#working conditions. aurgh

[epicdogymoment]

ok i SAID i wouldnt watch csm but man. the imagery

[noblesvacation]

#i love chill fantasies ouuu#i need more lizel & the king content#LIKE? what is the lore !!#i also need someone pick to pick the novels AURGH#maybe i just aristocratic characters tbhh#jeweler richard im looking at YOUU

ANOTHER POST I MISSED IN THE TAG HELLO

Did I hear Lizel and the king? :3c Did I hear... interest in the novels?

Take my hand. I'm taking this as an excuse to yell about the king.

The first thing you need to know is that Lizel and the king are Categorically Absurd. If you can accept this premise, I will share the lore with you.

NO FOR REAL THEY'RE INSAAAANE but most of that has not been revealed (in translation) yet. We know, of course, that Lizel is the prime minister, second in power to the king. We know that Lizel was the king's tutor and still thinks of him fondly as "his former student", Lizel's go-to way of talking about the king without actually saying "king" and revealing his noble status.

Some other things we know, some of which are easy to miss:

the king is young! He's about Eleven's age, early 20s

the king is the most powerful magician in the history of their kingdom. Teleportation or transfer magic is unique to the royal bloodline, but only Lizel's king can transfer whole armies

on that topic, of course we know that Lizel's gun works via royal bloodline teleportation magic! As a duke, Lizel is related by blood to the royal family from a marriage a couple generations back.

Also yeah, Lizel's position is duke. He's young to take over the position, especially since his dad is still around, but it might have strengthened his position after His Majesty promoted him to prime minister

because yeah that was straight nepotism. His Majesty wasted no time making sure Lizel would be right by his side always

who could forget that His Majesty literally said "This kingdom is worthless without you." (manga vol6, ch29)

literally what condition would their kingdom be in if not for Lizel taming this king??

NEVER FORGET THAT THE KING IS A (FORMER) DELINQUENT

Lizel is probably the only one who thinks "former". The king is very, very good at being a king, but he's still wild

The citizens love the king for being a former delinquent

There are a couple short stories and some events later on that reveal these things about Lizel and the king, but: they both have a sense of justice. It's easy to miss because it's not the grand, shounen protag style sense of justice, but very much the both of them use their authority to help people. They are extremely selfish, like EXTREMELY, but that selfishness is tempered by them truly just caring about other people, and, as nobles, they have a rather broad view of things. For Lizel, we see this in the way he protects and enhances Gil's reputation, something that impacts how he is treated, even going so far as to [redacted for spoilers coming up in vol 11]. For the king, we know that he runs a kingdom! This kingdom is not only his home, it's Lizel's home--it may be worthless without Lizel, but Lizel needs a place to come home to, and there's just a lot one can do with the authority and resources of a kingdom behind you, so the king will be a good king. He will take care of his citizens so that the kingdom can thrive, so that he can do Lizel proud.

Oh yeah and the king can sense where Lizel is via the earrings (THE EARRINGS. ARE SO MUCH. THERE'S A SIDE STORY I NEED TO TRANSLATE)

(Mickey Mouse voice) That's a surprise clue that will help us later! Don't forget the earrings are full to bursting of His Majesty's magic. :3c You'll know we're getting close to Something Incredible when Lizel and co. visit the tropics

grabbing you by the shoulders Lizel can be so at ease in this entirely new world because he trusts the king that much. He's not even surprised when they make first contact. Only one person could do something so absurd as tear a window between worlds and it's his king. THE FAITH LIZEL HAS IN HIS KING

and on the other side, the adoration the king has for Lizel. That's his teacher, his right hand man, the only one who can stop the king's rampages, the only one who can really keep up with him! They mean so so much to each other

Vol 6, the king mentions that he would have Lizel's father executed for interrupting his chat with Lizel if he weren't Lizel's father. As just a little teaser, don't want to spoil... being important to Lizel is a pretty good defense, UNLESS the king perceives someone to be a threat to his relationship with Lizel anyway.

Bonus knowledge: His Majesty is the only character who's NOT an only child

We've only seen a bit of their relationship, but it's one of the best and most fascinating in the series. These two men have shaped each other. No one else is as important.

discovered that a gentle noble's vacation recommendation actually has a fandom so now im binge rereading the entire thing (i forgot how much i enjoyed this series)

[thatboxylady]

haha my hand slipped oops

consider this sort of a teaser for the big Beast Machines fic that I am publishing later this year (or early next year). don’t worry about it. it’s fine. yeah. everything is f  ine.........

- - - 

“Rain”

In the years following Megatron’s takeover of Cybertron, pollution from the mass production of Vehicons had choked the life out its atmosphere— far more than what was to be expected for a planet that was just a hunk of metal.

When the sun did manage to come through the clouds, it was always in a haze that clogged your intakes. Cleaning your vents was mandatory maintenance if you wanted to avoid accidently cooking your internals on a hot night. Visibility was throttled through the smog on the best days, thick like smoke on the worst. It was amazing that the organic-half of the Maximals managed to survive as long as they had… maybe the whole techno-organic spiel that Primal constantly spat wasn’t so organic after all. The few humans that managed to survive the initial siege were dead by the end of the first year of Megatron’s not-so-little uprising— suffocated by the air they had tried so hard to improve when the Pax Cybertronia was first passed. If they were lucky, the Maximals would go the same way. Eventually. Hopefully.

But the rain. The rain. Not quite concentrated to the point where it was pure acid, but that slag was awful if you let it stick to you for too long. It seared white streaks on Cybertropolis’ skyscrapers where it chewed away paint and eroded just about everything else that wasn’t glass or metal. Jetstorm’s wings always tingled in the worst ways after the sky decided to start spitting. The sensation stayed for days after even after a good chemical wash if he wasn’t careful.

So how the frag Thrust could tolerate it was a mystery. Acid ate through rubber way faster than it tore through anything else on Cybertron, and the cycle-general had been driving laps for the better part of the hour on exposed tires. 

In a torrential downpour.

Like a goddamn maniac.

Maybe he was just a glutton for punishment?

Jetstorm kept himself tucked under the overpass as he watched the other general start another lap. It was a rudimentary figure eight pattern, taking the freeway entrance going southbound and exiting at the next mile marker before looping back down. Over and over again. Something just… wasn’t right with ground-pounders. How the frag could they manage to keep their sanity following the same roads all the time? The smaller mech was dwarfed by the eight lanes he was weaving between, skirting past obstacles as he came up on them. For the most part Thrust travelled in the same lane, practicing drifting off the exit whenever they came up. Tightening the turns every time. The sound of the mech’s engine revving up and down popped like individual gunshots.

The echo was particularly obnoxious with the acoustics surrounding Jetstorm’s current perch. The flier pulled his wings tight against his body as he leaned as far in as possible out of the rain. So much for a “quick” run. Five cycles, Thrust said. Five! What a load of scrap this whole thing was.

The jet scowled when the other general swerved to purposely hit a puddle on the next lap back. Then, as to be expected, Thrust immediately spun out and ended up hitting the dividing wall to the opposite highway. The maroon mech transformed in time to catch himself on the barricade and let loose a string of swears on impact. The resulting crunch wasn’t pleasant sounding, but Thrust was still cursing when he bounced off the wall and went down. Alive… good! No need to rush out in the rain to pick up his partner’s body, or something.

Jetstorm waited for the sky to stop dumping before floating down. Thrust had rolled onto his back, arm raised to shield his face from spare droplets still coming from the low hanging clouds.

The blue mech leaned over him. “You finished, biker boy?” 

“Nice of you to harp on my rescue,” Thrust said. He reached up with a clawed servo, finally revealing his face. The mech’s visor was cracked. “You gonna gawk at me all day, or am I actually gonna get a leg up from you?” 

Jetstorm held out his servo, yanking Thrust upward when they made contact. He pulled the other mech up— and kept pulling. The momentum brought Thrust upward too fast for him to regain his balance. He immediately pitched forward and ended up face first in the asphalt again. The sound of armor on concrete was grating.

“Aurgh! Storm!”

“You said you needed a leg up. Not that you needed to stay up.” Jetstorm scoffed at the streaks in his partner’s armor. He crossed his massive arms in disgust. “Eugh. You look hideous.” 

“Don’t be so blue about it.” 

“Did you just... use a pun? On me?” Jetstorm kept sneering, but this time he couldn’t help but feel a little stupid about it. "I could just— I will beat you to death with my bare servos. You know that, don’t you?” 

“Cute.” Thrust propped himself back up on his own. He was a little less helpless when he wasn’t stuck on his back. As he turned, Jetstorm could see that the treads on his tire were almost bald. There was no way that wasn’t going to be sore. “I’d like to see you try.” 

“I’m cold and wet, and I want to go somewhere that isn’t dripping with anything that’s gonna corrode this paintjob!” Jetstorm bristled at the sound of thunder. “I am not letting myself get caught in another— urgh! How can you stand that?” 

“Eeh. The tingling’s not so bad once you get used to it. Rain wasn’t even that concentrated this time.” Thrust shook his head where it was still dripping with excess water. Then he allowed the shuddering motion to carry into his shoulders and downward.  Water flew off his armor. Jetstorm recoiled to avoid being hit, raising his taloned hands in self-defense. The cycle-general swayed but otherwise kept himself from falling over again when he was finished. “Just gotta pop yourself into a working CR tank. Buffs everything right out.”

“That stuff is gross. You’re gross. Stop it. You will never get me into one of those things.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’d rather have me buff out your wings. I remember.” Thrust rolled past, wincing. He’d visibly damaged one of the shock supports in his suspension on the right side, giving him a tilted “limp” that looked even more sore than his tire. “You keep overloading whenever I do, though.”

“Mmm, speaking of which...” It was a nice subject change. Jetstorm let Thrust pass him before turning to follow, keeping close as a precaution— just in case the damaged support gave out. He wondered if he had aggravated the injury by allowing him to fall that second time. Not that he was worried or anything. That would be… “Well. Never mind.” 

“What? You not in the mood for anything?” 

“You’re not exactly in good working condition, biker boy.” 

“I can take my fair share of hits.”

“Why did you even aim for the puddle, anyways?” 

They made it to the shadow of the next overpass when Thrust leaned into him in the dark. Right where no prying optics could see them. Just for balance. Yeah. Jetstorm, being the superior mech he was, allowed the temporary contact as a show of good faith. No other reason.

“You’re warm,” Thrust muttered.

“You’re drenched, and you still didn’t answer my question.”  

The cyclist hummed. The answer was exactly as dumb as he expected for the grounder. “Why not? Looked like it might be fun. You should try it sometimes. Y’know. Stuff that’s actually fun. Not just goading the she-spider or shooting the rest of the Paw Patrol.”

Jetstorm sighed, turning around. He aimed his primary weapons, allowed time for a sufficient charge, and fired off a single plasma round. The shot warbled as it singed the humid air, striking the original underpass where he had been sheltering. The bridge immediately collapsed in an upheaval of debris and fire. It cleaved through the highway below and destroyed the bridge suspension. All eight lanes converged in a crumbling twist of shattered asphalt and bent titanium beams.

Thrust shouted and reeled back as the ground shook, catching himself on the closest barricade again. As the crumbling structure tore through the road, water sprayed upward from thousands of puddles now ruined.

“Huh. Whatcha know? That was kind of fun,” Jetstorm said.

Thrust buried his face in his servos and muttered something about needing to find him a hobby, or literally anything other than goddamn feral vandalism.

[kingofthewilderwest]

Aurgh it’s hard as fuck when your main squick is something that’s popular with like, almost every other human being ever, and is intended to be one of those safe everyday conversations you can have with both intimate friends and complete strangers. Where it’s supposed to be a thing that humanity uses as a uniting, welcoming, bonding force... but to me it’s just... a really uncomfortable reminder of a host of bad things.

I’m talking food here.

Food conversations often make me feel uncomfortable. Vastly uncomfortable. There’s an intricate set of conditions for which conversations I’m fine with and which will bother me, but no one except me is going to know all that minuteness. Point is: food conversations, food socialization, it’s everywhere. And it’s so hard to handle. Because i know everyone wants to be nice and they’re reaching out to me, but every time they do that kind gesture, it’s alienating and disturbing me more. And so 9 times out of 10, I put on a polite face and humor them because I don’t want to hurt them. I don’t let them know it bothers me. 

Dudes I am like, always trying to minimize my discomfort for others, because I know it’s impractical to act otherwise.

Which means I’m constantly living in a state of internally squirming.

Let’s be clear: I am someone who’s pretty comfortable giving feedback to friends, talking back and forth about what does/doesn’t work between us. I’m not someone socially anxious at approaching topics like these. I’m FINE telling friends, “Hey, I don’t like X, how about we do Y?” But just... food’s an impossible battle, dudes, and you can’t do it to complete strangers, to EVERYONE you meet, to EVERY circumstance you go through... it’s just... it’s a losing battle and I’d rather be polite and not make others feel uncomfortable, than constantly jut out to no good result.

For like. The one time out of ten I ask people (usually close friends) to avoid food-related actions and conversations, it’s a roll of the dice whether or not their behavior changes, even when they don’t complain “That makes it hard to talk to you!” Usually the confiding conversation changes little. Even when they’re trying to do something. 

The problem is that food reminds me I’m socially ostracized, and it reminds me of a lot of the mental illness and self-care issues I’ve chronically had in my life. In fact, food is a really good symbol of everywhere I just STRUGGLE so like, yeah, surprise surprise, I hate hearing and talking about it and stuff.

So like. Number one. I have Celiac Disease. I got diagnosed as an infant (praise God) and have lived a strict gluten free diet my entire life, even before most people knew what the word meant or knew the word existed. I have pride for being a Celiac, but I don’t like what the social impacts are. I learned to turn down food offered to me. Which is like. A lot of the time, dudes. Humans bond through food. But growing up without food bonding is....... yeah wow, dudes, apparently it messes you up, who knew.

1. You gotta turn down the dinner invitations for people who want to cook for you, knowing they’ll have nooooo idea how to prepare safe gluten-free friendly foods. Or, you don’t want to be a Drastic Social Burden(TM) that’s difficult to prepare for (because there’s so much RESEARCH they’d have to do, and so much I’d have to DOUBLE CHECK for them, just to make sure I could eat one fucking cupcake). So any time there’s a social gathering around dinner that isn’t going to a restaurant, it turns into a major cringe reaction for me, wishing that this hangout were literally ANY other time of day.

Mealtimes, which everyone else uses as a way to bond with one another in a positive, delightful way... are one of the Biggest Ways to make me feel alienated, uncomfortable, socially burdensome, on edge. Instead of making me feel included, I feel all the more aware I’m the odd one out. During the times people *DO* actually cook gluten free for me, I feel an unending wave of gratefulness piled on social burden, because they had to go out of their fucking way to figure this out, due to the problematic nature of me having strict dietary restrictions.

2. You know how often food gets offered to you as gifts? I have to constantly turn down those gifts. I already lack gift giving abilities; turning down gifts is socially cumbersome but something I’m always waiting to have to do. Instead of ever feeling grateful someone offered me something (I know they mean well), I have to ruin the moment by asking to see the packaging for the ingredients list, or saying “no”. And someone saying “I’d love to cook for you!” just makes me think “oh god oh god oh god NO. please NO.”

3. Really fun hanging out with friends and “Let’s go eat” and you have to veto 3/4 of the restaurants they want to go to because you can’t eat there. Frankly, I often succumb to “Pick what you want, I’ll figure something out for me.” My friends don’t like that and insist to include me (food bonding [sigh]) but yeahhhh, I like to wimp out on that rather than bother.

4. Oh hi guess what it also goes into being left out of religious experiences like church communions. Until larger churches started offering gluten free wafers to replace bread... if I wanted to be included in communion... I either had to whisper something to the pastor before she gave me bread, or I’d have to give her my gluten free bread ahead of time so she could give it to me specially (this is what my mom did for me, who always tried to make me feel included as a little kid... bake me my own cakes for birthday parties... arrange this stuff with the church... what have you). And let’s not get started on the awkward conversations I had when friends invited me to seder and I had to do a lot of make-sure-ing there too.

5. Okay guys you know how COMMON it is for people to text you food pictures? Look what I made. This is my dinner. What have you. How that will IMMEDIATELY set off my discomfort??? But if I don’t respond, I’ll get a text half an hour later, “Hey, did you see my concoction?” 

6. Ngl this makes me 300000x more nervous if I have to do any food-related hosting event. Even if it’s “bring something to the potluck!” it throws me into so much distress. Now *I* have to pick food for *someone else*, when I live in a world where no one knows how to pick food for me. It makes me uncertain what to bring, what’s acceptable to bring, etc. I mean, I guess the one thing I have going for me is I make sure I bring stuff ANY person of ANY diet can eat, but like... there’s so much social discomfort. I get even more uncomfortable at the thought of trying to cook meals for people (doesn’t help I can’t cook to save my life) or hosting social events with snacks in them (ex: movie nights). 

THERE IS A REASON I DEFAULT TO “HEY WHO WANTS TO GO OUT TO DINNER, I’LL PAY!!!!” it’s the one non-uncomfortable way I can show my love to my friends, while dealing with a physical need I know they have (hunger). It’s not the “best” bonding way, but I try to minimize those experiences, get out of them, but like... if I’m offering to buy you dinner, THIS IS ***THE*** BEST I CAN DO AND I AM DESPERATE TO DO IT BECAUSE IT IS THE ***ONLY*** WAY I CAN FOOD BOND WITH YOU AND I KNOW YOU NEED THAT.

On and on and on and on and on. 

Like, on its own, living with Celiac is damn EASY. It’s not hard to cook and eat gluten free meals. But it’s the interaction with all the other human beings, who default to eating gluten-filled meals, and trying to get me in on the socialization of gluten-filled meals... that makes it so problematic to navigate. And means I’m constantly feeling socially........ jutting out. Square peg in round hole phenomenon.

But it’s not just the fact that everyone else grew up bonding with food and meals... and I was separated out and couldn’t bond. 

Uarghghghg it’s not just Celiac. Celiac is simple. Celiac is normal. I’m 100% chill with the fact I have it, and I actually get angry when people suggest it’s something that should be “cured.” Fuck you dudes, I’m normal, I’m healthy, my life is great, it’s not my fault you like wheat and think I should like it too. 

But. Where things get really emotionally hairy. It’s that food is a pinnacle of my non-neurotypical issues. I forever screwed up my diet in college when I got so depressed I quit eating regularly and lost something like 10-15 lb (which was... like... 10% of my body weight, yiiiiikes). It became this... self-imposed contest... where I tried to skip as many meals as possible. It became a Rule that I didn’t eat Sundays. It took years for me to eat 2-3 meals a day again. And it forever impacted the health of what I ate. I have really baaaaaad diet.

And diet is always the first thing to get impacted when I have a depression-y spell. It’s the hardest thing for me to get in control to try to take care of myself. I’m CONSTANTLY struggling to take care of myself even during my happy periods, when it comes to food, and so you can only imagine what happens to my diet when I’m in my many bad spells. Food represents the constant struggle, the constant inability for me to function. It sometimes feels like the symbol of my mental illness. It’s a battle I am constantly, constantly, constantly, constantly fighting. I’m fighting to get ONE meal a week that I’ve fucking cooked for myself. I’m fighting to eat things that could be called “meals” at all (don’t worry, I get my calories and shit in, I eat very regularly, I snack all the fucking time, I’m not underfed, I’m fiiiiiine, it’s just not... good nutritional value, and it relies heavily on restaurants or non-scratch non-recipe items). 

And when food is the epitome of so many bad things - inability to fit in socially, inability to take care of myself, a memory of times when I collapsed psychologically my freshman year of college and went into eating disorder mode... like dudes, I’m sorry, I’m not going to enjoy photos of your macaroni and cheese you texted me. It’s going to make me go into instant Red Flag Mental Mode where I’m thinking about nothing except constant internal battles I fight.

And yet.

Oh goodie.

Food is The Go To socializer. Food is a Nice Easy Topic. Food is everywhere, and I just bite my tongue and smile and tell someone, “Looks like a tasty dinner.”