and trees in the background. “how about this..if you want to…only if you want.-“ he said, on the spur, in the heat of the moment;

“how about you visit saltburn for the summer?”

part 2 - monster.

[anxious-witch]

Jesus fucking christ. This post by @bluebugjay made me realize something. Something that kept bothering me about Charles' inital reaction to Edwin's confession.

He laughs briefly and says "Oh, I get it. It's like one of those Orpheus and Eurydice moments". I was so focused on the fact they made that metaphor within the Sandman universe than I missed a glaring, obvious bit. Charles laughed. That is not a reaction of someone who believes the other person. He thought it was a joke. He thought Edwin was just making a reference, not actually confessing. And he keeps that up until Edwin says "Charles, I'm quite serious". Then his face turns serious as the realization of this being real sinks in.

And I am completely baffled. Awestruck. And based on referenced post above, I think we can conclude Charles genuinely thought Edwin was above that. Above feelings of the romantic kind.

Let's rewind. Edwin, who never showed any interest in anyone for over 30 years, who scoffed at the prospect of Charles liking Crystal. Charles didn't register it as romantic jealousy, because he didn't think Edwin could feel that.

I wonder if he heard of how Edwin died, of how they called him Mary Ann, and correctly clocked Edwin was gay. Maybe he assumed Edwin had forsaken romance completely due to trauma?

But-but the Cat King! Charles was jealous of the Cat King! And he clearly flirted with Edwin!

Yes, indeed. But Charles never sees that Edwin responds to it. Edwin's relegation of his attraction to the Cat King happens when Charles isn't around. Perhaps Charles subconsciously knows, hence his insistence for Edwin to tell him, but he isn't sure. He just knows he and Edwin made a deal and that Edwin is acting odd. Nothing else.

When Monty comes along, we can see Charles is jealous. And he doesn't seem surprised when he thinks Edwin is talking about liking Monty. "You could have told me you like him". Yet, we clearly see it bothers him, even if he doesn't directly protest.

Then it clicked for me. Is this not exactly how one would act if they thought they had no chance of someone liking them for years and then finding out they like someone else??

No wonder Charles can't say he is in love with him back while they are on the stairs! If we assume that on top of all his issues with his dad and growing up in the 80s, he assumed Edwin would never wish to return anyone's romantic feelings, including Charles, it would be so difficult to shift into a mindset where that is a possibility!

Neither of these idiots were ever truly vulnerable with each other! Charles doesn't have feelings for Edwin because he pushed any possibility away. Not to mention then liking Crystal and knowing that whole situation is not yet resolved. He must have been so confused. No wonder he needs time to unpack all that, after belief he held for decades had been shattered in such a short period of time

[novantinuum]

Pink Onyx AU- An Analysis and Theory Post, Part 1

[Part 1- You are here!] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5]

~

Howdy! Those of you who have followed me for a while have probably been seeing my reblogs of the @pink-onyx-au comic made by @ceephorsshitshow. Well, today I wanna share with you something a little different than my usual SU meta… because today I’m gonna analyze this really cool fan work with the same level of seriousness as I do canon. (Like. Seriously. This first post alone is really, really long. I put most of it under a cut.)

This particular comic is a very special one for me to watch unfold, because it’s evident that a lot of deep care and attention to detail has been poured into its creation. There’s fascinating bits of expanded character development to chew into here, as well as plenty of mysteries and lingering questions for us readers to muse and theorize over. If you follow me for Steven Universe and haven’t read this AU yet I highly recommend you check it out. The most basic pitch is that it explores what a fusion between Steven and Jasper might look like, and does a LOT of deep-diving into the similarities and differences of both of those characters’ psyches.

Here’s the episode masterpost on tumblr.

And you can find it on Tapas, too! 

(Note: For the purposes of these posts, I was given permission by the comic artist to post screenshots of various pages where relevant in this discussion. For each frame used I will list the episode and page number for easy reference. Additionally, this post and all future ones on the topic will contain full spoilers for the comic thus far.)

Now with all that introductory stuff out of the way, here we go!

__

So, on the final page of the most recent update, we get one hell of a visual plot bomb for Steven as ol’ Onyx unfuses:

(Episode 9: Page 22)

He’s now visually expressing remnants of his corruption, where before he was not.

And it’s this mysterious plot point in particular that got me wanting to analyze this comic more deeply in the first place. This is completely new for him in this story. Thus far, he’s never expressed any of these remnants when he’s just himself- not in the way Jasper does. So it made me wonder… how might this shift in his appearance play into the ultimate trajectory of the plot? How does Steven suddenly showcasing corruption scars integrate into the larger story that is being spun here about him and Jasper and how they relate to each other?

Well, there’s a lot of comic details and story lore we need to unpack first before I can take my best theorizer’s stab at this. Let’s dig right in.

__

Prelude: The analyst’s treasure is in the speech bubbles

Anyone who’s been a fan of this comic for a while has probably noticed these fun visual details already, but I’m going to take a moment to break down what I believe each speech bubble style signifies for folks who may not have context. It’ll make some of my analysis later a bit easier, too, ahah.

So. Speech bubbles. What kinds do we have here? 

(Episode 1: Page 6)

Style number one: Solid with black text

This style is standard for non-fused characters, and is also utilized when a fused character is speaking whilst in a state of internal harmony.

Steven is pink and Jasper is orange, of course. Onyx’s speech bubbles are a distinct darker pink, and the main three Crystal Gems get their own colors as well. More minor characters get white bubbles.

(Episode 1: Page 10)

Style number two: Scribbly pink lettering overlaying black text

Whenever you see this type of speech bubble, it’s a sign that there is some level of internal discord going on within Steven or Onyx that is related to their diamond side. It usually shows up when one of the two is in pink mode, but from what I can tell this is not a solid rule.

(Episode 2: Page 12)

Style number three: Pink/orange mixed bubbles

This is how we see Onyx talking for a good portion of the early comic. Their speech bubbles are a clean mix of Steven’s pink and Jasper’s orange. And most vitally, the color on the top and the tail signifies which of them is “fronting” at that moment.

(Episode 3: Page 11)

Style number four: White bubble with solid pink text

So far, this style has only been used to represent dialogue that is being spoken by Steven’s gem half exclusively. Which makes things very interesting, as in Steven’s own remembrances of shattering Jasper on the very first page of the comic, the line “I have been holding back!” is shown in this specific style, instead of the scribbly pink lettering that signifies internal discord.

There is one additional sub-style here- and this is the one moment where we get Onyx’s mixed bubble but WITH the solid pink text. 

(Episode 3: Page 11)

I believe these two styles pretty much mean the same thing… only, the white/pink text is either viewed within memory or a metaphoric fusion mindscape where we the viewer are actually “seeing” Steven’s instability, and thus can “see” his gem half as a separate entity there. While, in reality, this is an argument Onyx is having with the disparate pieces of themself.

(Episode 4: Page 9)

Style number five: Pink/orange tye-dye mixed bubbles

When you see that darker shade of pink start dappling into the standard mixed bubbles, this indicates that there are small whispers of Onyx’s true personality beginning to surface, instead of them constantly being wrested back and forth between Steven and Jasper’s conscious control.

(Episode 4: Page 16)

Style number six: Pink/orange mixed bubbles, but with a darker pink tail

From this page onwards, Onyx’s speech bubbles always have their darker pink shading the tail no matter who is fronting. Sometimes there are little lines of another color etched out of it, and sometimes the tail is solid dark pink. I like to believe that when it’s solid, it means that Onyx is just a little closer to reaching a fully harmonious state than when it’s not.

(Episode 9: Page 6)

Style number seven: Onyx speech/thought bubbles with a hint of pink/orange underlying

This style seems to signify moments where it’s still Onyx fully in control of themself and their actions/words/thoughts, but they’re taking subtle influence from their components or accessing their memory a bit.

These are all of the distinct styles I have caught so far, but quite honestly, it would not surprise me if I am missing something. All of this to say… pay close attention to the speech bubbles. They can tell you a lot about Onyx’s state of mind throughout the story.

Now with all this established, I’d like to finish off this first post with my first big discussion point.

__

Question One: What does Jasper actually know about Steven’s “meltdown,” if anything?

The AU author recently solidified this comic’s placement in the SUF timeline in an ask response, saying that the first episode takes place just a week after Steven’s corruption event.

I’m glad this point was clarified, because it was super vital information which deeply influenced the way I analyzed Steven’s actions and responses in my recent re-read… it means this experience is still super raw for him. This is VERY important and we’ll get back to this in more depth later in future posts. But first, let’s explore what Jasper knows of this event.

The full extent of her knowledge is unclear-

(Episode 1: Page 6)

In Episode 1, Steven briefly alludes to his corruption as seen above… referring to it as “[his] meltdown.” Notably, Jasper does not seem to ask any questions about this stray comment. This COULD suggest that she knows what happened to him a week prior via hearsay, but given the context of the rest of the scene and the fact that she’s as isolated as she is out here I genuinely wonder if she thinks Steven’s so-described “meltdown” is his shattering of her.

This idea would make a good deal of sense, as she doesn’t start to make any commentary on the topic of corruption at all until they’re actually fused- with Steven bringing it up first.

(Episode 2: Page 14)

On this page, Steven takes note of Onyx’s very visible spikes (which are Overtly in the same placement as his own when he was corrupted), and initiates the musing upon his own corruption himself.

With the way Jasper phrases her response, the vibe I get is that she somehow gleans a bit of ambient shared knowledge about what happened to him through their fusion.

(Episode 2: Page 15) 

“That human form you wear must have been hiding your markings.” This quote is SUPER vital. We’ll come back to this later on in this post series, too.

(Episode 2: Page 15)

It’s clear that Jasper doesn’t REALLY understand what he went through or what caused it, since she then outright mistakes the casual woes and body pains of organic life as corruption. (As seen above.) 

(Episode 8: Page 4)

But later on, she outright relates to him over their shared experience of past corruption, so she must at least know enough from mere ambient thought-sharing by this point to recognize it happened.  

It’s obvious that she’s barely scratched the surface on fully understanding her fusion partner, though. Neither of them have. It’s gonna take a lot of fusion, comedic mishaps, and genuine conversation to get there. All in good time, I’m sure.

__

Please do join me tomorrow at 7am PST for the next post in this series! This has been a blast to write up and muse upon.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Between the pages

AN: Shoutout to Indigo for violently thrusting me back into my Namjoon feelings. This has been a long time in the making.

Synopsis: If anyone asks, Professor Kim is definitely not crushing on the pretty librarian he spends all of his free time with on campus.

Heads up: Kim Namjoon x Fem! Reader, friends to lovers, so much pining, Non-Idol AU, University professor! Namjoon, Librarian! Reader, Reader wears glasses and Namjoon thinks it's hot, alcohol and alcohol consumption, Reader kisses Namjoon without his explicit consent at first, dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), Reader sucks on Namjoon's fingers post fingering, praise kink (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex and creampie.

Word count: 4535

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Namjoon tries to convince himself that the reason a smile immediately graces his face when he enters his department's library is because of his love for knowledge. That's it. That's all.

It definitely has nothing to do with getting the opportunity to see and talk to the very attractive head librarian. Nope. Nothing of the sort.

"What's got you all smiley? Found a new favourite philosophy journal?"

Namjoon studiously ignores the way his heart stutters in his chest. He turns around to face you directly and is once again caught off-guard at how ridiculously attractive you manage to look in a simple pencil skirt and flowy blouse. Your glasses framing your warm eyes, and your glossed lips quirked upwards in amusement.

God, he had it so bad.

"Am I not allowed to simply smile for the sake of smiling?" He asks with a grin of his own, the two of you seamlessly falling into step as you make your way to your office where he was initially headed.

"Answering a question with a question is deflection, Professor Kim," you respond with a good-natured poke to his arm. He jokingly rubs the spot, "Violence and referring to me as Professor Kim? Y/n I thought we were friends. I'm hurt."

He doesn't miss the way you roll your eyes with that unfairly pretty smile on your face as you hold your office door open for him, "I never took you to be one for dramatics, Namjoon."

Namjoon feels little better than a schoolboy with his first crush. Warmth flooding his face at the way you say his name. He just hopes his body wouldn't hate him enough to make his blush obvious or, you'd give him the curtsey of not mentioning it.

"Clearly you don't know me all that well then, Miss y/l/n. Seems like all this hiding out in each others' offices might've been for nothing," he retorts, making himself comfortable on the lounge chair by the window you'd both unofficially agreed upon was his. He tries not to think too deeply about that.

Typically you'd join him by the window, but you opt to prop yourself up on your desk, and Namjoon's tongue turns to sand in his mouth. Your already figure-hugging skirt sits tighter on your hips and thighs somehow, even riding up enough for Namjoon to feel the need to take a generous sip from his trusted water bottle.

"Wow really? My surname? Now you're being petty, Joon," you say before taking your first bite of your lunch.

It had become a habit for the two of you to meet for lunch whenever possible. Usually alternating between offices or whoever was closer to the other's side of the campus on a particular day. Namjoon thinks it's partly during these lunch sessions that the seeds of his feelings for you were planted. Though he hasn't quite decided how to unpack that can of worms yet, he wouldn't trade these moments with you for the world.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Namjoon can't stand these end of year functions, but he attends because he knows it'd be a terrible look if he didn't. He does have other people in the department he's friendly with, but they definitely don't outweigh how tedious these functions can be.

He's standing somewhat awkwardly in the back of the room nursing a glass of juice (because of fucking course they wouldn't be serving any alcohol) when he first spots you. Namjoon knows you're beautiful. It's a fact that he's violently reminded of every time he sees you. However, he's never seen you like this. He thought your pencil skirts were form-fitting, but the way the red dress you're wearing now cups your ass and hugs your hips has the blood rushing to his dick at record-breaking speed. He's never seen so much of you at once, a hint of cleavage peaking out and the dress coming to a stop mid-thigh. To make it all worse (or better, depending on one's perspective), you're still wearing your glasses.

Namjoon is just happy he hasn't spontaneously combusted yet, honestly.

The bright smile that spreads across your face when you spot him and make your way over to him makes him feel more nervous than he has in ages. Which is saying something considering how tongue-tied he gets around you in general.

"Joon, thank god. I'm so happy you're here. These functions are always so boring," you say as you pull him into a hug. Instinctively, he wraps an arm around you, his body moving before his brain can fully process you pressed against him and your perfume invading his senses. God, you smell delicious.

"I'm glad to see you too. Yeah, I've been entertaining myself with a glass of juice for the past 30ish minutes. Having the time of my life," he responds sarcastically but makes sure he's not loud enough for anyone to hear him other than you. These functions may suck, but Namjoon has no desire to sour his relationships with his colleagues.

The mischievous smile that graces your face makes his palms sweat, "Want to get out of here? I have a bottle of wine I've been saving in my office."

"Wine in your office? That's pretty unprofessional of you, Miss Librarian," he responds with a grin.

"Well, I've been keeping it for a time like this. Unless you're content to sip on juice all night and make small talk about semester plans," you retort, mirth twinkling in your eyes.

"It has been almost 2 hours, so it wouldn't be a bad look if we excused ourselves now..." he reasons, and honestly he could use a drink right now.

"Glad to see you're on board. You're always so serious and responsible, I'm a little surprised you agreed," you say with a small snort, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the door.

You two say goodnight to everyone who crosses your path, and Namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes at the grins and thumbs ups that Hoseok and Seokjin give him.

"I'm not that uptight," he argues a little defensively when you two are finally by yourselves.

"There's nothing wrong with being responsible. It's a big reason why I think you're such a loved and respected professor. I just think you could stand to let go sometimes," you say and, Namjoon's heart is trying its best to beat out of his chest.

You think he's loved and respected? You think he's a good professor?

He knows he doesn't need your validation, but it means the world to him all the same. The genuine sincerity and concern in your voice making it challenging for him to find his words.

"I plan to let go a little tonight. I think you're a bad influence," he jokes, playfully shoving you with his arm.

"I'm a fantastic influence. That's why you spend so much time with me," you retort with another one of those cute, amused snorts. Unlocking the door to the library when you two arrive quicker than Namjoon expected.

"I spend so much time with you because Hoseok's unending optimism and positivity drains my energy," he fires back, closing the door behind him once you enter the library before him.

"Hoseok's a sweetheart. You're just grumpy and overly jaded," you respond, leading the way to your office.

He tries not to feel too jealous hearing you refer to Hoseok as a sweetheart. You're not wrong. It's fair to refer to him as such, but it's still not exactly pleasant to hear.

"Me? Grumpy? Overly jaded? I'm delightful!" He says in mock offence, settling himself in his chair and watching you pull out the bottle of wine and two coffee mugs. Biting back a groan when he takes in how amazingly your dress hugs your ass.

"I never said you weren't delightful. I wouldn't be offering my treasured wine stash to you if I didn't at the bare minimum like you," you argue with a light laugh as you fill up your respective mugs.

"You just used the wine to bribe me to sneak out with you. I'm flattered nonetheless," he says with a laugh of his own, graciously accepting the generously filled mug you offer. He's severely unprepared for you to take a seat on the arm of his chair, your thigh brushing against him as you get comfortable.

Namjoon is starting to think this isn't a smart idea after all.

"Have you spending time with Seokjin? Is that why you've been so theatrical lately?" You ask with a smile before taking a generous sip from your mug, your pleased hum affecting him more than it had any right to.

"I'm just seeing this for what it is," he says, taking a swing from his own mug. Sweet. Seems like you enjoy your rosé. He makes a note of that for any future gifts.

"Sure, Joon," you respond, patting his shoulder. Taking another sip from your glass, licking your lips to chase the remnants of the wine. The wine is only worsening the hazy sensation he feels seeing the action and the slight smudging of your lipstick.

"Your lipstick looks nice," he spits out and immediately cringes at himself. Resisting the urge to rest his face in his hands as warmth floods his face. What the fuck was wrong with him? Surely it wasn't the singular sip of wine he took.

"Oh," you say, sounding surprised, "Thank you. You know I'm not one for make-up, but I thought why not since it's a special occasion. I'm glad you like it. I didn't take you for one to notice," you finish, playfully nudging his arm with your thigh.

Namjoon takes a generous sip of his wine before responding.

"I always notice these kinds of things when it comes to you and, you look pretty," he says before panicking at the implications of his words, "Not that you don't look pretty without the lipstick. You look pretty all the time. It's just-"

"I got it, Joon," you laugh, taking a drink from your own mug, and Namjoon definitely doesn't notice how appealing your neck looks. He needs to get his shit together. He's too old to be this flustered talking to a pretty woman. Well, you're more than just that, but that's besides the point.

"I'm flattered that you think I'm pretty. I didn't know you thought of me that way," you say so quietly that Namjoon has to strain to hear you. You look almost...shy? Completely unlike the sarcastic, confident woman he's become familiar with. It's cute. You're cute.

"I think you're beautiful honestly but, it's not exactly like I can just drop it in casual conversation," he says, surprised by his own confidence but, he's already called you pretty. What more does he have to lose?

"Kim Namjoon, are you flirting with me?" You ask with a smile behind your mug, but he can still see what he thinks is shyness in your expression.

"Is it so bad to flirt with the prettiest librarian on campus?" He asks, taking satisfaction in the stunned look on your face, your lips parting as you sit there just staring at him.

He watches you flounder with your words, a very private part of him enjoying being the one to fluster you for once.

"You think I'm the prettiest librarian on campus?" You ask quietly, as if you can't quite believe what's he saying to you right now. In your defence, he can't quite believe what he's saying to you right now either. He has the feeling that he's reached a crossroads now. Whatever he says to you now might change the nature of your relationship entirely, and Namjoon is tired of being a coward.

"I think you're the prettiest librarian I've ever met," he says with so much seriousness that there's no possible way you could misunderstand his words for lighthearted bantering. His heart bouncing off the walls of his chest as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

"Namjoon," is all you seem to muster at the moment, wide eyes still locked on him.

"You don't have to reciprocate my feelings, y/n. I've liked you for some time now, but I'd never put my feelings before yours and before this friendship. You mean too much for me to do that. I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable -" you promptly shut Namjoon up by cupping his face and pressing a searing kiss to his lips.

Well, it seems like it's his turn to be stunned.

His eyes widen as you seemingly pour everything you have into his kiss, your hold on his face tightening momentarily before you pull away. All Namjoon can do is stare at you. Looking unfairly attractive as you struggle to catch your breath and your glasses look slightly askew.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just kissed you. I just-I couldn't find the words to tell you that I like you too in the moment. I'm sorry," you say in a single breath, and Namjoon has to strain to catch all of your words. However, panic hits him when your words do finally register.

"No, hey, it's okay. I was just surprised, is all. It's not every day the woman of your dreams kisses you. Give a guy a minute to recover," he jokes, reaching for your smaller hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Your hand squeezes his back, and frankly, Namjoon is just impressed that he's managed to remain conscious through this all.

"Woman of your dreams? Namjoon, please," you whine somewhat embarrassed, and that just endears you to him more.

"It's true," he says and means ever word of it.

"If you keep looking at me like that and speaking like that, I might just have to kiss you again," you respond playfully, resting your mug on the small coffee table.

"Is that a promise?" He fires back with a grin of his own, following suit.

"You're so annoying," you retort with an affectionate eye roll before you press your lips against his once more. This time, he's better prepared and more than ready to reciprocate. One of his hands tentatively resting on your thigh as angle yourself better to deepen the kiss. The feeling of your tongue against his own sending sparks down his spine. Arousal pooling in his gut, fed by all the little moans and whimpers you let out.

"Is this okay?" You ask breathlessly when you straddle him, your chair barely big enough to fit the two of you, but Namjoon isn't going to complain any time soon. Your soft thighs press against his and he's almost completely certain that your panty covered pussy is pressing against him.

"Yeah," his brain pulls itself together enough to spit out before weaving his fingers into your hair and, tugging you down for another earth-shattering kiss. Months' worth of desire and frustration pouring out of him. His other hand tentatively holding your hip in place all while he hopes his erection isn't too obvious to you.

He can tell the moment you feel it because you still against him momentarily. "Shit, I'm sorry. We don't have to do anything you don't want. It's just a natural reaction-"

"Joon, breathe. It's okay," you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I want this. I'm just as excited as you are," you breathe, taking his much bigger hand in yours and guiding it up your ridiculously soft thighs. A quiet moan falling from your lips when his fingertips make contact with your wet panties.

Namjoon wonders what heroic acts he committed in his past lives to find himself here.

"You're already so wet," he breathes, fingers lightly running along your slit. Lidded eyes taking in the way your lips part to let out moans and your hips buck into his touch. Your fingernails digging into his shoulder when he's certain he's found your clit and uses that information to his advantage.

"You don't have to ah say that out loud, y'know," you respond, but any sarcasm that would typically be present in your voice is replaced by breathy whimpers. Namjoon thinks he much prefers them. As much as your quick-wit is one of his favourite aspects of your personality, he's finding that he immensely enjoys rendering you speechless.

"Why not, baby? You are so wet for me already, though. I could always stop," he trails off, stopping the movement of his fingers and keeping them pressed against you. A smirk spreading across his face when you whine and squirm in his lap.

"You're being mean," and fuck if the desperate edge to your voice doesn't shoot straight to his dick. Deciding to be merciful this time around, his fingers continue rubbing over your wet slit over your panties. Kissing along your jaw and neck as you whimper and grind against him in search of friction.

"Joon, please. Touch me di-directly," you hiccup, pressing yourself firmly against his fingers. Your nails digging into his shoulders. He had no idea you'd be so needy and desperate. He briefly wonders if you're always like this or if this is all because of him. His self-esteem certainly hopes it's the latter.

"You're so cute when you're needy," he rumbles against your throat, canines brushing the skin there while his fingers push your panties to the side. He thinks he'll remember the strangled gasp that flies from your lips when his fingers make contact with your clit as long as he lives.

He knew you were wet before, but he's severely unprepared for the effect feeling said wetness for himself has on him. His cock already leaking pre-cum where it rests untouched underneath you. Teasing you is a double-edged sword. You're not the only one becoming desperate here.

"Namjoon," you whine, "Please, please let me feel your fingers. It hurts. Please-" your begging is cut off by a sharp moan when he finally concedes and pushes two fingers inside of you. How can he say no when you sound so beautiful for him? He's just a man.

He tugs you into another messy kiss while he fucks you on his fingers to distract himself. He feels like he'll lose his mind soon if he doesn't feel you around his cock soon. Groaning into your mouth at how harshly your velvety walls grip his fingers as he familiarises himself with the spots that make you moan louder and hold onto him tighter.

The whimper you press against his lips when his thumb finds your clit and rubs slow circles against it is immaculate. In the dead of night when he'd fantasised about having you like this, he hadn't considered how sensitive and pliant you are. Reality is significantly better than any of his dreams.

"Joo-Joon, I- ah I'm," you whine out, your glasses slightly skewed and foggy on your face while you ride his fingers and chase your release. Namjoon doesn't think he's seen anything more erotic in his entire life.

"Are you going to cum for me?" The gruff edge to his voice or perhaps the question seems to do it for you because before he knows it you're holding onto to him for dear life and he has to slot his mouth over yours to silence your suddenly sharp cries. His cock pulsing as he feels your walls hold onto his fingers so tightly that he can barely move them anymore and, your wetness drips down his palm.

"That's a good girl. You did so well for me," he says, kissing your neck and shoulder softly as he waits for you to come back to him. He takes notice of the way your walls momentarily clench from what he assumes is the praise. Well. He'd happily give you all the praise you wanted.

"You're ridiculously good with your fingers," you mutter, cupping his face and kissing him as though you have all the time in the world. Something dangerously close to love for you swells in him from the affection you pour into the kiss. You rest your forehead against his when you pull away, a small smile playing on your bruised lips.

"Thank you," is all his brain can come with right now with his fingers still nestled inside of you and being harder than he ever has been in his entire life.

"Would it be okay if I sucked you off?"

You're trying to kill him. This is what this is. An elaborate plot to end his life in an instant.

His cock very much likes the sound of that, however.

"You don't have to do that,"

"I know. I want to,"

He closes his eyes and tries to gain his bearings for a few seconds.

"Maybe next time. I don't want to cum in your mouth right now,"

The pout on your lips is surprising and unfairly attractive, "Why not?"

You really were going to make him spell it out for you, aren't you?

"I'd rather cum while I'm inside of you,"

His jaw clenches when he feels your walls clamp down on his fingers once more, a barely there whimper falling from your lips, "Kim Namjoon, you're going to be the death of me."

Funny you should say that because the feeling is mutual.

He does laugh at that. Pressing a kiss against your cheek, "And you think I'm dramatic. We can just stop here if you don't want to. Plus, I don't have any condoms on hand. I wasn't exactly...anticipating all of this."

"What in the world would make you think I'd want to stop now?" You ask, sounding genuinely baffled, "And on the topic of birth control, I'm on the pill."

His eyes close then, and he can't bite back a groan. You would really let him fuck you raw? He's not sure if you're insane for suggesting it or if he's insane for seriously considering it.

"If you're not comfortable with that we can just stop here. I'm not in a rush," you reassure him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple and it's then that Namjoon thinks he may lose his mind if he doesn't have you right now.

Without a word, he pulls you into another earth titling kiss, grinning against your mouth when you grip his fingers like a vice when he tugs on your hair and nips your lip. "You really don't know what you do to me," he breathes, easing his fingers out of you and chuckling darkly at the way you whimper from the loss. He might be pushing his luck here, but "Open."

He watches through lidded eyes as you eagerly suck on his fingers coated in your wetness. Your lashes fluttering behind your glasses and, your soaked slit grinding down on him in search of some sort of friction. "Such a good girl," he praises, kissing you while his hands fumble with his belt and the buttons of his pants. Relief coursing through him when manages to finally free himself. His cock slapping against his shirt covered stomach unceremoniously.

Your reaction to seeing him does fantastic things for his ego.

"You're...bigger than I anticipated," you breathe out, your eyes laser focused on his dick while your hands absentmindedly tug on his hair. "You thought about my dick? I'm flattered," he says with a smirk likely a touch too smug but, he can't help it. It's not every day the woman of your dreams casually mentions that she's fantasised about you and you have her spread out across your lap.

"I've thought about more than your dick but, it's featured in a fantasy or two," you laugh breathlessly, squirming in his lap.

"Well, I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer then,"

When you slowly start to sink down on him, Namjoon knows he's a goner. His hands grip your soft hips for dear life as your warm, wet walls gradually accommodate him inch by inch. He's not sure where he wants to look more. Your pretty pussy stretching around him or the blissed out look on your beautiful face right now.

His hand impatiently tugs your dress down and he takes a hard nipple in his mouth both to distract you from the discomfort and, for the simple want to. His head spins when your pussy clenches around him at the contact. Needy hands tugging on his hair while you moan from the sensations.

"Nam-Namjoon," you moan out so brokenly and, he's pretty sure he's never heard a more beautiful sound. He might be inlove with you actually but, he shoves that thought aside as soon as it arises.

He grits his teeth when you slowly rise up and sink back down on him again, your nails biting into him as you try your best to establish a steady rhythm. "You're so beautiful," he groans as he watches you bounce on his cock. He  didn't intend for that thought to slip out but, he doesn't regret in the slightest when he watches your eyelids flutter and your pussy tightens around him.

You can't even coherently respond to him. Too lost in your own pleasure and the feeling of his cock to string together a sentence at the moment. Not that Namjoon can really blame you. Your walls are like a vice around him, and he feels his release approaching dangerously quickly. There's no way he's going to cum without atleast getting you to cum for him one more time.

One of his hands tugs on your hair to pull you down for another heated kiss. All teeth and tongue and spit. While the other reaches between your thighs, the corners of his mouth ticking up when you gasp against him as his fingers draw quick circles on your clit. Thankfully, he's a fast learner.

He nearly bites down on your lip when you cum. Velvety walls clenching and spasming around him while you cling onto him for purchase. I mean, is it really a shock that it doesn't take much more than that for him to follow suit?

Groans and stuttered curses leaving his lips when pulses inside of you. The symphony of your sounds of pleasure and heavy breathing all that can be heard as he fills you. Holding you to him while he rides out his intense release. He doesn't think he's ever cum this hard in his entire life. Guess that's what happens when you cum inside the love of your life.

Pushing that insane thought aside once more, he loosens his hold on you when he regains feeling in his body. The sticky combination of your releases dribbling out of you and down his groin but, he can't bring himself to care at the moment.

"Usually, people go on dates first, no?" You ask still sounding breathlessly but, he can hear the smile in your tone.

"Mmm yeah, usually they do but, I don't think there's anything wrong with doing things a little out of order,"

"You're not wrong. I hope you know this is my roundabout way of asking you out,"

The laugh that forces itself out of him is hearty and more carefree than he's felt in a concerningly long time.

"I'd love to go out with you, y/n."

[blueikeproductions]

So the other TFONE Prime cards came out, so what I’ll do is just cover the ones I don’t have much to say about here.

First up Solus Prime.

Solus has had the weirdest design philosophies. This design seems to be primarily based on the Prime Wars webseries look.

Which is the superior design vs her original look which has this weird HR Geiger Species vibe I’m not fond of.

Solus’ primary claim to fame is being the first female Transformer, and the only one among the Primes, making most of the famous weapons in the general lore, and pry most tragic: getting shot by The Fallen and dying. Her body serving as the basis for the Well of Allsparks, meaning she functionally given birth to all Transformers going forward. There’s a… lot to unpack there, not helped is shows like RiD15 and Cyberverse use her name as an exclamation/cuss in “Sweet Solus Prime!” Unlike the older lore, ONE Solus dies by Sentinel’s actions, absolving Megatronus of the matter, which honestly I kinda prefer. Whether Solus and Megs were romantically involved here is unknown. I think what I’m most surprised by is the movie resisted giving Elita Solus’ Cog, since I guarantee older stuff would’ve done that. Outside of both being girls tho’, Solus does fit Elita’s hard working personality more than Alchemist and Onyx.

Nexus Prime

Not gonna lie, I’m kinda disappointed about this one. His gimmick is he’s the first Combiner, which again contradicts Aligned’s claim Amalgamous is the first converting robot with the first Cog. The ONE design pushes it more into a G1 Blitzwing direction, with vestigial nods to the combiner idea in that he looks to combine from a jet and tank in particular, again mirroring Blitzwing.

Though it also could be a reference to Flywheels.

Nexus Prime’s original designs nevertheless make his Combiner gimmick expressed more clearly.

So it feels like a bit of a downgrade to me. His gun shield looks like it formed from a tank component to me, but that could be a stretch… Maybe he really IS a Duocon in this universe.

Liege Maximo

If there’s one thing Liege is known for, it’s not having a consistent design.

As we’ve gone from whatever this is supposed to be…

To Loki because the MCU was really popular back then.

The new design still uses Marvel Loki as the basis, but dials it back considerably, instead making him more of a generic knight. Notably the inclusion of a sword is interesting, as Aligned states his weapons are poisonous Legion Darts. Maximo’s initial concept painted HIM as the first Decepticon, of which Megatron and the others are descended from, an evil being created by Primus to counterbalance the first Prime via G2. Because Megatronus later inherited a lot of this, he instead was cast as more of a manipulative trickster, still evil, but not to the same extent as his G2 version was. Liege Maximo is also the Prime of false starts, as his G2 and IDW selves were set up as the next major villain but cancellation saw this unresolved. G2 Liege Maximo saw conclusion in what was unofficial fan fiction written by Furman, while IDW Liege Maximo was unceremoniously killed by Shockwave-Onyx in the main book. His only role that saw a proper conclusion was in RiD15, where he was the villain of the day in a chapter book causing problems for the Autobots because he was bored in the Prime Realm and wanted a cheap thrill. RiD is also the only place his Loki like characteristics were played around with. Because the Primes in ONE appear to all be benevolent, it’s not clear if Megatronus or Liege Maximo are still supposed to be the evil ones or not, but the more heroic looking Liege says no to me.

Amalgamous Prime

The mad lads finally made this horrifying thing work.

Pushing it into a four armed ED-209 direction is much better, and frankly going by his more “primitive” build, they can easily make future Shockwave toys into Amalgamamous. This guy’s claim to fame in the modern lore is being the first actual Transformer with the first Cog, which again is contradicted by Nexus and (possibly) Onyx also being able to Transform… Aligned lore says his Cog informed all future robots on Cybertron of the ability to Transform, but ONE streamlines it that ALL the Primes had Cogs and the ability to Transform, making Amalgamous somewhat redundant. Aligned also claims his direct descendants are “Shifters”, Transformers with omni transformation, rather than the standard robot to vehicle.

Aligned didn’t really do much with this concept because you can’t realistically make a toy of such a thing nor is it feasible to have them as reoccurring characters for both expenses and being OP, with TFP Makeshift and RID15 Pseudo being depicted as shadow creatures in their default mode. The Shifters haven’t returned post Aligned so I think it’s an abandoned concept. Future stuff I would assume would instead say Triple Changers and Six Changers are AP’s direct descendants since they’re much easier to work with in toy and fiction. His new Robot Mode makes me think he turns into a tank, but I’m also not sure if his head is his chest or not….

Vector Prime

Aside from his head and colors, the TFONE version is straight up the original Galaxy Force version.

Though his colors evoke one of Vector Prime’s influences, the Marvel G1 Last Autobot.

Vector Prime’s best known role is in Cybertron/Galaxy Force, where as the Primus appointed guardian of time, he joined the Autobots of the present day to find the Cyber Planet Keys to close the Black Hole that threatened the universe, as it was the end of time. Galaxy Force also showed Vector Prime can manipulate time, but it was a drain on his energy, and using it too much would kill him. Notably he used a brief display of this early on to save the kids and Mini-Cons from certain death, but I guess this version of Vector couldn’t do the same to defeat Sentinel & the Quints…

[rbbrbikerthorp]

A New Neighbour Moves In

[Please note: all characters are 18 plus and any reference to boy or girl is purely descriptive or used in dialogue between the characters.]

Mitchell was living the life much like any typical 23 year old male would. He’d graduated university, he had started his career in recruitment for legal and financial services and was starting to earn good monthly commissions on top of his basic salary. He’d used all the money inherited from his grandparents to buy a 1-bedroom flat in a new development, just on the edge of the city centre. Mitchell didn’t have a steady girlfriend – he wasn’t in a long-term relationship place. As he told his mates at the gym, he was a ‘date them and ditch them’ once he’d managed to ‘get them in the sack’ kind of bloke.

It was a Monday morning and Mitchell needed to get to work. First, he had to navigate his way carefully out of the flat where he’d been invited to spend the night. The girl he’d met in the club the previous evening had taken a shine to his blue eyes, rugby toned body and wavy blonde hair. “Another notch on the bedpost,” Mitchell thought as he tiptoed his way out of the girl’s bedroom. Mitchell made it a policy to only meet women in person and he would never exchange contact details. It meant that none of his ‘conquests’ had any idea of how to find him and, as he was enjoying his ‘tom cat’ life so much, he sure didn’t want to be found. He went on his Uber app and requested a taxi. In less than two minutes one had pulled up in front of him. He took one last look up at the window to check the curtains were still closed and the car pulled away from the curb.

He arrived back at his flat in plenty of time to get ready for the day ahead. He shaved his weekend beard growth and then turned on the shower. Whilst the water warmed up, he took a moment to admire himself in the mirror. He loved how beefy his legs looked from the years of playing rugby first in secondary school and then in the university’s first team. His regular attendance at the gym meant he had a well-defined chest and arms. Women loved his bum as it stood out, firm and muscular. Yes, at that moment as he entered the shower cubicle Mitchell was very content with his life, but on this day, things were about to change.

As Mitchell locked his front door, he noticed piles of boxes outside the flat next door. As he turned towards the lifts, he ran into a large man. He barely stopped as he fell into him. Stepping backwards he said, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t see you there.” As the guy regained his balance, Mitchell noticed the man’s shaved head, jeans with bleach marks with tall black boots with white laces tucked into them. Even though he thought of himself as a tough, well-built guy, he stuttered feeling inadequate and intimidated by this stranger. “I…I…I’m Mitchell,” holding out his hand, “n... n… nice to meet you. So, you’re moving in next door? I… I… always wondered who my new neighbour would be? It’s been vacant for ages.

The man smiled, “I’m John and yes, it was quite a steal really. Apparently last owner had been shacked up with his fiancé for the last few months and they were about to get married. I made an offer a bit less than what they were asking for, but, because he needed to put money down as a deposit on a new house, he had no choice but to accept.”

“Well,” Mitchell replied being polite, “I… I… I’ve got to get my bus.”

“Yes, I can see you’re dressed for an office. As you can probably see I’m not a suit person myself.”

Mitchell laughed nervously. Why was he feeling so unsettled by this guy?

“Look, why don’t you drop by when you get home from work. I always like to get to know my new neighbours.”

On the spur of the moment, Mitchell couldn’t think of an excuse not to accept the invitation, so he said, “why not? Must go!” As he walked away, he could sense the man was staring at him. He shouted, “good luck unpacking” and then lowered his voice a little, “weirdo.”

John couldn’t help admiring his good-looking young neighbour’s physique, and he shook his head hearing Mitchell mumbling that last word. He began to create a mental picture of what Mitchell might look like wearing less formal clothing. Tattoos were common on young men of a similar age these days, so John wondered if he had acquired any ink yet. He was sure to find out later when Mitchell would drop in for a chat and John would explain was his lifestyle was all about. John set about unpacking so that he could prepare for his young neighbour’s visit.

It was around 7:30 in the evening when John heard a knock on the door. He opened it to find Mitchell had changed out of his work suit into a t-shirt and sports shorts. “Come in.” It felt more like an order to Mitchell than a pleasantry.

“You got everything unpacked I see.” Mitchell said trying not to stare at the many pairs of tall lace-up boots all lined up by the door; taking in the various bomber jackets hanging on the coat rack and the skinhead themed pictures and posters on the walls.

John noticed Mitchell’s “That’s nothing lad, I’ve got way more kit in the bedroom.”

Mitchell really didn’t want to know any more about what might be in John’s bedroom, “takes all kinds I guess,” he thought as John handed him a beer. The two men chatted, but as Mitchell sipped away at the beer, “wow”, he thought, “this stuff has a real kick.” He found himself becoming more relaxed and more willing give direct answers to John’s questions; about his job, his personal life, his family and friends. Mitchell was hoping that by dressing as though he was going to the gym and John would bring their chat to an end and let him go on his way. Mitchell was starting to fidget as you do when you’re about to stand up. However, John had different ideas, “stay right there lad, and I’ll get us another beer.” Mitchell suddenly found himself wanting to stay and slumped back into the sofa.

“So wh… wh… what do you for a living?” Mitchell asked with a slight stutter and slur as John handed him another glass of beer.

John smiled, “I’m glad you asked. To put it simply I change people.”

“Change people?” Mitchell asked thoroughly bemused.

“Yes, I change people. I take ordinary people, with very traditional upbringings and boring lives and I change them into whatever takes my fancy.” You, young Mitchell are just the sort of person I look for to mould into something more, hmm, you know ‘out-there’.”

Mitchell had downed half the glass of beer at this point.

John continued, “maybe I’ll slowly take them from the lives they are currently leading and over a few hours, a few days, maybe a few weeks transform them. They might end up as a…”

John could sense Mitchell’s fear about what might happen to him but continued, “The next person I change may end up as filthy mohawked punk, a dirty greaser biker, a Leatherman, a goth, a rubber slave. Who knows? It’s whatever takes my fancy at that moment. After a time, I get bored and need a new challenge, so I sell them on to people into the lifestyle and I move on to my next…”

Mitchell couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to challenge what John was saying but he discovered it wouldn’t move. His heart was pounding, his anxiety levels were on the rise – no matter how hard he tried he was unable to form any words.

“Mitchell, I want you to calm down! Mitchell is such as pompous name, so from now on you’re gonna be called Mike. Now, I will carry on. John pulled out an amber charm which he swung from side to side, glowing eerily in front of Mike’ glazed eyes. When I combine this fine-looking stone with a special ingredient I have – oh you know I added a few drops into your beer, my victims become more… open to the changes I want to make to them. More compliant.” Mike’ eyes were affixed on the stone. “That’s right, just follow the stone, from side-to-side, follow the stone, transfixed by its glowing beauty/” John was comfortable in the knowledge that Mike would soon be his personal boy toy. “Isn’t that the most striking, bright and coloured stone you’ve ever seen Mike?”

He tried to open his mouth in one solitary second of defiance, but all he could managed was a barely audible squeak. His independence, his free will, his ability to fight and think freely had departed. There was no resistance left in Mike. His mind was now mush, the lad could only obey and conform.

John pulled Mike to his feet and dragged him to the bathroom. Once there, he placed him in a chair. “Right Mike, I’ve been thinking all-day about the life I want to give you. How do you fancy being my skinhead son? I’ve always wanted someone I could call a son, but being gay it was never going to happen, and I think you will make the perfect skinhead.” John didn’t wait for Mike to reply - he couldn’t; he did however see the confusion and distress in Mike’ eyes. He chuckled to himself.

John walked over to the bathroom cabinet and took out several items: some electric clippers, scissors, a pack of Mach 3 razors and a can of shaving cream. Turning his head to look at the boy, he smiled, “Only real men have hair. So, yours needs to go Mike. I’ll start on your legs and then your chest, all of that lovely blonde hair on your head and not forgetting the parts in-between. I’m going to enjoy getting rid of that wavy blonde hair. When I’m done, you’ll have a perfectly smooth bonehead.” John cut through the lad’s t-shirt revealing a well-defined torso. Staring at the blank canvas and thinking what he would do to it, he couldn’t help but squeeze one of Mike’ nipples. John detected the tiniest of yelps, so he squeezed the other nipple. There was no reaction this time, Mike’ mind was lost. He continued to stare into the  amber jewel that was hanging in front of his face.

John turned on the clippers, starting with the boy’s left leg. Hair started falling in clumps on the floor. Once the left leg was done, he moved on to the right one. Soon John was wiping them down with a cloth, applying a astringent lotion so that the smooth skin shone in the bathroom lights and after a few more applications, regrowth would never be a problem. Then it was onto the chest. Although Mike was only in his early twenties, he’d already got quite a covering of fur, which John’s clippers made quick work of. Mike’s arms were also denuded of hair. John turned off the clippers and, with the same cloth, applied more of the special lotion to the recently clipped areas.

John stood up and smiled. He paused for a second, “this is the last time there will be any hair growing on your head.” He pressed the on switch, and after hearing the familiar ‘clack’ he began ploughing all the way through the boy’s golden locks. In no time at all Mike was motionless sitting in the chair with a zero-grade cut. John picked up the can of shaving cream, squirted it into his hands and rubbed it copiously all over Mike’ head. He took the necessary time to ensure all the fuzz was removed and Mike’ head felt like a cue-ball. In no time at all there was a shiny hairless skinhead son sitting in front of him.

Looking down, John smiled as Mike’ identity lay on the floor in clumps. He looked up at Mike who was sitting perfectly still, with the same glazed eyes and dazed expression on his face, oblivious to the changes being made without his consent. He took the cloth, poured some more lotion into it and rubbed it into his son’s head.

“Stand,” John ordered. Mike complied, happily obeying his skinhead master. The sports shorts were pulled down over the now smooth legs and John stood back as he grabbed the clippers. “Now boy, I need you to get nice ‘n’ hard so I can make sure I get all your hair… down there...” He watched as slowly but surely there was movement in Mike’ groin. John grinned as in no time at all full mast was achieved. “Very nice boy,” John said out loud, “I bet you were popular with the women. Is that six, possibly seven inches? Good and think as well. Unfortunately for you, you’re not going to have much use of it as my son, but it will look amazing with a thick gauge PA, and a Jacob’s ladder.”

‘Clack’, John turned on the clippers and began the removal of the last remaining hairs on Mike’ body. He had to hold himself back as he rubbed the special lotion into the skin around the groin and on the mounds that had once been covered in thick hair. When he was satisfied the boy was as smooth as the day he was born, John left the bathroom to get something from his bedroom. When he returned Mike hadn’t moved, he was still lost in the stone “Now here I have the perfect thing to complete you. Now stay perfectly still.”

Later, John walked into the main room of the flat dressed in full skinhead gear. As he gazed at his newly denuded skinhead son, he felt his manhood straining inside a pair of skin-tight bleachers, which were turned-up and touching the top of a pair of 30-hole red ranger style boots. He was looking lustfully at the 23-year-old standing to attention, still wearing the expression, he had when the amber jewel turned him into the compliant vessel he now was. “It’s time for the next stage in your transformation lad.” With that John walked over to a cupboard an opened the doors.

The cupboard contained piles of skinhead gear from boots to bleachers to braces to bomber jackets. First, he instructed Mike to put on a yellow jockstrap. “You’ll be wearing this non-stop for a few days – it needs to get in nice ‘n’ ripe.” Then he passed the boy a t-shirt, which Mike willingly slipped over his head. “These are your bleachers; they’ve got two zips – front and rear – you’ll soon find out why,” he grinned, “slip them on.” Mike pulled up the tight-fitting jeans that had been liberally splashed with bleach. Mike didn’t take any notice of the fact that they’d been cut off just below the knee and turned up so that they would show the full extent of the boots he would almost always be wearing when he wasn’t in his work gear. John walked across to Mike carrying a pair of red braces which he attached to the bleachers, pulling them right up his bum crack – so much so that Mike let out a little groan. To finish this stage of the transformation, John handed Mike the left boot. It was black with 20 eyelets and partly laced. John talked Mike through how to ladder lace the boot tightly and perfectly. John fitted a padlock at the very top of the boot before handing over the right one. When John was happy with the way that one was laced, he fitted another padlock. “Stand!” Mike stood up. “Turn to look in the mirror, see the Skinhead son I’ve created. This is what you are now a proud skinhead and my skinhead son.

“Now, we can begin your training. Kneel!” Mike complied. “I know your tongue will still be a bit tender, so I’ll be gentle. Open!” John commanded, and with that he slid his cock into Mike’ open mouth. “Move your tongue slowly, showing how much your love the bottom of your skinhead dad’s cock. Make sure you keep your lips tightly closed as I don’t want you to spill anything.”

He sat back as his cock was held between Mike’ virgin lips and soon found himself about to cum as the hard stud, he had introduced to the lad’s tongue work its magic. The combination of it all and the sensitivity soon had John unloading his massive load. “Swallow!” Mike swallowed quickly trying not to “spill’ as he had been instructed. John soon slid from the lips of his new son and quickly zipped up his own bleachers. “Yes,” John thought, studying the boy who, in addition to the tongue piercing also had a stud in each lobe and four more studs all the way up each of his ears. Mike would serve him well as his skinhead son, but first he needed to complete the lad’s transformation. “Right son, let’s go – I need you to see a friend of mine.”

With that John grabbed a green bomber jacket with orange lining and threw it to Mike, “put it on,” he instructed. Mike slipped on what he would get to know as an MA1 and followed John out of the flat. Right away he found it strange walking in heavy soled, tightly laced boots, but he didn’t complain – he couldn’t.

The skinhead and son waited a few minutes at the bus stop before one came along heading in the direction of the city centre. They alighted just before the main shopping area. It was an area that would be unfamiliar to Mitchell, but Mike was oblivious to everything now. He obeyed his skinhead dad, just as any good son would do. The two skinheads walked side by side into a small industrial estate. One of the units had a sign saying, ‘Anaconda Tattoo Studio and Piercing’. John walked ahead of Mike, as they got to the door, John walked in but for a second Mike hesitated. John knew this sometimes happened, especially with all the distractions of the outdoors. He pulled the amber stone out of his pocket and held it in front of Mike. “This way boy,” he ordered. Mike complied; his eyes once again completely transfixed on the glow of the jewel.

Once inside the tattoo studio, John turned to Mike, “stand here son. I need to talk to the owner.” Mike waited as instructed. Despite tattoos being made popular by the countless athletes and celebrities who adorned their bodies with intricate permanent markings, the old Mitchell would have never crossed the threshold foot into a tattoo studio. But here was Mike waiting to submit to whatever his skinhead dad was discussing with the owner.

John came out of the back office followed by a hulk of a man who was wearing tight leather trousers, a black vest, which exposed his muscular arms covered in tattoos, shaved head with long unkempt beard and on his feet were heavy biker boots. “Son this is Griff, he’s going to give you some more piercings and your tattoos. But first, you are to strip down to your jockstrap. When you’ve done that, go over there and sit in the chair. From now on you will do exactly what Griff tells you to do. He’s going to give you your first marks to show the world that you’re a proud skinhead. After you’ve got your first ink, he’s going to give you some more metal. I’m going to leave you for a bit, but I’ll be back to see the finished work.” Turning to Griff, John said, “he’s all yours.”

Griff walked over to Mike wearing only his jockstrap  sitting obediently in the chair. Since John had already removed all the boy’s hair, Griff simply wiped clean the areas to be tattooed and then laid the first outline template on the skin. His machine was then started up, some ink was added, and the needle started to buzz.

He then began applying the needle over the site of the first tattoo, Mike felt a dull pain but didn’t flinch. Once the first tattoo on the boy’s left arm was completed, Griff went on to add the other tattoos as instructed by John. He started work on a full sleeve on Mike’s right arm, which would take four or five visits to complete. Then he added a bulldog to the rear of the lad’s right calf. Finally, two swallows were added to the back of the each of the lad’s hands. Griff whispered into Mike’s ear, “that’s all I’m doing now lad. John has booked half a dozen more sessions, so you’ll be coming back to get your neck, back and chest inked, and I can finish off the full sleeve. Now stay still. There’s a couple more things to do. Griff pushed away his tattoo cart and returned with another.

Griff looked at the docile boy in the chair. I think we will start with the nipples. Griff played, stroked and flicked them for a few moments until they were firm. He then slipped a needle through the left nipple, at which point Mike squealed. He then installed a barbell through the hole left by the needle and screwed a ball onto either end. He repeated the process for the right nipple. “No touching lad.” Griff then turned his attention to the lad’s groin and applied a topical cream to the so-called policeman’s helmet (bell-end to others). “Right, we’ll give that a little while to take effect and, in the meantime, we can sort out your nose piercing. This will hurt, but only for a second.” Griff then picked up a clean needle from his trolley and quickly passed it through the front part of the septum. Mike’s eyes began watering, so he knew the boy was feeling the pain from the intrusion of the needle. Carefully he inserted a ring into the boy’s septum, and then said out loud, “That will take six weeks or so to heal, then John wants it swapped for a bigger ring.” Now, the cream should have dulled your senses on your knob so let’s add the final bit of metal you’re getting today. He wiped the area to be pierced with an antiseptic skin cleanser, put a mark where the piercing was to be made, and begin the piercing process. The most painful moment for Mike in the piercing process was when the piercing needle punctured his urethra. One the needle was through, Griff inserted a circular barbell and spoke again, “don’t worry if you feel a bit of discomfort – a dull, throbbing pain that’s to be expected.

At that moment the door opened, and John walked in carrying a large shopping bag. “He’s all done, just as you instructed John. Don’t forget to leave the starter jewellery in for six weeks – no less, and make sure you use the aftercare solution. After that we can do a bit of stretching to your liking.”

As the days turned into weeks. John had started his son on the path to being a smoker. First, he gave him a gum to chew to introduce nicotine into the body, then he encouraged him to vape. When he felt there was an addiction starting, he told the boy to smoke cigarettes, starting him on five a day, and quickly moving onto ten, then fifteen. Within a couple of weeks, he was getting through a pack a day.

Mike also kept up his weekly visits to Griff, as more of his skin was covered with ink. Over the period, the full sleeve was completed, the Union flag was tattooed on the back of Mike’s next, the word skinhead was tattooed in script of his back and the letters that made up the word skinhead were inked on his knuckles and finally a Celtic cross was inked on the left pectoral. On the most recent visit Griff replaced the rings in his septum and PA with heavier gauges. As per John’s instructions, he also replaced the studs in his ears with rings and the ones in the lobes with spreaders. Mike joined his skinhead dad in a new gym, one that was run by an ex-boxer friend of John’s. John made sure to get Mike in the boxing ring so that his pretty boy face could get roughed up a bit. John wanted his son to look a bit freakier.

Mike didn’t look like the sort of person who would work in an office anymore, so he was signed up to work in the city council’s recycling centre – they were always in need of people to sort through other people’s waste. Five days a week he stood by a conveyor belt dressed in dirty Hi-Viz gear, and safety boots separating glass, metal, plastic, paper and cardboard into different bins.

After work, the boy would return to his skinhead dad’s flat, which was much bigger now that the wall had been knocked through joining what was Mitchell’s flat and John’s flat together. This night was special because as soon as he got home, Mike got out of his stinking workie gear he’d be in since just after dawn and into the skinhead gear his dad left out for him. Tonight, skinhead dad would be introducing his skinhead son to the lads in the pub. Mike dressed in his bleachers, a black Fred Perry, yellow socks and red 20-hole boots. Mike was ready in time for his dad to return home. John walked through the door and saw the perfect skinhead son standing there. “C’mon son. You’re gonna meet your skin bruders.”

[princessofgotham777]

Dating Jason Todd (Part Five)

fanfic type: angst, fluff, comfort (ongoing)

If you liked the Titans show but wish they handled Jason’s story line differently you might like this fic!

Hey so this is in fact my first time writing fanfiction (idk what my life has come to). Sorry if it’s cringy but also I would eat this up cause I LOVE some good angsty comfort fanfiction. I won’t write smut. I don’t think I’m gonna do requests but if you have any ideas feel free to let me know. Also of course I don’t own any DC characters this is purely fanfiction. Although I’ve had tumblr for a bit I’m not really used to posting stuff so sorry if I don’t format everything well. Thank you and I hope you enjoy. (I hope you like run-on sentences💀) (if you don’t like it don’t be rude just move on dude😃🧍‍♀️)

So story line, this doesn’t really take place in any specific universe but I’m gonna be pulling concepts from Titans, The Batman, Under the Red Hood, and whatever lore I remember from the CW shows cause I grew up watching those, then just my imagination of course. Reader is referred to as she/her btw.

Warnings: talking about death, suicide, depression, torture (it’s not graphic I hate gore it’s just sad), talking about intimacy (not graphic), struggling with eating, topics of grief

Part five: Dead?

You think you’re in shock. Maybe you’re so in shock you don’t even know you are. Dick said Barbra was going to deal with things back in Gotham so him, Kori and Rachel could come home. He told everyone he wants the team to be together but you know he really just wants to keep an eye on you. They should be back any minute since it’s been about three hours since you got the phone call; the call that told you the love of your life is dead. You and Gar sit on the couch side by side both quietly staring off into space. The elevator door opens and Dick, Kori and Rachel walk in. Rachel walks over to you and Gar, she pulls you both into a hug, Kori joins in and Dick simply stands to the side.

You get sick of the awkward conversation and long periods of silence. “Can I talk to you?” You ask Dick. He nods and you head into your old room.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I know,” you reply. “I’m going to Gotham.”

“Y/N, it’s not safe,” he says.

“You can’t stop me Dick, if you want you can come with but I’m going to Gotham…I want to see him,” you say softly.

“Fine, but no running off and what I say goes,” he says.

“Yes to the first one but I’m not a titan anymore I don’t take orders from you,” you say.

“Sorry…” he says. You begin to throw things into a leather backpack when he says, “you’ll always be a titan to me.” You look into his eyes and see so much sorrow. You don’t have the energy nor motive to attempt to unpack what he’s said. All you want is Jason, and now you’ll never see him again.

“Come on,” you say as you put on Jason’s leather jacket and your pink Chicago hat. Dick follows you out of the room and down the halls to where the titans are.

“Going somewhere?” Rachel says.

“Yeah, Y/N and I are going back to Gotham,” Dick says.

“What?” Gar says.

“What about the threats?” Kori says.

“Jokers the least of my problems right now, Jason’s dead…I need to be there,” you say.

“You’re okay with this Dick?” Gar asks.

“No but that’s why I’m going,” he says.

The car ride is filled with awkward silence. You guys are about an hour into the drive when Dick finally says something. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise,” he says.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” you answer quickly.

“I just need you to know I tried, I swept every room in Arkham myself,” he says.

“I know, Rachel told me,” you say. You notice he’s about to continue the conversation so you say, “I forgive you, I know that’s all you care about so I forgive you.”

“Hey, that’s not all I care about” He says.

“It wasn’t your fault, and besides it’s not about you,” you say.

“It’s not about me? What does that mean?” He says.

“Nothing just, you always do this Dick,” you say.

“Do what?” He asks.

“You always make it about yourself and your redemption, you did it on the roof top and you’re doing it right now and I just can’t deal with it, not today,” you say.

“Wait the rooftop-“ he starts to say before you cut him off.

“Not today Dick!” You say with anger. “Please,” you say softly. The rest of the car ride is fairly quiet except the typical arguing about if the gps is correct.

You and Dick get to GCPD to find Barbra speaking with a man in a lab coat.

“Dick?” She says. “I was just about to call you.”

“Barbra you remember Y/N,” Dick says.

“Right, hi,” she says sounding off. “Um something’s happened,” she says.

“Course more bad news, first can we see the body?” Dick asks.

“Fucks sake it’s not “the body” it’s Jason,” you mumble.

“Yeah so that’s the thing, it’s not Jason,” Barbra says.

“What?” You say.

“What do you mean it’s not Jason?” Dick asks.

“He was so beaten he was only recognizable by the Robin suit, we tested his DNA cause it’s part of procedure and the body in the morgue is not Jason Todd,” Barbra says.

“So Jason could still be alive somewhere?” You ask.

“Hypothetically yeah,” Barbra says.

I hope you liked the fic if you did please like, I really appreciate any positive feedback. It’s nice to know people enjoy my writing and it encourages me to keep writing and posting. I have a lot of ideas to develop the red hood story line and also I have backstory ideas for how the reader meets Jason and Dick and becomes a titan. Sorry this one is so short my mom is in the hospital that’s why. I did the whole Jason’s alive thing because I thought I killed him off a bit too suddenly, I’m trying to sort of merge the plots of under the red hood, death in the family and Arkham knight in regards to how he dies. Anyways I hope you are enjoying this series🩷

Also here’s my Masterlist incase you haven’t read the other parts.

Masterlist

[pluckyredhead]

Okay but I am fascinated by Orion and Scott's relationship.

Because for Orion, there must be so much guilt, right? He got to grow up in Heaven because Scott grew up in Hell. Highfather Omelased Scott so that Orion could have a childhood frolicking in rolling green pastures with Lightray and sleeping in a bed made of unicorn farts.

But at the same time I feel like there's also some resentment. Because Scott had the unhappy childhood...so why is Orion the unhappy adult? Why is Scott the well-adjusted one?

(Is Scott actually well-adjusted? He's very good at pretending he is. And I don't think it's entirely a mask. I think Scott is genuinely a pretty lighthearted, upbeat person, and that's part of what saved him from being broken on Apokolips before he could escape. But it's also a defense mechanism. He's a performer by nature and by trade.

I also think he's a deeply avoidant person. Unpleasant feelings? Uncomfortable conversations? Oh no, Scott is going to escape right the fuck out of that! So even though he absolutely is deeply traumatized by his upbringing - King's Mister Miracle was not the first time Scott has canonically had suicidal impulses - he is simply Not Going To Deal With It.

And this is a mask Orion is completely unequipped to see through. No one on New Genesis is familiar with the concept of "not saying exactly what you mean and how you feel literally all the time." I think Orion might be misread as stoic sometimes but he is super not! He literally just says how he feels all the time always! He's never lied even one single time in his life except for how on Earth he goes by O'Ryan instead of Orion! He has no ability to unpack "This person is pretending to be totally okay but actually they're only somewhat okay." Orion has never been somewhat anything.)

So yes anyway I feel like Orion is a little jealous and resentful that...somehow Scott still landed in a better place than him, for certain definitions of "better"? He's happy, he's well-adjusted, he has friends, he has a loving and functional marriage. Meanwhile Orion is having regular rage blackouts on a flying scooter.

But then he feels guilty again because how can he resent Scott after what he took from him? (Not that Orion had any choice in or even real knowledge of the Pact, but if you think Orion is going to let himself off the hook because he was a traumatized bald child when it happened, you don't know Orion.)

The other interesting thing is that even though Scott seems like the affectionate people person, it's Orion who makes all the overtures. Orion is the one who consistently refers to Scott as his brother (Scott's a little all over the map on this one). Orion wishes out loud that they were closer. Lonely, lonely Orion, who has absolutely no one in the universe who understands the tortured duality of his nature ("I am two worlds - like New Genesis, and that demon's pit - Apokolips! - One drifting forever in the shadow of the other - "), longs to hang with the one guy who might get it.

Whereas Scott...well, Scott's harder to read because he doesn't make a speech every time he has an emotion. He doesn't ever display any hostility towards Orion (King's MM run aside, which...yes, please, let's put it aside forever), but he also rarely demonstrates the same interest in building a relationship. His most loving gesture was pretending to be injured one time so that Orion would have to go fight Darkseid in order to lay flowers on a mass grave in Scott's place (it did actually make Orion feel better, so there's that).

I don't think Scott blames Orion, intellectually. I think he blames Highfather, as he should. (Not getting into whether Highfather ultimately made the right choice, just saying that Orion didn't get a choice at all.) And I think Scott is VERY VERY UNCOMFORTABLE with blaming Highfather, because it means he really has to think about what happened to him. In general, I think being around both Highfather and (to a lesser extent) Orion raises a lot of extremely uncomfortable thoughts and feelings and very painful memories, and so he just...escapes. He avoids being around them completely. It's very telling that Scott lives on Earth by choice and almost every time we see him on New Genesis, he's longing to leave. Being on New Genesis makes it impossible to avoid the Bad Thoughts.

So yeah, as much as I want to see these two having adventures together and hugging it out on the daily, I don't know that they can ever have the closeness Orion wants. (And god, can you imagine how much he would beat himself up if he knew that his desire for closeness was hurting Scott? It would be delicious.) But one of the reasons I love Simonson's Orion is that they find roundabout ways to show caring with the limited vocabulary they have, and maybe that's the best we can hope for.

[dandylovesturtles]

more Firelined propaganda, because I love them. as always, Firefight is owned by @remedyturtles

for the @tmntaucompetition

-----

Somehow, their teammates are stable. As far as Donnie can tell, this is pretty lucky, given the shape they were in. The other Leo still hasn't come out of his shell, though, eerily silent where he's cradled in the other Donnie's arms. He hasn't wanted to let go, even since they moved the both of them to a cot, and Donnie can't blame him.

There'd been some more running around, some more efforts to get them treated and comfortable, over the course of the last few hours. And now Donnie is pretty sure it's late (or he's experiencing some kind of interdimensional jetlag), and everyone but him is asleep. They'd found another cot and forced Leo, shaking and clearly low on energy reserves, into it; he'd fussed and insisted he wasn't tired, but the moment his head hit the pillow he was fast asleep. It was a little funny - the kind of thing they could chuckle about now, so many months into Leo's recovery. Raph had slumped against the wall and Mikey had climbed into his lap to nap there.

Donnie had promised them he'd join them soon enough. But so far he hasn't moved from his chair by their teammates' cot, typing away on his wrist tech and occasionally asking Shelldon to run some calculations for him.

At least, Donnie thought he was the only one awake, but the longer he sits there, the more he starts to feel the telltale prickle of someone watching him. His eyes rise from his screens and meet the gaze of the other Donnie, awake and observing him from the cot.

He lowers his wrist and gives a little wave of his fingers to the other Donnie. "Do you need more painkillers?" he asks quietly.

(He really needs a distinct designation for their counterparts. He remembers Leo floating the names "Leonother" and "Donatwollo" and shudders. For now, he decides to mentally refer to them as Donnie-β and Leo-β.)

Donnie-β shakes his head. His eyes float beyond Donnie, to where Leo is asleep in his cot. He points and makes a sign that Donnie assumes is his name sign for Leo-β (different from the name sign for his Leo, which is interesting), then waits to see if Donnie understands. At his nod, Donnie-β proceeds to sign, "Sleep, how?" as best as he can under the circumstances.

Donnie lets out a huff that's almost a laugh. "I'm guessing your Leo also suffers from insomnia?" Donnie-β nods. "As it turns out, chronic fatigue is a surprisingly effective cure." Donnie turns back and glances at Leo, sleeping away. "Usually, anyway..."

There are sometimes days Leo suffers from both, too tired to move but unable to sleep. He's always especially emotional on days like that, and Donnie knows he hates it, so he's glad Leo's brain is letting him sleep tonight.

When he looks back, Donnie-β has a complicated expression on his face that Donnie doesn't know how to begin to unpack. After several awkward seconds of silence, Donnie-β signs again, just, "How?" this time.

"How was he hurt?" Donnie clarifies, and Donnie-β nods again. "It was... the Dark Armor. Draxum put him inside." At the wide-eyed look of horror on Donnie-β's face, Donnie comes to the conclusion, "That didn't happen in your timeline, did it?"

Donnie-β shakes his head. It's not a surprise, at this point.

"It seems to be a unique event to our timeline, at least insofar as those assembled here are concerned," says Donnie, flipping through screens to bring up the research he's done on the alternate timelines here. "So far I know of one other timeline where Leo was put inside the armor, but their circumstances are substantially different from ours." He looks back at their teammates, taking in their substantial injuries, then asks, quietly, "This wasn't the Shredder, was it?"

Tired, Donnie-β shakes his head. Then, with a trembling hand, he fingerspells, "Krang."

"We've heard of them," Donnie tells him. "In other universes... Well, it seems like no one got off particularly easily."

It takes some fumbling from his position, but Donnie-β manages to sign, "Maybe not you," indicating the entire group when he does.

Donnie just shakes his head. "We aren't any more lucky than you guys," he says, which makes Donnie-β's mouth twitch in a motion that is at once humorous and grim.

Another few minutes of silence follows, during which Donnie goes back to looking at his screens, mostly to give Donnie-β the illusion of space. He can tell Donnie-β is thinking something over and trying to decide if he wants to bring it up (pretty weird to see that thought process play out on a mirror of his own face, actually), and he also knows it will be easier for him to come to a decision if he's not being stared at.

Finally, Donnie-β motions for his attention, and, once he has it, signs out, "Was it bad?" before indicating that he's talking about Leo. "Mentally, emotionally," he adds.

Donnie grimaces. Ah, no wonder he debated over saying anything... This isn't a topic Donnie is eager to discuss, either. But he has a feeling Donnie-β must have a reason for asking, so he's willing to talk. A little, anyway.

"Yes," he says. And then, because saying it all out loud is starting to feel dangerous, he turns off his wrist tech and switches to modified ASL (luckily, other than the name signs, Donnie-β's version has been close enough for him to follow so far). "It was bad."

Donnie-β looks at Leo, hesitancy written all over his expression. "Can you tell me?" he finally signs, with shaky hands, like he's not sure he wants to know about it but has to ask.

Donnie hesitates, too. Talking about his brother's mental health issues to other people without Leo's permission is a line he would not normally cross. Leo deserves to control who has that kind of information about him, and in what circumstances they're told. In this situation, he doesn't think Leo would mind, but still...

He decides on a compromise. "I can tell you how it was for me."

Perhaps Donnie-β understands the thought process that led here, because he nods and doesn't press for more.

Donnie takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. Thinking about that time, at the beginning of Leo's recovery, is stressful and comes with no small amount of shame. But he can do it, if it will help someone else with their own troubles.

"He was struggling," Donnie signs, because that much he knows is safe to tell, "and I didn't understand. I pushed too hard. I needed him to heal on my timeline. I wanted things to be normal. I wanted to go back to how it was before."

He chews on his lip, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I was scared. I felt like I was losing someone. I wanted my Leo," he uses his own name sign for Leo, then points to be sure Donnie-β knows who he means, "back. I wasn't ready to accept I wasn't getting him back."

Donnie-β's face seemed to drain of color, and he hugged Leo-β to his chest ever tighter. Donnie could only imagine what was going though his counterpart's head.

"Mikey," he fingerspells the name for Donnie-β's benefit, "said I was in mourning." He shrugs exaggeratedly - not because he doesn't believe Mikey, but because feelings have never been his area of expertise. "And that was okay. But I needed to love Leo where he is now."

He glances back at his brother, still sleeping soundly. He feels his heart swell when he does - that part, at least, had been easy.

"Leo is different now. And I love him." Donnie makes the sign for "love" extra exaggerated, to add as much emphasis as he can. "Who he is now. As much. More." He glances over his shoulder again and smiles at Leo.

Donnie-β listens. He puts his chin on Leo-β's shell, tapping out the same message to him again.

"...Scared," he rasps out loud, and his voice barely works; Donnie has to lean in to hear. But Donnie-β seems unwilling now to take his hands off Leo-β. "Of losing him for good."

Donnie's own stomach drops at the idea. He gives his head a firm shake, like that will banish it entirely, for both of them.

"You won't," he says. "You'll save him."

Donnie-β looks hauntingly unsure. "How do you know?" he whispers.

"Because you're Donatello Hamato," says Donnie fiercely, "and you can do anything."

Donnie-β doesn't smile, or laugh, or react in any way a Donnie might normally. Donnie supposes that Leo-β isn't the only one who's going to be different now.

But he nods, seriously, his hand keeping up the gently taps on Leo-β's shell.

"Wouldn't want... to give Donnies a bad name," he murmurs.

"That's right," says Donnie, a sigh in his voice. "And - not to sound like Raph here - but maybe you should start by getting some rest yourself."

Donnie-β lets out a noise that is close enough to an annoyed huff it makes Donnie smile.

"If anything happens-"

"We'll wake you. Don't worry."

A nod. Donnie-β's eyelids droop.

He's asleep soon, curled around Leo-β's shell even in slumber. Donnie makes sure the blankets are tucked firmly around both of them, then stretches.

"Shelldon, wake me if anything changes."

"Sure thing, dude."

Donnie looks at Raph and Mikey's mini-turtle pile, then turns back to Leo's cot. It's not really big enough for two, but without his battle shell Donnie is pretty sure he can make it work.

He tucks himself in behind Leo. Leo makes a soft noise in his sleep, turning over and curling into Donnie instinctively.

Donnie would never want anyone else for a Leo. He knows Donnie-β feels the same about Leo-β. And that's why Donnie can rest - believing, eventually, they would be okay.

[tuliptired]

hi! ive read so many fics where egon's love interest is super smart and a scientist just like him but i kinda wanna reader the opposite at least once :') may i request an egon x reader where his s/o isnt super smart like him, doesnt have an interest in what he studies but is supportive, never went to college, and they're a high school drop out who got their GED through GED classes? maybe one day they're feeling self-conscious about their intelligence compared to him but he assures them that he loves them no matter what?

Please Stay with Your Own Kind (and I'll Stay with Mine)

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Accidental cut while cooking (stay safe friends :[ )

Sorry this took ridiculously long, life caught up to me and I had to do this ask justice by unpacking all my junk from when I was struggling with school ( ╥ω╥ )

Better formatting on Ao3!!

 You wiped your cheek with the heel of your hand, dust left in its wake. You pushed your couch back into place with a grunt, trying your best to tune out the noise coming from your kitchen table. Normally, if anyone barged in while you were trying to clean and insisted on using your apartment for experimentation, you’d be more than ticked off. But, you were used to it by now, especially at this point in your relationship with a certain atypical scientist. How could you resist him, when he7 was muttering something about elevation and better work environments?

They say cleaning is the best way to get rid of unwanted guests, but Egon was far from colloquial, only ever sneezing as you dusted the space around him. There were bolts and screws littered all over the wood, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. He was so busy lately, either at the firehouse or the university he had a fellowship with, that any visit was one to cherish. Even if it meant your centerpiece had to be relocated to the floor.

You stood, hands on your hips as none of your under-the-sink rummaging rewarded you with the little purple spray bottle you were looking for. “Egon?” You turned, the man zeroed in on the mechanism taking up such a small spot on the table.

He hummed, referring back to a large notebook without looking at you. “Could you check the bathroom for my window cleaner?”

Another hum as he kept working. This guy.

“Egon.”

He finally lifted his head, glasses slightly askew. “Right. Sorry.” he nodded once, before disappearing down the hall.

 Your eyebrows twitched upwards as you let out a light sigh, peering down at the contraption delicately, like your gaze could shatter all of his hard work. It was barely the same size as your landline, appearing almost miniscule when in your significant other’s large hands. How could such a tiny thing hold so much of his attention? Or require all the other machinery and calculation around it? Upon further inspection you could see intricate wiring woven throughout its insides. You clicked your tongue. This was all beside you- or above you, if you were being honest. You supported Egon, you really did, but Egon was physics, electromagnetism, degrees and doctorates in studies you’d never even heard of. And here you were, worrying about which set of patterned throw pillows fit the season more. 

The phone rang, stealing you from your moment of introspection, laced with contempt for whatever it was on your table. You took a breath before answering, voice uncertain about who would be calling so close to dinner. “Hello?”

“I’m calling from Columbia- Institute of Advanced Theoretical Research. Is Dr. Spengler around? This is one of the numbers he left for us.” The caller sounded boyish, and eager, rushing through his words.

You were a bit flattered at the idea of your line being an after-hours contact for him. “He’ll be just a second,” you apologized, leaning over to look into the darkness of the unlit hallway. Maybe you forgot to pick up another bottle at the store after all.

There was a staticky silence on the young man’s end, the excited murmur of voices when you picked up now lulled. You could hear him clear his throat before he spoke again. “If you don’t mind me assuming…you’re his partner, right?” he questioned.

“Oh! I am. He passes through here from time to time with work.” Your face heated up in such a silly way in spite of how long you’d been together. 

Surprised murmuring. Did he have company? “That’s great! Dr. Spengler’s a pretty big deal around here,” he boasted enthusiastically.

“Is he?” you smiled to yourself. “I don’t doubt he’s a decent scientist.”

“Of course! We’re all admirers, here.” he gushed. “I dream of being half the scholar he is. Dozens of degrees, 2 doctorates- he’s essentially a genius.”

You shuffled on your feet, amused at his vigor, but reaching that part of conversations surrounding intelligence and tertiary education that prodded at a nastier version of yourself. “Don’t I know it.”

He continued. “We study his journals like they’re gospel. He’s made such big progress in paramagnotheric study that we’re here working for him like drones. Grateful drones.” The student took a pause for air. “That’s why I called- we have big news for him.”

“It’s great- that you’re all so dedicated,” you squinted back down the hall.

Another scratchy moment without words. “I’d be so embarrassed, if he heard me raving like this. What about you?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, Dr. Spengler must have pretty refined tastes. What’s your doctorate in?”

Your throat tightened as you involuntarily clenched your jaw. You really thought you were over this question. Where was Egon? You could live with printed-stained glass if he’d save you from the incoming conversation. You drew in another breath. “Didn’t get that far.” 

“Oh! Sorry for assuming. Your master’s? We had bets on chemistry or neuroscience. Maggie had $20 on you being Dr. Abrams from engineering.”

Does he know that’s not a thing you say to a stranger? God, this was giving you a headache. “Only a GED,” you divulged painfully, snapping in speed but not in tone. What followed was what always followed, most frequently in the early days of your relationship. It was the stunned moment of disbelief from friends and family who knew your academic history. The lingering internal question of: “how’d they get with Einstein?”

“I see,” the caller finally stammered, most likely to be polite.

“Different things…it got away from me. If I could’ve, I would’ve,” you trailed off, not finishing your thought as you cringed at the idea of trying to explain your lack of a traditional diploma to someone who didn’t sound old enough to be far into their graduate schooling.

He cleared his throat. “I get it.” Did he? He’s got handfuls of degrees to add to his name. In the bitter respite of dead air, a venom uncoiled inside of you that was reserved to classmates in the gifted and talented program. But it wasn’t his fault, really. He was only a young adult going down the path that was open to him. And fangirling over your boyfriend, you thought to yourself as you wordlessly rewound it.

Finally, finally , Egon returned, with a clear liquid that wasn’t your window cleaner. But his presence didn’t make you feel any sort of reassurance. “Cladosporium growing in your grout. I made a fungicide for it.”

You furrowed your brows, pressing the phone into his chest and stalking off, leaving him to nearly drop the landline and whatever solution he was holding.

You resigned yourself to stewing in your misery and chopping carrots. You weren’t an exemplary chef, but you both needed to eat. Feelings that you’d be harboring in the back of yourself were boiling inside of you like oil, hotter than water. Egon appeared in the kitchen, having hung up.

“That was Lucas, from the university,” you heard behind you.

“I gathered.”

Egon must’ve failed to pick up on your tone. “He’s a bright young man. He manages the lab well when I’m gone.” You grabbed another vegetable before he settled at your side. “What’re you making?”

“Stew- rice- something. Could you get the stock out the fridge?” You cut awfully close to the tip of your pointer finger.

He tried handing it to you gently, and you grabbed it without looking, ducking into the cabinet by the oven for your measuring cup. Holding it up to the light, you cursed at the odd units of measurement. “ 15 fluid ounces,” you read the chipped red lettering, “how many cups-”

“1.87.” You didn’t turn to face him, letting a puff of air escape your nostrils. “Or 1.9,” he added quickly.

You poured it into the pot, steam rising into your face. Egon was quiet, until he leaned against the counter, taking up a much duller knife to help you get through all the vegetables before the broth burnt out. “About the mold in your bathroom,” he started. “I can remove it for you, but I’m worried about your respiratory health. Untreated fungi that you can see means untreated fungi that you can’t.” Wasn’t that reserved for roaches? Your skin crawled at the thought- of mold and an infestation. “Pathogenic diseases from mold are nothing to play around with.”

“It’s fine,” you uttered, checking on a pot of rice, fingers carefully holding onto the protected part of the hot metal handle.

“Killing it? I have sodium bicarbonate and trisodium phosphate back at the firehouse, it’ll only take-”

You grip the wooden spoon in your hand tightly, nails digging into the flesh of your palm. “No, I mean- don’t do anything! To my bathroom. Or my house. Please.” you nearly pleaded, shutting your eyes and stirring the contents of your dinner. 

Egon complied, wordlessly giving you a bit of space as he added the last potato. You chewed your lip.

“You usually ask for all the details from school.” his voice was barely audible.

A deep weight settled in your stomach. “It slipped my mind.” You spotted a bundle of thyme that never made it in, mindlessly plucking it from the countertop and going back to chopping. “What happened?” you breathed out.

His eyes were on you. “They’re making good strides. Lots of excitement, since they got the cells they engineered to detect psychokinetic energy in electromagnetic conditions. I don’t like leaving them alone, but this was nowhere near an actual challenge- it’s simple trigonometry.” Any other day, the “respected professor” thing would be hot. If you weren’t so focused on finely dicing the herb, you’d have seen his smirk to himself. “They were so happy- to get through the easier part of research.”

“Shit,” you hissed. The knife must’ve slipped, probably from how tense your hands were, or how thin you were slicing, or from how your vision clouded with tears of frustration. Regardless, it nicked into your flesh, quickly drawing blood. You brought the junction between thumb and pointer finger to your lips, before Egon seized your wrist. 

Egon herded you to the sink instead, his talk of “700 different types of bacteria” and “immunocompromised from mold inhalation” lost on you. You drew your wet hand back, lifting both to your eyes, now squeezed shut as you turned away. This whole thing was so, so stupid. It had been so long, and you still felt so angry. The outside world was tuned out from the rushing of water out of the faucet, until Egon’s voice broke through, even if it sounded far- as if he was on the other side of your apartment. 

“I’m sorry. You’re upset, and I don’t know how to help you.” 

A quivering air left you after you shut the sink off. He didn’t deserve your bad mood- or years worth of a bad mood. If you weren’t mad at the boy over the phone, or Egon, the only person left to scorn was yourself. Your vexation crumpled inward, turning into sadness. Self-pity. Resentment. Guilt. 

A thick swallow. “No- I’m sorry that I’ve been short with you today. It’s just- I’m- I don’t-”

Egon’s hands were guiding you to your table before you could break. In between joining you in the kitchen and taking the phone, he must’ve packed up what was left of the work he brought over, something you silently thanked him for. You sat in silence, not knowing how long you must’ve taken to steady your breathing and clear your head. Regardless, he sat with you the entire time, never once pushing you as his hand rested in yours, thumb laid clinically over your pulse point. He’s a creature of habit.

You looked to him, eyes a tinge red. “We’re getting older.” You lifted your gaze fondly to a familiar notch in between his eyebrows. It was only faint, something you’d teased him about because of his lack of efforts to stop or delay aging, but it wasn’t always there. “Much, much older.” Egon’s expression was neutral, something that brought you comfort when it should’ve worried you. “I admire you. So much. And so does everyone else- which you deserve. You’ve worked so hard, for so long, and you’re somebody, Dr. Spengler .” You gave him a weak smile that melted away as you blinked . “ And I’m awful for thinking it, awful for feeling it, but you don’t deserve an idiot who couldn’t even make it to graduation.” Hot tears gathered in your eyes again as your voice was shaky. “I’m holding you back from something bigger.”

His face was softer. “And, I feel like garbage. Utter and complete garbage because so much has happened since then and it still feels like I failed.” You could remember the first time Egon urged you to let him know how you felt, after every confession of unpleasant feelings felt like an unbalanced apology. He was allowing you to feel, without guilt. “It’s this nagging and incessant idea that I’m nothing.” You let your chest fall and rise. “Dr. Abrams wouldn’t do this.” a pitiful attempt at a joke. 

The ghost of amusement. His thumb gently caressed your pulse point, the heartbeat that was once in your throat resigned back to being a dull throb in your chest. He took a moment before speaking, voice small. “It’s not untrue that I value education.” Egon’s eyes rose to your own. “But I’d be closer to an idiot than you’ll ever be if I valued it over you, and your presence in my life.”

 “I’m sorry if I failed to notice how you’ve been feeling.” Egon took your other hand, the one that laid limply on the tabletop. “Do you think I’d be with anyone else just because they had a doctorate? A PhD?”

You shook your head, growing red under his sudden passion. “Egon, I-”

“It doesn’t matter to me, because they wouldn’t be you. You are so much more than an abbreviation.” Tears flowed freely from your eyes, and he gently wiped them away every time, hands cradling your wet cheeks. “Besides. Dr. Abrams isn’t half as interesting as you are.”

Egon smiled at you, eyes crinkling as you returned it. 

There was a hiss of smoke from the kitchen that made him flinch, the threat of fire making you scramble back to the stove. As you cut the heat, you winced at the sight of liquid and vegetables burnt black and stuck to the bottom of the pot. 

“Ah, man. I’m sorry,” you frowned, switching on the fan.

“Things get away from us,” Egon held your shoulders, smiling as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

[whenmemorydies]

Preliminary thoughts on The Bear, race, power and privilege

I’m a non-Black woman of colour who has spent all of my life in the west…so I’ve consumed a lot of television media that is produced by and for the white gaze. The most obvious way that gaze plays out is when people of colour are non-existent in a cast, or when they are included, are tokenistic, bit players.

A more insidious manifestation is where POC are cast to play parts that could just as easily be played by white folks: characters that have no interiority or external relationships related to their cultural identities, wider communities or individual or collective histories (for example, Mindy in The Mindy Project for most of its run, or the characters of colour in Season 1 of Bridgerton).

I've had some thoughts about how The Bear (thankfully) avoids tokenistic and "colour-blind" representation. I also have some thoughts about how the show models meaningful allyship. I'm so keen to discuss this with folks and hear what others think about it too.

Unambiguous and unapologetic

The Bear is confined in its universe, particularly in season 1 where it’s focus is tightly bound to the physical location of The Beef as the setting for almost every scene. Episodes of The Bear are generally not very long, so time is precious (every second really does count). These factors necessarily limit how deep we can get into each character. But the show is so good at drawing on different means of communication: images, lighting, score, soundtrack, phrasing, callbacks to previous episodes, other cultural references etc, that each episode is like a jewellery box with gems waiting to be unpacked and pored over. I've said that I have started reading this show like a tarot deck because of how rich the symbolism in each episode is.

So despite the constraints of time and setting, characters of colour in this show are also so very rich in their realisation and portrayal. These characters are unambiguously and - this is important - unapologetically racialised: through language (see: Tina’s use - and occasional weaponisation lmao - of Spanish), physical appearance (see: Sydney’s two-tone braids and her stunning, prolific collection of headscarves throughout the show), culturally distinct names (see: Sydney Adamu, Ebraheim, Tina Marrero, etc), food (see: Carmy’s peace offering to Syd in ep 1x03 of Ebra’s family chicken suqaar - a popular dish in the latter character’s birth country of Somalia), etc.

GIF by @chefkids

These may seem like small and inconsequential details to some. In fact I’ve been seeing a lot of commentary from folks online saying that what they like about The Bear is that race isn’t mentioned at all on the show. But make no mistake: race is all over this thing. The examples I've given are only some of the many references to racialised histories and cultures that build out the broader fabric of multicultural Chicago here.

What is not present in The Bear is a script that is wasting time explaining the characters of colour and their rich inner and outer lives to white folks. Those things are just a given and we are invited to witness them being brought to vivid life by this cast and crew. And I am fucking here for it.

Respect and allyship

Another thing I LOVE about this show is the respect given to, and the recognition of, the experience, talent, drive and ambition of its characters of colour.

This is most obvious in the relationship between Syd and Carmy who are signalled as complementary equals in many ways. Others have written on the importance of the representation embodied by Sydney’s character and you should search out that analyses, especially when its authored by Black women. The only other thing I’d say about it is that I love Sydney’s character and I also love endgame Sydcarmy (even if it’s only hinted at in the last second of the last frame of the last ever episode lmao…I will take whatever I can get of these two 😭).

I also see the show’s respect and recognition manifest in The Bear's investment in its staff, particularly in season 2. Everyone who worked at The Beef has a role at The Bear and Carmy, Syd and Nat fund the ongoing training and upskilling of their largely racialised staff to make sure this happens. Ebra and Tina are paid to attend culinary school (Carmy also gives Tina his prized knife for her studies and beyond). Marcus is sent to stage in Copenhagen to develop his skills as a patissier. And then we have The Bear itself - what started as Carmy and Michael’s vision, is now the whole team’s baby, with Sydney literally being made the captain of the ship by Carmy at the end of ep 2x09.

GIF by @savagegood

Part of what was so tragic about Carmy's fridge spiral at the end of season 2 was that he didn't get to see how beautifully the team came through in a crisis. Instead we had him internalising, regressing and lamenting how he had let everyone down. This language centred Carmy as the be all and end all of The Bear (saviour vibes) when this couldn't have been further from the truth (particularly in a season where the man spent so much of his time not in the restaurant but chasing manic pixie no-last-name-having Claire....but I digress).

Carmy is his best when he checks his ego, takes a step back and realises that he is not alone. He is part of a whole chosen family supporting one another at The Bear. And I get the sense that the folks creating this show know that we need more white folks using their power and privilege to step back and facilitate access, and less gatekeeping white saviours taking credit where its not due.

After all, and paraphrasing Viola Davis, the only thing that separates people of colour from anyone else, is opportunity.

12/04/24 Note: I’ve amended this post because I forgot to mention the most pivotal example of Sydney along with her relationship with Carmy. Also made some slight stylistic changes to phrasing cos i fixate on errors lol