#yeah strong ending there lol

[anon-e-has-a-tmblr]

5 years.

So much has changed in these 5 years that has passed. On ine hand it's been a long time but on the other, it feels like it always was like that.

Since I haven't spoken at all about in the recent years, and given a lot of people are now runing into the shenanigans I cause, I guess a recap is a good thing. Yknow, reflecting on years past, what changed and what stayed the same, and of course - what I did and what I'm yet to do. All under the cut

All physical changes that could have happened occured within the first 6 months. Even though I was shaving before for a while, within a month enough facial hair was growing on my cheeks that I actually felt like I should be shaving. However, quickly I discovered that I actually like having a beard, so coupled with lockdown laziness I just stopped shaving. Fat redistribution I noticed a bit later, when I decided that daily walks would be a good thing for my health and sanity. This realization came to me when I saw that my (back then) new trousers fit me better, whereas the couple of pairs I had since my days in the army were falling off me.

The mental changes, as much as you can call them that, happened seemingly overnight. The first thing I noticed was a burst of energy, I no longer was fighting to get up, and I could keep going for longer before I felt like I jeeded to rest. One thing that I'm glad that never happened was, a burst in uncontrolled emotions. I feared, that since during my teenage years I was so emotionally unstable and having bursts of unccontrolled rage, secind puberty will cause a resurgence of that destructive rage. And to my pleasant surprise - I felt a sense of calmness and content. A feeling of everything being just right, all things considered. And that feeling surprised me.

I also had a sudden burst of hunger, but that's expected with all types of HRT, and within a couple of months it resolved itself.

As of medical intervention beyond medication, I only underwent top surgery. In my case, this was a 2-in-1 deal: conplete double mastectamy, chest reconstruction surgery with a nipple graft. In my case, the doctors werent sure my nipple would survive, and I was mentally prepared to have a 3D tattoo of them in case they don't. Thankfully jot only they survived, I had full sensations and almost full function merely 3 weeks after the surgery. And as a bonus, their color changed to a healthy pink, which is only a bonus. I did have 1 complication, a very common one in all torso surgeries, and it is a gaping of the insitions. I had the gape under my left armpit, and it took about 6 weeks to close fully. It thankfully never got infected, and since I was covering it with a clean gasa and using an antibiotic cream as long as the doctors told me, I didn't have any further comolications. Pain-wise, my entire recovery was somehqat painless. Partially because of my rediculously-high pain tolerance, and partially because it just so happened to not be as painful. Feeling how the whole area is draining was very vile though. Do not recommend lol

As of bottom surgery: although I do have bottom dysohoria, for now I don't olan on getting one. Not only we don't do it here, it costs os much koney and has so many complications, and at the end of the day it wont give me the ability to have biological kids. So for now I stick with silicon prosthetics and hope they dont fall off xD

In my personal life, I finished my degree and got a driving license, on a motorcycle after learning the hard way that I can't physically drive a car. My ankle just doesn't aprove of such activities. I'm still yet to start working full time as an archaeologist, but that's entirely due to the places that employ archaeologists not recuiting new workers at this time. And I know I'm not the only archaeologist stuck in this madness. So for now, I work where I live, doing my best to not overwork and also have a little bit of time for myself and my hobbies.

In these past 5 years I also became more religious. After top surgery I felt like I'm ready to enter community life as a man, only to be faced with a religious dilema that cannot be solved, yet. So far, I have found only 1 person even talking about people like me with more than just "yall are heretics who are blasphemous for even trying to be a part of the religious community", and he only gave his opinion that there might be an answer. A different source that I did read (despite being targetted towards married people only) says that in some cases, just lying about your transition is the best course of action, but even then there are some stuff that I will never be able to do. And I'm fine with that. And because of this religious debuckle I'm hesitating to go on dates and eventually find a spouce.

Here's hoping for 5 more years of prosperity, and beyond that - god is greacious, so much can change and I just flow with what's given to me.

And I promise, I will find a religious answer to this entire situation. There must be. I'm not the only one, despite our small numbers we are enough to have at least an akgnowledgement that we exsist. And even if it takes me a lifetime, I WILL find a concrete answers, whatever that may be. And no, "there is no answer" is unacceptable.

[butchcarmy]

i feel completely normal about jeremy allen white and the bear

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Cross' Spy Adventures)

Hi guys! I'm back! This one has been eating at me so forgive me if it's a bit rougher than the others, but I hope you still enjoy! (And if plot details don't seem to line up? Remember Cross has no clue what's going on yet :] )

Context: Cross has been asked by Dream to do recover information on his brother's next plans of attack. He's not a very good spy.

(Hi to @ancha-aus @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz !!!)

Stars this place was big.

He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be on a castle grounds after so many years roughing it with Ink. Inns and taverns and tents. He wasn't sure how much he enjoyed being back in the throes of the rich and powerful's estates.

The cart-ride with the other new recruits had been pleasant enough, they were all decently friendly guys. A few were putting on that tough-guy facade, but none of them could've been older than 25. Fresh off the press, practically. Perfect soldiers to be brainwashed.

Cross had laughed and joked with them about what life in the castle might be like. How different it would be from the old daily grind. How maybe they'd pick up a hot partner in town on their patrols. How they hoped they'd eat like kings.

Though, Cross noticed that each of them got cagey when word of the King resurfaced. One birdish-monster mourned that she couldn't have served the last King, Nim, before she passed on to join the gods. Another spoke of the honor it would bring for him to serve the blood of Nim.

They seemed averse to even acknowledging King Nightmare's existence. Aside from his connection to Nim.

Now, the chatter was all silent, and Cross was among the many new soldiers who were ogling the castle as they passed around its outer wall and entered through a side gate.

It was, admittedly, impressive.

His own home kingdom had less of a castle, more of a monolith. It had been dense, and tall, and impossibly smooth. His father couldn't stand imperfection.

This castle was almost the exact opposite of what Cross had always known. The walls imperfect and overlapping, rather than brick it looked like it had burst straight up from the ground. Bumpy and imperfect and natural, and yet beautiful and structurally stable. He didn't linger on it, but he wanted to so badly.

Instead, he drew his attention ahead. To where a man stood, his armor decorated in the marks which indicated him as a reporting officer.

This man, a human with a crooked nose and a thick, black, beard held up a hand, and the driver of the cart tugged at his reigns, the horses pulling to a slow stop.

One by one, once given the signal, the soldiers filed out. Stating their rank, their camp of origin, and their name.

Cross was middle of the pack, and saluted the human as Dream had taught him and as everyone had done before him.

"1st Year Guard, Pierson Camp, Z." He reported.

He was not proud of his code-name. It physically hurt to say it with a straight face, but when he'd been talking about needing a new code name, Ink had excitedly suggested it.

Z, he'd said, Like 'X' but not! And Cross hadn't been able to shut the idea down when Dream had giggled and tapped his cheekbone, the spot just under his eyelight that held is scar.

Dream had called it fitting, and it'd been settled in a heartbeat.

Cross managed to say it aloud without any hint of suspicion and was waved off to join his fellow recruits.

They lined up haphazardly, but didn't dare to do more than grin and snicker between eachother at. Well. Anything, it seemed. They were taking this very casually compared to what Cross had been expecting.

Though, the moment the captain was done looking to the cart for any stragglers, he turned. The soldiers all went still and aligned themselves.

Cross wondered how they survived training if they goofed off like that so readily.

He watched as the cart which had brought them circled away, and he listened carefully as the man introduced himself.

"I am Captain Rogers. Your platoon will report to me for any and all management. I control your training schedules, your mealtimes, and your work hours." He called out to them, right there on the lawn "you are here today to serve the blood of the gods, and by Nim's watch you will not slack on your oath. No matter how much you loathe it here. Understood?"

Such a bold declaration of... unrest.

The soldiers, one by one, gave affirmative nods and salutes, Cross making sure he wasn't the first. He didn't want to seem too eager.

The captain led them about.

He asked for them to stay in formation, and Cross ended up towards the middle of the pack yet again, just close enough to hear the explanations of their duties, places on the grounds they were allowed to go, and what their daily routine was meant to be like.

Near the stables, they paused briefly, and the Captain was taking an extra long time explaining that the horses in the stables were not to be ridden without explicate orders from him or another commanding officer.

Cross couldn't help but notice the guys ahead of him whispering about something, and Cross followed their miniscule gestures off to the left.

A black cat, wirey and short-hair. It was standing in the shadow of a fence, and he didn't think he would've spotted it if it weren't for its big, green eyes. They were like little saucers in its head.

It was staring straight at him. Tail flicking. One ear twitched.

Cross tried to ignore it, but when he'd glance back, it was still there.

Until, suddenly, it wasn't.

By the time they moved on, it was nowhere in sight.

His old home hadn't had many animals, especially not roaming cats. He wondered if it was a 'barn cat'. Blue had explained the concept to him once.

Regardless, that thing was freaky.

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, the Captain announced that their last stop of the night would be to their quarters.

He could practically feel the relief rolling off of the guys next to him, and it took am effort to let his shoulders sag even an inch in imitation. The guy next to him looked like he might fall over, and Cross shared none of that exhaustion.

They would start their assignments bright and early in the morning, each of them would have a more experienced guard join them as a guiding measure before they were left to the duties themselves.

A much kinder grace period than Cross had been expecting, honestly.

The Captain escorted them down the halls, long and twisting. Each one held soldiers out of uniform, turning in for the night, going through their routines. As well as some moving out for the night shift. They ignored the rookies as they kept to their own business.

The Captain swung a door open, only to immediately block the soldiers in front from entering the space of relaxation beyond.

"Ah, Ccino, I was worried we'd missed you." The Captain spoke up.

"Soldiers, back up. Stand at attention." Came an order next.

Cross was faster than the others in recognizing the order, but forced himself to wait until the others stumbled into him to start moving. He wasn't sure why they were getting into this stance, but he knew better than to start asking questions.

They all stood in the hall, and Cross caught a few snickers from nearby lounging guards as the rookies stood there.

"The King called upon me, so I wasn't able to meet you where we had planned," a softer, calm, voice rang, "I figured I would run into you here before you turned in for your first night."

The Captain stood before them, and beside him, exiting the barracks, was a monster.

Cross tried not to stare, but he couldn't deny that this was odd. He'd never known a captain to bend to anyone but a higher up. But...

This skeleton was dressed in a servant's uniform. Granted, it was made of a thick, soft-looking brown and tan fabric, with an apron with more embroidery than he thought he'd ever seen in his life, but it was nothing too out of place.

Surely it wasn't a Knight. No, he'd been told they wore masks. He could tell this skeleton was not a Knight. He could see the full skull, soft and gentle, calm eyelights, and a body Cross swore had never seen a single battle.

No. Cross, stop that.

He didn't tear his eyes away, but he forced himself to look back to the skeleton's shoulder. No eye-contact, but still facing him. Good.

"Soldiers, This is our Head of House, Ccino." The Captain gestured to the skeleton at his side.

The soldiers all remained silent, and the captain nodded.

"If Ccino ever gives you any sort of order, you listen." The Captain's voice was harsh with this, the same way he'd spoken about the horses, and the kitchen, and the private training rooms they'd passed. "No questions, no hesitation, no disobeying. You understand?"

The squint of the Captain's eyes were more than enough for Cross to know better than to ask. Something like this was unfamiliar, for sure, but he knew when a soldier was saying something he truly believed in. Lived by. For better or worse.

None of the other recruits seemed to speak up. Cross certainly didn't. He tried not to let his nerves show as this skeleton, Ccino, let's his soft white eyelights skim softly from one soldier to the next. When they came to him, he desperately avoided the gaze, practically staring a hole into the soft fur scarf wrapped around his neck, hiding his spine from view.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you," That calm voice again, "As you heard, my name is Ccino. I manage the Castle, it's grounds, and the people who stay within our walls. This includes all if you, as of tonight."

He seemed rather put-together. Pleasant. Cross didn't feel any unease. He was positive, now, that this was not a Knight. Yet, he couldn't figure out why such a monster would be held in such high regard, unless, of course...

"As you heard, our King trusts my decisions regarding these matters, which is why he asks you listen to my requests. However, I don't abuse this privilege, and it shouldn't dissuade you from coming to me if you have any problems." Ccino pulled his arms to cross infront of him, and once again looked over the recruits. "You may be our guard, but that does not mean you shouldn't recieve help as well. If you cannot find me, ask another servant and they will get word to me."

Ccino seemed... kind. That had to be it.

The sparkle of admiration in the captain's eyes. The way some of the soldiers watched. Maybe Ccino was the golden light in this dark place? Though, that didn't seem quite right.

"Stick to your duties, remain diligent, and you will be cared for here." He said softly. "Now, stand down and go rest. Your training tomorrow will be thorough, and you will need the extra sleep."

Oh.

Cross recognized the order, and his body moved a bit before his mind could catch up. He relaxed, as much as he naturally could, and took a step. Toward the barracks. Then paused and glanced like a deer in the headlights to the Captain and the Head of House.

Ccino just smiled, and the Captain seemed stoic.

"Seems Z gets first dibs on the cots!" The Captain announced, and with his approval, humor seeping into his tone a bit, and laughter echoing from the older guard who'd been observing?

Cross made the quick duck into the room and grabbed for the first cot he saw. Bottom bunk, closest to the door, the easiest way he'd be able to leave the long room of bunk beds.

The others hurried in after him, some laughing, others cursing jokingly at Cross having noticed the test first.

The test.

Of course it'd been a test. A test to see if they'd recognize Ccino as an authority figure. A test to see if they took the warning seriously. Cross just listened to the superior officer. And... put himself in the limelight of excelling new recruits.

If there was one good thing, though it was mortifying, the others didn't seem to notice what it was. They were too busy teasing Cross for the grape blush that enveloped his face the moment he sat to think it over. The others assumed he'd just slipped up. Listened to the prettiest person in the room.

Once again, Cross wondered how they'd made it through training. Though, it was good they just thought he was a stupid lover boy. Better than them realizing he was following orders on instinct.

It'd been a hard sell, getting to sleep, but he'd managed somehow.

.

The morning was much easier than the night prior. He woke up before the sun, before a lot of the others even showed signs of stirring. It was good he got up so early, sneaking off probably wouldn't be much of an issue.

Tomorrow, then. He'd do his sneaking tomorrow, after he got a lay of the land today. From what they'd been told, he'd be supervised today. Everyone would. It was different from what the Prince had told him, but it didn't matter. Policies could change, and Cross knew better than to disobey new policies.

The castle inside felt like a maze yesterday, he'd hopefully have routes inside, so he'd be able to memorize at least a few escapes. Orient himself. Worst case he could break a window.

He didn't want to leave any trace, though. The best scenario, as Dream had explained it, was that he'd get in, get the information, and get out. A week, maybe a week and a half tops. Cross wanted to spend as little time here as possible. He didn't want to fall into whatever mind-control he'd been warned of. He didn't want to run into the Knights. He certainly didn't want to see Dream's twin.

Though, he was curious. What he looked like. If he could see the sibling resemblance between the Prince and his supposedly brainwashed ruler of a sibling. It was honestly none of his business. If the King never saw his face, that would be all the better. He shouldn't know Cross was ever here at all.

The thoughts swirled in hid head as he stared at the bottom of the cot above his. Wood slats, the whole thing was sturdy wood, with decent mattresses and blankets and pillows resting on its support. It didn't creak at all, which was good. And surprising. Everything in the castle seemed so nice.

Mm, must've been a thing for the people here. Serve the 'gods' and live in luxury. It certainly seemed that was how the Prince's camp had run as well.

Cross couldn't be sure how long he was awake, examining the room and sitting still, but the sun managed to rise into the sky by the time he'd heard the slamming knock on the door to the barracks.

It was easy for him. When the Captain swung the door wide open and announced, in a hardy shout, that they were to be in the hall in 5? Cross rolled out of bed the moment the door closed again.

It pained him to move so slowly. He couldn't be the first one out again. Couldn't be the first one dressed. He didn't know why it took so long for the others to change to their uniforms and rub the sleep from their eyes. Monsters and humans alike! They hustled, some of them, and Cross was grateful a cat monster seemed to gather herself more readily than the others. An orange striped cat, her nose and the tip of her tail a stark white. Cross only noticed her when she rushed for the door, and he let himself trail her a moment later.

Thinking back, she'd been at the back of the group yesterday, joking with some of the others. Cross wondered what the energy change was all about.

He didn't get time to worry about it, though. The hall outside the barracks was busier than it had been last night, and Cross found himself facing, not only the Captain, but also several guards. They each seemed to be in full uniform, different than Cross' or the cat's which marked them as trainees. They seemed stoic before their captain, and Cross almost felt a moment if relief. Maybe this was a decent show of artillery?

No, wait, strong soldiers would be bad for the Prince. He'd have to get through these guys.

He shook away the thought, listening in as he stood awkwardly in the hall, another recruit lumbering out to stand where he'd joined the cat already.

The Captain looked them over, before nodding.

"Harper, you're with Jenna." The Captain ordered, pointing from the cat before gesturing towards one of the guard directly behind him.

Cross tried not to let his eyelights give away his observance as the guard stepped around her captain. She seemed to be a bunny monster, lots of fur and long, floppy ears tied behind her head. She, Jenna, saluted the cat, Harper, and Harper saluted in return.

"Listen to what your mentor tells you, got it?" The Captain asked, and Cross saw a few others exiting as he said this.

Those who started moving down the hall, and the Capatin looked to Cross. It was a kick glance, one look-over, before he turned and looked over his shoulder.

"Z, you're with Shep." And a gesture guided Cross towards whoever his mentor for the day would be.

From nearly the back of the crowd, snaked a dog monster. Black and white, short-trimmed fur. His eyes were brown and intense, and after a moment Cross realized this guard was shorter than him. He didn't like that when Shep saluted, he had to peer down to salute back.

He hardly even registered that they were already moving off, not unlike the two before them had done, until he'd taken a few steps to follow this small royal guard.

"So, you're Z?" Shep asked him as they stopped a few halls away. This one was largely barren aside from a few servants. Along each wall hung a huge tapestry, woven out of heavy threads and hung by a long piece of metal along the top edge.

"Yes, sir." Cross responded shortly. Not giving himself a moment to stammer.

Shep looked at his quizzically, before he leaned forward and sniffed. Actually just sniffed at Cross. It was still a few inches away, they didn't make contact, but suddenly he worried he was stinky. He's bathed before hopping on the cart, and he hadn't been exercising much, surely-

"Ah, you're not from this Kingdom! Not originally, at least." Shep said then, leaning away just as quickly as he'd gotten close.

Cross blinked, and he was sure his skull didn't hide his shock as well as he'd hoped. "I can smell the pollen on you, newbie. We don't have those kinda plants in this kingdom." He explained, and Cross internally cursed himself. Would he have to run? Would he have to-

"You know, I'm not from this kingdom either, I was born to the west." Shep admitted then, easily, using a paw to gesture loosely at the space between them, "I bet we'll get along just fine, newbie. C'mon. I'll show you around your route."

Cross didn't even get a spare second to defend himself, or puzzle at why a foreign monster would choose to come here. Shep was already on his way, back turned and hurrying down the hall at a brisk pace.

"As far as I know You're gonna be taking over my old route, inner portion of the castle." Cross listened, but orders were his second nature. As they walked, he eyed the tapestries hung along the wall. Long and intense, and yet, there was a moment where Cross could see the colors were more faded and worn.

"You'll mostly just be patrolling, watching out for anything out of the ordinary, waiting to see if you're needed for any specific duties." The images showed monsters, humans, monsters again. Depictions of complex circles and red splashes dripping from weapons and hands. And he noticed a trend, eventually. These must've been the previous rulers. The past Kings.

"Your patrols will be alone, the rooms in the hall aren't too important, and it's mostly servants that pass through that way." Cross almost lost his rhythm as they drew to the end of the tapestry, though the hall kept moving. There on the tapestry was a depiction of two little skeletons, one which seemed strikingly similar to Prince Dream, even in his adulthood. Beyond, the tapestry simply stopped. It was odd that King Nightmare hadn't bothered to get it finished with his own visage. Maybe his puppetmaster was waiting to put himself there instead?

"Still important, anyways. The servants halls are the easiest ways in and out of the castle, so we can't slack off." They turned a corner, and Cross pried his eyes away from the tapestry and back before him.

They passed a few more halls, before Shep stopped dead in his tracks, and Cross reacted quickly, spotting the way he peaked around the next corner.

Across the way, Cross spotted that they'd run into another pair who had also stopped. Only when Shep saluted did Cross think to follow his lead.

From the hall he couldn't see, emerged a figure.

Cross kept his eyelights to the ground, but the steps, the shoes, the heavy cape, and especially the dark and slimey tendrils which snaked along in his wake? That was the King. The one Dream had been so particular about not running into at all.

Two sets of feet followed him. Closely. He didn't have to look up to recognize that they must've been Knights. The easy weight of their steps, how close they stuck behind the king, the weight of the one's magic? Surely. He didn't risk a glance until after Shep lifted his head again. Cross only caught a glimpse of a tiger mask turning another corner before the three figures were gone.

In the tense silence, Cross swore he could hear his soul beating. He wasn't sure if it was fear, or indignance, or something else, but he knew being so close to the King had not made him feel good. Dream had been right, something about that guy was wrong.

Shep glanced around, and his ear twitched, watching down the hall where they'd left to.

The group across from them was already moving, towards the hall Cross had just cone from.

"You know, you kids are lucky Newbie." Shep voiced then, eying up the human rookie who was passing by. "When I first joined the guard, the King cut my tail off to prove my loyalty."

He said it so easily that Cross was speechless. What did he mean? Was. His tail was docked, but...

"What?!" The panicked whisper came from the passing humans who had obviously been eavesdropping. He expressed the concern coating Cross's soul and freezing him in place.

"Yep. I heard he used it as a cat toy for the strays." Shep confirmed loosely.

"Shep." Came the snap of his name from the other trained guard, though they didn't move to deny his claim.

Cross hadn't heard anything about that from Dream. Of course, he also hadn't heard about this introduction process either. He was flying blindly here, and suddenly he feared for his limbs.

Shep simply shrugged and kept moving forward. Cross wanted, badly, to excuse himself right this moment and go back and claim he couldn't do it. But he was here now, and he had a Prince to help. And a whole lot of people relying on him to prevent more tragedies.

The training wasn't hard. Shep stood with him, made small-talk, told him all the tricks to ensure he knew when someone would switch off with him, and then they had lunch.

He hated to admit it, but the food was delicious. He hadn't had something so filling in... maybe ever. He couldn't put his finger on it, not quite, but for monster food, it felt solid. Warmer. He felt less hungry after, and a part of him wondered if that was how they did it. The mind control. Was it the food?

But, no, surely not. He was still set on his mission when he went right back to his rounds. The food was just... strangely good.

The rest of the rounds were easy. Simple. And there was at least an hour after where Shep willingly guided him through the rest of the building. At least, anywhere he could.

Cross noticed, once, that Shep broke a rule. He ducked into the kitchen. Returned to a surprised Cross with two pieces of bread and handed one to Cross before tearing into his own. Apparently, from what Shep said, the main kitchen wasn't off-limits. Not really. Just the private one.

He didn't ask about the difference, he wouldn't need to know, after all. He doubted plans of attack were stached in the cupboards of a pantry.

And just as swiftly as it had begun, it ended. Shep said he'd be around the training grounds tomorrow if Cross needed him, and released him to dinner. After Dinner, Cross went back to the barracks.

Many of the rookies were talking all about their routes, others complaining that they had gotten cleaning duties for being the last out of the barracks that morning. They'd start training tomorrow. Cross tried not to contribute much, but he liked listening in. Understanding more about the place. The people.

It sounded like the King had crossed quite a few of their paths as well, and they didn't seem happy about it. Discussing in hushed tones how weird the King was compared to the last. Dark, secretive, hardly even a ruler. Cruel. He heard the human from before shamelessly telling Shep's tail misfortune to the gathered group, who all seemed to be riled up by it, exchanging other horrible speculations.

He needed to get this information. He just... he couldn't do anything until the others were asleep. So. Morning it would be.

.

Cross was a coward.

He knew as much, deep down somewhere, but as he woke up early again, he thought through his plan. He didn't know where he'd find any of this information he needed, he didn't know anything beyond his own route. He didn't even know what he'd be finding. He'd know when he found it, he was sure, but the last thing he wanted to do was get caught

He should've excused himself during dinner to go search around, or chosen a buddy to go wandering with. Shep had told him some things, he knew the room where the Knights trained was the indoor room, and he knew some areas no one went to. He knew the hall where the Knights and King stayed, Cross found it interesting they all stayed nearby, and he'd promised himself he'd avoid the space like the plague. He knew so much, and so little, all at once.

And he waited, thinking, so long that he... he just got up as the others did. Moved to his station to rotate shifts with the night guards. He just... did his duties again.

Well, they weren't his duties. He had no obligation to be here, not really. But the Prince had told him a week. A week and a half. That would make the most sense for an in and out. So, he wanted to respect that. And he had orders now to act out. Surely if he slacked off it'd be noticed, right? Yeah. He'd just slip away before dinner and say he went to train a bit more. Peak into some doorways. No biggy. Surely.

He worried about what he'd do to pick up a slack he hadn't even lost, all day. All through his rounds. If he showed it, his replacement at his last post said nothing, and waved him off.

Cross wanted so desperately to go searching. But. Before he could pass by the hall which would lead to the mess hall for the servants and guard? He glimpsed them from down the adjoining hall.

Two of the Knights.

One with a hood obscuring his face, casting a heavy shadow over everything, his eyelights a dull white. Though he didn't see a mask at first glance, Cross had to make some assumptions based on the one beside him that they were both Knights.

The other had on leather training armor, and a tiger's mask, red ribbons hanging from it, swaying with weight. He could see the skeleton's grin peaking from beneath the mask, and noticed how the tiger draped an arm over the other and laughed.

Cross didn't even give them a second to notice him, swiftly stepping out of the corridor and towards the dining halls after all. He didn't want to get in the way. He didn't want to be on their radar.

He needed to know when they trained. When they'd all be occupied so he wouldn't have to worry about them catching him off-guard.

Off guard. Ink would be having a hayday with that one if he'd made that joke back at camp.

Cross just kept moving forward, ducking into the dining space before the Knights even reached that hall.

.

Three days. It took him 6 whole days to learn more. To learn where the information might be. To learn where the Knights usually were at any given time. To learn how to navigate the place better. To not worry about getting caught.

He'd gone back to Shep one day, to test if he'd be told to go off the dinner or if he'd be sought out. He was not, so he had his proof that no one cared so long as he was doing his rounds.

He'd sat and talked. Asked about the Knights. (Shep had little to say that Cross didn't already know). Asked about training. (Shep said he was always out here now, running routines.) Asked about the king.

And Shep was interested about him asking on the King. Cross almost fumbled, but said he'd heard a lot of rumors. Shep had been here a while. What was true?

And Shep told him stories. In a low voice. Of the King breaking spines, of throwing objects with his tendrils, of sentencing folks to death over minor transgressions. Of his ruthless rule and cruel first. How he brought in servants and guards by force. Ripping them from their homes. How the king would declare traitors and have them hung.

Eventually, Cross asked him to stop. He'd heard enough.

Some of those things he'd heard from Dream, or the folks back at that encampment. Others were new. Insider information. Things he'd never dreamed of.

It was informational, and Cross decided that he'd keep learning more, until he was sure he had the perfect moment to strike.

.

He wasn't the smartest, okay?

Cross had done his rounds, and the moment he was done, he scurried off towards his destination.

He paid no mind to servants or guards, and used a servant's hall to arrive in the location he needed. The hall where the King's Study was located.

Yesterday he'd investigated the war room. Entering and closing the doors behind him, the room had been a mess of papers and figures and notes. The maps of each neighboring kingdom alone were strewn on walls, like the ravings of a mad-man. None of them had plans of attack, though. The light from his eyelights had been enough to illuminate each one as he approached. Every single one was a new defensive plan. Ways to deploy troops if they were attacked. Not one seemed unprovoked which was... strange.

Cross was almost unable to find any sign of the King's next route of action for his destructive feats, so he was resigned to search the study tomorrow. His only solace was that exiting the War Room had only been met with a servant a ways down the hall, and a cat pacing by, paying him no mind.

The cats in this place were many. Cross had never seen so many cats in one place, and when he'd asked at dinner, it seemed that everyone thought they belonged to the Head of House, Ccino.

It would make sense, Cross had seen the embroidery along his apron, plenty of paws and cat-like figures along the hemlines, between the branch and tree motif the entire building seemed set on holding tight to. But, it amazed him that there would be so many, allowed to run free. The King must've been very lenient with his Head of House, to allow so many creatures free-roam.

...then again, the Knights wore masks decorated with Big Cats. Cross had finally caught a glimpse of the Lion, out on the lawn while he was talking to Shep. He carried an Axe twice the size of Cross' torso, and he seemed to wield it with hardly any problem. Cross just hoped the little beasts weren't being sacrificed. He'd heard about the barbaric practices from Ink once when he had his head on straight. He hadn't had the guts to bring it up to the Prince. Or Shep. Fearing the answer.

And so, now, he moved for the study. When he knew no one would be around, when no one would see him or bother him. He could dig through the information, tuck it away in his ribcage, and get out of dodge.

It was mid-day. Apparently the Knights tended to have training about now, and the King always supervised. So the forbidden hall, as the others called it, was dead and silent.

It wasn't hard to determine which door was the study, the door was carved carefully with a beautiful tree, and the handle was a shining gold, as though it got less use than the other rooms. He tested the handle, it moved, and he slipped inside.

Of course it wouldn't be locked. Who would have the guts to go snooping around in the private spaces of murderous tyrant kings? Well. Cross would, but that was besides the point.

The inside was lit by a few stray candles, and Cross tried not to marvel at the luxury of the room. Everything was carved out of dark wood, with golden fabric lacing the cushions of lounge seats and the curtains which covered the windows. It was darker, used, but still gorgeous. The daylight filtered in through an open window, giving it a warm ambience. Cross didn't know how a room used by such an unpleasant man would be so calm and soft.

There was a case along one wall, large and long. Hung inside were masks of all different shapes and styles. Some were decorated with swirls and gems, but most resembled animals. A crane, a swan, a horse, a sheep, a hawk, a wolf, they all stared out at him with blank, empty, sockets. He wondered if these were used or not, but they seemed untouched.

And beside that case, in the far corner, sat a heavy desk, with bookshelves filled to the brim tucked just behind it.

The desk was heavy, and it looked to be covered with papers, letter drafts, just a quick glance over the contents told Cross this was just what he needed.

He stood behind the desk, unable to stop himself from lifting the papers up into his hands. From here he could see the door, as well. He'd know if someone was coming.

The first paper he looked at seemed to be the draft of a letter, addressed to someone by the name of Crop. The handwriting was beautiful, and Cross was lucky Ink knew how to write in so many dialects, or he'd have trouble deciphering exactly what this was saying. The cursive was precise. And... it seemed a half-finished letter asking about plants. The state of a harvest? No, that's strange.

Cross lifted the few pages which had been tucked beneath the first, confused. These ones seemed to be written in a much more unsure writing, but they held what he could only call sketches. Showing clouds and plants and... fields? Cross wasn't familiar with farming, but he could recognize a field anywhere. The paper had a few words underlined and circled, and they seemed to be later additions, added overtop by someone else. The words seemed to be mentioned again in the letter draft? It was completely innocuous. If this was the King's letter, he was just asking about the wellbeing of a farmer's harvest. Asking about improvements.

He moved them hastily into a stack and set them aside, reaching for the next haphazard bundle of paper. That couldn't have been right.

The next piece he scooped up was in that same pretty cursive, but this time it wasn't a letter. Instead it was some sort of list. Locations, some crossed off, and some untouched. Was this what he was searching for? Surely this was it.

He moved to grab the next page that had been beneath it. It held more context, it seemed. Notes scribbled down about how these towns needed changes. Action. Cross looked to the first crossed-off name, one he recognized from one of the woman at Dream's encampment.

The paper read of a faulty justice system, a lawman who needed to be checked up on for counts of bribery and false accusations. She'd said the Knight, the tiger, had arrived and asked for their head of city guard, the one who enforced rules and kept peace in their small village. Two days later he was killed, replaced by someone the King installed, and he started jailing innocent folks.

Cross looked to the next one, a pass where travel had been haunted by the royal guard. He'd been told they'd done it to halt people from mining in the area, a crop of wealth the King wanted to hoard. But this said that it was a mountain pass with frequent and dangerous rocks lines thanks to a sudden increase in storms since his rule. Notes reminding of supplies, and pay, and signs. Signs.

The next was not crossed off. An issue of bandits ransacked the town when people would enter or exit. Notes in messier scrawl seemed to pose solutions. Ideas. One that was circled said 'Send Horror, Autumn'. It was nearing the end of summer now.

This did seem to be the list that Dream had suggested existed, my twin is organized, he'll have a list with extensive notes, but he'd said nothing about the way the list wouldn't actually contain anything incriminating.

He skimmed again, but it seemed like nothing harmful. One lower down even acknowledged a damage caused during some sort of raid and to divert funds to someone. A random shopkeep in an outer city. This didn't add up at all.

He folded the paper silently and stuffed it into his armor, but kept looking. No doubt there would be something else. One of the lower pieces, something hidden away.

But the papers atop the desk seemed just as helpful in nature. Even ones like drafted decrees or laws to impose later were not unreasonable. One even seemed to propose a ban on child labor. What kind of tyrant would pass up a chance for easy workers?

Digging through the drawers revealed nothing more, just an impressive collection of quills, ink, and more books it seemed didn't fit on the shelves behind him. He wouldn't find anything more useful than these documents, he was sure. He... he just hoped the Prince would be able to see whatever evil Cross was obviously missing here. He scooped up another piece, one of the decrees, and then the letter draft to that Crop. Maybe they could speak to him? No, the planning was up to Dream. He was just here to get the information and go.

And now that he had it...

Cross sighed a bit, he couldn't understand why these were the things in here. In this innermost sanctum where only the trusted went. Everyone feared this King so much, Dream claimed he and his master were such a threat. And yet all Cross could find was a record of damages, and a plan to enact damage control. It...

"Having some trouble finding the dirt?"

Cross felt his entire soul freeze up as the voice cut through the silent room. It was quiet, and deep, and a bit gravelly. He didn't recognize it, but that didn't matter, because he knew he had been alone.

Almost all at once, a wave of presence crashed over his awareness. That damp static that had passed by once in the hall. Trailing the King. He didn't have to look up to know it was one of the Knights somewhere before him.

"Our King isn't usually one to make a mess." The voice said again, calmly.

Cross dragged his eyelights up, hands tentatively hovering at his sides. There, sat comfortably on one of the chairs, was the hooded one. Dust, Shep had told him.

Now, despite the shadow cast by his hood, Cross could see the faint details of his panther mask, black and hidden away in the darkness of his cover. He seemed entirely at-ease, not a care in the world, watching Cross. If his soul hadn't been sinking into his gut, Cross would've even thought Dust found the situation humorous.

He steeled himself, watching. Could he try and bluff his way out of this? Somehow? How long had Dust been there? How much had he seen?

"Any chance you'd believe I was looking for a good book?" Cross asked, though the bold humor he'd attempted to channel in the way Ink had done so many times before fell flat. Maybe his growing panic was clouding his mind, or maybe he'd never been much of a comedian.

Dust just stared at him, tilting his head a bit. By the way his eyelights changed shape, Cross imagined his sockets had drooped to give an unamused stare. Not a great sign.

"Are you going to try and run, or can I catch a break today?" Dust just asked across the room.

Mm. Cross didn't have much of a choice here anymore. Dream had told him, drilled it into his skull, not to get caught. Especially not by the Knights. They'd torture him. Kill him. The stories of what they did to traitors... Cross couldn't let this knight get hold of him. Couldn't be trapped. He had to get out of here.

He promised Ink he'd be back.

With that thought, his sword summoned to his hand in a flash. It was big, and bulky, and not the best for an indoor fight, but he'd make due. He just needed to get away from this guy. That was all.

His summons was clearly a declaration of intent, because he heard Dust scoff over the rush of adrenaline running through him and roaring through his ears. All at once, the electric charge in the room seemed to up itself. Bones, blue, cracked downwards from the rafters and planted themselves sturdy before the door and the window. His two possible exits. Dust stood up and stretched his arms before him.

"Alright, let's get this over with." Dust voiced, then.

Cross nearly let his guard down in the first moment. He felt a charge of energy coming from his side, and narrowly vaulted over the desk to avoid the spiked and jagged bones which rose where his feet had just been planted.

Momentum carried him now, and his sword was already poised for attack before his mind quick processed it. He slashed at Dust, growing rapidly closer. Hid swing was met with pure white bones that stopped his swing, just enough for Dust to avoid the hit with a split second to spare.

He was quiet, as they fought. As Cross lunged and spun and threw himself forward with grunts of exertion. It was unsettling, how the only noises were the cracks of his magic ripping into existence or Cross's sword cracking them to pieces like a lumberjack's axe.

He kept his attention on Dust. The magic had a pattern. The room was buzzing ambiently, and right before an attack it was like being too close to a fire. Just briefly. Cross barely managed to avoid spearing his ankle thanks to the crackle. He wished he could be a bit faster, though. Cross couldn't feel where an attack was aiming like he normally could. Dust gave no indications as to where an attack would be channeling either, almost like he wasn't controlling them at all. He didn't like it, it was unpredictable, and was wearing him down fast.

Dust kept dodging his swings, no matter how fast he moved, and eventually Cross stumbled. His shoulder connected with one of the random jutting bones. Dust stepped back just before it pierced upwards, and Cross grunted in distress as it drove him back a step as to not get impaled.

That was apparently his mistake. The moment he wasn't close to Dust, bones seemed to crop up all around him, gutting at different angles, just barely piercing the bone, little cracks forming with the force. Cross could feel each one jab a bit deeper than the last. Each time he reversed to get away from one or break away an incoming volley, another would arrive behind him at a new angle.

He hated that Dust stood back. Watched. The only sign that he had even broken a sweat was a slight heaviness to the up and down of his shoulders, and while Cross hadn't lost much HP yet, he was starting to feel the exhaustion creep closer, and each little wound and crack seemed to be draining him. Was this the strategy? Play with him like a living pin-cushion? Was this it's own sort of-

Cross shifted his stance and unsummoned his weapon as he jumped up and out of the quickly growing ring of spikes. He had to act fast. He had to get out of here.

He grumbled a bit under his breath, he didn't like trying to do this, but...

The moment his feet landed, Cross summoned up his other piece of magic. The part his father had embedded into his soul early on in his life which made him so powerful. He was sure his normally white eyelight changed shape in the split second it happened. Red, bright red.

It only took a moment, a tug at the very being, hidden away in the Knight's chest. For a split second, he could feel the control of foreign magic slip into his own hands.

For a moment, it worked just as he knew it would. His fist trembled under the effort, keeping an eye on Dust as the other seemed to stare at him. The bones he'd summoned all seemed to sink away at once, recalled faster than Cross could've hoped. Dust seemed to feel his magic stop responding to him.

Cross just needed to get the Knight downed. Not dead. He just needed out.

He shifted stiffly. One, concentrated blast of bones at the Knight. He seemed like he didn't want to risk taking any damage. That was all Cross needed then. Some damage. And he'd be free to escape back to the camp. Away from these weird monsters with their weird magic.

He let his palm open, directing the force like he'd done so many times, channeling another monster's magic against them. Controlling it against their will.

The feeling of electricity rose again. It spiked. It. It gathered in his hand, that burning feeling he felt when an attack had been about to hit him.

What?

It was too late to recall the intent once he'd released it. The moment he tried to command the magic, he felt it all roll back over him. Bones meant to be aimed at their owner came jolting straight at his front. And though he stumbled back, he couldn't escape the searing pain of a fire too hot to process escaping his bones and immediately rushing up his arm, into his chest, down to his feet.

He had to imagine, with the loud sound like a cracking whip, that that was what being struck by lightning felt like. Molten metal in your veins.

Cross laid sprawled, dazed, on the floor as his control magic puttered out. It hurt to breathe. To see. To exit. He was half-convinced his arm was completely splintered apart after the pulse of raw magic that had filtered through it, but he didn't bother to look.

His soul begged him to move, to get up and run again, but darkness danced in his vision as he stared up at the ceiling. He failed his mission.

He hated to see as the Knight rounded into view, standing cautiously over where he was laid. Floored by the backfire of his power. If the knight said anything, he couldn't hear over the loud ringing invading his head.

Though, instead of stabbing him through like Cross had expected, the knight seemed to duck down. A cool feeling encased Cross' wrists (so the other hadn't broken apart) and his soul suddenly felt exhausted. He felt exhausted.

No matter how much he wanted to stay awake, to escape, he lost this fight fair and square.

[imminent-danger-came]

I was rewatching s2 last night, and ohhh man mk looks over mei so much it's not even funny. times mei has been ignored:

maybe you need to really listen! (during the blindfold ep)

mk just? grabs stuff she's using out of her hands all the time? (video game ep)

maybe you shouldn't skip the tutorials? (video game ep again)

the way he addresses her in dumpling destruction and then immediately pushes her aside for tang

i honestly remember it lowkey kinda bothering me on first watch but now it's REALLY egregious on rewatch. are you scared? I'm so scared. do you WANT to end up like shadowpeach MK

2x03 is so rude because the whole fucking episode they're like "MK you don't listen" and it's so true. He doesn't. Pigsy literally points it out again at the end of 4x14 with the whole sun screen bit:

Pigsy: "Tch, don't bother, I've been telling him that for years but he LITERALLY never listens." Sun Wukong: "Yep! That's how we role."

-

THEY'RE SO FUCKING RUDE. "That's how we role." We. We????? Wukong and MK???? Like WHATEVER. FINE. (("I told you going against the Jade Emperor was a bad idea, but no. Wukong doesn't listen to ANYONE! He just does whatever he wants" Like shut up. Shut up!))

MK gets so stuck in his own head ("You're all stuck up in your own head! None of this is your fault!" +1 to the MK ignoring Mei counter from 4x08) and I think that really contributes to his s2 scramble to get more powerful.

LIKE:

MK: "Stop? Now? Never! I just have to try harder. It's just like the Monkey King said! *laughs manically* I just need to get stronger!"

(2x06 Game On)

VS

MK: "Why didn't he just stop, right here? He was already so much stronger than anyone ever needed to be!" Macaque: "Wukong didn't think so, he always felt he had to be stronger—more immortal."

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

-

(Bonus thing between eps 2x03 and 2x06, look at 0:42 in this video for MK hearing Mei but not listening to her. Because of course that's what he would do. *head in my hands .png*)

The terrible s2 choices both Wukong and MK make in relation to their friends is just absolutely delicious after 4x11. Like, OH. This has been a lifelong pattern of Wukong's—paranoia is one of his fatal flaws (paired with his terrible communication and self-sacrificial nature), and while he had the power to stop LBD before he still feel's the need to go after the Samadhi Fire to stop her now, and to protect MK.

Hold on look at this parallel that I don't know what to do with:

MK: "Ugh, I can't do it!"

Mei: "It's alright MK—you did it before, you'll do it again!" Sandy: "Yeah! Maybe it's like Monkey King said: the power will come when you need it most!"

(3x04 The Winning Side)

-

MK: "What! But you said the Samadhi fire was the only thing that could stop her!" Sun Wukong: "I KNOW WHAT I SAID! But I've beaten her before I'll- I'll do it again! Mei was right—I need to stop dragging you into my fights, all of you."

(3x10 The Samadhi Fire)

-

Wukong and MK's reach for power inspires a lot of fear in me! It does! Because, well, MK's current reach for power is going to lead him to his Monkey Form, and uh:

Like I'm scared. I'm scared!

"All doomed to play a role in tearing this world apart!" ; "This is Azure's utopia, and this barren wasteland is the price he paid to build it." ; "I'd do anything for my friends! But at the cost of the world?" "I'm sorry pal, ain't NOTHIN' worth that price!"

[runninglikeabuckley]

i was in the middle of making a post about my predictions for the finale when i realised my buddie stuff could take up a whole other post so here ya go:

this is a bit of an out there theory and i don't necessarily think it will happen, but it's something i'd do if i were the writers. eddie makes a move on buck. i don't mean 'yay buddie goes canon in the last 10 mins of s7', i mean 'eddie fucks up so monumentally they don't know if they can come back from it.' i think he'll try to kiss buck and buck will push him away.

eddie's confused and lonely and heartbroken (not to mention desperate) and he turns to the one person who has unfalteringly been by his side the whole time, the guy who likes to fix things. it's not that he doesn't have genuine feelings for buck, because he really does, but he's not thinking about it AT ALL. he just wants buck (to his core) and is maybe letting himself feel that for the first time.

but it's like a slap in the face to buck. buck, who's in a happy, stable relationship for the first time in years. buck, who eddie told his bisexuality wouldn't change anything between them. buck, who's been used for his body for his entire life. he would be absolutely crushed if eddie did this. and he's matured to the point that i think he might not let it slide. he wouldn't cut eddie out of his life, but i think he'd need space and for once he might respect his own needs over his wants. especially since i don't think he's considered his feelings for eddie and definitely doesn't think eddie's acting out of love/desire

so we get to the end of s7/start of s8 and eddie has fucked up his relationships beyond belief. chris, marisol, even his parents and shannon's memory. buck is still there, because he's always there but things are different. and i think that it could be a great set up to explore who eddie really is and what he wants, especially if/when the 118 get split up. as ryan keeps saying, he'll be isolated. neither buck or eddie will tell the others what happened between them, but that doesn't mean that eddie won't finally look into his sexuality by and for himself.

when i say i want a divorce era 2.0, i don't mean screaming at each other in a grocery store bc to a certain extent that was almost funny - they were coworkers of less than 2 years and it was wildly overdramatic. now they're partners and best friends and co-parents and they've suffered blow after blow, and their kid's gone and eddie betrayed buck and they don't know how to be anymore but they love each other too much to let go

[kimetsu-chan]

I’m gonna be out most of the day bc I’ll be helping my dad with a big shopping trip plus being out after, so I’m going to be super duper exhausted

I don’t do well in crowded or loud places in the slightest, I get woozy and tired and I feel miserable or like I’m gonna pass out, and if the shopping isn’t gonna make me wanna cry, the outing after will bc it’s gonna be packed with lots of noise and people

I don’t say this because I want to complain, I just wanna give a super quick warning that I might not be active tomorrow as well as today bc when I get exhausted, my mental health tends to decline as well ;-;

so- a bit of a warning that I may poof a bit (sorry! 😣)

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 742: Sudden death match!!

Pag 1

1: Woah, Danchiku, oh-

And Sugimoto-san too!?

2: They passed us so quickly!! Such high pace!!

Huh!?

They're doing some sort of serious race!?

3: I get it

4: I can feel it

5: This guy....!!

Pag 2

1: He's not giving up at all!!

Pag 3

3: Earlier, at the line, I thought I had won this race

I thought he was far behind me and would cross the line with his head hanging down

4: And yet....

Pag 4

1: He caught up to me....!!

2: The preliminary of this race was already done on the “second day”!!

3: That time, the result

5: was a draw!!

6: So it would be better to have a more precise result, wouldn't it

We'll decide it with this lap!! The rules are simple: the starting point line is 4km from here, the one who crosses it first wins!!

7: And then the loser shouldn't “surpass” the winner anymore!! Sugimoto-san!!

Pag 5

1: Imaizumi-san too!!

2: …. yeah

It's better to make it clear with a proper race like this

3: So you have no regrets....!!

4: Let's go!!

5: Crush him, Danchiku!!

Pag 6

2: At the same time....!!

Ah.... “at the same time” again!?

3: Seriously!?

Are you being for real, Sadatoki!?

Pag 7

1: You're just seeing things as you wish they were,since he's your brother!!

Oon!! No that's not it, on!!

It's true, Kaburagi, I saw it too

2: They arrived at the same time, Sugimoto stretched at the last moment

3: Kawada!!

It's “san”!!

4: Are you an accomplice too!!

What are you talkin abut

5: A- amazing, Sugimoto-kun

6: Amazing!!

Pag 8

1: “Amazing”, huh, Onoda

2: Imaizumi-kun....

Pfui

3: You thought Sugimoto would win? ….This race

Huh

4: You didn't think he would, that's why when we heard the results you could say “amazing”

Ah!!

5: I'm- I'm sorry Sugimoto-kun!! I didn't believe in you, even though you worked so hard....!!

Who are you yelling at

6: Me too

Pag 9

2: During these past four days.... Sugimoto worked hard, but, after their race on the second day and after seeing how remarkably stronger Danchiku has gotten

3: When they decided to do another race, I thought Sugimoto would definitely lose

4: Then, when the time came

5: If you lose, you feel better if you gave it your all, so

6: “So you have no regrets”

7: I said that

But

8: He turned it around

Sugimoto really is amazing

Pag 10

1: Even with no one believing in him, with only his own strength, he snatched a “draw” against Danchiku!!

Pag 11

1: Keep going!! Let's keep going with the race, Danchiku!!

2: Even though he's having such an hard time, he's still following me!!

3: Since earlier I've increased the pace many times

4: Garuaaa

Even if I tear him off

Pag 12

1: Every time

2: While saying

3: “Kuaa kuaa”

“Kuaa kuaa”

5: Kuaaa-

6: Kuaaaaaaa

He catches up to me

Pag 13

2: You keep following me....

3: No....

4: You're the one who said “please follow me”, Danchiku

Pag 14

1: Garuaaa!!

2: Ahhhh

Don't make fun of me, there's no way!!

3: Aaaaaaaa

4: Hiigaruaaaa!!

There's no way I'll lose!!

Pag 15

1: To Sugimoto-san!!

4: I was careless – I was careless and that's why he caught up to me!! The second time too!!

I won't be careless this time!!

Pag 16

1: Ill take a plunge firmly, throw my handles, and cross the line

2: At full throttle!!

The last curve!!

3: He's not following me anymore!! He's....

Pag 17

1: He's here!!

Cough cough

2: Kuaaaa

We're entering the final sprint!!

3: Dammit, this guy is gonna stretch from here!!

4: Hiigaruaaaaa!!

Take a plunge!!

5: Take a plunge!!

Pag 18

1: Throw your handles!!

Pag 19

1: Wooooah!!

No... wait, even now....

2: It's a draw!!

Ya!!

On!!

Woah

3: Dammit, what happened, Danchiku what are you doin!!

You should be much stronger..... should....

Pag 20

1: Don't tell me.... that Sugimoto-san.... is strong too!?

2: You.... you mean it's a draw for the third time!!

How long will they keep going, at this pace it won't ever end!!

3: …. no

5: It's a shame, but there's no time left...

6: This lap is the last

[trendingdrama]

-s.m pastore

@userdramas  event 08: heat

[beaches,summer vibes and favs]

[batsplat]

Batsplat, I am not into tennis exactly but this year I have been exposed to a lot of Tennis meta, per se. I love reading through your tennis posts they reveal such a rich human side to a sport, esp the agassi sampras post. Wanted to ask, if you have read Infinite Jest and what you think of it. Additionally, do you see any parallels between motorcycle racing and tennis? Fundamentally different sports, but still crazy in their unique ways. Keep posting, many hugs!!

hugs back to you anon, really am very pleased that post has struck a chord... going to put a pin in the infinite jest half of the ask because I recently got another ask about that book and want to organise my thoughts a bit more. tldr I have a lot of fondness for the thing. I actually reckon being invested in tennis is a bit of a cheat code where that book is concerned, like it kind of gives you something to immediately latch onto... dfw has a reputation for being the writer about tennis - and he does capture something of the soul of the sport, both in IJ and in his essays. in IJ, he makes it feel claustrophobic and inescapable, like a curse of the blood. as it should be. there are many descriptions of the sport itself I love, ways it is integrated into the narrative, the meanings that are extracted from it... I'm not sure there's a concise way to talk about IJ and if anything that feels like it'd be against the spirit of the book, so for now I'll leave you with this: dfw knew ball, but his taste in tennis left much to be desired. religious experience my ass

anyhow, let's transition to the other half of the ask with an IJ quote chosen completely at random

'We're all on each other's food chain. All of us. It's an individual sport. Welcome to the meaning of individual. We're each deeply alone here. It's what we all have in common, this aloneness.’

on tennis and motorcycle racing - I think I do have a bit of a problem in answering this question in that those disciplines are the only two individual sports I have followed closely for a long period. (I suppose f1 is edging itself into that conversation, but that at least is relatively closely related to motogp.) so there is a bit of a 'getting a lot of boss baby vibes' issue here in that... things I feel are similar between the two of them might be equally present in croquet or skimboarding. but, well, I can only talk about what I know. I think they can both be quite lonely sports, though tennis is lonelier. motogp can be circumstantially lonely, tennis is so in its soul. this is because competing in a tennis match is such a fundamentally lonely experience in a way I'm not sure any other sport replicates. motogp is loud - tennis is defined by its silences. motogp is defined by its action while tennis lives and breathes in the negative space. the connection between ball and racquet is infinitesimally brief... the time between points stretches out as a void. a tennis match is a thing of many rhythms, superficially reliable, yet the experience of living through a match eats away at your perception of time. the match is provided structures by its units, wherein each can feel like it lasts a split second or a decade. motogp is fierce and noisy and full of life. tennis is empty

I think you can probably draw numerous fairly trite parallels between the two - the emphasis on one-vs-one duels, for instance, albeit a non-negotiable element of tennis in a way it isn't for motogp. different virtues and tropes represented by different athletes... offensive, defensive, the wild talent, the cunning mastermind, the tenacious and the feeble and the limited and the all-rounder - archetypes of a sort that recur even when the exact way they express their archetypal nature varies between sports. perhaps even a fanbase that neurotically oscillates between yearning for drama and hounding almost anyone who supplies it. there's some ways in which I have to follow the two sports completely differently... for instance, I am far more sensitive to injuries in tennis and tend to get peeved when anyone competes with injury - one of my least favourite things about federer (amongst some sturdy competition) was how big a virtue he made of never having retired from a match, and how it influenced the generations to come. I mostly stand by the same principle when it comes to motogp, but it does force you to readjust your idea of what kind of an injury is acceptable to compete with. (obviously to some extent this is just practicality - I'm sure plenty of tennis players would love to try and compete with broken ankles, but that sort of thing just physically isn't possible in tennis.) motogp is considerably less stressful to follow because of how concentrated it is. there's nothing quite like the death by a thousand cuts that experiencing a drawn-out defeat in tennis inflicts on you

but none of that is particularly interesting or insightful. I actually think following tennis has given me a pretty good grasp of sports psychology because, not to brag, tennis is kind of the sport for understanding derangement. I'm not talking in terms of pure drama - unfortunately, motogp is miles ahead of us on that front. but in terms of actually understanding the intricacies of how competition fucks with the brain... motogp is so macro, races are building blocks of entire seasons, your results in march help determine your standings in november. it's also a lot more mysterious - I can't read as much into motogp results as I can into tennis, not just because of my personal level of expertise but also for the simple fact that there are far more hidden performance variables in motogp, mainly related to machinery. when I talk about how 'clutch' a player is in tennis, I can show you actual numbers to describe what I'm talking about that I can pull up for any player (unlike for instance stats relating solely to title contenders) and have a pretty big sample size and can be used to meaningfully draw conclusions. a big reason why tennis is considered the mental torture sport is because of its unambiguously deeply fucked up scoring system, making use of the units of 'point' and 'game' and 'set' within a single match to ensure that all your effort can be repeatedly rendered meaningless in numerous ways. what this does help us with in analysis terms is that not every point is 'equal' - they might be in literal terms, but the stakes vary drastically. which affects the amount of pressure you are under and what type of pressure it is. to use a very basic example, one measure of 'clutch' performance might be how a player competes in tiebreaks, given that they are inherently higher pressure situations where you can compare those points to the baseline of all the other points. tennis and motogp (+ motorsports more broadly) are kind of on the opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of how many raw numbers like that you will have at your disposal - with plenty of other ball sports like basketball or football or baseball slotting in somewhere in the middle

and what this DOES help you with is that if you are a proper student of tennis... y'know. you'll probably have a slightly more refined understanding of how mentality in sports works. more than just sorting every athlete into two categories of 'mentally strong' and 'choker', which is how a lot of discussion can read. even on platforms theoretically interested in serious sports analysis. how pressure affects competitors... so many motorsport discussions feel oddly naive to the basic concept that competitors may handle pressure completely differently if they are ahead or if they are behind. sometimes you hear motorsports reporting treat mentality as completely irrelevant, outright say that people should stop focusing on psychological factors... which is just not the kind of thinking you get away with in tennis

that being said, the real lesson tennis can teach you is if anything the very opposite: often, performing better under pressure is only very loosely correlated to mental strength. this is a bit of a bugbear of mine so if I've posted this before my apologies, I always have a version of this rant in my brain and genuinely cannot recall if I've put it on here before but... look. say you have two tennis players in a match. say each player is winning roughly 50% of the points, both players managing to drive up their side of the scoreboard. but say that one player, player A has to take a lot more risk to do so - and is aiming for about half a metre inside the baseline in every point. say the other one, player B, can aim for a way more comfortable metre inside the baseline. now say you get to a pressure situation, a tiebreak. tension rises, the muscles get tight, it's harder to swing through the ball... let's say that both of them are suddenly more likely to misfire - and that in every third shot, they will miss their target by over half a metre. even if the pressure has the exact same effect on both of them, player A will end up making more mistakes than player B - and they will be doing so disproportionately in the tiebreak, a high pressure situation. which means that on paper, they are less clutch than player B, even though in reality they have both been affected to the same extent by the pressure of the situation. one simply was always operating with a bigger margin of error, which suddenly became more noticeable in the pressure situation

this is obviously an extremely simplified understanding of tennis and it's never going to be as straightforward as that. the point however is that a lot of what people think is mentality ends up being down to technique. good technique isn't just effective - it's repeatable. it's all about optimisation, right... it's even the little things, like how much your technique asks you to use *force* - there are different muscle movements that are going to be affected in different ways by stress. if your motion always looks the same, then it's more likely you'll be able to repeat it under pressure - if you tend to hit the ball wildly differently each time, then however well you are doing it, quite likely that's going to be tougher to do under pressure. good technique is replicable even under pressure, but having good technique is obviously in itself not reflective of mental strength. in tennis, it is critical how much margin of error players have - both in terms of where they literally aim in shots, and in terms of how much a small deficit in absolute performance will spell relative catastrophe

and again. all of this is extremely basic. but it does feel like... how do I put this diplomatically. sometimes it doesn't feel like everyone's on the same page even with this basic stuff. because at the end of the day, it's going to roughly be the same situation in motogp, right? champions are seen as particularly clutch versus competitors who aren't champions... and sure, there probably is an element of mental strength to becoming a champion (though often that will also be in terms of macro career arcs, key choices and so on, not just performance in the moment) but it's not going to be that simple... because better riders are operating with a bigger margin of error. if you assume that every crash in every pressure situation is a uniform case of choking, then, y'know, this is bad analysis. fans are entitled to their bad analysis, but that doesn't make it any less bad. there is a tendency to just assume that the best athletes are the mentally strongest, rather than just blessed with a wider window of performance, and it can be. slightly galling. icl this a bit of a theme in a lot of the stuff I write, if you know to look for it lol (e.g. here)

reading the passage back it's... well. a bit funny. any tennis fan familiar with my history as a tennis fan will immediately recognise what match traumatised me so thoroughly I still see its shadow everywhere I look. sports, don't you love it

obviously there are more contemporary examples you could pick up on, but this is incidentally something that slightly ticks me off when people discuss valentino's rivals. like, with all love to casey, it is a lot easier to be 'mentally strong' and 'not broken' and bounce back from psychological torture when you have enough talent in your index finger to disrupt the orbit of a small moon. no shit he had better chances of rebuilding his confidence than some of his precursors. the game's rigged! always has been

none of this is to say that mentality doesn't matter in sports, which would be a bizarre stance for me to take. if player A and B had the exact same margin of error in their shots, one of them would still play that tiebreak better - and that's the clutch factor. it's just often harder to tease out than you might think, even in a sport with so many numbers at the tips of your fingers. sometimes you're just not going to be able to tell from the outside at all. that's the loneliness, right - constantly observed, but fundamentally unknowable. and of course, there's far more to get into here... given that tennis does demand more engagement from the outset in matters of psychology. it is a sport that is all about interaction, where every choice you make preempts the choices you believe your opponent is about to make - it's all psychology, all the time. motogp brings the macro dramatics in its rivalries (or, well, one guy did anyway), but tennis provides far more tools to understand said dramatics... it cannot help you understand motorcycle racing, but it can help you understand its psychology. but I think I'll leave it there lol. idk if these are really the parallels this ask was looking for, it's just really how I think about the two. obviously I'm biased in that I think tennis is the most important sport in existence, just like mr wallace. every bit of motogp analysis I write is inevitably shaped by my experiences with tennis, which probably also limits me in some ways. but, y'know. it is what it is. it should also be said that most tennis fans don't understand shit about sports psychology either. we persevere

anyway. yeah. for the parallels between the two. main takeaway - like I said, the game's rigged. always has been

incidentally, here's a passage of IJ I was thinking about recently

Bodies bodies everywhere. A tennis ball is the ultimate body, kid. We're coming to the crux of what I have to try to impart to you before we get out there and start actuating this fearsome potential of yours. Jim, a tennis ball is the ultimate body. Perfectly round. Even distribution of mass. But empty inside, utterly, a vacuum. Susceptible to whim, spin, to force — used well or poorly. It will reflect your own character. Characterless itself. Pure potential. Have a look at a ball. Get a ball from the cheap green plastic laundry basket of old used balls I keep there by the propane torches and use to practice the occasional serve, Jimbo. Attaboy. Now look at the ball. Heft it. Feel the weight. Here, I'll… tear the ball. . . open. Whew. See? Nothing in there but evacuated air that smells like a kind of rubber hell. Empty. Pure potential. Notice I tore it open along the seam. It's a body. You'll learn to treat it with consideration, son, some might say a kind of love, and it will open for you, do your bidding, be at your beck and soft lover's call. The thing truly great players with hale bodies who overshadow all others have is a way with the ball that's called, and keep in mind the garage door and broiler, touch. Touch the ball. Now that's … that's the touch of a player right there.

cutting it off there... obviously dfw being dfw, this paragraph continues another dozen odd pages. (I say this with fondness; unsurprisingly the parts of the book about jim and his father are some of my absolute favourite.) maybe you can guess why I was thinking about it... motogp worships its machinery - tennis has no such affection for the tools of its trade. even when we philosophise the body of the ball, all we can truly access is its emptiness. a ball is like a body because it is empty... that's the illness of a mind touched by tennis right there

[holysaintscathedral]

Sure, priests can be hot up until they actually start talking and stating their out-of-touch and bigoted opinions on people and things.

[cloudbellsv3]

Watching House MD for the first time and I'm understanding the House/Wilson shippers right now.

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

Mel for the unhinged character bingo!

yessss YEEEESSSSSSSSS

[spoonsandsporks]

HI <3 polite invitation to talk about your godtier and land thoughts for your characters if you want to!! i am sitting and listening intently :3 <3

Oh my god asfdgdgifgdb you don't know what you've done,,,,,

Long post incoming!!

So quick plug of an old blog that established a lot of my HS godtier opinions early on dahniwitchoflight so you can see a lot of where my context originates (esp. the godtier aspect masterpost) but with that out the way here we go

In terms of godtier opinions, I don't believe in gendered classes. I think that, socially, there may be a bias certain genders may have to certain classes (Muse and Lord, for example). But I don't believe that's an absolute. For one, there are more genders than the binary and people don't always identify as one forever. Secondly, I think to say that, for example, Lord is always aggressive and therefore only men can be Lords is uhhhhhhh,,, very stereotypical and simply doesn't encapsulate the range of human expression. Besides, isn't it more fun for the classes to be non-gendered using gendered human words? Who's to say the game mechanics of SBURB/sgrub are in english? There's gotta be some kind of translation errors or approximations going on in lore lmao

Related to this is that a godtier is meant to be a culmination of a character arc, the end reward of the 'ideal self' a character can be. This is not referring to 'ultimate' selves (i sincerely don't want to touch that concept at all) or even 'morally correct' selves - merely the best kind of self a character would want to be. The best you that you wanna be! Whether that means embracing your flaws or overcoming them, the godtier is the symbol of your growth as a person. Hence why to 'go godtier' you have to fuse your dreamself and awake self together, finally bringing together the two separate experiences you've lived as a player before this; your 'normal' life and your SBURB life. This also follows why death is a consistent theme and in fact needed for godtier ascension. You are killing or accepting the death of your former self in order to ascend into your new self, via combining everything you've learned into everything you'll be. It's supposed to be a positive, if traumatic, experience. Like changing and growing in life already is! Just faster lol

On a brief design point, I do think godtier outfits should also therefore change to fit the wearer and what they're comfortable with. I don't necessarily think that it should be like, witch skirt for girls but trousers for boys, I think that if a godtier outfit is your ideal self it should automatically change into whatever you'd be comfortable wearing. So if someone is a Witch, but doesn't mind wearing a skirt, then they'd ascend into the default Witch outfit. If they then wanted to change it they could through a thought. But if a Witch ascends and they hate skirts or maybe just cannot imagine wearing one then maybe it changes into shorts or something lol. I've actually done some alternate designs of godtiers along this line as it happens which you'll see in this post.

I also like the Aspect counterparts, that each one has an opposite, and while in canon that doesn't have much of an effect on the godtier design beyond the kids, I actually like the accessories and shoes on godtiers taking on the colours of their opposite Aspect. I like that it symbolises that even their opposite has an affect on the Aspect in question.

Now, this is all some lovely prose but what am I going on about? So, like all great and real scientists, I'll use myself as an example first.

...

Me - Sylph of Heart

So I've gone through many, many iterations of godtier introspection (started in Hope, have moved to Heart, Sylph has stayed pretty consistent but I still have doubts) and, of course, being a real life person this is the one that's evolved and changed the most as I have evolved and changed throughout my teens and adult life. But for the sake of analysis, I'll give my 'sona' or 'self-insert' the godtier to separate myself from the analysis and come at this more honestly.

Heart as an Aspect is all about Emotion and the Soul. As the opposite counterpart to the Aspect Mind (which is concerned with the brain, reason and, y'know, the mind lol), Heart players are more impulsive and driven by personal goals. It's all about the Inner Self, the Individual, what makes You Unique as opposed to everyone else in the world. It's Passion, it's Empathy, it's Understanding - about people, mostly. It's about Knowing Yourself and what you like or dislike. Your Heart, in a lot of ways, is the emotional centre and Heart players follow it to a T - and often to the detriment of everything else. It's not inaccurate to say Heart players come across as self-obsessed b/c they are concerned with discovering themselves and their own identity. None of these things come without drawbacks of course and none of this means Heart players don't care about others. They simply assume everyone else is just as obsessed with Finding themselves as they are. I mean, at their best, Heart players are compassionate, imaginative and a steady presence in life. But, uh, at their worst they can come across as dismissive, rigid or nosy lol Personally, as someone very driven by emotion and with a tendancy for introspection, to the point of contantly overthinking my feelings and second guessing my impulses, I feel comfortable in the Heart Aspect.

So Sylphs are talkers. Chatterboxes you could say. They're also one of two 'healer' classes and the active counterpart to Maid. Which yeah I'm aware I have a tendency to ramble. Sylphs are known to love talking about their interests to an audience, whether the audience is interested or not lmao. For a Sylph of Heart, that's mostly concentrated into the subject of Love and Relationships. Sylphs are also nosy little meddlers and so one interpretation of Heart could be a cupid-like matchmaker of sorts. I don't personally see that for myself but it's a valid interpretation.

Personally, I see myself as a person obsessed with Connection and the Relationships that make these connections stable. Friendship, romantic, QPR, you name it, I'm interested in the dynamics. In fiction and in fandom, this makes me a prolific shipper yes haha but most of all I love character interactions. I love filler episodes! And beach episodes! And regency romance! And slice of life isekai anime! B/c all those things prioritise character interaction and personal character arcs over plot or action or whatever haha. I love gentle drama and harmless gossip, I love watching two people get to know each other and be forever changed for having met one another and! I!! Love!!! My!!!! Friends!!!!!!!

Also the sylph outfit is cool af actually. In this image I've actually redesigned it to be a little more gender neutral hence the billowing trousers but I love the no sleeves and the curled shoes and the ribbon-y capelet thing lol. And the bangles!!

I have some ideas for godtier powers but they're not fleshed out yet, but for Sylph of Heart I imagine they'd have to power to 'heal the soul/heart' so to speak. To keep emotions steady in the heat of battle and to help heal mental or emotional wounds. They sound like a support class, like a buffer or healer.

Oh god this got long, I have some ideas for lands but I'll be honest it's almost entirely based on this post from dahni years ago (literally 10 years ago oh gods how long have I been here) b/c i really vibe with it so I have nothing new to really add lol. Maybe there'd be like pink lakes or maybe i'd have a coastal type planet with rough seas that symbolise riding the waves of emotion or something lmao

Hope you enjoyed this brief foray! I'll probably reblog this with a breakdown of the godtiers I've assigned to 4 of my dnd characters I did for fun so you can see my opinions on the Space, Time, Mind and Heart (again) aspects as well as the Maid, Page, Mage and Knight classes too. But for now I need to cook dinner lol

[katyspersonal]

I know we don't talk and there's stuff we may not agree with. But I am truly sorry you've dealt with a lot of drama over fictional crap. And I'm sorry if my posts in the past ever contributed to that. Hope you have a better day.

Hey... That's all fine, don't worry! After all, it takes a lot of time and Insight to realise that Gehrman is a very gentle and respectful man and Godrick is an absolute gigachad kdkdkshdffhhgfds /lh /lh

But yeah, on a serious note. It was quite frustrating to find out the real motivation under all that... mess was something so pathetic, but at the same time this is what happens when people make engagement with media and fandoms a moral, political act. Not necessarily a problem, after all, I was the one who concluded that the way a fan judges fictional characters and other fans will very well reveal how cruel they are to real people who do something bad, or how much they will forgive based on personal sympathies. And my mad ravings about caring about female characters! I think the problem comes when a fan is so insecure that they have nothing else besides this defence of ideals through fandomry. If your only way to assert yourself is to be a good guy punishing the bad guys, and that mad raving loredigger discovers there is NO bad guy, what is left of you?

This is why it is crucial to have passion for nurturing rather than for undermining! I think if you speak like this, you've found this truth too? This is true that I don't know you very much (mutual-in-law thing), but to be honest.. you didn't poison my fandom experience at all? I tend to never be aware about discourse until someone basically calls me for help fhdhgsdgdfs Can't scout the fandom tag regularly!

But not only it actually was a quite long ago I saw a "negative" post from you, but also I've seen through the posts that my friends liked or reblogged from you that you've actually became very eager person to defend people's passion and interests! I think the post that particularly got stuck with me was when you resented seeing someone's light die after some Redditor asshole "well aktualy"'d a thing they were excited about creating (not exact wording but maybe you remember too)? Like... you are fine, man. At that point I realised that you were a good fan and in the end valued people's creativity and passion over personal preferences. That you never wanted to be THAT guy, even if your interpretation could not be further from someone else's. Coming to terms with what actually matters in fandomry is very mature and I am happy to see this attitude!

I am still glad that you messaged me about this though; I did not expect this, but thank you! I think I will continue getting involved in fictional discourse because my autistic senses cannot ignore factually incorrect takes with a clear insidious motive, and.. eh, sooner or later, I'll piss off the wrong guy again. Don't feel bad for me when it inevitably happens :p I've accepted the shortcomings when I decided to be the debate guy. Simply laughing at some gremlin starting a discourse with the girls in DMs and not stressing over it is only funny until I realise that newer fans could get misinformed right off the bat.

[alicepao13]

Rating the Kommissar Rex/Il Commissario Rex/Hudson and Rex human partners for funsies, in chronological order. Contains spoilers, some bias, and opinions based on superficial characteristics. I will take the blame for any distorted memories I have of the shows, although I did a full rewatch last summer. (Rewatch refers to Kommissar Rex and Hudson and Rex. I could only watch Il Commissario Rex once. Well, 0.75 times. I couldn’t find some of the episodes.)

Kommissar Rex

Richard Moser: The blueprint. Not necessarily the best one in my opinion (although if you ask kid me, yes), but they modeled at least two other characters after him in the reboots. Pretty nice (although a product of his time), street smart, recently divorced, and the first few episodes where he and Rex are getting used to living together are hilarious. Moser’s dry humor was good too, also his whump scenes where great. And I appreciated the nude scenes a lot (thanks, German tv of the 90s). 8/10

Alex Brandtner: The hot one. Also, more of a “new age” cop (new age here means post 90s, don’t get confused). Kid me didn’t appreciate the hotness but I watched it in my teen years, and oh boy. And the action scenes, while sometimes ridiculous and making you wonder why???, really showed the actor’s training in physical scenes too. I always liked the way Brandtner immediately bonded with Rex and then we learn of the tragedy with his own dog. Too bad his love life was even more non-existent than Moser’s. 9/10

Marc Hoffmann: I’ll be honest, I just didn’t care for him for the most part, but I did like the fact that for the first time there was a ship with him and Nikki. They went for a different style with this one and it shows. Marc is less type A than the previous two, not a bad thing, but by that point, it was clear that Kommissar Rex as a show was nearing its end and I think it sometimes showed. 7/10

-----

Il Commissario Rex (At this point, let me just say that I don’t associate the two shows with each other. And whoever has watched both, would probably agree with me. It hardly matters that the Italian show starts as a spinoff.)

Lorenzo Fabbri: Ugh, I don’t know what it is with this guy but I didn’t like him much. His style was a lot like Moser at first (adopting Rex, saving him from a miserable fate, learning to live with him, etc.). I absolutely hated the storyline with the forensics scientist throwing herself at him every chance she got and him trying to avoid her instead of flat out telling her he’s not interested, and then at some point they slept together??? Anyway, did not like. 6/10

Davide Rivera: I liked that guy but sadly we didn’t have that many episodes with him. He could have had more to offer as a character. More quiet than the sometimes too loud Lorenzo, and took some time to warm up to Rex if I recall. I liked that he took no flack from his boss (Sidenote: the boss didn’t like Rex at first and kept wanting to get rid of him, and I wanted to rip him to shreds). 7/10

Marco Terzani: I literally found one season of his episodes, so I’ll reserve judgment (if anyone has his second and third season, please give it to me lol or point to the right direction). He seems kinda reckless? He’s definitely attractive. ?/10, more research needed.

----

Hudson and Rex

Charlie Hudson: Started off as kind of mediocre for me, then he made me change my mind. When I started watching, I was hellbent on comparing every single thing of this show to the characters of the original at first, so I’m partially to blame for my initial perception of him. However, I won’t blame myself for the bad writing, pacing, and overall mediocrity of S1 that contributed to a big part of it. Anyway, they used some of Moser’s backstory (divorced, adopts Rex after his K-9 partner tragically dies) and expanded on it. Charlie has had the most development as a character than any of the others, which makes sense since he’s the first of Rex’s partners to live that long or not get rebooted lol. He definitely gets bonus points for having a love life too. And for not dying, despite all the whump situations he gets himself into. Definitely falls under the reckless category too. 70% himbo, 100% whump magnet. 9/10

[alangdorf]

Had Traitor Magolor almost done except for the legs too, lol. My brush settings were way better on this one; I just did the coloring process kinda backwards and was really stubborn about not pulling it into csp to make the EX recolor better, but I still like the results ok. And I’m including a rainbow version of the background I made but didn’t end up committing to both to shorten the post and because I think it’s funny. Bisexual Flag Guy in the Gay Dimension