#which implies a new sense of closeness in the bridge that was not there in the previous close lines

[likeadevils]

Wait but isn’t untouchable a cover? Like she didn’t write it?

she didn’t write it but she did change some lines, mainly to make it less sexual, but in the case of The Two Lines, she changed it from “i know you’re saying that i’ll be here anyway” to “i know you’re saying that you’d be here anyway”, and she changed the following lines from the “and in the middle of the night when i’m in this dream” passage to the “but you’re untouchable burning brighter than the sun” passage, which i think changes the song from a simple pining for someone who’s stringing you along dynamic, into a “we’re both pining over each other but i’m afraid of how much i want you”

[finalgirllx]

bartender mattheo riddle

i'm a slut for AUs and this one quickly shot up to being one of my favorites for mattheo.

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge, the prompt i went off of was 'firewhiskey/butterbeer'

3.7k words | nsfw | minors dni | f!reader implied | drink responsibly | wrap it

As you tread the once-familiar cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, the rhythmic click of your shoes provides a temporary distraction from the storm swelling inside your thoughts. For such a lively village, the action around you feels distant, too far in the past to offer any respite similar to the steady cadence beneath your feet. 

To outside viewers, you appear as any young person donning a modest party dress and looking for a casual spot to unwind for the evening. They wouldn't know this was your first visit to Hogsmeade in over five years since you finished your schooling at Hogwarts. You had left the highlands, your small hamlet, for bigger, better things—or so you had thought. 

Reality didn't guarantee such promises you had dreamed of in those few years. Currently barely making ends meet and running on a general sense of uncertainty, you decided it was as good a time as any to revisit your hometown and the magical communities surrounding it, including this cheerful wizarding town you had frequented throughout your adolescence. 

You first tried your luck with the Three Broomsticks, but the bustling atmosphere proved too overwhelming for the discreet return you aimed for. With the decision between the rundown Hog's Head inn and a newer, more upscale establishment called 'Celestial Sips,' you opted to see what this new 'fancy-schmancy' spot was all about. 

You stealthily step through the polished entry doors to scan the venue, which is dimly lit beside faint golden lights. It is adorned with oddly shaped furniture more suited for artistic expression rather than usability. It appears far more modernized than the traditional charm most common with Hogsmeade’s businesses, young wizarding folk undoubtedly curated it with heavy inspiration coming from muggle cocktail lounges. 

The existence of the bar itself in a place such as Hogsmeade wasn't the most earth-shattering part of this night out. It was when your eyes met with the lead bartender, and a flood of memories filled your senses as you realized it was none other than Mattheo Riddle.

His dark curls were unruly as ever but fell in such a way that made him irresistible. His piercing dark gaze caught yours, sparking with recognition. The scar across the bridge of his nose was just as prominent as it was six years ago, as vivid as the day you had dragged him to the hospital wing to get his split nose mended after a particularly grueling fistfight. 

That memory also reminds you just how close you and him once were. While you had never officially dated, you did everything a couple would and then some. You shared countless fun late nights, as well as having been there for each other during the more trying ones. And although sexual intimacy didn't come until after graduation, the passion of those post-school days also remains etched in your memory. It was your decision to pursue "bigger things" that had cut that short, leaving you with a lingering sense of what might have been.

Despite the distance between you as you reeled from the shock of encountering him here, you couldn't help but notice the changes in Mattheo over the past five years. Mattheo exuded a confidence far from the troubled boy you once knew at school. He had grown taller, broader, and even more handsome than before. He was also now littered with tattoos that only added to his allure, tempting you to bridge the distance separating you further. 

Your knee-jerk reaction would have been to flee the scene, but since you had already met eyes and he was actively beckoning you forward to the bar as you battled with your thoughts, you had no choice but to participate in the unexpected reunion. 

You sat at a bar stool, and Mattheo quickly welcomed you with a warm but distinctively husky tone. It was clear that Mattheo was struggling to mask his excitement over seeing you as he tried to maintain some professionalism while behind the bar. 

"The greatest stroke of luck I've encountered since taking the job at this fancy joint," Mattheo started with genuine delight, "I can't believe it's you. You look fantastic," his quick work of sweet-talking you did the trick as your cheeks flushed, though still totally sober. Mattheo was also swift in amending that, sliding a vodka cranberry before you with a nod, "On the house. Let me know if you want something more 'refined' for the setting; I just went with an old favorite." 

You let out a soft giggle, drawing the straw to your lips to sip the drink. The sweetness of the juice masks the burn, perfectly balanced to not overwhelm from either end. 

With Mattheo's excellent job of putting you at ease, you finally replied. "Indeed, you always teased me for not being a whiskey drinker. Old habits die hard," you quipped, taking another sip before continuing. "But, look at you! A bartender? Mattheo, I must say, I'm thrilled to see you here and not, well.." your words lingered away at the implication, realizing it might not sound as encouraging as intended. There were all sorts of rumors of him headed to a life of dark wizardry, so seeing him here was a relief. But he didn't have to hear about any of that, not now. Quickly shifting your approach, you perked up to suggest, "And at this luxurious place? While I appreciate the old favorite, I would love to see what magic you could conjure up in a cocktail glass."  

Mattheo laughed and shook his head momentarily before piping up again. "Seems your confidence has skyrocketed. I'm glad to see that, princess," he teased with a cheeky smirk, earning an eye roll from you that only amused him further. You again feel a little heated at the nickname, opting not to question it. You could see that the mischievous glint in his eyes was alive and well as he began meticulously combining various expensive-looking drinks and mixers just for you. Simultaneously, Mattheo tended to other existing patrons, expertly traversing the sprawling bar to ensure everyone's needs were met and drinks stayed filled. 

Observing how Mattheo carried himself with such assuredness only heightened your attraction. Each movement he made to speak with patrons and craft drinks allowed you to appreciate his muscled physique. You were no better than a groupie ogling his toned, tattooed arms, his hands still bearing faint scars from his past. The sight of his veins flexing with every motion ignited a fire in your stomach that you hoped wouldn't consume you entirely.

His broad shoulders and slim waist were accentuated by his dark button-up dress shirt. That caught your attention, as did when your gaze moved downward and drifted over his perfectly sculpted behind. You were abruptly snapped from your desirous stupor when the object of your admiration set a much fancier cocktail before you. 

"Like what you see?" Mattheo asked with a smug, teasing tone, causing you to want to disappear into the ground beneath your stool. You must have been less-than-subtle about checking him out, but he didn't seem to mind as he continued without further ribbing. "Try that. It's the Mattheo special," he said, watching you intently to see how you reacted to the first sip.

You smirked at the oh-so-creative name and then inspected the drink itself. It was rather extravagant, a lavender purple hue with swirls of gold shimmering with every swish of the glass. 

Without hesitation, you lifted the glass and took a small sip. A delightful combination of blueberry and lemon overtook your tastebuds, almost completely shielding the strength of the alcohol in the drink. Hell, you were prepared to question if it was mixed at all had you not watched him pour at least a shot's worth of vodka into it.

You gave him a smile of approval, to which Mattheo grinned widely, clearly pleased to see you liked it. With the other patrons momentarily tended to, Mattheo rested his elbows on the counter, surprising you with his sudden proximity as he leaned forward, suggesting he had something enticing to say. 

"I hope this isn't too forward, but I'd really like to catch up," Mattheo spoke in a hushed tone. It sounded innocent enough, but the question, paired with his gaze lingering on your figure, told you he meant anything but. "Would you consider sticking around till close?"

Yes, yes, yes! Your internal monologue screamed. On the outside, you locked eyes with him and smirked, your expression conveying you understood his intentions well. "I don't have anywhere else I want to go; I can stick around." 

-----------------------

You were cautious with your drinking to avoid getting too intoxicated for your later plans with Mattheo. As the closing time for Celestial Sips approached, you remained near the counter, bantering with other patrons. Mattheo delegated cleaning duties to other employees while he called for final rounds and closed tabs. Each time your eyes met, a shared twinge of excitement passed between you.

After another hour or so, Mattheo finally shut down the lit 'open' sign, leaving you two together alone. While this is what you wanted, your nerves welled up upon the realization that it was just the two of you here. A hint of insecurity came over you. He had grown to be such an attractive, confident man, and you could only hope he found you equally appealing. That line of thought was interrupted when Mattheo began approaching you. His expression, filled with hunger, was directed at you. His captivating eyes combined with the deep-brown locks drooping over his forehead implored you to swoon from where you sat.

"Merlin, princess, you have no idea how much I've missed you," Mattheo murmured, his voice brimming with seduction as he closed the distance, his hands finding their place on the curve of your waist. “Please let me know if you want me to slow down at any time." His words echoed in your ears, bringing you comfort even though you felt wholly prepared to surrender to all of his desires. 

Mattheo advanced until your back pressed against the front of the counter. His lips found the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with a trail of wet kisses in their wake. A moan escaped your lips as his actions ignited your longing for more; everything you had wished his hands on you would feel like coming true. However, the heat was cut short far too soon when Mattheo suddenly took a pause from all of the heavy petting.

"You seem tense," Mattheo remarked with a hint of concern. You promptly reassured him with affectionate pecks to his cheek before admitting, "I just hope I'm good for you." His eyes briefly darkened as if displeased by your hesitancy. Suddenly, both of his hands moved to cup your cheeks, and he gazed deeply into your eyes.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on. I meant every word when I said I fantasized about a moment like this with you for years," he confessed. The sincerity in his voice compelled you to trust him, leaving you with no doubt about whether he wanted this. 

Seeing you take his words to heart, Mattheo's expression then lit up, clearly having a lightbulb moment. "If you're ready, this place is chock full of drinks to help us both loosen up a bit," As soon as he mentioned it, you felt almost silly having overlooked the idea, realizing that some liquid confidence was the answer to easing your nerves. You nodded, and Mattheo took his hand in yours and gently guided you behind the bar counter.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, and you instantly replied, "I do."

In one swift motion, one hand made its way to the back of your head and the other to the small of your back so he could pull you into a passionate kiss. Your tongues found each other in a dance, his dominant side quickly winning over as his tongue protruded into your mouth. When you briefly pulled away to catch your breath, your cheeky side showed itself when you gently tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. He moaned slightly, to your satisfaction, and you took advantage of the moment to run your hand over his chest, feeling the muscles underneath that dress shirt. You finally had Mattheo Riddle all to yourself, and you wanted all of him.

Without warning, he grabbed you by the hips, pulled you close, and spun you around to bend you over the counter. One hand curled around your hair to create a makeshift ponytail, the other wasting no time grabbing a bottle of fire whiskey within arm's reach and placing it beside you. 

"I'm sorry, doll. I know you love vodka, but whiskey is perfect for tonight." 

You looked up at him with doe-like pleading eyes as he gripped your hair, nodding as much as you could though restricted by his hold. He grinned wickedly over your enthusiastic consent before looming over you with a dominating presence. "Open up that mouth, princess."

Your lips slightly parted as Mattheo brought the open bottle of whiskey to your mouth. He poured a shot's worth down your throat, the intense heat burning on your tongue without anything to chase it down. Yet, as Mattheo force-fed you the drink and whispered praises in your ear about how you 'take it so well,' the burn of the whiskey transformed into a divine sensation, exhilarating in the best way. The bar counter was the only thing stopping you from melting to the floor as you became weak in the knees, your aroused state especially susceptible to his praise.

Mattheo lifted the bottle away from you to take a swig, holding you to the counter with a heavy palm against your back. He sighed, satisfied by the burn.

After a moment, he turned his attention back on you and pulled your hair to the side, hastily marking your neck with suctioned kisses and nibbles. At the same time, Mattheo's fingers ghosted down your back, caressing your ass and jolting you with a swift spank, finally reaching underneath your dress to stroke your cunt through your slick panties.

"Merlin, princess, after seeing the way your lips wrapped around that bottle, I wanted to fuck that pretty mouth so bad. But feeling how goddamn wet you are for me, I'm not sure either of us can wait for my cock to be inside your perfect, tight pussy."

His long fingers moved away from your aching core, reaching up and now brushing against your lips. "Will you wet my fingers a little more for me?" he asked in a voice too enticing for such an indecent request. You immediately allowed him to intrude your mouth, his fingers already covered in your taste though he had just barely begun to touch you. "We have to prepare that pussy don't we?" he groaned into your ear. You were distracted as his hardened cock ground into your ass between the fabric of your dress and his trousers.

You could tell he was beginning to lose himself as he seemed enamored by the way your mouth slipped over his fingers, swirling your tongue around them in a show of desperation to please.

Once content with your wetting of his fingers, he pulled them from your mouth and went back to exploring your panties, pushing them aside to tease your folds before slipping the first of his fingers in. It was seamless, not surprising for you, having lusted over him the entire night.

"Fuck, you're still so tight, doll. I have to stretch you out, so this feels as good for you as it will for me."

After a few moments, he introduced a second finger to your soaked cunt. He didn't move at first but gradually began pumping them inside. He could have cum on the spot witnessing your frenetic response to just two fingers.

"Careful, princess. If you want to come on my fingers, you need to beg for it." The words sent a shudder of desperation through your entire body, legs threatening to give out from underneath you as the artful use of his fingers in tandem with his dirty talk brought you toward your first orgasm, unable to resist it even if you tried. Mattheo kept his movements steady as your eyes rolled back and your walls clenched around him, a deep voice leaving the back of his throat to growl, "that's it, ride my fingers, you little slut," His tone this time was demanding, you knew he was displeased by your disobedience. His untamed, hungry expression evolved into something more conniving as he contemplated how to punish you for cumming without permission.

"You like that, huh? A slut who couldn't wait to beg? I should put my cock inside you and make you cum until you can't stand it anymore, then, hm? Do you want that? Cry for it, princess, or you're not getting it." 

You quickly fulfill this command with desperate pleas, "Please, Mattheo, please, fill me with your cock." 

"Fucking hell, princess--if I wasn't about to bust, I'd have you begging more. Desperation sounds fucking delicious rolling off your tongue," Mattheo growled against your ear as one of his hands haphazardly moved back to his trousers, hastily unbuttoning them to allow his needy length to spring free and press against you. The relief of finally freeing himself caused a deep groan to slip past his lips which only seemed to increase his urgency as his hands quickly found their place on your body again, yanking your dress up over your ass and delivering a forceful slap to your exposed flesh. You yelped and squirmed reflexively from the sting, much to his delight. "That's my fucking ass, don't forget it," he groaned with a certain smugness at the sight of his handprint forming on your skin.

"Please, Matty, please fuck me," you pleaded with a nearly pathetic level of desire. With that, Mattheo decided not to waste another second before indulging you. He took hold of your hips, guiding his cock to your slick folds, and slowly started to ease himself inside of you. 

You gasped at the intrusion, reveling in the stretch, but Mattheo cooed praises to relax you enough so there was little discomfort as you adjusted to his size. "Fuck, you fit around me so well. perfect pussy, perfect girl." he groaned as he could feel your wet warmth surround him. “is this okay?"

"Yes, please keep going."

Mattheo used the makeshift ponytail of your hair to lift your head and press his full weight against you onto the counter. His hips began to move, thrusting slowly to start until he was absolutely sure you could take him. With you now sandwiched between his body and the cold surface, he worked up to fucking you at a relentless pace, the base of his cock clashing against your ass as he bottomed out inside of your cunt. The hand steadying you by the hip reached up to wrap around your throat, squeezing at the sides enough for you to feel his strength but not enough to cause pain. It seemed almost to be a reminder for himself not to completely lose to the animalistic urges as he continued to increase the intensity. Your pelvis clanging against the bar didn't matter; you always like it rough, and he knew it.

"Princess, oh gods, I don't know if I'll last." He moaned into your ear paired with short, hot breaths. "You feel so fucking good; I wanted this for so..fucking...long." he sang his praises between each punctuated thrust that hit just the right spot inside of you again and again. The repeated stimulation triggers your second orgasm, your walls clenching around his cock as a choked moan barely escapes your lips- the sound being caught by his firm hold on your neck. 

"We're fucking meant for each other, babe," Mattheo grunted as you rode through your wave of pleasure. All you could do in your cockdrunk state was mewl in response, which fueled his ego. "Perfect dumb slut for me, you love taking my cock, don't you? Tell me how much you love my cock," his dirty talk turned more degrading as your most depraved desires inched closer to showing themselves on the surface. 

"Love your cock Matty.. mhm so good..." 

"Good slut. Now, say you're mine," he commanded, completely frenzied with his pacing. 

"I'm yours." you babbled with complete devotion. Mattheo groaned as you so willingly gave into his possessiveness, the very idea of owning every part of you being the tipping point to let his release out inside of you. His rutting became erratic and slowed as he rode through his orgasm, the last few pumps matching your third orgasm in stride. 

He then laid limp on top of you, letting out heaving exhales to regain his composure. For the moment, he left his cock to twitch inside of you, relishing in the warm feeling. Once convinced he could get up properly, he pulled out, leaving your pussy dripping with his cum as his entire body lurched over you.

"That was perfect, you were perfect. Best stroke of luck in ages," he mused with a throaty chuckle, recalling his first words when you locked eyes at the beginning of the night. "Can you walk?" he asked, mostly teasingly because the shaking of your legs answered that question without a doubt. 

"No," you spoke softly, the giggles you had at the beginning of the night starting to return even if your mind wasn't still fully there from the back-to-back stimulation. 

With this, Mattheo decided to hold you for a while longer. You had a lot of catching up to do and piecing together both of your stories to find out how, after so many years, you still ended up right here. But for now, the shared presence was enough. 

------------------ huge thankies to @slytherinslut0 for coaching me through this. i was very spooked to share. love y'all <3

[hazelfoureyes]

Research

Bee’s Lucifer/Hazbin AU on Twitter got me so riled up for Raphael. So… go check out her posts and what has happened to Angel Luci and then read this little research trip.

「Warnings/Promises: Raphael x Angel Luci, pussy and cock in mouth at the same time baby, blowjob, adorable Luci, tingles, tachycardia, dangers of being locked out of heaven」

minors I will portal you to a boring pocket dimension if you interact

Angel Anatomy by _LuLuLamb on Twitter! Go to her page to see Raphael and Angel Luci so you can better enjoy this smut!

Sneaking away from heaven was simple enough, because no one paid attention to anything in heaven that wasn’t immediately self-serving. Raphael gone? Probably holed up adding notes to his notes or something redundant.

When Luci had reached out to him in a tizzy, he felt compelled to atleast check out the poor angel. Not to mention the research implications, if what the panicked peach’s messages implied rang true.

He had plenty of theories on the subject of angelic sexual intercourse but no evidence. Which was immensely frustrating. 

Luci was remarkably naked when Raphael portaled into their rendezvous spot. It seemed the deflowered angel couldn’t return to heaven, so a pocket dimension was the second best place. 

“You could have been dressed for this.” Raphael set his bag down.

“Raph!” Tears welled in those big blues, “It hasn’t felt right since—,” a deep golden blush lit Luci’s face.

Since—?

Raphael waited for Luci to finish the sentence but the smaller angel just buried his face in his hands and spread his legs. 

The doctor’s lip was drawn into a bite, nothing happening was remotely close to protocol. With a sigh and a practiced pinch to the bridge of his nose he knelt between the trembling knees. 

“I’m sure it’s fine. Worrying so much is worse for your health than a little stimulation.”

He was wholly unaware of the events leading up to Luci’s call for help. A little stimulation? Yes and the Big Bang was a tad of spilt milk on the cosmic countertop. 

As he peeled open the white and blue wings, he came face to face with… a very standard angelic anatomy. Small cock, gold kissed lower lips. Nothing remotely noteworthy. Raphael tenderly set the wings back down, “Luci, you’re fine.”

“I know it looks fine, but the inside is so hot. And there’s almost an itch.” Raphael nodded absentmindedly, the heat was from increased blood flow. Luci’s hands came to his lap, two fingers pressing softly into his entrance, “But not an itch! Does that make sense? It only feels better when I do this,” Raphael fell back on his ass when he saw those digits enter Luci. 

Noteworthy! 

“You won’t understand, Raphy…here, I can show you a little.” Luci crawled between Raphael’s legs, hands finding his belt. 

As his glasses slid down his nose Raphael let one hand push them up and another press away at Luci’s surprisingly strong form.

“I’d like to go home after this check-up, thank you very much!”

Luci’s bright eyes and mega-watt smile beamed at him as his hands continued to remove the belt and undo the button. “Oh don’t worry! I won’t,” a pause as he looked up for the exact words Lucifer had said, “tongue fuck your prostrate.”

A shriek behind clenched teeth, Raphael’s glasses tumbling off his face and dangling around his neck. 

“You see, the great thing about science is,” Raphael’s hand’s pushed again at Luci’s head as the angel lowered it to his lap, “you don’t need experience to,” his grip loosened on the white blonde hair as his own mint tinted wings were pulled open, “uh, we can still treat patients with the research of oth-,” the word floated from his mouth as Luci’s lips made contact, threatening to reach heaven. A new sensation, warm and wet as his still soft cock was engulfed in the smaller angel’s mouth.

Those once protesting hands raked through Luci’s soft hair, betraying their master’s muttered, “wait— now, hold on.”

Luci’s head popped up, chin shining, “But Raphy there’s more. You’ll understand the tingling for sure”. He returned the growing member to his mouth, taking him to the hilt and letting his long tongue lap at the twitching entrance beneath.

With his head tossed back, Raphael could see his halo jumping to life with the tachycardia Luci had induced. A foreign feeling entirely at his center. He’d handled himself before, but he’d never had something so hot and all encompassing on him. As for the tongue, he had absolutely zero practice to prepare him for the feeling of Luci’s strongest muscle licking incessantly at his cunt. Without intention his knees came up and knocked at the newly fallen angel’s sides.

The back of his hand acted as a physical barrier for the sounds he was biting back. How was Luci’s throat doing that? The sensitive head of his cock caressed by silky and undulating flesh. With his eyes rolling up, vision removed from the equation, his brain was confident he was 90% dick and pussy. The rest of his body was offline. A small rush of precum from both doted on holes made him scramble up, body folding over Luci’s head. 

Luci was careful with his prodding, not entering Raphael’s heaven worthy cunt. He didn’t want the valued doctor locked out, too. 

The air stung his wet sex when Luci withdrew. Thinking it was over, Raphael laid on his back to catch his breath, “I’d hazard a guess, as I don’t have the same tingles as you described-.” Once again he was cut off, broad tongue swiping from his leaking pussy to his dripping cock head. 

Back now arching, Raphael’s hands clawed at the nothing of the space they’d created. He recognized the tightening in his stomach and thighs. He needed to get out from under the angel. But when Luci’s head returned to bob up and down with an even rhythm, still running his tongue between his flushed folds, he couldn’t find the will to move away. Conversely, his hips began to buck up into the heat. 

He was quite confident he could get closer to orgasm and then back away, he told himself. After all, Raphael is an archangel! A creature of resolve! A divine creation of knowledge! 

And this was knowledge. He was learning. In fact he dared call this a research expedition. 

The creeping tension was coming stronger than he had ever felt before. Luci sensed a pang of pride in his chest as the doctor’s stiff member began to jump and twitch. A finger came to rub around Raphael’s other unused hole, smearing saliva and precum around the virginal ring of muscle.  Raphael scrambled under him once again, finding the willpower to push Luci by the forehead off of his cock.

Luci let out a small yelp, surprised when his face was painted with Raphael’s release.  Humming with satisfaction, he wiped the spend from his cheeks and eyes. He did it! 

The still innocent angel leaned up and clapped his hands together, “Now, you’re gonna feel the tingles. Then you can help me figure out what’s wrong!”

When he opened his eyes he realized Raphael was gone, he was alone with his sticky hands and…

“Where’s your belt?” Michael pointed at Raphael’s pants as the angel rushed past him.

“Tourniquet!” Raphael shouted, running into his office and collapsing at his desk. His line of sight was directly on his crotch, the tingles beginning to set in. But not on his prick as he had assumed Luci meant. No, in his still spasming cunt he felt an emptiness. A needling feeling something was lacking. Images of Luci’s fingers entering himself flashed behind his eyes. He shook away the intrusive thought and grabbed his pen. Raphael was determined to write about the sensations and bodily response while it was still fresh.

But as his hand moved along the paper, the letters got sloppier. Looser his grip became as he felt his head drawing to the desk. His eyes fluttered shut on the scene of his hand dropping the pen, barely making it to the part where Luci’s tongue grazed his vulva. And as his consciousness melted away and slipped down his spine, he swore he could feel the lingering heat of Luci’s warm mouth on his lap.

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

So uh. Maybe I'm just really stupid, but despite being in this fandom for a year now I for some reason was convinced that Killcheroy killing herself was like, canon, because of how widely accepted that theory is in the fandom and spoken of as if it's fact. But after looking through all of Fuuta's stuff again (voice dramas, music videos, the like,) I've come to realize that not only is Killcheroy's actual cause of death never actually confirmed, but I've also realized something else: Y'all I really do not think this girl killed herself lmao. In fact, I am very confident that she didn't kill herself, mainly due to the fact that, as we know, Milgram has a very specific motif when it comes to characters who have committed suicide or have themes of suicide in their character

Mahiru and Kazui's victims both have a shoe off, because both of them died via suicide

Muu is often presented with only one shoe, because she is implied to be suicidal

Fuuta's victim also has a shoe off, because as we know she died of-- ...Huh? Oh shit. Both shoes are intact. Now I've seen people, though often briefly, point that out before What I don't see pointed out however is that Backdraft has three perfect opportunities to follow up on the shoes motif, and just doesn't.

These are the first two I wanna talk about. Killcheroy's shoes are perfectly in view, yet both of them are still in tact. Since this whole scene is basically a creative reenactment of Killcheroy's death, wouldn't it make sense for one shoe to be off if suicide was what took her out? But at the same time, these scenes are still depicting her when she is 'alive,' so maybe it wouldn't make that much sense for a shoe to be off in this particular scene. But what about after she burns up? That's where the third scene comes in

Even after she dies, her shoes are not there. Milgram is a series that loves including small, blink-and-you'll-miss-it details. If Killcheroy really killed herself, there's no way her shoes wouldn't be visible in these shots as Fuuta's running away, right? And this shoe motif, coupled with the fact that when looking at what we have, there's no actual evidence that Killcheroy killed herself (to my knowledge) makes me doubt this theory a lot more than I had when I originally assumed it was canon. So what do I think took Killcheroy out? Well, though we have no evidence that she killed herself, we do have evidence that Fuuta doxxed her.

(x) Storm Pazuzu Should we destroy her?＾＾Just because you’re a middle school girl doesn’t mean you can act like this lmaooooo don’t go easy on her just because she’s cute  QRT Miss Magic I got permission from the store owner, it’s allowed as long as I’m only replicating it for personal use. Storm Pazuzu Yeah, yeah, thanks for the late excuses QRT Storm Pazuzu I think I’ve got all her details now. Based on her previous tweets I’ve worked out her school. The fact she lives so close is hilarious lol Judgement☨Onizuka You’re the worst offender of all

And the fact that this scene transitions

to this one, where Fuuta is reacting to the news of Killcheroy's death, leads me to believe that this doxxing was the final bridge that caused Killcheroy's death. Now, a lot of life-threatening events can result from doxxing, for a while I was even pondering the possibility that Killcheroy was swatted and killed that way. But I think someone in Fuuta's group killed her, because the text in the MV makes it a note to specify that Killcheroy "lives close" to Fuuta and presumably the rest of his friend group since they all go to the same university and live in the same area. I can see people arguing that that would remove a bit of Fuuta's agency and responsibility from his murder, but I don't think I would agree with that. Regardless of what truly happened to Killcheroy after the doxxing, whether she was killed by someone in the group, or swatted (which I think is less likely, but is still a possibility), this presumed culprit was only able to do the things they did because Fuuta gave them the tools to. He gave them a target, Killcheroy, who he demonized and dehumanized into the role of Petulant Witch, and enough details of her location for anyone in the area to find her and enact punishment in the most direct way they can. Fuuta's story, to me anyway, isn't just about the consequences of cyberbullying and cancel culture, but also the cult-mentality of it and how others are influenced into it.

(x) Storm Pazuzu The people in charge here are shit. I could do a much better job

Fuuta did not come out of the womb cancelling people, but due to the injustice he saw around him and his desire to Do Something About It, he was influenced into this cesspool of online toxicity and cancel culture.

Now, it's his turn to influence justice. And boy, did he.

[nerdieforpedro]

Cadet Gray

For Jo's Birthday Bash @undercoverpena

Tim Rockford x GN plus size reader

Summary: The weather is fairly somber, but there's still quite a bit to celebrate.

Warnings: Angst, silliness in an office, allusion to implied smut, two pinches, a few tears and sunshine ☀️

Word Count: 700+

Notes: Originally, I was going to write something with Javi G, but it just wasn't working. Then I was talking it out aloud with @soft-persephone mentioned Javi P, suits and sheets. Then made it over to Tim, still unsure how the dots connected. 🤭

Main Masterlist/ Tim Rockford Masterlist

Everything is coated in chases of gray. The sky has patches of white with periodic specks of blue. It’s not the type of day anyone would say that they were happy about being out and about it, but you happen to be. You’d been a bit sneaky with your plan, slowly gathering your information and numbers. The only snag in your entire plot was getting your own ducks in a row, surprised at the actual measurement of said ducks. It was difficult to accept but necessary since this was a special occasion after all. 

Detective Rockford is of course located in his office, behind his desk, surveying which pile of files to start on. At least, that’s how he is usually, but today he’s looking through his notebook. Going over any details that might shed more light on any number of cases. 

You’re not here for that today though. It’s noon and he promised to be out of here by one in the afternoon so you two wouldn’t be late. They would never forgive you. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he greets you with a smile and squints at the large garment bag you have in plastic. Rockford knows very well what today is and is not looking forward to trying on this suit for the fourth time. It seemed despite going to two different tailors, it never fit quite right around the inseam or his waist. He was about ready to just show up in a tracksuit and throw in a wet towel. He got the sense that you enjoyed dressing him up a bit since he normally did the same for you. Picking out an outfit or two for you to wear, only to peel it off of you later that evening so he could get at those curves or yours. Might have been a time or two that a reservation was missed.

On top of his files, you laid his garment bag and told him to put it on, promising that this one would be the right fit. It was the same person who did your dress after all, they can be trusted. Shrugging, Tim gives your cheek a kiss, your rump a squeeze and closes the door and blinds to his office allowing for privacy. The two of you change into your matching gray attire. Yours fits you like a glove and he’s already thinking how to get it off of you this evening. The glint in his eyes has you pinching the bridge of his nose in jest. His crisp white button down fits like a second skin, with enough stretch that it moves with him. His gray slacks sit just right on his waist with the help of a charcoal belt to keep them in place. His tie matches his belt and shoes while the suit jacket is the same light gray of your outfit and his pants.Tim remarks how comfortable everything feels and that he might in fact stick around at the event a bit longer than planned. 

The precinct claps for the two of you as you leave, giving little waves to play along with their bit. On the way over to the venue, Tim is a little watery eyed, the normally stoic man is reminiscing of younger days full of small moments he holds dear. You pat his shoulder and tell him that it’s alright, he’s not really losing anything truly. Consider it a new phase of life for everyone involved.

Finally parked, little details are added like flowers and handkerchiefs. You sit on the bride’s side of the aisle near the front behind her brothers and sisters. The heavens still keep their steely color as the music ramps up and everyone stands. The bride makes her entrance in a beautiful white dress accompanied by a flushed faced Tim brimming with pride arm in arm. He was ambivalent about walking his daughter down the aisle, unsure if he was ready to fully let her go, but he finally reconciled it’s not about him but her and the new family she’s starting. 

You swear that even the wide expanse above agrees by having some sunlight shine on the newlyweds while they finish their vows. Tim appears at your side with an arm around you and a quick peck to your neck.

“Thank you sweetheart. Turns out it was a great fit all around.”

Tim’s Tailors 👀: @megamindsecretlair @sin-djarin @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @morallyinept

@inept-the-magnificent @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @goodwithcheese @trulybetty

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @604to647 @magpiepills @pascalsanctuary

[asteriskdisasterisk]

that older lex and dusknoir idea you mentioned is super neat to think about from how i see it from both sides imo. ramble incoming so watch out for that.

dusknoir being completely thrown off by how calmer lex has gotten in the future is neat because theres a sense of unfamiliarity to how much theres now silence that fills the gaps where *rage* and *(justified) frustration* used to be. the walls are that guard the heart still exist, but they've been almost mellowed down yet constantly hardened over the course of years that you could *almost* not know they are there. lex could still be harboring ill will, but he's doing it in a manner and under a guise of keep-it-together to the point where dusknoir could not believe that this is the guy that he. well. needn't dwell on that, maybe.

and of course, the guilt. getting caught up on the past is always a fool's endeavor, but it's that accursed past that they both share that intertwined them together. a constant grim reminder of how they got here, in this 'un'salvageable mess of love where they cannot look at one another in the eye, and how they both feel everything yet nothing at once. lex is calm, too calm, to a degree where dusknoir might've assumed that he had forgiven him. and dusknoir believed that he shouldn't be given that pleasantry, much less for everything he had done. his little theatric, his play-of-heart, that oh-so-mesmerizing display of bravery that had lex walk right into his hands for him to rip him whole.

but lex dodged the clutches and burned down that bridge, and swore to never get close to the burnt wreckage again. but time's a chump, and it just had to play mediator. so, here they are. and lex is calm, when he should be enraged. how dare dusknoir walk back into his life again, present the idea of peace and make-niceities, show just how much he 'cares', when everyone remembers that same old story of the last time that had happened?

lex should be enraged, and dusknoir would gladly back off if the threat was any more than implied in the slightest.

but lex isn't mad. not now, and such an expression has not been present with him for a while. no reason to be mad when the wounds have long been graciously painted over by his new evolution mended, and he's fiiiiine. even when he isn't. even when none of this is fine. even when he hates letting that vulnerability get to him again. even when he puts on a safe face to let anyone get in.

and lex? lexicon? lexington? oh, brother, that man is doing about as well as you'd like to think he does. yes, a fancy new evolution and a new fur color with a thousand years or so added to his lifespan, what little lex forgot to account for..

is the call that comes from inside.

oh, the years go by, and the wounds slowly close, but never mend. the memories pang, and theres none to share with them but his own dread. it nulls and dulls him overtime, but it's for whatever is necessary. he doesn't need to be angry anymore, not having some contorted rage boil down in an unsafe haven in his heart ever again, to which he can finally be free.

but freedom is a steep reward, and the way to achieve is a straight line with *both himself and dusknoir* in the way.

in a way, lex becomes his own obstacle in his own future. when you never get past your colossal emotional repression and intentionally add a tiny amount of time for your lifespan to think about that repression over, it all just boils down to how it doesn't matter to him, or how it shouldn't matter to dusknoir.

it's already enough to feel those few cracks of anger still mangle his core, but it's another thing to know that what had happened has happened happened, and that mulling it over is useless, or just to how lex can't bring himself to openly admit that hate to dusknoir.

that train has long rode off, and even then, what good will come out of ever trying to confide in dusknoir once more? "oh yes, I kind of hate you, but at the same time it's more of a lighter, bitter and melancholy type of hatred because I practically avoided talking about my issues for who knows how long to the point where it doesn't effect me as much as it did anymore!". he may as well tell Dialga to smite him if he ever entertained that thought.

But ultimately, it boils down to how much Lex just.. feels everything at once when Dusknoir is around once more. Reassuring it was to know that he turned over a new leaf, there's just too much that scars Lex's heart to ever try and see that change through, much less believe that what once was happy can ever not be sad again. You already gave into your heart once, and look at where that got you.

SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO RESPOND, I HAD TO FINISH THIS:

The Awkward First Encounter.

That is the face of a fox who has spent several generations practicing his poker face. As a Ninetales, he knew that it was inevitable that he would come across the future trio again in their own time. All that rage and anger he felt had been smothered down into a small ember, still hot to the touch but barely burning.

To Dusknoir, he had only recently visited the past and saw Lex then, so this is quite the whiplash. And there is a sudden and uneasy chill that runs through his whole body when Lex smiles at him.

BUT YOU KNOW THESE IDIOTS ARE STILL MILES AWAY FROM EVER DISCUSSING THEIR FEELINGS LMAO

I'm glad to finally finish something related to the 200 years later Lex concept, my design notes for him were basically just: "make him scruffier" and so I did.

Your analysis is just [chef's kiss] as always, a couple hundred years of bottling up your feelings has historically always been a good idea with no consequences whatsoever

[delphinus-dancer]

A deep dive into a swan lake and flipping the (metaphorical, sadly) bird:

A Mihaly-centric view of JD 2024 story mode

(because they’re my favorite and I’ve thought about this way too much over the past few days weeks) Spoilers for JD 24 in the almost-essay under the cut, including some images!

Starting off with Mihaly’s first appearance in the story mode in Canned Heat, it seems like not too much time has passed since the end of jd23- Sara seems to be at the same party, Jack still at the tower, etc. (how Brezziana got to the beach that fast and had a workout class is something I’m going to guess was preplanned before everything went down).

We can assume this would be the first time Mihaly’s come back to their room since then (which makes the idea of Wanderlust FaceTiming everyone like 5 minutes after they left even funnier). Of course there’s the shot of Mihaly ripping the poster off the wall, which probably puts their feelings into words better than anything else within an E10 rating. <Side note: I don’t know much on lore but does the setting mean there’s a chance they’re from Eternyx? Both maps started in dark crowd/nighttime so wasn’t sure if confirmed or not>

While Sara has the spot pretty much clinched for a Night Swan’s foil, Mihaly is a really close second. This shot literally puts it into perspective- Mihaly’s color scheme has as many color elements of Master Panda’s (shirt/jacket/foot wraps) as it does Night Swan’s (hair-that-perfectly-matches-the-poster/ gold of headphones and glasses/pants). Their dance style also overlaps moreso with hers than the other dancers, with the precision and technique of their moves, from the footwork and leaps of Rather Be to the dramatic powerful motions of their Swan Lake part. It’s pretty obvious who the song is directed to, and what makes the song so interesting compared to their last story mode one is how loose it feels. This is unlike their usual technical style because of the connection to Night Swan with the control demanded of certain moves that they’ve presumably mastered- maybe they were fueled by a desire to achieve her success. Regardless, the song and emotion fueled, less ‘perfect’ dance lets Mihaly basically flip the bird at Night Swan’s corrupted idea of perfection. Either way, it culminates in them achieving a new high in their training with channeling their ‘true’ inspiration of the (master) panda. Although they retain most of their same costume after sort of becoming a furry?, a noticeable change is that the black leggings are understandably switched to something looser- but to the navy color of master panda instead of Mihaly’s black.

What’s also interesting is that the specific point Night Swan interrupts Mihaly’s song isn’t at the beginning like Brezziana/Sara/Jack’s or the very end like Wanderlust, but at the climax of their journey for the song. Not only does this imply that she may have been watching the entire time but choose to interfere later, but she is also the only character to see the Panda form before Swan Lake.

As Night Swan basically invades Mihaly’s //mind/headspace/flowspace?/no idea on the lore// they initially try to fight her off, but unlike Brezziana in her map, don’t fight until the end. Although Mihaly themselves wasn’t being corrupted like the background coaches in Brezziana’s map, they still let themselves, in a sense, lose a more internal battle to Night Swan as they leave the metaphorical and literal height of their understanding and power in the Flow and come back to the real world.

This then takes us straight into Swan Lake, which is really interesting for the Night Swan/Mihaly interactions and how they compare to the other dancers. Although from a format standpoint it makes sense for the movements in the bridge to be different, there are more differences too.

A big one that I only realized once I watched Majesty again is how the other swan soldiers/minions were turned back- and that was mainly by doing the same moves to ultimately come together and bring the dancers back. Here it’s the opposite for effectiveness- what causes Wanderlust and Brezziana to fail is that they think that’s how to stop Sara. Sara matches the moves in a way that <well> matches, if not surpasses the power that they put in. As a result of meeting them head on and assuming control, Sarah actively corrupts the two of them. She makes motions to bring in the smoke, and both of them also are stationary/surrendering as their color drains.

When it gets to Mihaly, the dynamic with Sara changes completely. While Sara starts off watching with the same expression as when the others challenged her, it shifts as she realizes she can’t emulate what Mihaly does, with the movements almost like Night Swan’s-dramatic and slower. It comes to a head when Mihaly channels the panda again and visibly knocks Sara back, so she’s unable to push any of the smoke towards them.

Sara’s expression also becomes noticeably softer for the rest of Mihaly’s part, and she doesn’t reassert that dominance/control she had earlier- with dancing or the smoke. See how she looks almost pensive in the photos above/below, especially compared to the earlier parts.

Speaking of the smoke, this is the key part about Night Swan seeing the panda earlier. She knows it exists and how to force it off after the earlier song, and as Sara is incapacitated/distracted, she presumably sends down the smoke that starts attacking Mihaly in Panda form.

This attack is why despite having a chance to get through to Sara, Mihaly still ends up failing as they return to normal. However, they are the only character to be so dynamic in their active corruption. Not only does Mihaly manage to send a signal out to Jack, which was a display of power never seen from them previously, but they also do it as they are actively losing their color and control. Unlike the other dances, Mihaly still moves as they lose control, possibly having the strength to continue to fight had they not realized that Night Swan was attacking alongside Sara.

Although the signal is in the shape of a pawprint, its underlying meaning is more than just a plot device to send Jack on a wild goose chase (pun intended that I couldn’t pass up). With the way it opens to form a window into the location from such a distance, it almost seems to be a step away from a full fledged portal. With the sudden appearance of a new power, it’s also an interesting parallel to Night Swan, who here uses powers to create a unique form of control that wasn’t seen in the previous game and who regularly uses portals with her magic.

Another note is the lights that appear for each of the dancers in the upper left corner during the song as they take on Sara. While Brezziana and Wanderlust’s fade out a few moves before they fall, Mihaly’s still goes strong even as they completely turn grey, as seen the the photos above. This could be a possible indication to them having a more stable power than the other dancers, or a form of magic more comparable/competitive with Night Swan’s. Also to note about the lights: looking on the floor during the song, the diamonds flash 3 colors: hot pink (Night Swan), a deep green (Sara, especially while corrupted- her original outfit but darker), and a teal (the exact same color as Mihaly’s flow energy). Like everything else, this is a stretch, but it could possibly mean that Night Swan’s control and magic background could have stemmed from a pure form of flow like Mihaly practices.

This could also be a factor in why they retain the most of their original outfit in the corrupted design- possibly a form of resistance like they displayed during swan lake or general flow magic? Notice that while they have significant changes to their robe/face/accessories, their feather motifs are much less pronounced than the others, simply appearing as marks on the robe that can be mistaken for stripes, rather than overt feathers like Wanderlust/Sara or Sara/Brezziana’s feather tights. Unlike the others, Mihaly keeps their leggings exactly the same (which were notably lost in the panda form, as mentioned earlier), and interestingly enough, their wraps. I initially thought that Night Swan would have changed that to something like ballet slippers with ribbons, so I think it’s really interesting that they are the only dancer who had any details remain exactly the same, especially one that had unique opportunities to be changed.

Going off of that, since they were the last to turn and have (some?) control over their outfit and (some?) magic that may be similar to Night Swan, I could see them being the first/easiest coach for Jack or someone else to turn back when he (hopefully) takes on the coaches.

One last note is the number of maps per story mode coach at this point. Counting Stronger /Survivor, and Treasure/Lose Yourself (hopefully coming soon after that ending!), that seems to be setting a trend for the other coaches to potentially have an additional map as well. If so, maybe that would be one where Mihaly could individually be freed, or a chance for them to further explore their rapidly developing powers (maybe in a confrontation with Night Swan?? a girl can dream).

And there y’all have it! Thank you for somehow reading to the end!! Happy dancing!!

this took forever oh my god

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 13: Team as Family

Familial Curse

2733 Words; River Runs Deep

TW for implied past war crimes, past memory alteration

AO3 ver

Donatella does not like this. Any of this.

Her son running away was bad enough—both in how badly she failed as a mother to make him feel the need in the first place, and in how much danger he was in the entire time. But this? Coming so close to the Psychonauts, who her family fears almost as much as Deluginists?

Still, it is important to support her son. Even if he is being reckless—and really, what else can Donatella expect, when she raised him as a death-defying acrobat?

But she still does not like this. Not the Psychonauts being a stone’s throw away from her family, not that woman with the nerve to threaten burning their caravan—

But really, Donatella mostly hates how it feels like her family is coming undone. There is a pressure, she feels, that she has to alleviate if she doesn’t want to push her children away—a pressure she never realized until it was shoved right in front of her face.

Still, she will make do. It’s what she must do, as an Aquato. She will hold her family together, however she can, because it is her job as the mother and the matron of this family. She will not let this family fall apart—or into bad habits—on her watch.

Speaking of…

“Pootie, do you think you could go help Dion set up the Aquatodome?” Working together has always helped to mend damaged bridges—and perhaps her eldest will lighten up if he sees his younger brother doing something familiar for the family.

Raz shrugs, but goes off to do so anyway, which lightens a weight in Donatella’s chest.

Things… may not work out perfectly—they rarely do. But at least she can still hold things together, and make do.

It’s what she has to do, after all.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion hefts the sign for the Aquatodome into place, Raz’ psychic grasp helping to lift it.

Of course. Pooter runs away to go flaunt his powers at a—a summer camp for weirdo fortune tellers and the moment he comes back he’s prancing around with all these new powers, as though it doesn’t matter if someone sees.

Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter if the den of psychic cops practically next door know if Raz is psychic. But knowing Raz can start fires with his mind is only one step off of knowing he can move water, which is one step off from—

Dion viciously cuts off that line of thought. Den of psychics right next door. Best not to think about it.

Still—Dion hops down, frowning at the self-satisfied grin on Pooter’s face. “You know you’re not supposed to flaunt that… psychic stuff.” He reminds him.

But Raz has hit that age where things like common sense just seem to bounce right off of that helmet he always wears, so instead of agreeing he just looks up at Dion with big green eyes and says, “But they’re useful, aren’t they?”

Dion grumbles, but he can’t really argue that point. “So what? It’s still not safe.” It doesn’t matter how useful the damn powers are, if they only cause trouble in the end. “It’s not worth it.”

Raz gives Dion a flat look. After a moment, he sighs, and changes the subject. “Had any visions lately?”

Dion stiffens, but there’s nobody around them but for the rest of the family. “I haven’t had any.” He lies, through the sudden trickle of water in his brain. He wishes it wasn’t a lie—what’s the point of knowing danger is around the corner if he can’t do anything about it? If he can never piece together what the universe is trying to tell him in time to do anything meaningful? It’s never enough—it’s just headache after headache after headache.

Raz sees right through Dion. “Maybe you’d understand them better if you practiced.” he suggests, voice only slightly dry.

Dion scoffs. “And maybe you’d stop getting into trouble if you practiced not being reckless.” He leans forwards to flick Raz’ forehead—

A river flowing up into the sky—

Dion flinches back. Stares at Raz, at the tiny creases under his eyes and the ill-fitting clothes. The sound of rushing water fills his ears—danger.

“Just… stop it, Pooter. Stop going down this road.” He knows Raz won’t listen to him, knows that whatever the universe just tried to tell him will pass no matter what he or anyone does—but he speaks anyway.

“Is that a premonition?” Raz asks, somewhere between smug and sincere, worry in those big green eyes of his.

“No.” Dion doesn’t get premonitions. He just gets headaches. Hallucinations, even. Brain vomit that doesn’t mean anything—and even if it did Dion never figures it out in time—

Powers like these are never worth it. Dion just wishes Raz would realize that sooner rather than later.

+=+=+=+=+

“I miss you too.” Frazie admits. “But don’t be getting all sappy on me, Poots.” She lifts one hand into the air, then adjusts her other so that she’s standing on only her fingers. After a moment, she lets her palm fall to the ground, and trades hands.

Her little brother is such a crybaby, sometimes—though, if Frazie thinks about it, it’s not like her older brother is much better, always getting prissy about something. Drama queen.

Not that she’s much better, Frazie supposes. But can she really be blamed? Everything about this is—it’s just not right, so unlike the normal routine for her family. And she has Raz to blame for shaking up the status quo—

But she guesses it’s been a long time coming. It wasn’t like Raz was very good at hiding those hokey magazines, or that pamphlet that Dad tore up right in front of everyone—which, yeah, if Frazie was ten and scared she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have run away, either. But she didn’t have Raz’ reckless streak, so she would have never had that stupid pamphlet in the first place.

“And I bet your invisibility trick would really impress Hollis!” Raz continues, “Most psychics can only turn themselves invisible.”

Frazie smirks. “They’re just not as cool as me.” She declares, balancing on one foot. And then, just to add to her point—

Raz stumbles back as an invisible pinecone hits his forehead. He stares at the now visible pinecone, then kicks it. “See? You’d do great at it.”

Frazie shrugs. Maybe it would be nice, to go to an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar people just to learn a few psychic tricks she doesn’t really need—

Okay, yeah, no. Not happening. Frazie and Raz exchange a few more words before the conversation trickles out and Raz leaves. She watches him go, then huffs.

There was so much more she could have said, just then. So much more that maybe she should have said.

Well, she supposes she’s always been good at shutting up.

+=+=+=+=+

“Hey, Queepie—” Raz starts.

Queepie ducks down off the roof, radio floating behind him. Ugh, can’t Raz see he needs his Me-Time? Everyone’s acting like the world’s going to end, and the icky-sticky feeling filling the air has made the camp unbearable.

At least the radio doesn’t feel any of this icky-stickiness. It just keeps playing the same song—a really good song, that Queepie’s never heard before but he really likes and kind of wishes he could never stop hearing. It’s certainly wayyyy better than sticking around the camp where everyone’s acting like everything’s gone wrong. Frazie got to run off and get alone time, so why can’t Queepie?

Something Bad is going to happen, Queepie feels. But predicting bad things is Dion’s job, so Queepie focuses on the music pouring out from the radio. He lets the sound wash over him, drowning out the icky-sticky feeling in his head, and starts to bounce in place.

Raz had called it “stimming”, once, after reading one of his comics. Queepie’s pretty sure the word is dancing—but he doesn’t really care what it’s called, so long as he’s allowed the time and space to listen to music and do it. So he does, moving his whole body like it might make the icky-sticky feeling go away entirely.

(It never really does, but Queepie keeps dancing anyway.)

+=+=+=+=+

“Nona, look!” Mirtala lifts her hands from the ground so that she’s balancing on her braid hoops.

“Hm?” Nona is slow to turn, and doesn’t quite make it all the way before she halts. She glances at Mirtala, but doesn’t really look.

Mirtala huffs, puffing her cheeks out. This keeps happening! She had asked Mom about it, a while ago, and she had said something about Mirtala looking too much like Nona’s sister—but that’s not good enough! The worst explanation!

Still, Nona keeps turning to glance out at the woods, in a way that she doesn’t usually do.

Mirtala’s… she’s not stupid. She knows there’s something her parents haven’t told her, something that all her older siblings know. Something about Nona, and why Dad sometimes trips over a different name when calling for her. Mirtala just doesn’t know what it is, that has her family constantly on edge.

Dad says it’s because their whole bloodline is cursed to die in water. But Mirtala’s seen Raz playing with the water, making it dance around him when he thinks nobody’s looking. Mom says that psychic powers draw attention, Dion says they only cause trouble. But Queepie always looks so happy when he dances and the radio dances with him—though he is bug-eyed and weird, so Mirtala doesn’t really know what to make of that.

But Raz… Raz looked so small when Dad tore up that pamphlet, in a way that Mirtala doesn’t think her older brother should be. And he looks so much happier now, running around on a glowing ball of mind stuff, dressed up like that guy from the comics he sometimes reads to her and Queepie.

But he also looks tired, if Mirtala thinks about it. She frowns, somersaulting out of her handstand and then doing two flips in quick succession. She knows there’s something going on, something that she doesn’t know that has everyone all worried and trying to hide it. Something that nobody will tell her about.

Mirtala frowns. She does a cartwheel in front of Nona, who doesn’t react, staring off into the trees. Mirtala huffs, and takes Nona’s hand. “C’mon, watch Didi juggle me!” She prompts, startling Nona from her weird trance.

Nona looks at Mirtala strangely, for a moment, before shaking her head as if to clear her mind. “Yes, let’s do that.” She agrees, allowing Mirtala to lead her away from the trees and towards the Aquatodome, where Dion’s still standing about muttering.

Mirtala’s not stupid. She knows there’s more going on, even if nobody will tell her about it. But that’s fine, she thinks. They can all sit and hide their feelings all they want; Mirtala will simply entertain herself.

(She’s not always honest about how she feels, either.)

+=+=+=+=+

“DON’T ‘RAZPUTIN’ ME!”

Raz’ voice catches Augustus’ attention, jolting him from his thoughts. He follows the source of the noise, finding his son looking alarmingly distraught next to…

“What’s all this?” Augustus asks, fighting to keep his voice even. That man is… he was the old man from the summer camp, if Augustus remembers correctly. Ford, that was his name.

But Augustus doesn’t have the slightest idea what Ford is even doing here, so close to their family’s camp—nor does he have any idea why his son is so upset, but none of the ideas he does have are any good.

Raz points at Ford. “He did it!” He shouts. “He’s the one who messed with your memories!”

“What.” All of Augustus’ worried anger crashes against a wall, melting away as he stares Ford down. There is something vaguely familiar about him, Augustus realizes—but he hadn’t realized why until now.

Now, when it feels like every muscle in his body has locked up. This man—this man is why Augustus can’t remember his mother’s face, can’t connect the woman who raised him before the deluge with the photos of the protests. This man is why Augustus and his aunt have been unmoored for so long, unable to remember more than the tiniest flashes of their lives Before the Deluge. This man is the source of it—

But why?

“Why?” Augustus asks—no, pleads, clutching at his chest as though that might somehow loosen it, “You—why would you—” He can’t find the words; the world seems to tilt.

“Because I loved her.” Ford laments, which is in itself a whole new revelation—how did this man know Lucrecia? What did he know—about Lucrecia, about Marona? “And I thought it was the only way to keep her safe.”

Augustus’ head is spinning. The river cutting him off from his past—and the man who made it, standing before him—is he breathing?

“So you took her memories?” Raz demands, snapping Augustus to reality. There are tears running down his son’s face. Augustus’ chest tightens further.

And then Donatella—lovely, brave, gorgeous Donatella—surges forwards, pointing at Ford. “You.” She nearly snarls, and Augustus stares at her, tries to etch her face into his mind forever—something he’s done so many times before. He never feels quite so unmoored looking at her; even now, Augustus finds stability in the way Donatella stands, shoulders set, glaring at Ford.

“You have some nerve!” And oh, Augustus is falling in love again, for the millionth time, because how can he not? “What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done to this family?”

Ford’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Augustus wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, wants to demand the answers he’s never been able to find—

“Wait.” Frazie’s voice breaks the silence. 

“Where’s Nona?”

+=+=+=+=+

Lucrecia wanders.

The forest is dark, down here on the ground where the sunlight can’t quite reach. But there is something familiar about this darkness, something etched into her mind telling her where to go. A pull, like the river flowing to the sea.

It has bothered her since they arrived here, cautious about being found out but wanting to support Raz nonetheless. Something in this forest is haunting her, and she needs to find it.

The trees thin out, and Lucrecia finds herself overlooking a flooded clearing. The buildings down there…

Lucrecia makes her way down. She knows this place, doesn’t she?

She wanders down to a dome of stained glass, her hand raising as though she might touch the color panes before her. There is something so familiar about this. It reminds her of a patchwork quilt, of scraps of unused fabric forgotten in the back corner of a drawer. There is something heavy, here, that sees her lowering her hand and turning away.

One path is blocked by vines, another by honey. So Lucrecia turns to the path that’s still open, ambling over to the wooden building looming half over the water. Like an overturned turnip, sagging and starting to rot with age. She crosses the threshold, wood creaking beneath her feet—

There are ghosts here, of some past she does not remember. At once, Lucrecia knows—she has been here before. Before the Deluge.

The notion terrifies and excites her in equal measure. Her lost history, at the cusp of being known—but what will it say about her? About the paths she took? Will the new knowledge fill the holes in her mind, or will it only bring her more grief?

(Perhaps she deserves the grief, for all that she’s done.)

“Oh, ma’am, are you lost?” An unfamiliar voice breaks Lucrecia from her mind’s ramblings. She turns to see a young man, maybe a bit younger than Gus, standing on the edge of the rotting wooden pier.

Lucrecia does not recognize this man. There is an emblem on his robe—ah, he’s a Psychonaut. He looks too young to have been part of the group that defeated her, but—well, best not to lose her wits around him, then.

“Oh, I’ll find my way home eventually.” Lucrecia answers, drawing her shawl in closer. There is danger on the horizon, the water below beckoning her to play. “I always do.” She does not know how to purge the ghosts lingering here, nor does she know if she will actually find anything. So she will simply have to bide her time, it seems.

The man nods. “I imagine you would.”

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 1

Ok here we go

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

From what I know, very few blind people actually perceive their surroundings as complete darkness, and it's more common for people to still perceive changes in light.

For Byakuya, he has low vision, so he can see color and vague outlines, but finer details are more or less impossible. Get Gaussian blurred, idiot.

I'll include content warning tags before each chapter but if I miss anything please let me know.

Content warning tags: implied non-consensual body modification, ableist internal dialogue

next >

The first thing that Byakuya Togami notices when he wakes up isn't the unfamiliar classroom of his surroundings, or the uncomfortable position in which he was slumped over on the wooden desk.

Rather, the first thing he wonders is: Why are my glasses so filthy?

His surroundings are fogged around him as he blinks, squints, and tries to make out anything more distinct than a vague, fuzzy blob of color. He takes off his glasses and cleans them with a silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and puts them back on. And then takes them off again, places them to his mouth and fogs the surface, wipes them, and tries again. And then again, and again, until at last he sets slowly down the spectacles with a quiet 'click' against the desk, blinking slowly, deliberately.

It didn't make sense. It was one thing if his glasses were just filthy, though he couldn't imagine who he would let get close enough to dirty them up to this point, but it was another thing for him to be nearly blind without them. Even without his lenses, his vision was nearly 20/40 - and yet, here he found himself squinting his eyes to nearly shutting, and was still unable to discern even the large, colorful characters on the brochure on the desk next to him, even when held less than an inch away from his face.

Impossible, he thinks first. He must still be half-asleep, and he rubs his eyes, trying to wipe away some invisible veil, knuckling against his eyelids until stars burst in the darkness. But the fog still didn't clear.

The realization is a sick dread that settles into the pit of his stomach. He doesn't panic, because a Togami doesn't panic, but an old anxiety was beginning to grow, twining roots into his chest. He opts to ignore that and the rising beat of his pulse and begins flicking through his memories, logically and methodically, trying to think when and how this could have happened.

He woke up this morning at his usual five AM. He went through his usual morning routine until six, at which point his chauffeur drove him to Hope's Peak Academy by seven. He passed excited crowds of news reporters, fellow students, and crying parents, through the school doors...

And then...

Nothing. He rubs his thumb against the bridge of his nose, trying to come up with anything past stepping foot into the entrance hall, but all he gets is a nauseating blur, the memories turning to mush. Had he passed out? Did someone carry him here? How long had it been since then?

What time is it, he thinks, and looks up. His watch is as good as useless, the pearl hands blending in nearly perfectly with the egg-colored enamel face, so he scans the room for a wall clock, and finally locates a vague, white circle hanging above the dark expanse of the blackboard. The thin black hands aren't even visible to him, and he ends up having to stand directly below it to make out what positions they're pointing at. It was just before 8, which meant that it hadn't even been an hour since he first crossed the threshold.

It was possible that that would have been enough time to knock him out, blind him, and then leave him here, but Hope's Peak prided itself on its security, especially for its high-class students. And Byakuya had been surrounded by his bodyguards all the way until his unconsciousness. And he had made sure that the few siblings who survived his family's game of inheritance didn't have the resources or the will to try anything so petty as vengeance.

He rubs his eyes again, as if that would do anything. From what he could tell, he was in a classroom, likely still within the Academy, and it'd do him no good to stay in the room in the off-chance that his attacker returned. He needed to find someone - faculty, maybe, or one of his guards - and get his eyes fixed, first and foremost. And he wasn't so helpless that he'd let someone get the drop on him a second time, blinded or not.

But even with this plan in mind, he found his hand trembling as he set it on the doorknob, and he hesitates before he leaves the room.

The hallways are strangely empty, despite the earlier hubbub. There are no students running around trying to find their classrooms or their dorms, or exploring the facilities. There are no teachers either, offering welcomes and introductions, promoting the safety and warmth of the Academy. Rather, the place is eerily silent, and it unnerves Byakuya further.

He catches himself glancing around far too often, scanning desperately for any movement, and scolds himself for it. It was a show of fear, and one that he should have abandoned long ago, even when he was being chased by his older siblings in a wild game of power upheavals and assassinations. But between the lack of sound and the fact that his surroundings were entirely unfamiliar (and furthermore, entirely obscured), he couldn't help canting his head around like a nervous deer, trying to find even the smallest detail that could offer him anything.

He finally catches on to the low murmur of talking, however, and after a brief moment of consideration, walks towards the sound. If it was assassins, they would have to be very unprofessional ones to be speaking so casually in such an open space. And as he enters a large room, walled off on one side by a mass of steel-gray, he sees a few people standing around; none of them dressed remotely like an assassin, or acting like one, and he could even recognize the majority of them from their vague silhouettes and general colors, and the news article he had perused that morning about his fellow classmates. There was the broad frame of Sakura Ogami, the Ultimate Martial Artist, and then the wild, fluffed-up hair of Yasuhiro Hagakure, the Ultimate Clairvoyant. Even the wild pompadour of the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader, Mondo Owada, didn't escape his recognition, nor did the punkish, uneducated tone of his voice.

"Who the fuck're you?" The Owada-shaped figure grunts as Byakuya approaches, and he frowns at the rudeness, though he had expected nothing less.

He doesn't bother to respond right away, instead looking between those gathered. He counts thirteen blobs, which meant they were still expecting two more to join them to complete this year's class of sixteen. Standing closer, he can just make out some facial features when he squints; Owada's face in particular, has his brow scrunched in a look of disdain, and one person - Toko Fukawa, maybe? Judging by her braided pigtails - seemed to be watching him, though she quickly looks away as he turns towards her.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you!"

"I don't talk to ruffians," Byakuya replies, not even bothering to face him and ignoring the indignant sputters as he walks away. Even if all these people were strangers to him, he felt better already, being among them. The safety of a herd was something that a Togami was usually above, but it was good to take advantage of such things during perilous times, such as now. And at the very least, it might be harder for him to get singled out.

"Excuse me," comes a different voice, though no less sharp or intense. This time from a straight-backed figure in white, and with dark, spiky hair. "My name is Kiyotaka Ishimaru. Please introduce yourself!"

"And why should I?"

Ishimaru wasn't as easily ruffled by Byakuya's brusque manner as Owada, though his stark eyebrows did somehow furrow even more on his pale face. "As a class, we should all work together to get along for our educational crusade! We all have already introduced ourselves to each other. Please do the same!"

He was annoying. But he had a point. If Byakuya was going to be living with these people for his high-school life, he might as well let them know how to refer to him...and he had a feeling if he didn't offer the minimal level of cooperation to Ishimaru, he would never see the end of it. "Byakuya Togami," He replies simply, and moves on before anyone can say anything else.

None of these people seem to be killers. He can't sense any killing intent, though he does get an inexplicable shiver as he walks by Fukawa, standing next to the twin, pale-pink fans of Junko Enoshima's hair, though he puts that down as the rank odor that comes off of her as he passes. He settles to stand a small distance away from all of them, and with his curt introduction over and him standing seemingly out of earshot, they resume their conversation, and Byakuya can make out a few phrases that equally reassure and unsettle him.

'Do you think he's...like us?'

'Must have. I mean, he was walking from the direction of the classrooms, right?'

'Someone should go ask him, can you go ask...?'

'Forget it. He freaks me out, glaring like that...'

It sounded like they were all in a similar state, having woken up in a classroom and found their way here. He wonders if any of them were also blind, or otherwise found themselves suddenly impaired, but it wouldn't do him any good to reveal that about himself now. No matter how much safer it was to be a part of the group, he couldn't let them know his weaknesses, not if it turned out that one of them did mean him some kind of harm.

Standing from this position, he can finally recognize where he was. It was the entrance hall of the Academy, and behind him was where the entrance should have been. But instead, as he reaches out to touch it, he's met with a sheer surface of metal, heavy and unyielding, and not the proud, hand-carved wooden doors that he had passed through not an hour earlier. Was this place not Hope's Peak, then? If so, where was it? And how did they all get transported here?

He clicks his tongue, annoyed. He'd had nothing but questions and unsolved mysteries since he woke up, and it frustrated him almost as much as his vision. He fights the urge to keep touching his eyes, settling on drumming his fingers against his elbow, and finally polishing his glasses lenses once more. At this point, the action was as good as meaningless, but the repetitiveness of the motion was calming, and he couldn't help the quiet glimmer of hope that maybe, eventually, it would clear up.

He hears the newcomer before he sees them, the quiet click of footsteps from the hall making his head jerk up. He doesn't recognize this figure, not even as they approached nearer; white hair and dark purple clothes, not matching any of the profiles he had seen. He hears the others and Ishimaru give them a similar greeting, and the figure responds, voice calm and feminine.

"My name is Kyoko Kirigiri," Is all they say. Like Byakuya, they don't offer anything more, and for some reason that puts him on edge. They're too much like him, too calculating and careful - not the same fodder as the rest of the class - and they strike him as someone who knows more than they're letting on. He hears them ask some questions, mostly in regards to the classrooms and how everyone got here, before moving to stand just a few meters away from him in silence. Not approaching him, nor letting themselves be approached by anyone else.

Dangerous, he notes. He mentally files this away, and pretends to be too focused on cleaning the nose-pads of his glasses to pay them any mind.

A few minutes later, their sixteenth class member joins them. Makoto Naegi, someone else who hadn't stood out to Byakuya on the roster, has spiky brown hair and a bumbling, wondering voice. Unlike Kirigiri, he takes his time to talk to each of his classmates, and he sounds friendly but confused. And a little dense, in Byakuya's opinion - his entire demeanor screams 'commoner'.

Byakuya doesn't bother to say anything as Naegi moves to stand before him, not even as he feels expectant eyes resting on his face. But it becomes clear that the boy had no plans of walking away until he got a name at least, so Byakuya sighs and puts on his glasses, and glares down at Naegi, his face no more visible than it had been a moment before.

"Name's Byakuya Togami," Is all he says. Naegi babbles some kind of greeting, but Byakuya is already not paying attention, gaze wandering. This one didn't seem as dangerous as Kirigiri, at least, or even particularly outstanding in any other way. That made him seem all the stranger; a seemingly unremarkable person in a school meant for remarkable people; Byakuya couldn't imagine what his special talent could be, if he had one at all.

He tries to focus his gaze on one of the banners on the wall. Royal blue and etched with gold lettering - if he tries, he might be able to find the letters that match one of his ancestors. He frowns, staring intently…

"Um, are you...are your eyes okay?"

Byakuya stiffens immediately, eyes snapping back down to Naegi's face. "What is that supposed to mean?" He hisses sharply, and Naegi startles back, surprised.

"Sorry! I didn't mean-you were just squinting, even after putting on your glasses, so I just-" he stammers, voice deceptively innocent. Byakuya feels his blood run cold, his fists clenching at his sides. "Um, I'll just....go? Sorry again?"

He doesn't relax until Naegi has scurried away, nails biting into his palms as he tries to calm himself. Had he really been squinting so obviously this whole time, or had that peasant just been absurdly observant? Whatever the case, Byakuya would have to fix that habit, or else, keep the others from finding out.

Never mind what he thought earlier about Naegi seeming harmless. That boy was probably the most dangerous one here.

next >

[stitching-in-time]

Voyager rewatch s2 ep21: Deadlock

Hoo boy this one always packs a wallop. It seems shorter than other episodes when you watch it because it moves along so fast. There's no padding out with subplots or any scenes not directly advancing the story. A combination of disaster episode/spatial anomoly episode, it gets right in there with the emotional devastation and doesn't stop.

We get like one scene in the beginning before the traumatic stuff starts- the whole bridge crew anxiously waiting for Ensign Wildman to have the baby was really sweet. The crew is already like a family, so it's like they're all looking forward to the new baby in the family, aww. But then the ship has to fly through a nebula, and of course things go wrong- the ship is being torn apart and they don't know why! Time for some trauma!

I do distincly remember seeing this for the first time as a kid and being very horrified that they killed off Harry- I figured since it was Star Trek, they had to find a way to bring him back, but still, it was really shocking to see him get blown out in to space, and it still makes me want to cry watching B'Elanna watch him die, despite knowing we get him back. Then Ensign Wildman's baby died, which was also horrifying, and the ship was falling apart, and it was like wow, the horrors are really coming at us! The middle of the episode, where we see the duplicate Voyager that hasn't been damaged, and the two crews trying to figure out what was going on and how to communicate with each other, and two Janeways debating with each other what to do about their reliance on the same depleted supply of antimatter was interesting stuff, and had a sense of urgency and impending doom. (Though it did look a little awkward with how close together they had the two versions of Janeway standing and looking at each other. She's got her usual puppy eyed soap opera look she gets when she's concerned or worried, and it's fine when she does it to other people, but when two versions of herself look at each other like that, it comes off a little weird, ngl!)

Janeway, for at least the second time this season, decides to self destruct her ship so the undamaged Voyager can get home, while the other Janeway wants to find another way. But then the horrors return as a huge Vidian ship moves toward them while they're sitting ducks with no weapons. Hundreds of Vidians take over the ship and start harvesting our crew's organs, which is still horrifying to watch even knowing the other Voyager crew was undetected and still safe. In a reversal that probably shouldn't be too surprising, Janeway decides to self destruct the ship to keep the Vidians from taking it, but she sends Harry Kim to get the baby and go the other Voyager before theirs explodes. Harry's baby rescue operation is nail-biting, and watching the Doctor try to hide a baby from literally being killed for parts is just like wow, more horrors! Harry then telling the Doctor goodbye, knowing the ship is about to blow up and everyone on it will die in a few minutes is just like, the wildest throw away line ever, but Harry's in a hurry, and of course, he makes it to the other Voyager before his ship's Janeway rather gleefully lets the Vidians know they're all getting blown up in a few seconds.

Since the story never does differentiate which Voyager is 'the real one', and it's implied that they both are, it makes it impossible not to get invested in both, so we get double the horrors when both versions have lots of death. It's stated that sending more than a few people from one ship to the other would result in a phase imbalance that would destroy both ships, so I wonder what kind of phase imbalance Harry and Naomi Wildman have because of being from the alternate Voyager, and how that wasn't ever dangerous for them again. And how it was never brought up again! Sure they have the exact same experiences up to that point, so they are the same people, but like, Harry's complaint at the end that it feels weird knowing he's on an alternate Voyager with an alternate crew, and Janeway just smiling and joking that 'haha weird is part of the job!' felt like it was downplaying the situation a little too much- I think Harry would probably need some therapy after that one! But of course, Voyager doesn't have a therapist, and any therapist they had would be insanely overworked if they did, so maybe telling him to ignore it and sweep it under the rug was actually the best policy tbh!

Tl;dr: A tightly written, tense disaster story, filled with shocking moments, that keeps you on the edge of your seat the whole time.

[mariacallous]

When bizarre and misleading answers to search queries generated by Google’s new AI Overview feature went viral on social media last week, the company issued statements that generally downplayed the notion the technology had problems. Late Thursday, the company’s head of search, Liz Reid, admitted that the flubs had highlighted areas that needed improvement, writing, “We wanted to explain what happened and the steps we’ve taken.” Reid’s post directly referenced two of the most viral, and wildly incorrect, AI Overview results. One saw Google's algorithms endorse eating rocks because doing so “can be good for you,” and the other suggested using nontoxic glue to thicken pizza sauce.

Rock eating is not a topic many people were ever writing or asking questions about online, so there aren't many sources for a search engine to draw on. According to Reid, the AI tool found an article from The Onion, a satirical website, that had been reposted by a software company, and it misinterpreted the information as factual.

As for Google telling its users to put glue on pizza, Reid effectively attributed the error to a sense of humor failure. “We saw AI Overviews that featured sarcastic or troll-y content from discussion forums,” she wrote. “Forums are often a great source of authentic, first-hand information, but in some cases can lead to less-than-helpful advice, like using glue to get cheese to stick to pizza.”

It’s probably best not to make any kind of AI-generated dinner menu without carefully reading it through first.

Reid also suggested that judging the quality of Google’s new take on search based on viral screenshots would be unfair. She claimed the company did extensive testing before its launch and that the company’s data shows people value AI Overviews, including by indicating that people are more likely to stay on a page discovered that way.

Why the embarassing failures? Reid characterized the mistakes that won attention as the result of an internet-wide audit that wasn’t always well intended. “There’s nothing quite like having millions of people using the feature with many novel searches. We’ve also seen nonsensical new searches, seemingly aimed at producing erroneous results.” Google claims some widely distributed screenshots of AI Overviews gone wrong were fake, which seems to be true based on WIRED’s own testing. For example, a user on X posted a screenshot that appeared to be an AI Overview responding to the question “Can a cockroach live in your penis?” with an enthusiastic confirmation from the search engine that this is normal. The post has been viewed over 5 million times. Upon further inspection, though, the format of the screenshot doesn’t align with how AI Overviews are actually presented to users. WIRED was not able to recreate anything close to that result.

And it's not just users on social media who were tricked by misleading screenshots of fake AI Overviews. The New York Times issued a correction to its reporting about the feature and clarified that AI Overviews never suggested users should jump off the Golden Gate Bridge if they are experiencing depression—that was just a dark meme on social media. “Others have implied that we returned dangerous results for topics like leaving dogs in cars, smoking while pregnant, and depression,” Reid wrote Thursday. “Those AI Overviews never appeared.”

Yet Reid’s post also makes clear that not all was right with the original form of Google’s big new search upgrade. The company made “more than a dozen technical improvements” to AI Overviews, she wrote.

Only four are described: better detection of “nonsensical queries” not worthy of an AI Overview; making the feature rely less heavily on user-generated content from sites like Reddit; offering AI Overviews less often in situations users haven’t found them helpful; and strengthening the guardrails that disable AI summaries on important topics such as health.

There was no mention in Reid’s blog post of significantly rolling back the AI summaries. Google says it will continue to monitor feedback from users and adjust the features as needed.

[popculturebuffet]

Seeing your posts on how you've despised the way season 6 handled the Mordecai/CJ/Margaret love triangle, did you read about writer Matt Price's posts on a Reddit AMA regarding why Mordecai didn't end up with Margaret or CJ in the end?

He said "We felt like the Margaret/CJ story was complete, and they were both on their own path already. We also felt like Mordecai had moved on in his life. He finally left the park to pursue art, and we thought it'd be cool if he met someone while doing that. But we love Margaret and C.J., and we're sure that they're happy without Mordecai! He was too wishy-washy with them!!"

To make things worse, Matt said that Rigby's Graduation Day Special planned to have CJ react to the Park crew going to outer space with an annoyed look implying ""Whatever, I'm glad that guy is in space."" Really feels he was trying to push the "CJ hates Mordecai and Margaret after their breakup" thing way too hard (glad it didn't make it to the final cut).

He also said that CJ apparently cut off all contact with Mordecai, Margaret, Rigby, and Eileen, which is a contrast to him confirming Margaret still keeps in touch with and remains friends with Mordecai, Rigby, and Eileen. Would you say this is kinda sad knowing CJ never got to even reconcile with Mordecai as friends like Margaret did in season 7? Plus making Eileen's sadness on not being able to hang out with both CJ and Margaret in I See Turtles even sadder with the implications of CJ cutting off contact with her in the end (likely just because she associates with Margaret) too.

Nope. I don't really keep up with regular show news. I still like the show and I loved close enough (RIP), but I just don't. But since CJ is near and dear to my heart as a character this does intrest me so let's get into it.

On not having Mordecai get with either of them: It was the right call. I didn't really mind when I saw the finale and time, maturity and what have you have only made me like the decision more. Part of it is where the series was at: The "Mordecai nukes his happy relationship arc" was a mess i've still only barely watched and plan to cover someday, but so far haven't gotten to. It was easily the worst thing the show's done and made me stop watching it for a season.

It was absolutely the right call to instead have him conciously take a break from dating, work on himself. He didn't do much of that before they got shot up into space, but it was a good effort. He burned that bridge with CJ the second he kissed Margret and them getting back together was a huge mistake: Mordecai never really found the right way to apologize and CJ clearly never got over the betrayal or her paranoia he'd do it again. Instead having the major arcs be "setup for next season" and "Rigby tries to better himself by going back to school' were a better choice, as was just.. putting the final season in space.

With those arcs it also meant there really wasn't room to speedrun a new relationship fans woudln't want. It makes more sense that after finally deciding to focus on his art, he grew up, had some time to mature and THEN met the love of his life. Margret had moved on with her life, Mordecai moved on with his. I do think the show fucked up with the love triangle, but this is the only move they could really make and I support that. It may blow a little Mordecai and Margret seemingly ends with a whimper.. but it's what the show and the character sneeded. Sometimes... life and cartoon shows dont' work out. People drift apart.

On the deleted scene: Seconded bud. Seconded. I do think the show REALLY fucked up with how it treated CJ during season 6, and really underestimated how attached fans had gotten.. which itself is baffling. She was part of the main cast. She took Margret's spot. She was in a decent chunk of episodes. Fans liked her and took her side in the breakup, and while she was super paranoid with mordecai, it's really hard not to blame her. Less easy to forgive the attempted murder but what can you do. So having her just go "Whatever I dont' care" feels wrong. Her not carring MOrdecai got shot up into space? In character, she dosen't have to care about her ex anymore. he fucked the relationship up beyond any hope and she made a mistake taking him back as she clearly coudln't forgive him. But her not having the slightest horror at Rigby or Eileen getting shot up , her friend and her best friend, feels so wrong it hurts. Eileen was the only thing that got her to actually be around margret and not fly into a jealous rage. What the fuck.

On the cut off thing: that just feels sad.. but i've come to accept it more. I DO think her cutting off Eileen is dickish and like to think she at least parted as amicably as she could.. but I also get it. Eileen is with Rigby, marries rigby, has his kids. The two are in a fantastic supportive relationship that shows how far he's come as a person and how far out of her shell she's come. It's adorable.. but it also means being around Eileen runs the risk of seeing Mordecai. Being Eileens friend means a pretty solid chance of running into her ex any time Eileen has a party, at the wedding, at the birth of her kids etc.

Being petty about Eileen being friends with Margret is one thing. margret fucked up.. but geninely tried to back off after making a heat of a moment mistake she clearly regretted deeply, and only told the boyfriend lie to save herself from a helicopter crash, an entirely fair reaction. Being shoved on a double date with her ex and his justifably jealous girlfriend who not so justifably tried to unalive her was not her idea. The two could manuver around each other, maybe awkwardly say high, I See Turtles proved they could at least be civil for Eileens sake.

But seeing her ex every time her best friend had a huge life event... that's a lot to ask. Eileen would be heartbroken.. but would understand why CJ had to break off their friendship and while I See Turtles was a good ep.. it WAS a lot to ask CJ to be around Margret right after what happened. Personally even if it's not how the creators see it I see the two reconnecting with time. CJ's moved on with her life, maybe gone pro with dodgeball, Eileen's a professor with a loving stay at home husband.. thier in a place they can be friends again and CJ, while not necesarily ever forgiving mordecai, can stand being around him. I could see her holding that grudge for a while, understandably so and people CAN hold onto grudges forever if they want.. but it just dosen't fit here. CJ grew up, and while she dosen't really keep in touch with her ex.. I like to think she got her friend back. Maybe her and Margret even become friends

Hell honestly I just had the idea margret and CJ eventually hook up: Margret genuinely apologizes for everything, CJ does the thing, one thing leads to another. I mean they do kinda fit: CJ's mordecai with his shit together, Margret is kind and empathetic, and I did really like it the last time an asshole's exes had better chemistry with each other instead of him.

SO TLDR: there honestly isn't anything that obnoxious in this. I don't like the idea of CJ cutting eileen off.. but most of it fits and the one part that didn't was cut out as they realized it didn't. For how badly the crew fucked up that love triangle.. they recovered fine.

[candyeager]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃

— osamu dazai x fem!oc

CHAPTER ONE

short synopsis. in which the only solace from the power slowly unraveling her mind is found in the touch of Osamu Dazai, the one man she can never trust. warnings. graphic violence, murder, disorder eating, implied sexual threats, explicit sexual content, mentions of r*pe and blood. tags. dazai x fem!oc, enemies to lovers, angst with happy ending, trauma, tragedy, heavy pining/yearning, suggestive, oc is a mind reader.

masterlist + prologue / next chapter

Five months ago

Ino dragged herself into the sleek black car, her steps heavy with exhaustion. She slid into the seat, closing her eyes for just a moment, as if it would silence the constant hum of voices in her mind.

"Drive," she ordered, her voice low, barely concealing the weariness creeping into her bones.

Today had been relentless—despite only having routine tasks of lobbying, convincing, or rather coaxing the targets into agreements with Black Wing. Normally, it was effortless. With her supernatural ability, "Chorus of the Unheard," she could hear everyone's thoughts, a gift that made her indispensable. But today? Today was a different kind of exhaustion. The voices—the relentless, overlapping thoughts—blurred her focus, leaving her drained.

"Ino-sama," her secretary spoke gently from the front seat. "The appointment with the doctor has been made. Should I have some medication brought for the nausea?"

Ino shook her head, the faintest smile tugging at her lips, though it was humourless. "No. It's probably just overexertion," she muttered, leaning back.

"Or fever."

She almost laughed at the thought. For all her mind-reading power, for all the reverence people showed her, she was still human—still susceptible to sickness.

But this wasn't just overexertion. She knew it.

"Of course," the secretary replied smoothly. "Also, President Hidan requested your presence in Yokohama. Flights are arranged for this evening."

"Yokohama?" Ino repeated, her voice hardening. She was too tired for this. Her mind was foggy, struggling to make sense of it all.

"Yes, Yokohama. President may require your insight for Black Wing's expansion."

Ino sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "That greedy old man. Tokyo and Saitama aren't enough for him?"

Her secretary dipped his head, staying silent, but his thoughts betrayed him.

'That old man definitely won't stop until he has all of Japan wrapped around his finger.'

Ino should have reprimanded the secretary for that—once upon a time, she would have. But now? She just didn't care. The truth lingered in the back of her mind like a bitter taste. Hidan was greedy. More than that, he was erratic. Cruel. Disgusting. Ino had to stifle the growing contempt that rose in her every time she thought of him.

The only reason she still remained with Black Wing was to keep him grounded. She had that influence over him. He still listened to her... For now. But even that was slipping.

Ino sighed again, resting her head against the cool glass of the car window. The constant barrage of thoughts filled her mind—her secretary's stray musings about his plans for dinner, the driver's impatience, even the random, passing reflections of strangers on the street. It was maddening, the noise never stopping, never relenting.

But she had learned to live with it, to shove it into the background like static on a broken radio. Still, every once in a while, it grew too loud, too overwhelming, and today was one of those days. Her life had never been quiet. It was the nature of her power.

And today, it felt heavier than ever.

•••

Ino sat stiffly in the doctor's office, the sterile white walls feeling like they were closing in on her. Dr. Shiro Ishii, renowned for his expertise in brain conditions, stared at the scans in front of him. His fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the table, a habit she noticed after the first few seconds of reading his thoughts—he always fidgeted when delivering bad news.

"Hayakawa-san, if you look at these scans," Shiro began, his voice calm but laced with the weight of unsaid things, "there's nothing... physically wrong."

Ino's eyes narrowed, her fingers flexing against the armrest of her chair. "Nothing at all?"

Shiro hesitated. She could already sense his thoughts jumbling together—half-formed theories, doubts, and... fear. That strange, familiar fear she often felt from people. But she said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"Nothing abnormal shows on the CT scan," he said carefully. "But you're not like most people, are you? You're... different."

Ino snorted softly. "That's an understatement." Her voice was tired, but it carried that cold edge she had developed over the years. "What are you getting at, Doctor?"

Shiro's fingers stilled. He looked up, meeting her sharp gaze. "You're an ability user—mind reader, specifically. And unlike many others, you can't turn your ability off. This has been going on for how long?"

Ino glanced out the window as if counting years on the horizon. "Twenty years."

Shiro nodded gravely. "For a normal person, the brain can process about seven pieces of information at a time. Attention spans range from a few minutes to a few hours before the brain requires rest. But you..." He paused, choosing his next words cautiously. "Your mind is constantly assaulted with a flood of thoughts, emotions, and mental nuances from everyone around you. It's beyond what any human brain is designed to handle."

Ino leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "And?"

Shiro's brow furrowed. "The constant influx of other people's thoughts is creating a mental overload. Your brain can't keep up with the strain."

Ino let out a dry laugh, running a hand through her hair. "So, what now? Is there a magic pill for this? Do I meditate? What's the solution, Doctor?"

Shiro hesitated, his fingers returning to their nervous tapping. "Hayakawa-san... that's the problem. There is no easy solution. I've only come across one other case like yours. It was in 1997. The patient was a mind-reader too. He... exhibited progressing symptoms—constant cognitive strain, hallucinations, memory issues... We called it the Blighted Lotus Syndrome."

Ino's hands clenched in her lap. The name sounded like something from a cheap novel, but she felt the weight of it, pressing down on her like lead. She didn't need to hear his thoughts to know where this conversation was going.

"And?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more dangerous.

Shiro swallowed. "The patient... died two years later. There's no cure, Hayakawa-san."

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Ino closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the reality sink in, before opening them again.

"No cure? You're telling me that after twenty years of dealing with this noise, now I only have two years left?"

Shiro flinched slightly under the coldness of her tone but pressed on. "The condition progresses rapidly once the symptoms worsen. The only known way to alleviate it is to stop using your ability entirely. But..." His voice trailed off, the unspoken truth hanging heavy between them.

Ino let out a slow breath, leaning forward, her eyes locking onto his. "But I can't turn it off, can I?"

Shiro looked away. "No."

Ino rose from her chair, her body tense, but her face unreadable. She had known something was wrong for a long time—she could feel it in every painful thought she couldn't escape, every moment of silence that never came. But hearing it out loud made it feel more real, more final.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said curtly, already moving toward the door.

Shiro stood quickly. "Hayakawa-san, there may still be ways to manage it—slow the progression. You don't have to give up just yet."

Ino paused, her hand on the doorframe, but she didn't turn around. "Manage it?" she repeated, her voice a sharp whisper. "You want me to 'manage' a death sentence?"

The doctor had no answer.

Ino left without another word, her footsteps echoing down the sterile hallway. The truth hung heavy in the air, but all she could hear was the endless noise of a thousand thoughts pressing into her mind at once.

•••

Ino had never really thought about dying. She'd thought about giving up before, more times than she could count. But dying? That had always felt too far away, too distant to really matter. Besides, she was never truly alone. She couldn't be—not with the constant hum of other people's thoughts crowding her mind. It was exhausting, yes, but also, in a way, comforting. No matter how bleak things got, she was always reminded that others were suffering too, their silent cries forming a strange sort of solace.

But this was different. This time, death was real. And no matter how much noise filled her head, no one else was coming with her.

The plane hummed softly as it flew towards Yokohama, but Ino barely noticed the sound. Her body felt like lead, her mind numb. She could feel the weight of the passengers' thoughts pressing into her skull—their mundane worries about meetings, business deals, and family events—but they barely registered. Normally, she would have drowned in them, found some bitter comfort in their triviality, but today, none of it mattered. Not when her own thoughts were louder than all of theirs combined.

She glanced down at the folder in her lap, flipping through the documents about Chuuya Nakahara, the Port Mafia executive she was supposed to meet. Hidan had entrusted her with this task, a critical step in his plan to overtake Yokohama's underground. Form a business contract with the Port Mafia, secure their cooperation, and then, eventually, seize control. Simple. Cold. Ruthless.

It was all too familiar.

Ino's fingers tightened around the edge of the folder, her eyes scanning the details without really seeing them. The faces of Hidan's victims flashed in her mind, their screams mingling with the thoughts of the passengers around her. The cacophony was too much, too loud, and her head pounded with the effort of trying to keep it all together.

She felt a tremor run through her hands. For a brief moment, she wanted to throw it all away. Run. Disappear. Hide from the endless noise that had plagued her for twenty years. But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape from the thoughts, the voices, the guilt. Even if she left, the weight of everything she'd done—the blood on her hands—would follow her.

And now this... this disease. Blighted Lotus Syndrome. Her death was creeping closer every day, yet she wasn't even sure she was afraid. Maybe it was better this way. After all, what kind of life had she been living? Working for Black Wing, listening to the sick desires of men like Hidan. Watching as he spiraled deeper into cruelty, his thirst for power becoming more insatiable with each passing year.

She had tried to keep him grounded, to temper his bloodlust where she could, but even that had become impossible. Black Wing's methods were brutal, diabolical. She had heard the desperate thoughts of the people they tortured, felt their terror and agony in her mind. Yet she had stayed, letting the horrors happen because Hidan had relied on her. And because, despite everything, she wasn't innocent either. She had done what needed to be done.

But at what cost?

Ino leaned her head against the cold window, her eyes staring blankly at the clouds beneath them. There was no point in being afraid of dying. She had made her choices. Maybe she deserved what was coming to her. Hell. Oblivion. Whatever waited for her on the other side.

But until then, she had a role to play. Hidan had given her a mission, and despite her guilt, her sickness, her exhaustion, she would carry it out. She had no choice.

The thoughts around her grew louder again, blending into a blur of incoherent voices. Ino squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to focus. Not long now. Soon, she would meet Chuuya, and she would do what she always did—negotiate, manipulate, survive. That's all there was left.

For now.

•••

Ino stepped into the Port Mafia's high-rise office, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The building exuded danger, a suffocating air of tension that matched the man waiting inside. Nakahara Chuuya was as intimidating as his reputation suggested—fiery orange hair, a posture that radiated confidence, and eyes that seemed to size up every threat in the room. His aura alone was enough to make lesser people turn on their heels and walk right out.

Ino didn't have that luxury.

"Thank you for meeting with me," Ino said, her voice steady, though her mind was anything but. The noise of the passengers' thoughts from her flight still rang in her ears, mingling with the sudden, chaotic pulse of the thoughts surrounding her now. She forced herself to focus.

"I'm Ino Hayakawa from Black Wing. President Hidan sends his regards."

Chuuya barely glanced at her as he leaned back against his desk, one brow raised in faint disdain. "Right. What brings Black Wing to Yokohama? We're busy here. I hope you've got something worth my time."

His tone was cold, his disinterest palpable. Ino could hear his thoughts—the skepticism, the dismissiveness—and it made her stomach twist.

She drew a breath, pushing through the rising fog in her mind. Focus, Ino. Focus.

"Absolutely," she replied, keeping her voice composed. "Our primary goal is to discuss a potential partnership between Black Wing and the Port Mafia. We believe a collaboration could be mutually beneficial."

Chuuya's gaze flicked to her, but the disinterest didn't leave his expression. "Mutually beneficial? How?"

"Black Wing has been expanding its operations and influence across Tokyo. We believe a strategic partnership would help both our organizations thrive in Yokohama. Resource sharing, joint ventures—territory expansion."

At the mention of territory, Chuuya's posture shifted slightly, his gaze sharpening with a hint of malice. He laughed—short, sharp, and far from amused.

"Territory expansion?" he repeated, as if testing the words on his tongue. "And what made you think an outsider like Black Wing deserves that? Yokohama's not some playground for you to muscle into."

Ino forced herself to remain composed, though his thoughts pierced through her like knives.

'They come here, thinking Port Mafia haven't noticed their little power grab in Tokyo. Pathetic.'

Her head throbbed. The noise of his inner voice, combined with the strain of her ability, made it hard to concentrate.

"We're prepared to share intelligence and operational resources," she continued, her words coming slower now as she fought to stay clear-headed. "Black Wing has established networks that could complement your current ventures. In exchange, we would benefit from your control over Yokohama."

Chuuya's smile faded completely. His eyes narrowed into slits. "Oi. You're starting to bore me, and that is very dangerous."

Ino fell silent, her heart pounding in her chest. Something felt... off. His words were sharp, but there was something else. The room seemed to tilt slightly, the edges of her vision blurring.

She blinked hard. What's happening?

Chuuya's voice cut through the haze, his tone mocking. "Let me remind you—we run this city. You think we need Black Wing's help for that?"

Ino heard the shift in his thoughts—the growing suspicion, the hunger for violence.

'Black Wing's trying to get too close here. That Hidan must have sent this woman in to soften us up. Maybe it's time to cut them off, for good. Surely Mori-san wouldn't mind..?'

The room began to sway again. Ino pressed her hand to her temple, her mind fogging over as stray thoughts—thoughts that didn't seem like hers—started to slip through. She could feel the weight of Chuuya's glare, but his face was beginning to distort in front of her eyes.

Focus, Ino!

Her vision swam, and suddenly, for a split second, she saw something that wasn't there—Chuuya's face, twisted with an unnatural smile, as the walls around them crumbled into dust. She blinked again, but the hallucination lingered.

I'm losing it. I can't... I can't focus.

Her heart raced as panic set in. She hadn't expected it to happen so soon—stage two. Blighted Lotus Syndrome. The confusion, the hallucinations. It was hitting her now, in the worst possible moment.

She needed to regain control.

Ino forced herself to speak, knowing she had to play this smart. "I know the Port Mafia is part of Yokohama's tripartite balance," she said, her voice shaky but firm. "But with our resources, the Port Mafia could rule not just the night, but day and dawnlight too."

Chuuya's eyes flickered, a flash of intrigue crossing his features. "What are you trying to say?"

She hesitated, feeling the room spin again. "I'm saying that the Armed Detective Agency is making gains. Slowly, maybe, but they're... creeping in..."

She didn't know the extent of the personal vendetta Chuuya harbored for one of the Agency's members. She had unknowingly struck a nerve. His face contorted, fury flashing in his eyes.

"Those dogs?" Chuuya growled. His voice dropped, filled with venom. "You think we need help against them? You have no idea who you're dealing with. You don't know shit!"

The air around them shifted violently. The ground beneath her feet rumbled, and the walls of the building groaned as Chuuya activated his gravity manipulation. The sheer force of it made the entire room feel like it was caving in on itself.

Ino staggered, the weight of his power pressing down on her. Her mind—already overwhelmed by the hallucinations—spiraled into chaos. The pounding in her head reached a fever pitch.

Chuuya stood, his expression murderous. "Get out before I decide to crush this building and bury you in it."

Ino didn't need to be told twice. She nodded stiffly, her legs barely carrying her out of the room as the pressure around her intensified.

As the heavy office doors closed behind her, she stumbled, gripping the wall for support. Her head throbbed, her vision still warping. She could barely breathe.

Stage two of her disease had begun, and now, not only was she running out of time—she was losing her mind.

"Blighted Lotus Syndrome Symptom Progression Report

Written in 1997

Blighted Lotus Syndrome is a rare and fatal condition that uniquely affects individuals with heightened cognitive or supernatural abilities, such as mind-reading. Over time, the disease erodes the brain's ability to function properly, manifesting in the following symptoms.

Stage 1. Intense Mental Fatigue

Patients experience frequent, overwhelming episodes of mental exhaustion. These episodes can occur unpredictably and are marked by a significant decrease in cognitive efficiency and emotional resilience. Individuals may find it challenging to concentrate or perform even routine tasks, resulting in a general sense of debilitating weariness.

Stage 2. Hallucinations

As the syndrome advances, patients begin to exhibit pronounced confusion. This stage is characterized by disorientation in time, place, and identity, often accompanied by vivid hallucinations. These hallucinations can be visual, auditory, or sensory, contributing further to the individual's disorientation and distress.

Stage 3. Cognitive Decline

During this stage, cognitive functions deteriorate more markedly. Patients experience a decline in problem-solving abilities, reasoning, and judgment. Complex tasks become increasingly difficult, and there may be noticeable impairments in processing speed and intellectual functioning.

Stage 4. Memory Loss

Memory impairment becomes prominent at this stage. Patients suffer from significant memory loss, both short-term and long-term. This can include difficulties in recalling recent events, personal information, and previously learned skills, affecting their overall ability to function independently.

Stage 5. Blood Coughing

In the final stage, the physical manifestations of Blighted Lotus Syndrome become apparent. Patients may begin to experience blood coughing, a severe symptom indicating significant internal distress. This stage signifies advanced deterioration, with the physical symptoms reflecting the cumulative impact of the syndrome on the individual's overall health."

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

[bonefall]

!! Please tell us about BB cats and songs you associate with them!!

Ok! Including YouTube links too, just so.

Darkstar: Little Dark Age - MGMT

I like how the song feels... hazy and confusing. It feels like a lull in a person's life from which they emerge better, stronger. Especially the bridge,

"I grieve in stereo, the stereo sounds strange I know that if you hide, it doesn't go away If you get out of bed and find me standing All alone, open-eyed Burn the page, my little dark age"

It makes me think a lot of what Darkstar was faced with. A bleak future from a pointless tragedy, the knowledge that SOMETHING has to change now else it will never get better, how the knowledge of StarClan's pending punishment sort of isolates her from the feelings of her Clanmates.

She has allies, like Volepelt, who she can't understand. She has supporters who still don't 'get it' like Spiketail who she can't empathize with. Both all alone AND open-eyed, if that makes sense

Cloudtail, Ferncloud, Ashfur: To The Blade - Everything Everything

This song means EVERYTHING to me when it comes to them, dude.

That gentle opening teleports me to the exact moment in BB!Cruel Season where Ferncloud is told that Ashfur tried to kill the Three, the way her mind is certainly racing, scrambling to comb through every interaction she's had with him, trying to piece it together so it makes sense, and then that HARD DROP

It sends me back to TNP, the death of Brindleface, little baby Ashkit, how she had to do the relay race with Elderberry, raising him and seeing him grow up into a loyal warrior

And Cloudtail too, thinking about Ashpaw's adolescence, wondering where it came from, if he failed him, if he didn't properly raise his best friend's little brother properly.

The growing possessiveness in Ashfur and the commitment to the Code that eventually makes him the impostor

To The Blade was written by EE to be a song about a person whose semi-distant relative (cousin, uncle, estranged brother) joined some kind of radical group, terrorists, alt-righters, incels, etc, and finds out about it through some kind of violent attack. A bombing or a murder, y'know.

It's about how you can never really get closure, and how attempting to understand it will only make it all more painful. It's about the vague feeling that if someone so close to you DID such horrible things, then, what stopped you? What was different about you and them? Could you have saved them?

"There's a thing that you always said and it is no words"

It's their song to me. It's the song about this little unit of cats.

Lizardstripe, Bluestar, Oakheart: We Both Reached For The Gun - Chicago

There's a full amv in my head to this one for Bluestar's trial scene. Billy Flinn (Lawyer) is Lizard, Roxy (Defendant) is Blue, the reporter woman is Oakheart in a fake mustache. The narrator in the opening is Oakheart WITHOUT the fake 'stache. The other reporters alternate between legitimately curious StarClan Jury and Thistle Law supporters.

The first bridge ("Oh yes oh yes oh yes we both--") is Bluestar awkwardly doing a complicated little dance (implied that Lizard taught it to her) that the jury fumbles repeating the first time, but by the end of the song they PERFECTLY repeat the dance.

The final "Both Reached For theeeee guuuun" is sung by Thunderstar, a massive godlike-figure who was just hanging out observing in the background for most of the song. He is a patron of Justice and Judgement, so him repeating this line is symbolizing that they successfully convinced the majority of the jury.

All that's left is for Lizard to paint the Thistle Law supporters in a bad light in another song lmao

Runningnose: Snuff Out The Light - Emperor's New Groove

Another one I've got a whole AMV in my head about. I can imagine the whole story of Brokenstar's Cataclysm to this song, and honestly I listen to it on basically every bus ride because of that lmao

The song escalating is his schemes succeeding. First, convincing Brokenpaw to leverage Raggedstar to install him as Cleric ("Studied well, I learned the trade"), helping Brokentail hide his murder ("Every wrinkle soon be gone"), coming up with new and ghastly ways to win fights ("I've really stopped at nothing"), and the musical interlude just before the climax is him poisoning Marigoldkit and chuckling triumphantly as they have a good excuse to exile Yellowfang for getting in their way.

The final part is the WindClan Massacre as they stream into camp. In particular "CROCODILES AND CARRION BEASTS" is Blackfoot about to bite Deadfoot and breaking his fang on the gauntlet, and "JOIN US IN THE COMING FEAST" is Tangleburr blocking the exit with a mauled Stoneclaw under her claws.

Hollyleaf: Fishies - The Cat Empire

Something about the mythological references, the way it seems like the singer is trapped somehow, the way it feels excited and desperate. I don't have citations for this one but something here clicks for me.

AND LASTLY here's some I have no thoughts on, I just associate them

Featherwhisker: Clumsy - Fergie

Tawnypelt @ Tigerstar: Telephone - Lady Gaga

Blackstar: Losing My Religion - Rem. Of course. Come on. This is HIS song.

Blackstar again because I think about this man too much: 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover - Paul Simon. I think it is my sacred duty to reinterpret songs about breakups as being about Blackstar being forced to live without Russetfur

Thunder Storm: Mama - MCR

Squilf and Bramblestar: Your Ex-Lover Is Dead - Stars

Hawkfrost and Ivypool: Say My Name - Beetlejuice

Spottedleaf and Tigerclaw at the end of Spottedleaf's Plague: Memento Mori - Will Wood

Mistyfoot at the end of TNP towards literally everything: No Children - Mountain Goats. Ok like I love this song and how people use it but what if it was about the whole Clan and not just a breakup... Misty smashing Leopard's head against a rock... mourning Hawkfrost even though he did all that to her... thinking about all the goddamn work she has to do... man

[ndvenvs3000w23]

Blog 2: Ideal Role as an Environmental Interpreter

Hi everyone! Welcome back to my blog where today I will be discussing my ideal role as an Environmental Interpreter!

First, what is an environmental interpreter? From my understanding of the course content and readings, an interpreter is someone who provides a sense of place or meaning to something. This implies that an environmental interpreter is someone who allows people to understand and feel welcome in nature. In other words, they bridge the gap between people and the environment by guiding them through the experience and ensuring they feel welcomed, accepted, and at home throughout it.

From my personal definition, I feel that my ideal role as an environmental interpreter would be someone who allows people to gain new experiences and guide them through it along the way. I would love to see the wonder and appreciation in people's eyes as they view and learn about a new natural feature or organism, such as a glacier or a humpback whale. Thinking about this reminds me of all the people who have been environmental interpreters to me throughout my travels across Canada.

When I was visiting Newfoundland for the first time with my parents, we went on a whale watching tour. During this time, we saw 4 humpback whales who seemed to be very curious about our boat. We watched them swim under the boat, come up for air metres beside the boat, almost close enough to touch, and breach the water a safe distance from us. I remember this clearly even though I was only six at the time. During the trip, our guide explained facts about the whales and our relationship with them through history, touching on how we almost drove them to extinction due to our carelessness and exploitative behaviours in the past. We went past small icebergs in the water, and he even picked a piece of one that floated past our boat which he gave to me and I felt so happy to hold my own piece of an iceberg. It is this experience that I want to be able to give to people myself.

Our tour guide in Newfoundland covered all the important aspects of an environmental interpreter: he guided us throughout our journey and made us feel welcome; he provided us with information of the whales we were viewing which allowed us to gain a deeper understanding of them; and he discussed our difficult past with the whales. The first aspect provided us a sense of space where we felt safe to enjoy our experience. The second provided us with a sense of value to the beautiful creatures we were viewing. The last aspect gave us a sense of justice and responsibility for the whales in wanting to protect them. All three aspects provided a guided path towards gaining appreciation for whales that might not have been there before, and a sense of urgency for wanting to protect them in the future.

Overall, this would be my ideal role as a nature interpreter. Someone who not only guides people along a journey, but who teaches people about the importance of it, giving them something to take home with them that might change their views on the world and hopefully shift their actions to greener and more sustainable ones.

Enjoy some photos from the trip below, and me holding a small piece of an iceberg :)

[sparksinger]

rise of the beasts ficcage incoming

i finally finished my little oneshot based on 'rise of the beasts'. as usual it's angst, comfort and a whole load of fluff featuring optimus prime and elena. :3

give it a read if you fancy!

title: remember who you are

trigger warnings: implied/referenced homophobia, mention of the death of a parent

rating: mature

word count: 6.1k

summary: Rise Of The Beasts one-shot fic. Optimus Prime and Elena have a movie night which evokes powerful emotions in both of them. Catharsis and heartfelt conversations follow. (Nothing to do with my 'Love Just Is' series.)

beware of minor spoilers if you haven't seen the movie yet? it's not really spoilerific but there are some minor ones in there.

here it is on ao3

and here it is on ff.net

or you can read it below the cut if you can't be bothered to go to different sites. :3

Three years.

Three years to the day.  The passage of time had not made the emotional or metaphorical scars any easier for Elena to bear.  It was like the first time when she saw the back of a large man, a man, who with his easy-going and confident swagger, could have been her father.

For every time she inhaled the smell of freshly brewed coffee or the smell of a freshly printed New York Times. 

Every time a cab zipped past her in the busy metropolis.

Time, she decided, did not heal all wounds.  In fact, it did not heal wounds period. 

It seemed to Elena that pain and time worked in seamless symbiosis, creating a sick plethora of ­healing, heartache, regret and a whole other load of complicated emotions that she knew she wasn’t in the slightest bit ready to attempt to unravel or understand.

Her mother had become increasingly distant since the death of her father, not even phoning Elena to congratulate her on the recognition of her discovery in Peru.  Ever since Elena had bolstered the courage to tell her parents the painful truth that she had been hiding for so many years, Elena’s mother had made her disapproval of Elena’s orientation clear without ever needing to utter a single word.

Benjamin Wallace’s reaction however, had been one of an entirely different calibre.

He had unfolded himself from his favourite armchair, discarding his crossword puzzle in the Times without a second thought.

Elena remembered watching with anxious trepidation, her breath bated as she watched her father uncurl himself to his full 6’3” height.  She remembered how the cold, uneasy trepidation had fallen away as he opened his arms to her, his ochre-brown eyes softening as he drank in her appearance, as if he was a blind man seeing her for the first time.

She remembered the feel of her hand in his, the way he had reached out to bridge the gap between them, encompassing her hand in his bigger one, wrapping her in the safety and security of his unconditional and eternal love.

“Baby girl, I just want you to be happy.  That is all I have ever wanted for you.  There is nothing you could do that would make me not love you.  You are my single greatest accomplishment in this life, and I am honoured to call myself your father.” 

Elena closed her eyes against the memory, inhaling it greedily, immersing herself in every sensory aspect of it.

The feeling of her father’s strong arms at her back.

The coffee scent that seemed to cling to his very skin.

The overwhelming sense of safety and love that permeated everything that he touched.

The feeling of her father’s strong arms at her back.

Elena shook her head, attempting to dislodge the memories and push them back to somewhere that would be significantly less painful.  She did not need to be dealing with errant thoughts and emotions when she had plenty of menial things to keep her occupied for the time being.

She placed her hands on her hips and observed the space before her.

The abandoned warehouse-turned-Autobot-base hadn’t changed much in the three and a half months since she had Noah had met the Autobots. 

In the back-left corner of the expansive open space was a crude ‘R&R’ station.  Elena smiled to herself when she remembered asking Mirage what ‘R&R’ stood for.  The incredulous look he had given her would have been offensive if he wasn’t so damned endearing with it at the same time.

“What do you think it stands for, Chica?  ‘Rest and repairs’!”  He’d said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire universe.

The berth that had been assembled by Arcee and Optimus was an impressive size.  It was thirty feet in length and a good fifteen feet from the ground.  A little big for the other Autobots, but necessary if Optimus was ever knocked out of commission.

Elena’s thoughts turned to the task at hand as the image of the Autobot leader came across her mind’s eye.

She knew she had about an hour before he got back from his patrol. 

An hour was all she needed.

Over the past few days, Noah had helped her to bring all the necessary equipment to the abandoned warehouse, storing it under a discreet pile of black tarpaulin and strategically placed spare parts. 

The largest piece of equipment that she needed had been placed on the overhead catwalk for her by a helpful Bumblebee only the day before.

“’Talk to me…oh, what’s going on?’”  Elena had laughed as Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On sounded from Bumblebee’s speakers.

“A surprise Bee!  You’ll be able to see it once Optimus has.”

The friendly yellow Autobot scout had helped her to secure and mount the equipment to the catwalk platform, chirping curiously and playing various sound bites through his radio throughout the duration of the installation process.

Elena took her backpack off and retrieved the film reel within it.  She affixed it carefully to the projector, making sure that the machine was calibrated properly and making sure that the angle would line up correctly with the screen.

Once she was satisfied with the set-up of the film projector, she replaced the cover and made her way over to the ladder that would grant her access to the catwalk platform. 

She left her backpack on the floor and made sure to grip the ladder firmly with both hands before placing one of her Doc Marten clad feet on the lowermost rung.

Elena had never been the biggest fan of heights, and her recent experience with giant extra-terrestrial robots had not exactly warmed her to the concept.

Pushing the annoying thoughts to the back of her mind, she determinedly ascended the ladder, laughing at herself in a dark corner of her mind.  She had survived a battle for her planet’s survival and yet she was scared of climbing a ladder that was roughly twelve feet high?

Pathetic. ­­

It did not feel so pathetic however, when she heard a low groaning sound, a sound like the creak of fatigued metal giving way under her weight.

She scrambled quickly up the rest of the ladder and tucked her legs over the edge of the catwalk platform just as the offending object clattered to the ground with an earth-resounding crash.  The noise was temporarily deafening and for a split second, she was back on the bridge in Peru, listening to the deafening clash of metal against metal as titan fought titan.

“Elena, shut it down!”  Optimus Prime’s command as he charged to jump the gap between the key console and the bridge. 

She remembered how his heavy footfalls had reverberated in her chest, making her very ribs feel like they were vibrating.

She sighed, leaning over the edge of the catwalk to see if the ladder situation was at all salvageable.

It was not.

The ladder had fallen completely flat onto the concrete floor below and there was no way on earth that she could reach it without actually leaving the catwalk platform itself, which in turn defeated the object of her needing the ladder in the first place.

She shrugged to herself and made her way over to the mounts holding the projector screen in place.  She undid one side first and then the other, untwisting the mounts that were secured like screw nails.  The projector screen unravelled with a satisfying sound, not dissimilar to the sound a boat’s sail made when it was released.

She was pleased with the overall size of the screen.  It covered a good part of the catwalk railing that it was suspended from, and its generously large size ensured that it would be seen by large and small individuals alike.  All in all, she was satisfied with the set-up of the space that was available to her.  There weren’t many options available in the abandoned warehouse, but she felt that she had utilised the space available to her to the best of her ability. 

All she had to do now was wait for Optimus to get back from his patrol.

She sat down on the edge of the catwalk, allowing her legs to dangle over the side while she wrapped her arms around the lowermost railing.

The corrugated iron floor of the catwalk still retained some of the day’s heat, a heat that she felt on the backs of her thighs as she lowered herself to the floor.  The weather lady that very morning on WABC-TV had declared the late heatwave an ‘Indian’ summer. 

Before she had left her apartment that morning, Elena had elected for a plain white camisole paired with a battered, pinafore-style faded blue denim romper suit.  Her father had bought it for her four birthdays ago and it was nearing the end of its public life.  Sooner rather than later it would be no good except when she cleaned her apartment, but the thought of parting with it made her heart accelerated to a panicked and frantic rhythm.

A strategically tied bandana adorned her head, keeping her natural curls close to her scalp in an attempt to combat the year’s late, oppressive heat. 

The temperature had hovered around the low eighties and, a fact not helped by the minimal amount of rainfall that New York City had had so far for the month of September.

Elena swung her legs slowly to and fro, her dark brown eyes tracking the movement of her Doc Marten boots.  Doc Marten boots that were scuffed, paint-damaged and at least eight years old.

A nostalgic smile kissed her lips as a sudden memory played in the forefront of her mind, like her own personal picture show.

“Elena, when are you gonna polish those god-damned boots?!  I ain’t havin’ nobody thinkin’ your father and I raised you in some poorhouse girl!” 

Her mother’s shrill insistence that everything had to look and be perfect all the time.

“Easy Gloria!  The girl ain’t gonna lose out on anything in life if she’s got some scuffed boots!” 

The gentle cadence of her father’s calm and deep voice. 

Equally as powerful, she remembered her mother’s disappointment and anger when she learnt of her daughter’s chosen career path.  She had been most horrified at the fact that her daughter was not aspiring to become the devoted and loving wife of a high-flying, Manhattan based defence attorney. 

Elena pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, not wanting to deal with them right at that particular moment.  She was prone to ruminating and then spiralling into a deep, introspective pit of her own making.  It was seldom a happy place to be, and she already devoted enough of her mental energy spending time there.

Energy that she was determined on claiming back for herself.

Elena was pulled from her self-imposed reverie by the low growl of a Freightliner’s engine. 

She lifted her head in time just to see Optimus roll to a complete stop, his airbrakes hissing lightly with the motion.  She watched with ill-disguised awe and amazement as the vehicle parts shifted and reconfigured themselves until they had arranged into the body of the Autobot leader.

He ducked as he came in through the large doorway, his heavy footfalls reverberating in Elena’s chest.  His blue optics widened when he saw her, clearly not expecting anybody to be at the warehouse when he returned from his patrol. 

In her hurry to stand, she smashed her head against the top bar of the railing on the catwalk.  Pain shot through her cranium and into her forehead, making her see stars for a few seconds.

She heard, rather than saw Optimus hurrying towards her, his blue lower legs filling the majority of her field of vision.  Hydraulics hissed as he raised a hesitant servo. 

“Elena!  Are you alright?  Are you at all injured?”  His deep baritone was laced with concern. 

“Argh god-dammit!” she muttered, more to herself than to him.   She lifted her eyes to meet his earnest blue gaze.  Hilariously, he was slightly bending his knees so as to bring himself more to her level.  It was kind of endearing to see the massive, twenty-foot tall Autobot leader trying to get to her perspective.

“Elena, are you injured?”  his tone was a little more pressing this time, his optics worriedly fixed on her. 

“No, just my pride.”  She groaned, rubbing a tentative hand over the top of her head.

Ouch.

There was definitely going to be a lump there in the morning.

Optimus straightened, visibly satisfied with her answer. 

“Why did you do that?  If you are going to strike things with your head, would it not be pertinent to don protective headwear first?  It is my understanding that human bones, and therefore human craniums are very fragile.” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”  she uttered, a little defensively. 

He held both hands up defensively.  “Duly noted.  I will not make such an assumption again.”  He eyed her thoughtfully before speaking again.  “You are stressed.  Your cortisol levels are currently elevated to eighteen micrograms per decilitre; a significant amount higher than the average of ten micrograms per decilitre for your species.” 

Elena worked hard to smooth her face into some semblance of what she hoped was a polite smile.  “Did you just scan me?”

A brisk nod was her answer.

She sighed.  “Optimus, we’ve spoken about this before.  You can’t just go around scanning people.  It’s personal information.” 

The Autobot leader remained undeterred.  “I see no adverse consequences if the information revealed to me in my scan helps me to alleviate some pain, physical or otherwise.” 

That stopped her in her tracks.  She stared blankly at him for a few seconds.  His face was an inscrutable mask of polite interest, his ‘brows’ sitting in two perfectly neutral lines above his cerulean optics. 

In the end, she opted for a diversion tactic. 

“What do you think of the set-up?” she asked, nodding towards the screen. 

Optimus took the bait, casting his gaze downwards. 

His ‘eyebrows’ (could she even call them that?) rose and disappeared slightly behind his helm as he examined the screen.  He reached out a gentle hand and poked it lightly with one finger, seemingly surprised by how easily it gave way underneath his touch.

“What is it?” he rumbled, lifting his optics back up so that they rested on Elena once more. 

Elena took a deep breath.

“I thought that you and I could have a movie night, if you want?  I know Arcee and Wheeljack are busy in South America with Primal looking on how to harvest that raw energon and Mirage and Bumblebee are holed up outside Noah’s apartment.  They are having a gaming tournament on Kris’ Sega Drive.” 

Optimus did not speak for a moment, seemingly struck speechless. 

“You wish to…have a movie night with me?”  he spoke quietly, his voice almost vulnerable. 

Elena laughed.  “You don’t have to sound so scared!  I just thought it might be nice for you to have some downtime.  Don’t think about work for a while.  Lose yourself in a world of make-believe, even if it’s just for one hour.” 

Optimus smiled gently at her.  Even though it was only small, it transformed his entire face.  The metallic mosaic that made up his facial plating shifted and allowed her a glimpse of someone who had not yet been touched by the horrific burdens and responsibilities that came with trying to co-ordinate a war from an alien planet.

“You should do that more often.”  She watched in amusement as his eyebrows shot upwards into his helm again.

“I am afraid I am not following your meaning, Elena.  What should I do more often?”

“Smile!  You have a nice smile.”  Once again it appeared that she had rendered the Autobot leader totally and utterly speechless. 

This time, it was he who opted for the diversion tactic. 

“Why are you on the catwalk?  You will need to set up the movie, I am not familiar with how to operate human technology, and I fear my hands are too large to work such technology without causing irreparable damage.” 

Elena smiled warmly at him.  “I can help you with that last part, but you might need to help me get down from here.  The ladder fell as I was climbing up it.” 

His optics widened in alarm.  “Were you injured?”  His voice resumed the earlier tones of his concern. 

“Nah.  I got up here in time.  I’ve just been stuck up here for the last hour or so.  No big deal.” 

“It is a ‘big deal’ Elena.  You could have been harmed.  Where is this ladder now?” 

He followed her point to where the ladder had fallen earlier. 

Walking over, he bent from the waist and picked the ladder up easily in both of his large hands, turning it over and examining it.  Blue rays of light shot out from his optics as he continued his thorough inspection.

“What are you doing?”  Elena asked, making her way over to the edge of the platform where the ladder had previously been mounted. 

“Determining where the structural weakness is.”  Optimus replied, focusing on the top of the ladder.  He gave it a light tap with the index and middle fingers of his left hand.  A deafening clang resounded throughout the room, made all the more impressive by the warehouse’s acoustics.  The ladder had broken clean in half, one piece clasped in Optimus’ right hand and the other laying in a cloud of dust on the concrete floor.

“Hmm.  This is not salvageable.”  He retrieved the other piece from the floor and walked over to the wide doors of the warehouse, the ones he had entered through earlier and easily lobbed the pieces of the ladder outside as if they weighed nothing at all. 

He made his way back over to Elena then, the fingers of his left hand gently uncurling as he held it out in front of her. 

“May I?”  He offered her another gentle smile, his optics softening by a tiny degree.

Elena hesitated.  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, but he was so huge.

Humming The Sign under her breath, Elena walked towards Optimus’ outstretched hand.  She watched in awe as his fingers gently wrapped themselves easily around her midsection, lifting her with alarming ease. 

Involuntarily, her knees came up and she grabbed onto Optimus’ thumb so tightly she felt like her knuckles might tear through her skin.  She scrunched her eyes tightly shut as the sensation of leaving her stomach behind on the catwalk overtook her senses. 

A low chuckle rumbled somewhere from above her.  “Easy Elena.  I’ve got you.  I promise I won’t drop you.”  Optimus’ voice was a gentle, sonorous baritone that curled around her, caressing her senses like the forgotten embrace of a dear friend.

She didn’t respond but kept her koala-like grip tight on Optimus’ thumb, not trusting her reaction if she opened her eyes and saw how high she was suspended in midair. 

Another amused chuckle echoed deep in her chest.  “Elena, you can put your feet down.  You will find solid ground.” 

Cautiously, Elena lowered one leg, toeing the open air with her Doc Marten boot.  She was surprised to find the ground a lot sooner than she had anticipated.  Not quite trusting that, she very slowly creaked one eye open and saw that Optimus was right.  She looked up at him sheepishly and almost burst out laughing at the position he was in. 

He was crouched right down, almost on his haunches.  His right hand was splayed palm-down on the concrete floor, a counter-balance for his immense weight.  The fingers of his left hand were still wrapped firmly but gently around  her middle, patiently waiting for her to regain a steady, vertical base before he withdrew. 

She placed both feet firmly on the ground, simultaneously loosening her grip on Optimus’ thumb before letting go of it completely.  She offered him a sheepish smile, her fingers interlocking themselves together in her embarrassment.  “Thanks Optimus, ‘preciate it.” 

He inclined his helm graciously at her, pulling his hand back and resting it atop one of his bent knees.  “You are most welcome.  I am pleased to have been of assistance.  I will see about getting that ladder replaced as soon as possible.” 

He remained in the crouched position, his optics carefully trained on Elena.  “And in answer to your earlier query…I would be honoured to join you for a…movie night.  May I ask what move we are going to be watching?” 

Elena grinned up at him, all her earlier trepidation forgotten.  “Well, it’s technically a new one.  It isn’t out on VHS yet, but I don’t think there’s a drive-in theatre in the city that would accommodate your vehicle mode.  So Noah got a copy of the movie from his friend Reek.” 

Optimus raised an incredulous brow.  “Is this the gentleman who pirates cable television?” 

Elena stared at him dumbfounded.  “How on earth do you know that?!” 

Optimus had the grace to offer her a wry smile.  “Mirage is not the best at keeping certain information confidential.  However, in the grand scheme of things…I do not think a pirated movie is going to turn you into a hardened criminal Elena.”  He winked playfully at her before drawing his index finger across his lip plates in a ‘zipping’ motion. 

Elena was momentarily lost for words.

Since their return from South America and near death, Optimus’ stoic and stern demeanour had softened a lot.  He was more talkative and seemed to take genuine interest and enjoyment from interacting with both Noah and Elena. 

He would inquire after Kris’ health from Noah, asking if his little brother had had any bad flare ups recently or if at long last, he had managed to defeat the Bowser level on his ‘handheld video game device.’ 

He would spend long hours talking with Elena about her work and where her interest in ancient artifacts had started.  He had been one of the first to warmly congratulate her on the recognition of her discovery in Peru and her initiative in decoding the code to the panel that would have allowed them to deactivate the Transwarp key. 

She decided she liked this friendly, slightly goofy side of Optimus Prime.

She shook her head, realising a few seconds had passed and Optimus was still patiently waiting for an answer.

“It’s a film called The Lion King.  It is a kid’s film, but it has one of my dad’s favourite actors in it.  He’s doing one of the voices.  I know my dad would have wanted to see it.” 

Optimus’ optics softened at the mention of her father. 

“Then I would be honoured to watch The Lion King with you Elena.” 

“Awesome!  Take a seat then, it’ll take be two seconds to get the projector running.” 

His joints creaked and his hydraulics hissed as he rose to his full height, casting a long shadow over Elena.  He moved to sit against the wall directly opposite the screen, in the same position he had assumed when he had been a passenger in Stratosphere’s alt-mode; one leg stretched out in front of him with the other brought up to his chest, one arm resting easily on top of his bent knee.

She hurried over to the projector, double checking that everything was calibrated correctly and in the correct place before she set it to run.  Satisfied that everything was as it should be, she started the film reel and half-ran to where Optimus was sitting.

It suddenly dawned on her that he was sitting on the floor. 

“Aww man!”  She exclaimed, feeling foolish at the fact that she had overlooked such a massive detail. 

Optimus’ hydraulics hissed slightly as he turned his head to gaze down at her.  “What it is the matter?” 

“You’re sitting on the floor!  I should’ve thought of something for you to sit on.” 

He surprised her by uttering a barking laugh.  “Worry not Elena.  Any flat surface is more than suitable for me to recline on.  I do not require comfort in the same way that you humans do.”  He eyed the surrounding area, looking first to his left and then his right.  “However, where are you going to sit?” 

Elena laughed at her own forgetfulness.  “It’s okay Optimus.  I don’t mind sitting on the floor.  It’s no biggie.” 

Both of their attention was momentarily commandeered by the screen turning black as the film projector rolled. 

“If you would not be averse to it, would you like to sit on my shoulder?  It would be marginally more comfortable than the floor and I will be able to keep you warm.  The temperature drops quite quickly once the evening closes in.” 

Elena surprised herself when she agreed to his proposition with no hesitation at all.

His large hand descended towards her once more, fingers open and waiting for her to bridge the gap between them. 

She stepped forward into his grasp and was lifted gently and tenderly to his massive right shoulder.  His hand hovered behind her until she had lowered herself into a seated position, her legs dangling over the edge of his chest. 

“Umm, thank you Optimus.  Is this okay?”  She gestured to her legs, trying hard not to swing them to and fro as was her habit. 

He nodded the affirmative, his expression unreadable. 

“Cool.”  She settled back, leaning against the corrugated metal wall of the warehouse.  A sudden thought made her jerk upright again.  “Wait a minute, you’re not ticklish or anything, are you?” 

Optimus chuckled lightly.  “No Elena, I am not ticklish.  Assume whatever posture in which you are comfortable.” 

Satisfied, Elena assumed her earlier position, bringing one leg up to almost mirror Optimus. 

A comfortable silence fell between them as the opening notes of a dramatic voice sounded over the speakers Noah had hardwired into the warehouse within days of their return from Peru.

Elena watched, enraptured as beautiful scenes of the African plains rolled across the screen.  She was spell-bound by the colours and the emotion that the accompanying music stirred within her, piquing a curiosity for what was yet to come. 

She sneaked a sideways glance at Optimus, whose optics where trained on the screen.  He seemed to be as every part drawn in by the movie as she was. 

She felt the fine, baby-like hairs on the back of her neck rise along with the reflexive goosebumps across her arms and legs when she heard the deep, resonant tones of James Earl Jones’ voice coming from the character Mufasa.

She noticed, with interest, Optimus’ visible bristling when the main antagonist, Scar, was introduced into the cast.  He ground his lip plates subtly together, tightening the fingers of his left hand into a clenched fist at the same time. 

She watched, her throat thick with emotion as Mufasa gently reprimanded Simba after his reckless actions in the Elephant Graveyard, her eyes filming up with nostalgic tears as she watched them play rough and tumble. 

She could not however, stop the sharp intake of breath as she watched Scar cruelly throw Mufasa to his death, her own expression mirroring the one of hurt and horror on little Simba’s face. 

Tears fell freely and silently down her face, painting the pain and loss that had ached for so long to be released from her broken heart.  She worked hard to control her breathing, not wanting Optimus to see the vulnerability that was plastered across her face.

Optimus, ever tactful, shifted his helm slightly so that it was inclined towards her.  She leaned gratefully against it, silently accepting the comfort and support that he so freely offered.

She did not stop weeping for the rest of the movie but did find it within herself to laugh when Timon and Pumba attempted to distract the villainous hyenas with their ‘drag in hula’ skit.  Fresh tears assaulted her eyes as she watched Simba ascend Pride Rock for the first time since his acceptance of his role as king. 

She let herself feel the gentle flutter of her own heartbeat when Simba and Nala proudly introduced their newborn cub to the other residents of the plain, the circle of life completing once more. 

As the credits rolled across the black backdrop of the screen, Optimus turned fully to regard her.  His round optics were kind and gentle, appraising her with an unspoken sense of concern. 

“Are you alright Elena?” 

That one simple question seemed to unlock the floodgates within her. 

Her tears fell without pause now, creating a constant stream of moving liquid down her face.  Optimus’ large visage went watery in her vision, obscured as it was by the relentless tears falling from her eyes. 

With a gentleness that belied his enormous size, Optimus gently wrapped his fingers around Elena’s mid-section once more and lifted her, carefully setting her down on his right forearm.  He kept the arm she was on tucked close to his chest and leaned down closer to her, keeping his left hand cupped securely around her back.

Without even really thinking about what she was doing, Elena raised her arms and wrapped them as much as she could around the Autobot leader’s neck.  She felt him stiffen lightly in surprise before relaxing and leaning down into her embrace. 

She felt his hand tighten slightly around her back and shoulders, his metallic thumb brushing against her arm in a comforting gesture.  She buried her face into the space between his neck and chin, aching to feel the close affection of a parent.

An embrace that she had not felt for three years. 

Elena felt the smooth rocking sensation as Optimus gently moved first forwards and then backwards.  His thumb continued stroking her arm gently while his arms held her together as she fell apart.

“Shh.  It’s okay Elena.  You can let go.  I’ve got you.”  His gentle, affectionate cadence was all that she needed to be pushed off the edge and into emotional free-fall. 

Her sobs came slowly at first, creeping up upon her as the incoming tide creeps up on the beach.  They exited out of her slowly and quietly, a slow bleed of pain that she had denied herself from feeling since her father’s death three years previously. 

Then something inside her kicked up a gear. 

Anger and resentment.

Anger that her mother would not accept her for who she was.

Resentment for the fact that her mother had driven her first love away without remorse.

Anger that her father would never get to see her achievements.

The ever reaching, devastating power of the sadness that seeped from every pore in her body at the realisation that she would never again see her father, hear his voice or smell the coffee-stained newspapers in his cab. 

She cried like a wounded animal, the intensity of her pain drawing cruel lacerations up one side of her heart and down the other.  Her breaths came in short, sharp cries, like she had just taken part in a triathlon. 

She screamed out, rageful cries of someone who had taken all the pain they could bear. 

In a moment of pure vulnerability, the sound of Elena’s pain ripped up through her throat.  Her pain was echoed in her screams, reverberating with a fierce and desperate longing.  With each cry, her sobs became a little less intense as she came down from her abrupt adrenaline rush.  Each shaky exhalation was a cathartic purge of the sorrow and grief that had haunted her for years. 

Hydraulics hissed as Optimus gently withdrew from their embrace, looking at Elena with a profound sense of sadness present in his astute optics. 

“Elena, are you alright?”  He repeated his earlier question, holding her in the intensity of his soul-reaching gaze.  

She lowered her eyes from his, dropping her chin to her chest as a sudden feeling of overwhelming mortification creeped up her neck and into her face. 

Servos whirred as a gentle finger was placed under her chin, lifting her face to meet his optics once more. 

“Elena?” 

“I am…okay.  I’m really sorry about that Optimus.  I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen.”  She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, all too aware of their red and swollen appearance.  

“Do not ever be sorry for your feelings Elena.”  Optimus said, brushing a last few stray tears from her face with his thumb.  “I am profoundly sorry for your loss, and though I never had the pleasure of meeting your father, I believe he would be immeasurably proud of the woman that you are today.” 

Elena regarded him with a raised brow. 

“I say this because although I have only known you for a short amount of time, you have always conducted yourself with honour and dignity.  Even when my own behaviour was…less than courteous to you and your kind. 

“You had no reason to help us, yet you did, asking nothing in return.  In short, we could not have found the Transwarp key without your assistance.  And I wish to say, ‘thank you.’  Your valiant effort for my kind and I, as well as our planet, means more to me than I can articulate.  I am in your debt Elena.”

Elena, who had never been comfortable with receiving praise, squirmed awkwardly in Optimus’ grasp. 

“Noah did most of the hard work.  He took on Scourge and those weird spider-bot things.  He came to get the key for you from the museum.  I just stowed away really.” 

Optimus gave her a knowing look.  “Who worked out that the other half of the key was in Peru?  Who worked out the access code to the panel on the bridge?  Who,” he spoke more softly, his sonorous voice barely above a whisper, “who opposed vehemently to the destruction of the remaining half of the key once it was located?” 

Elena felt her blood run cold in her veins.  “You…you knew about that?”  Her own voice was barely audible to her ears.

Optimus surprised her by uttering a low chuckle.  “We Autobots possess extremely sensitive hearing Elena.  I do not blame Noah for his original intentions.  However, your…passionate opposition of destroying the remaining half of the key resounded deeply with me.  I could not understand why a mere human” he offered her an apologetic wink, “would want to help our kind.  I am beyond grateful that you did however.”

Elena half-smiled, refastening her bandana where it had become a little loose.  “We ain’t all bad y’know.  Sure, there are some evil bastards out there, more than there should be, but there are good ones too.  You just have to find ‘em.” 

Optimus hummed thoughtfully, seeming to agree with her. 

“Like Charlie.  Bee told me about her, when he first landed on Earth?” 

Optimus nodded.  “Indeed.  He speaks most highly of her.  I know he misses her terribly.” 

“You know, my dad always used to say, ‘if you keep your eyes and your ears open, life will show you everything you need to know.’” 

“A wise and accurate sentiment.  Your father sounded like a very wise and intelligent man.”  Optimus mused, bathing Elena in a pool of gentle blue light from his optics. 

“He was, he really was.”  Elena’s voice carried a sad tone of nostalgia, one that was tinged with the happiness of memories passed but burdened with the weight of absent love. 

Optimus seemed to hesitate before he spoke again.  “On my world, we believe that the ones who have passed on are in the AllSpark, reunited with our fallen brethren and wise mentors from the Golden Age.  In this, we are safe in the knowledge that we are never truly alone. 

“What I am trying to say Elena, is this; you are your father’s daughter.  Part of him, if you will excuse my borrowing of the sentiment from the movie we have just watched, lives on in you.  You are his legacy; you are his hope.  Remember that, and you cannot go far wrong.  Remember who you are, and I know his memory and spirit will walk proudly in step beside you.”

Elena hugged Optimus again, feeling the soft vibrations of his systems against her soft skin. 

“Thank you, Optimus.  Till all are one, right?”  She asked, holding out a closed fist to him. 

A gentle, warm smile transformed his face as he raised his massive left fist to lightly touch against hers.

“Indeed Elena.  Till all are one.”