#don’t get me wrong this isn’t a criticism I think taking the time to acknowledge that Curze is ‘perfect’ serves to highlight his fall

[purplebutwarhammer]

It’s still incredibly funny how often Curzes novel takes the time to remind us that everyone thinks he’s hot

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

I may go into more detail about “Sinsmas” later, but I did want to talk about what I considered to be the one scene/sequence that I thought was very well done and that I truly enjoyed—Octavia’s song, “I Will Be Okay”.

(Song/Character Discussion below)

Octavia’s song is almost everything I could have asked for. A somber echo of Stolas’ song from season 1, Octavia’s I Will Be Okay, finally, finally, gives Octavia a voice and the chance to express her grief over her father’s abandonment.

For the first time in the series, there’s no one to tell Octavia that she should give her dad some slack or that she should forgive him. She’s finally allowed to be upset, to fully mourn her relationship with Stolas and to get mad about what happened. She’s finally allowed to start working towards accepting the ways Stolas’ neglected her, and begin healing from that pain and trauma.

Octavia’s experience is both terribly heart-wrenching and, in the most painful way, freeing. The lyrics reflect that perfectly, with Octavia acknowledging that while she’s not okay now because of everything Stolas put her through, she WILL be okay, and will grow into her own person without him.

The song is a direct response to Stolas’. Octavia is answering him, saying “Yes, I will be okay. Not because of anything that you were supposed to or failed to provide me as a father, but because I will forge my own path, and in doing so will heal from the pain you caused me.”

It’s a bittersweet song about finding the strength to cut contact with someone you loved who has repeatedly failed you in the worst ways, and who isn’t going to change.

I do have one “criticism” for this song and sequence, not because anything from it was poorly done, but because, in my opinion, the song’s visuals could have been even better.

The following scene was in the original storyboards for “I Will Be Okay”, and was changed in the final episode:

I think the decision to change the visuals for these lyrics in the song was a mistake. Please don’t get me wrong, the animation in this entire episode was fantastic, my critiques of Helluva Boss are almost never about the animation.

But the above sequence just has so much more emotional weight to me. It’s the visualization of Octavia realizing she can’t rely on Stolas, that she has to look to herself for comfort.

Octavia taking her younger self from her neglectful father’s arms, symbolizing that she’s accepted that Stolas cannot be depended on and that she’ll have to take care of herself now, is such a powerful image.

It really is a shame to me that they cut this scene, because I think it fully encapsulates everything Octavia has been through in such a simple and effective way. I think the scene really loses something by cutting this visual.

With all of that said though, Octavia’s song, and the scene where she FINALLY calls Stolas out for his behavior were very cathartic for me. I know that the scene’s intent was most likely to make us empathize with Stolas for losing his daughter, but I found myself empathizing only with Octavia, and hoping that she gets the time she needs to heal.

I would love it if the show actually let her decide whether or not she wants Stolas back in her life, but given the way HB’s writers portray women, I worry that it’s likely some big event will happen that “reveals” Stella to be awful, and Octavia will forgive Stolas just like that, and will probably end up apologizing to him instead (like in “Seeing Stars”)

Anyway, just like Octavia being the only good thing in Stolas’ life, “I Will Be Okay” was, in my opinion, the only good thing in “Sinsmas”. (well that and Octavia calling Stolas out)

[thisischaostragic]

i have been holding space for the Agatha finale (i’m in queer media) and am pleased to report that my feelings about it have shifted quite significantly. follow me, my friends, to a more or less coherent, very long text post at the end

primary thing: this show is very much about motherhood. idk why that didn’t totally register for me in the first half given how often they mentioned Nicky, but realizing this changed my analysis a ton. Billy doesn’t just remind Agatha of Nicky — Agatha loves Billy like a son. (i know “like a son” is an oversimplification, but I’m sticking with it for this post.)

with that, my thoughts on Agatha’s arc almost completely flipped. when Rio shows up in E8 and says she has to take Billy, Agatha is revisiting her deepest wound all over again. her reaction is harsh, but it’s not some long-simmering revenge plan or a calculated effort to hurt Rio. Agatha is literally just reacting to the fact that, after all of the almost-reconciliation, the love of her life is taking her son again. i think she was trying to get Rio to fight for her or to say the trade was too high a price and bend the rules. Agatha was trying to get Death to act only as her lover, and looks devastated when Rio actually walks away instead.

and so, when Agatha goes to the morgue trial and says that “sometimes, boys die,” she’s continuing that realization that Rio isn’t personally chasing her down and causing her grief. sometimes, death just… happens. and “out of Death, life” is largely about Agatha realizing that Rio did bend the rules for Nicky, but also doubles down on the Nicky and Billy parallels. both of Agatha’s sons were literally borne of Death and living on stolen time. loss is inevitable.

i think Agatha genuinely believed that Rio could have kept Nicky alive and chose not to. we know that Agatha blamed herself for Nicky dying (“the truth is too awful”). so Agatha, who was taught by her own mother that nobody would ever actually love her for who she is, probably thought that the love of her life just… didn’t love her as much as she thought she did. going back to E1, i think “you don’t have a heart” is equal parts about Nicky as it is about Agatha herself. her main takeaway is that everyone will betray her, even when they claim to love her, and so she hides behind power and a god awful reputation so that she can keep everyone at arm’s length and never get hurt again.

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY: when Billy is about to die, Agatha almost retreats back into the version of herself she became after Nicky died, but she doesn’t. she turns around and faces the pain head-on.

and I want to take a second to appreciate how immensely hard that would be. Agatha spent centuries killing people so she could be powerful enough to stay numb. Agatha spent all of that time pushing away the love of her life, who still loves her, who still sees her fully, and who Agatha is clearly still desperate to return to. Agatha realizes, probably to absurd amounts of despair, that she was wrong about all of it. and she still turns around.

it’s not about Agatha randomly sacrificing herself for a last minute villain kind-of-redemption. it’s about Agatha breaking the cycle she’s trapped herself in for an unfathomably long time, admitting that she knows Rio couldn’t change the outcome, and acknowledging that, yeah, she actually does love this kid.

and honestly?? i don’t think Agatha becoming a ghost counts as killing her. she’s literally still around, doing stuff, picking up brooches (👀 Rio wya), and getting a second chance at… not motherhood, exactly, but caring for a child. (and a queer child! and the idea of Agatha, who has been queer since the *1600s*, getting to tell this gay kid over and over again that there’s nothing innately wrong with him makes me actually sob.)

HOWEVER! i maintain some criticisms. i think Jen deserved to have an actual fight with the doctor who bound her. (the oops! it was Agatha All Along twist was… complicated. i have mixed feelings. essay for another day, but i wanted Jen to have rage time that everyone was just cheering for.)

i needed Death lore. how is she physically with Agatha so often if, as Agatha states, 120 people die every minute? is she Death the cosmic entity, or are green witches sort of responsible for decay on earth?

some of the plot elements were severely under-developed, and frustratingly, the vast majority of the underdeveloped plotlines had to do with Agatha/Rio’s romantic relationship, Agatha’s mother, and Agatha’s reasons for killing people. (the fact that they said she’s a siphon in interviews and not once on the show will never stop baffling me lmao.) i find it very frustrating that a LARGE chunk of the underdeveloped stuff relates back to Agatha’s queerness in some way.

however… i am willing to be generous about some of that, because i find it difficult to believe that this *extremely queer* creative team actually just disregarded major queer plot elements. i am far more inclined to believe that they were operating under a hostile corporation and pushing as far as they could, and in that case, they did a fucking phenomenal job.

i genuinely think that the way they landed the show opens the door for them to… dare I say it? … give Agatha/Rio a happy ending?? ghost Agatha literally need only show up to Rio’s house or cave or dimension or whatever and be like “heyyyyy, yeah that kiss was forgiveness and also i’m solid enough to use my hands now” and it would be believable. the fact that it would take them only 15 seconds to give us two fucked up lesbians having their version of happily ever after is actually pretty cool

anyway, this is an abridged summary of how my feelings abt the Agatha All Along finale went from like a 4/10 rating to an 8/10.

[randomness-is-my-order]

been seeing alot of discourse ensuing in the fandom about the pjo tv show and here’s the thing: there is alot of impetus about what the show didn’t get right but isn’t it absolutely amazing how much the show did get right????

yes, gabe is a bit different. yes, annabeth didn’t show percy around camp. yes, grover snitched on percy. yes, ms. dodds transforming could be a bit underwhleming.

BUT

we also have this: percy being an actual kid with sarcasm and sadness and anger and trauma. he’s not one-note. he’s just trying his best and his inner conflict is so painfully and wonderfully portrayed. grover being a nervous wreck at times but also sweet and earnest and guilt-ridden and brave in his own way. annabeth being a little girl wise beyond her years, with a stoicism that feels like something she was forced to practice and the spark of a dream driving her actions. luke being a likeable teenager with actual empathy towards percy which will drive home his fall from grace that much deeper.

chiron being a mentor figure who still makes questionable choices and can’t always say the words percy wants to hear, despite his best intentions. mr. d being an asshole who is still likeable, if only for his humor. sally jackson being a fierce mother with both tenderness and strength, who isn’t perfect but might as well be in percy’s eyes. clarisse being the unpleasant bully that she is, with all the rage and pettiness that she held within when we were first introduced to her yet with the promise of something more.

camp halfblood’s set and the cinematography deserve their own medals. they’re quite literally perfect.

soooo, where i’m getting at is this:

i don’t believe that all criticism pointing out inconsistencies with the books is just nitpicking. alot of it is well thought out and politely presented, too, and i think it’s important to point it out so the showrunners know where they went wrong and can try and rectify those errors–however small or big–in the next season. at the same time, undermining the entire show, discounting all the efforts made to remain faithful to the source material just because they strayed from a storyline that didn’t land as well as it could have–that’s a bit overblown, yes?

like it is an adaptation, not a word-by-word recreation from page to screen. of course, there will be changes because some things in a book don’t always translate well in a story told on the screen. for me, most changes aim to enhance rick’s work, not undermine it or take away from it in some misguided attempt to appeal to the larger audience like the movies did.

at the end of the day, it is very important to recognise the 90% of the show that depicted our beloved scenes from the book as faithfully as possible instead of constantly criticising the 10% of it that changed directions for a certain end goal that serves the screenwriting for a tv show. there can be balance of both praise and criticism and i’m very much in support of people pointing out genuine problems with the storytelling of the show but these conversations should also try and acknowledge the myriad of aspects in which the show excelled. like just the fact that i get to see so much of my imagination take form in front of my eyes, through a screen, with so much of the same authenticity that the pjo books are inlaid with–that’s genuinely mind-boggling to me.

[redvdress]

Ahem katsuki taking care of you when your sick? 🫣

I’m so sick lately I need something to devour rn to survive (you don’t have to tho dw bb)

DUMBASS FLU PATROL

A/N: i’m SO SO SO SORRY this and all the other requests are taking so long but i’ve been running out of ideas and school took a lot of time from me. This prompt was just so fun to write ‘cause I can perfect picture bakugo taking care of reader..in his own way..I’ve been sick to after hanging out for halloween night, we all need a bakugo to take care of us🦇

It starts with Bakugo noticing something off about you during class.

He wouldn’t say anything right away, but he’s sharp enough to pick up on small changes. You’re quieter than usual, your eyes look a little glazed, and you keep rubbing your temples.

At first, he thinks you’re just tired from all the late-night study sessions you two have been pulling together, but when you keep sniffling and coughing under your breath, he starts to get annoyed.

Not at you—no, he’s irritated because you’re clearly sick and trying to tough it out, which to him is just stupid.

As class goes on, he watches you like a hawk out of the corner of his eye.

You’re shivering slightly, even though the room isn’t cold. Finally, during a brief break, he leans over, his usual scowl firmly in place as he mutters,

“Oi, what the hell’s wrong with you? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You give him a tired smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, Bakugo. Just a little under the weather.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps, barely lowering his voice. A couple of classmates look over, but Bakugo doesn’t care.

“You’re sick, dumbass. Why didn’t you stay in bed?”

You shrug, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “Didn’t want to fall behind.”

Bakugo grits his teeth, muttering curses under his breath.

The fact that you’d drag yourself to class, even when you’re clearly unwell, pisses him off more than he’d like to admit.

Part of him is frustrated that you’re so stubborn, but another part—the part he doesn’t like to acknowledge—feels a strange pang of concern.

After class, he’s practically glued to your side, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as he escorts you out of the room. You insist you’re fine, that you just need some rest, but Bakugo’s having none of it.

“Shut up,” he growls when you try to brush him off. “You’re goin’ back to your room, and you’re not leavin’ until you’re better. Got it?”

You try to argue, but Bakugo’s glare is unyielding. His hand finds the small of your back, firm but surprisingly gentle as he steers you down the hall. He’s not usually one for soft gestures, but something about seeing you weak and vulnerable sets off an instinct he can’t ignore.

Once he gets you to your dorm room, he practically shoves you inside, crossing his arms as he stands in the doorway, blocking any chance of escape.

“Get in bed,” he orders, his voice rough but laced with an unmistakable note of concern.

You sigh, knowing better than to argue with him at this point.

You climb into bed, pulling the covers over yourself as he watches, his eyes sharp and critical, like he’s assessing just how sick you are.

After a moment, he grumbles, “You got medicine in here?”

You nod weakly, gesturing toward your desk where you have a small stash of over-the-counter meds.

Bakugo grabs them, inspecting each bottle with a furrowed brow, clearly reading the labels with more intensity than necessary.

He pours out the recommended dosage and hands it to you along with a glass of water, his expression a mixture of irritation and reluctant care.

“Take it” he says, watching closely as you down the pills. You can’t help but chuckle softly at his intensity, which only makes him scowl harder.

“Quit laughing, idiot. You’re the one who’s sick,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Bakugo doesn’t leave after that.

Instead, he grabs a chair from your desk, dragging it over to sit beside your bed, his arms crossed as he watches you. You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his persistence.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you murmur, your voice a little hoarse.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Like I’m gonna leave you here to get worse just ‘cause you’re stubborn as hell. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

There’s a warmth in his tone, buried under layers of gruffness, but it’s there.

The corners of his mouth twitch, almost like he’s considering a smile, but he quickly forces his expression back into a scowl.

You settle under the blankets, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

For the next few hours, Bakugo stays put, occasionally checking your temperature with the back of his hand (grumbling something about “damn germs” every time he does it) and making sure you’re drinking enough water. At one point, he disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a bowl of soup he somehow got from the cafeteria.

It’s barely warm by the time he returns, but the gesture makes your chest feel warm.

“Eat” he commands, holding the bowl out to you.

You take it, giving him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Bakugo.”

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t get used to it.”

As the day goes on, you start to drift in and out of sleep, your fever making you drowsy. Each time you wake, Bakugo is still there, watching over you with a mixture of irritation and quiet worry. At one point, you feel his hand gently brush your forehead, checking for any sign of improvement.

The touch is warm—maybe a bit too warm, given his quirk—and you find it oddly soothing.

Just as you’re dozing off again, you hear him mutter under his breath, “Stupid… makin’ me worry like this…”

It’s barely audible, but it makes your heart flutter.

You feel yourself drifting back into sleep, a faint smile on your lips as you listen to him grumble, his voice softening in a way you rarely hear.

When you wake up again, it’s late, the room bathed in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. Bakugo’s still there, now slouched in the chair, looking half-asleep himself. He’s fighting to stay awake, his arms crossed, head nodding forward slightly.

You feel a pang of guilt, realizing he’s been with you all day. “You should go rest..” you whisper, not wanting him to feel obligated to stay.

He snaps awake, scowling. “I’m fine. You’re the one who looks like crap.”

You can’t help but smile, too tired to argue with him. Instead, you simply reach out, your fingers brushing his arm. He stiffens for a moment, surprised by the contact, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you… really,” you murmur, your voice soft.

He looks at you, and for a second, his expression softens, his usual harshness fading just slightly. He lets out a small sigh, leaning forward to gently press his hand against your forehead again, feeling your temperature one last time.

“Tch. You’re still warm,” he mutters, but there’s a tenderness in his tone that he can’t quite hide. Not with you.

You close your eyes, feeling yourself drift back into sleep, his presence comforting and grounding.

Just before you drift off completely, you feel his hand linger on your forehead, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. It’s such a small, unexpected gesture, but it speaks volumes—his way of showing he cares without saying a word.

As you fall asleep, you can just barely hear him mumbling under his breath, his tone low and almost affectionate.

“You better get better soon, idiot. Can’t have you fallin’ apart on me.”

[cameronspecial]

Drew and Y/N are friends with feelings for each other and they argue since Drew is stupidly trying to make her jealous, Y/N doesn't like his behavior, she wastes no time on this kind of drama. Pleaseeeeeeeeeee <3

Childish Game

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Masterlist

Every brush of their hands. Every met eye contact. Every laugh they can pull from each other. The friends know that it isn’t normal to feel the little flutter at every single one of those things, but they have never acted on the feeling. Drew is head over heels for the girl and he doesn’t know what to do about it. His flirting goes unnoticed. Y/N always has the eyes of every man in the room on her and it makes the green-eyed monster rear its ugly head. Drew just wants her attention and he only knows one way to get it. 

He has been ignoring her; she knows it. When she got to the party, she made her rounds greeting people and as she approached Drew, he didn’t so much as look in her direction. He continued talking to the woman in front of him. She’s taller than Y/N. Her hair is styled perfectly and has a shine that says there is product running through it. Her lips are glossy with tinted lipgloss. Y/N waited to see if maybe he was just going to finish his sentence before addressing her, but he didn’t turn toward her at the end of his sentence. She left his side once it was clear that she wasn’t going to get a response. During the whole party, he remained by the other woman’s side, even though he invited Y/N here himself. It becomes clear to him what he is trying to do and she won’t tolerate his childish behaviour. She isn’t going to acknowledge what he is doing, storming right past him as she leaves for the night. Her head shakes and she can hear her heels clacking against the pavement as she walks to her car. Soon, his footsteps mix in with hers. 

“Y/N, Pumpkin, where are you going?” Drew yells, chasing after her. She continues to walk without so much of a glance in his direction. She gets to her car and uses the fob to unlock the door. She tugs at the door, which is promptly shut again by Drew. “I asked you a question,” he points out with his hand still on the car door. She has to turn toward him, “Wow, does the Drew Starkey finally have time to acknowledge me? I feel so honoured. Thank you so much!” He can hear the venom dripping off of her voice, yet he still feels victorious. “Awww. Pumpkin, are you jealous?” he chuckles, thinking she is teasing him or something.  

“Oh, you wish. But I see right through your little game, Drew. Honestly, it’s pathetic that you think this is going to do anything,” she criticizes. She tries to pull the door open again. He doesn’t let her. He plays dumb, “I don’t know what you are talking about.” “Right. You know, I thought you actually liked me. This proved me wrong,” she confesses, shaking her head. She gives up on trying to get into her car and crosses her arms to close herself off. Drew’s face falls, “No. Pumpkin, I do like you.” “If you liked me, then you wouldn’t have done something that would hurt me,” she argues. He takes a step forward, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted your attention. Every guy in that room is always looking at you and I was hoping you would be looking at me.” “Drew, you and I both know that I would’ve been looking at you without a care for anyone else already. You didn’t have to flirt with her for that. If you liked me, you wouldn’t have played this game. You would have asked me out on a date,” she explains, dragging her foot on the ground. He tries to rest his hand above her elbow. She jerks her arm away from him. “Okay, I admit. What I did was stupid. I’m sorry, but I just… I just wasn’t sure if you did like me.”

Y/N lets out a low laugh, “You weren’t sure if I liked you? You are the only person who can call me by a nickname. You are the only person that I let touch me without me initiating it. You are the only person that I would drag myself out of my house on a Friday night for. And if you didn’t know those things meant I liked you, then maybe I didn’t know you as well as I thought.” She grabs his wrist and tears it away from her vehicle. She gets into the car without looking back as she drives back home. Tears blur her vision. Drew screams into the night, realizing how stupid his mistake was.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife

[cookie-waffle-art-and-stuff]

Voyagers Chapter 4: Troubled Minds

Rung realizes he may be a bit too overworked on The Ark

Content Warnings: Topics regarding mental illness and trauma

Prominent Characters: Elita One, Rung, Bumblebee, Windblade, Red Alert, Starscream

Elita One sat stiffly on Rung’s couch, her face in her hand, not saying anything.

“If you’ll allow me, Madame,” Rung began gently, “I could start if you’re finding yourself unable to.”

Elita ex-vented, dragging her palm over her optics. “Go ahead.”

Rung adjusted his posture. “Very well, then,” the doctor started. “Do you have a clear memory of what happened last week?”

Elita’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s fuzzy… I just know that my behavior was unacceptable.”

Rung nodded. “Acknowledgement is a good first step. Not everyone is as introspective.”

Elita sat up slightly, rubbing the side of her sore right upper arm. It had been welded back on, but still needed to heal internally. It had to be in a sling for a few weeks. She looked to the side, avoiding the other bot’s optics.

“Can you remember what triggered the episode? You don’t have to answer if you can’t, but it might help me get a better understanding of the incident.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “What didn't set me off?”

Rung lowered his notepad and looked at Elita. “Could you elaborate?”

Elita sighed. She took a long pause, deciding if she wanted to answer or not. “I felt… Like I was in the same damn place I was back at home.” Elita stood up and began pacing around the room. “Ironhide isn’t the first friend I’ve had to watch die on a hospital bed. Nor is it the first time I’ve had to comfort a loved one while doing so. And every time I see Chromia…” Elita halted mid-step, “Whenever I look at her I just.. I see myself. And when I look at Ironhide I think of when Optimus was critically wounded by Megatron and I- “She sighed again, “I’m being selfish, I know. I need to be focusing on being there for Chromia and my kids, not on my past woes…” She sat back down on the couch, landing a bit too hard. She grabbed her arm and winced in pain from the mild impact.

Rung scooted over a little closer to his client. “You’re not selfish. You’re just a person like the rest of us are. And a lot— I’d even dare to claim all —of us, are deeply traumatized people. Be easier on yourself.”

“Still not an excuse for my behavior.”

“Do you think there was any one specific thing that might have triggered a PTSD episode?”

“No… Well, maybe it was just the sight of Starscream and his stupid smug face.” Her brows furrowed at the thought of the former high-rank Decepticon. “Why does he defend them?”

“Come again?” Rung adjusted his glasses.

“Optimus! After all, we’ve been through, after all that animals like Starscream and Megatron did to us!” Elita’s optics glowed brighter as she continued “Don’t get me wrong, Rung. There are many well-reformed ex-cons on the fleet. But some people can’t just… UGH! Who shouldn’t be offered any kindness from us? It’s like Oppie can’t even remember what has happened in the past several billion cycles! I don’t get it! Why does he have to be so relentlessly forgiving? WHY is he allowing Starscream to run loose on the ship and letting Mebatrom just waltz on in whenever he wants?! He didn’t even take my side when our own kid started dating Deadlock!”

“Drift.”

“What?”

“His name Is Drift, now.”

Elita squinted her optics. “Right…”

“Apologies for interrupting.”

Elita rubbed her hand against her face. “look, Rung, I know Dead- ugh, DRIFT is a lot more well-mannered than someone of the likes of Starscream. But it doesn't matter how much he tries to repent. Doesn’t matter how often he meditates or how spiritual he’s become. It doesn’t even matter if he feels genuine remorse! He still has more blood on his hands than most of us do. I mean, is Hot Rod even aware of how many people he’s harmed?”

“Oh, he knows.”

“There’s no way he knows.”

“Elita, trust me, he knows. And he certainly knows a lot more about Drift than either of us do.”

Elita leaned back in her seat and let another long vent. “Shit… He’s just like his father, isn’t he?” She sat there for a few moments, looking down at her legs, saying nothing.

“Elita One? Are you alright?”

“……No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Rung could see her free hand gripping her thigh. “Are you certain, madame?”

Her shoulders began to shake as she tried and failed to choke back on her tears. She covered her face with her hand, turning away.

Rung brought the chair in closer. “Hey, hey, it’s okay to cry. If there’s anyone you don’t need to hide your tears from, it’s me.” He reached out a hand, but she didn’t take it.

“I miss him.” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper.

“Optimus, I take it?”

Elita silently nodded, wiping tears away from her optics.

Rung leaned back in his seat, thinking of what to say next. He wasn’t trained as a relationship counselor, but neither was anyone else in the fleet. “Elita, no one comes out of a merge break unscathed. It causes permanent physical damage to your spark. Your tears are more than justified. Never having been part of a merge myself, I can’t even begin to imagine-”

“We’re still merged.”

“You are?”

“Of course we are. We’ve been merged for the majority of our lives. We are bonded for life. Even if we tried to break the merge, we’ve done it too many times. We have far too much of each other’s sparks in our chests to break without killing each other in the process.”

“Wait, so, You two are split up… but still merged? Elita, you do know that-”

“YES, I know!” Elita blurted out louder than she intended. “I can’t even hear the sound of his voice without my spark practically trying to leap out of my chest to join his!”

“And you also know that it’s going to get worse.”

“Yes… I miss him every day of my life.” She looked at her injured arm. “I know he’s probably feeling it too, but, we can’t merge again. We’ve grown too far apart.”

Merge breaks were potentially deadly, but there was at least a chance for survival. But unsuccessful merges were always fatal, hence why very few conjunx endures attempted to merge.

Merging was Primus’s gift to Prima and Megatronus, two of the original 13 primes. The Allspark said to hold a piece of Primus himself’s spark, was what gave Transformers the ability to create offspring without the well. But one Transformer’s spark was not powerful enough to create another without killing the parent. There needed to be at least two. The more people who are a part of the merge, the stronger the resulting offspring will be.

Spark merging was exactly what it sounded like it was. Two or more transformer sparks temporarily merge into one. For a few moments, the merged become the same person. Sharing all thoughts, emotions, and memories. Afterward, much of it fades away like a dream. But each merge results in leaving a little bit of you in your partner’s spark chamber. Legend says, that if you merge enough times your bodies combine permanently. But no Transformer has been able to prove that as true.

Elita and Optimus merged a few cycles after the war had started. Both knew it was a horrible idea at the time, but the spark doesn’t always ask for permission. Sometimes the merge just happens accidentally while interfacing. To create new life, it couldn’t just be one merge. It was a very complicated process that involved both recreation interfacing and spark merging. Elita and Optimus had planned to have a sparkling after the war, but they never got the chance to. Sometimes, Elita allowed her mind to wonder what their child would have looked like. She missed having children, but both she and Optimus refused to bring a new spark into a world that may not have even been there by the time they grew up.

Rung was genuinely at a loss for words. He desperately wanted to offer advice, but even he wasn’t sure how he’d handle the situation if he were in Elita One’s place. But alas, he tried his best. “If you don't mind me asking, how is your relationship with Hot Rod, currently?”

Elita let out a groan. “I think he’s still angry at me. I also think he’s been deliberately avoiding having to see or speak to me.”

“And why do you think that might be?”

“He knows I don’t want him around Drift.” She began absently fidgeting with one of her antennae, “I know he’s far more than old enough to be making his own decisions. And I know he’s confident about Dea-Drift being reformed. But dammit, that’s my KID! How could I just smile and nod while watching him put all his love and trust into someone with a past like Drift’s!”

Rung took off his glasses and removed a cloth from his storage space to clean them. “Correct me if I’m out of line here Elita… but have you ever considered trying to get to know Drift yourself?”

“Hah! I'd sooner adopt a scraplet!”

“I’m serious. You should consider it. It may ease the tension between you and Hot Rod. And hey, if you find some current dirt on him, you’d have the satisfaction of proving your point.”

“That’s one of the things I’m afraid of. I’m already on bad terms with Roddy, the last thing I want to do is be the one to break his spark. I can’t always be the bad guy here!”

“Elita, I’m going to be honest with you. We live a VERY long time. We’ve all been through more pain than we can measure. The one thing keeping all of us sane, and therefore alive, is family and camaraderie. We need to fight for the people we have in our lives now before we end up having to spend the rest of our long, painful lives without them. And I think it would be a great benefit to you and Hot Rod to have you both here, but he would have to agree to come along.”

Elita stopped for a moment to think. “Maybe I’ll have civil a chat with Drift… but I doubt Roddy will agree to come to therapy,” she murmured.

“That’s fine. Perhaps you may even start to understand Prime’s view on things a bit more.” Rung gently set his glasses back on, pushing them in with his index finger.

Elita turned sharply, antennae twitching. “The only way I’m ever going to understand Oppie’s reasoning for being so easy on dangerous ex-cons is if I merged with him again. And like I said, the resentment that has grown between us— It’s too risky.”

“Then maybe…” Rung tried to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “Maybe you could try to start over instead? I think what you have in mind is jumping back into the relationship right where you two left off. But lovers don’t always work out that way. Sometimes, starting over slowly is the best way to rebuild a relationship with an ex-conjunx.”

Elita waited another moment, then stood up and began pacing around again.

“Elita One?”

She stopped pacing, biting the tips of her fingers. “I doubt he’d ever want me back. Especially not after what happened the other day. And even before that, the last time we had a real conversation we had…”She hesitated, looking away. “It was not long after the war ended. An argument. A bad one. Intense argument over Megatron.”

“The war ending is what caused you to split?”

“not entirely,” Elita said quickly. “At first I was elated, Just like everyone else. But then Oppie wouldn’t tell me why. And then he started visiting Megatron in prison. I was just so FRUSTRATED with him suddenly not telling me anything! And when we discovered the supernova, that’s when it happened. The argument, I mean. He wouldn’t stop INISITING that Megatron was a reformed bot and that we should let him on the fleet instead of just executing him.”

Rung tilted his head.“Hasn’t Optimus always been highly against executions?”

“OF COURSE! But it’s MEGATRON. There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that he is taking advantage of Oppie’s forgiving nature, and has somehow convinced my sparkmate that D-16 is still in there somewhere!”

“Elita,” Rung said carefully, “Megatron is also my client. I can’t delve into personal patient information, and I won’t claim to understand everything that goes on in his mind, but I can tell you that he’s trying. I can see it He’s trying as hard as he can.”

“Then he’s lying to you, too. Do you honestly think he’s not just going to shoot Oppie in the back and try to take over Theta-3 the moment we land?”

“And do YOU honestly think Megatron would even attempt to do that when Autobots and Nuetrals greatly outnumber the surviving Decepticons? He doesn’t even have his fusion canon anymore. He left it back on-.” He slapped a hand over his mouth, optics widening. “Scrap… I wasn’t supposed to share that information.”

“What did you just say?”

“I wasn’t supposed to “

“He left his fusion canon back on Cybertron?!”

Rung shut his optics, slapping his palm against his forehead. “Uuugh…. Yes. But do NOT tell anyone else!”

Elita Blinked. “I had always assumed he at least wore it on the Nemesis…”

Megatron’s fusion canon might as well have been permanently welded onto his arm. He never went anywhere without that thing. He even slept with it on. And if rumors were true, he didn’t take it off while interfacing either.

Elita’s optics darted around the floor, processing the new information. “But why would he leave it?”

“He wasn’t lying about his vow against violence.” Rung explained gently. “I completely understand your anger and resentment towards him, but I think his actions have been speaking louder than his words. He never wants to see that canon again in his life.”

Elita sank back down into her seat, her expression torn. Again, she didn’t speak for several moments. Rung gave her time to think. She rubbed the back of her neck. “I…. forget it—“

“Come again, Madame?”

“Oppie… I want to trust his judgment so badly but—“ her optics flared in frustration. “I DON’T KNOW!” She grabbed one of her antennae, tugging at it as she fought back the threat of tears.

Rung offered his hand again, this time she took it. “I can’t tell you what to do, Elita. But I can see that you still care for him. Who’s to say he doesn’t miss you just as much?”

Elita looked at her arm, gently placing her hand over the injury. “It was… it was just so easy for him to cut it off… No hesitation.”

“And you think that hasn’t been tearing him up inside ever since? You know him better than any of us, Elita.”

“I suppose…” She vented.

“Bonded for life, remember?”

She managed a weak laugh “I do still feel bad for throwing him.” She got up for a final time. “I should go apologize… Right now.”

“While I admire your determination, you still have a day left to spend in psychiatric care. Just be patient, we still have at least 10 cycles to go on this ride, he’ll still be there when you get out.”

“I hope you’re right about him, Rung. I want to believe you so badly.”

He wanted to say “I hope I am, too.” but decided it was unwise. Instead, he just nodded.

“Well Elita, I’m glad I got the chance to speak with you. But I’m afraid our time is almost up, and my next client should be coming in soon.”

“I understand. Thank you, Rung. Truly.”

Rung reached out to shake her hand but was surprised with a hug instead. “Oh!” He awkwardly patted her on the back. “Um… Thank you!”

When she let go of Rung, she wiped away one last tear before saying her final goodbye. Once outside the office, she was supposed to go back to psych care with Chase. She hated having to be supervised like a child, but she knew it was a temporary policy for psych patients were were in care due to violent behavior. Chase was only doing his job.

But Elita found herself distracted once she spotted Bumblebee waiting outside for his appointment.

“Hello, Little Bee.” she knelt and welcomed him into a hug. They pressed their foreheads together. “I’m so, so sorry about what I did, Little Bee. I must have worried you sick!”

Bee took his mother’s hands into his own. “I’m not angry at you, just worried. We all are— especially Dad.”

Chase walked up from behind Elita. “Ma’am, it’s time to go.”

“Just give us a moment, please.”

“Elita-“

Bumblebee separated from Elita and then placed himself between her and Chase. His horns curled back and his door wings raised as a warning. The hole in his neck vibrated with a low growl.

“Woah there, little guy!” Chase raised his hands. “I’m not going to harm her.”

Bumblebee stared the officer down, juking forward at him.

“Bumblebee! What has gotten into you?”

Bee lowered his wings and looked back at Elita, frowning with his big blue optics dimmed.

“I’m sorry, Chase.”She stepped between him and Bee. “He’s just being protective.” She turned back to Bee and gently caressed his crest. “I’ll be alright, Little Bee. Chase is only following policy.”

Bumblebee sheepishly looked at Chase. He mouthed the words, “I’m sorry…” before running into Rung’s office.

Rung saw his client rush in, “Woah, Bee, what’s the rush?”

Bumblebee lightly shook his head, signifying a, “Nothing”

Rung looked behind the small mech. “Where’s Optimus? Could he not make it?”

Bumblebee shook his head again, horns curled down.

“That’s alright. We can take this as slowly as you need. We don’t even have to discuss your experience today if you can’t do it.”

“Thank you…” Bee mouthed.

“Very well. Is there anything else on your mind that you want to talk about?”

Bumblebee’s horns slightly perked back up. He took Rung’s hands. “Well, Windblade is back on the Ark…”

Rung’s big eyebrows raised. “Ah! Thought I saw her pass by me in the halls the other day. How have you two been?”

Bumblebee looked down, his optics glowing slightly brighter, “Well, we’ve been hanging out a lot…”

Rung leaned forward, smiling. “Aaand?”

“I haven’t told her yet— It almost slipped out while we were drinking together last night, but I chickened out again. I’m not sure I can do this, Rung. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before…”

“Oh, Bee,” Rung said softly.

“I know you said I should give it a shot but, haven’t been the same since…” Bumblebee took a deep vent. “Since the injury.” He paused and looked at the stars outside of Rung’s window. “When we first met, it was at a victory celebration where I was singing in a gig with Jazz, Blaster, and the cassettes. She said she loved my voice… And when I first spoke to her, I made her laugh. A lot. She loved my jokes…” He closed his optics and dropped his head. “But now… I’m angrier. Always, frustrated, always in pain. I’m always running on low power because I have nightmares whenever I try to recharge. Maybe if I had realized how I felt much, much sooner, I would have had a chance. But now-“

“Bumblebee, you are the same person as before. You’re traumatized, and I’m certain Windblade is wise enough to understand what trauma does to someone.”

Bumblebee looked back out the window. “Maybe you have a point… She’s also had her share of scarring memories during the war after all.”

“Look around you. Trauma may have changed you, yes. But you are still loved. I’m not sure there’s even anyone else on the Ark that has as many friends as you, Bee.”

Bumblebee turned and looked back at Rung. “I really love her, Rung. But I’m so scared.”

Rung gave his client’s hands a comforting squeeze. “Loving someone that deeply is extremely rare. I’m several vorns older than you are, and even I have yet to meet someone I feel that way about. Even if she says no, I truly think it’s worth a shot.”

Bumblebee took a deep vent, his optics dimming briefly before glowing steadily again. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

Bee leaned back into his seat, letting go of Rung’s hands. He thought for a while, then nodded, a light smile appearing on his face.

The rest of the session was uneventful, but Rung did give Bee a prescription for sleep-aiding medication. “These are in extremely low supply, and a lot of bots need it. Don’t take any more than your prescribed dose, because you won’t get an early refill.”

Bumblebee gave an acknowledging nod.

Rung patted Bee’s shoulder on his was out. “Good luck, Bumblebee. And whatever happens, you can always come talk to me.” He lowered his voice to a light whisper. “I’ll even let you in when I’m off work.”

Bumblebee smiled, then gave Rung his second hug that day, this one being a lot tighter.

“Haha, Th-thank you Bee.”

Bumblebee was the last scheduled appointment Rung had that day. Now he was open for walk-ins. He took the opportunity to take a break and brew himself a cup of energeon tea. He was just about to pour in his sweetener when a red, white, and black mech forced the door open, ran in, and started yelling incoherently.

“HE IS HERE. HE IS HERE AND HE HAS FOUND US AND WE SHALL BE CONSUMED BY HIS LUST FOR AGONY!!!!!!!!”

“Woah, woah, WOAH! Hey!” Rung backed up. “Red Alert! Let’s try to settle down!”

“HE SHALL PUNISH US FOR ATTEMPTING TO ESCAPE OUR FATE! I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN AND NOBODY BELIEVED ME!!!!!!”

“How about we just sit down, and you can tell me all about it. And….” Rung looked around the room. “Where is your supervisor?”

“THEY WOULDN’T LISTEN!!! I SAW HIM! I SAW HIM AMONGST THE STARS!!!!!”

Rung pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, jeez— Alright just sit down, Red Alert. I’ll listen to you.”

“Yes! Thank you, Doctor! Thank you!” Red Alert aggressively shook Rung’s hand with both of his, nearly lifting the much smaller mech off the ground.

Red Alert cautiously sat down on the couch, optics fixated on the window. Rung sat down across from him.

“What’s the matter, mate?”

“UNICRON, GOD OF CHAOS AND CONSUMER OF WORLDS SHALL REIN HIS VENGEANCE DOWN UPON US!”

Rung blinked, “Inside voices, Red. I can’t understand a thing you’re saying when you’re yelling like that.”

“OH- I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better.” Rung gestured for him to proceed.

Red Alert cleared his throat, “I was looking out the window at the rear of the ship. And I-I-I saw him, Rung! I saw him! Unicron has followed us!” Red Alert was trembling as if he had just witnessed a murder.

“Red Alert—“ Rung sighed, “we’ve been through this. You’re just seeing Shaula from a distance.”

“No, no it’s not like last time! It’s not a star! I saw something MOVE!”

“Red, did you take your medication today?”

Red Alert stiffly shook his head.

“Do you think we should probably go do that?”

“They only make me take them to shut me up!”

Rung shut his optics, rubbing his temples. “We’re trying to look out for you, Red.”

“No, no, not you too! You’re the only one on this ship who listens to me!”

“And I am still listening to you, Red Alert. But you aren’t well right now. Paranoid Personality Disorder makes it difficult to rationalize. The meds you take help you think more clearly and be less frightened.”

“NO NO NO NO NO! HE IS UPON US!!!”

First Aid suddenly stumbled in. “Come on, Red Please don’t make this difficult!”

Red Alert shoved First Aid over as he barreled back out the door. He could be heard outside, transforming and speeding away. Rung leaped up to stop him, but First Aid was too quick to get to his feet and hold out a hand in front of him.

“This is my job, Rung. You stay right there!” The medic transformed inside the office and drove after Red Alert, scraping the inside of Rung’s door frame on the way out.

“Bloody hell…” Rung murmured.

Red Alert was practically a permanent resident in psychiatric care. Always fearful and constantly on suicide watch. He was SUPPOSED to be working as the ship’s security director, which was a job he used to excel at. But the troubled mech was so shaken by the war that it left him in a constant state of paranoia. The voyage had only been worsening the poor bot’s condition.

Rung was able to finally finish preparing his tea. He sat down and began sipping on his drink, trying to take Red Alert off his mind. It wasn’t long before he heard someone knock on his door.

Rung leaned his head back in his seat, exasperated. “Break is in 2 hours.” He reminded himself before calling out to his next client to come in.

A young fembot shyly poked her head through the door frame, the signature Camien tattoos on her face making it clear who it was.

“Windblade! Please,” Rung gestured towards the couch, smiling. “have a seat.”

The Camien jet sat down in the center of the couch, back straight and shoulders tense.

“Saw Bee earlier today. I won’t go into specifics, but he always says good things about you!”

Windblade nervously laughed. “Yea… Bee is great.” She forced an awkward smile, tapping her thighs with her fingers.

“Was there something you wanted to see me for?”

“I’m just… Checking in on my mental status. Always important to keep both mind and body healthy after all!” She gave another awkward laugh.

Rung raised an eyebrow. “You seem a bit tense.”

“Who? Me? Nooooo, I’m fine! Well I mean, I’m not completely FINE. Why would I be here if I was totally fine!” Windblade responded, still smiling.

“Alright… So, what was-“

“I had sex with Starscream.”

Rung nearly spat out his tea. “…………Come again?” He asked, feeling his spark drop to the pit of his fuel processor.”

“AAARGH! I don’t know what I was thinking!” Windblade suddenly raised her voice. “I felt so awful for him after the incident with Elita. His stay in the med bay was extended due to the assault. I went to visit him in his new room, alone.”

“Please— don’t tell me you did it in the medbay.”

Windblade tapped her thumbs together. “No… I snuck him back to my quarters for the night. At first, we were just going to have a few drinks…”

Windblade explained what happened that night;

She had walked Starscream to her quarters, with him still sore from the two previous attacks.

He walked up to her mirror. He hadn’t seen his own reflection since before the first attack. His armor was covered in scratches. The soft alloy that made up his face was scarred and still very sore. “I look like shit.” He huffed.

“You can borrow some of my makeup if you’d like.”

Starscream’s optics widened. “Really? Where is it?”

“First drawer under that mirror.”

“Ooooh!~” Starscream opened the drawer, seeing various containers of face polish and lip paint.

Windblade walked up next to him. “I think you should use the medicated faceplate polish. It won’t irritate the cuts on your face and might help soothe the pain a little.”

Starscream held up a tube of deep red lip paint, smiling at it. “Mind if I borrow this one too?”

Windblade playfully giggled, “Sure, Star!” She took her entire makeup kit out of the drawer and set it down on her window-seal. Then sat on it with Starscream after she brought two pints of low-grade. The lights in the room were off, save for one lamp. This way, they had a clear view of the gorgeous stars and nebulae that painted the black backdrop of the void.

“You know, as much as I hate this goddamn trip-” Starscream started gazing out at the universe as he rubbed polish around his cheek, “I’ll never get tired of this view. Even the clearest nights on Cybertron didn’t look this spectacular.”

Windblade leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed. “Neither did the nights on Caminus.”

“Ah, yes… forgot about that colony.”

“Windblade furrowed her brow” You certainly wouldn’t be the first.

“Sorry about the whole er…. The whole thing about your planet running out of resources and everyone dying… thing.”

Windblade raised an eyebrow at the red seeker and snickered. “You aren’t very practiced at consoling people, are you?”

Starscream half-heartedly shrugged, looking into a hand mirror as he painted his lips. “Oh, I look absolutely delectable in this color!”

“It does look great on you! You can keep it if you want. I have a spare, anyway.”

“Why think you, darling!” Starscream turned his face from side to side, admiring himself in the mirror. His expression changed for a moment.

“Something wrong, Star?”

The seeker slightly narrowed his optics. “Why exactly don’t you hate me just like everyone else?”

Windblade looked into the mech’s optics. “I guess I just figured you needed someone to have your back.”

“I can take care of myself!” Starscream snapped, immediately regretting it and softening his tone, “But, er… thanks for not despising me, I guess…”

Windblade tilted her head. “Can I be honest, Starscream?”

“What is it?”

“I think you have trust issues.”

Starscream gasped, clutching his chassis in mock surprise, “NO, do I?”

Windblade smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “I can’t exactly say I blame you. But I do think you should try to be a bit more open about making friends. It’s not gonna be as easy making it to Theta-3 with your sanity if you spend the entire trip alone. We all need each other right now.”

Starscream creased his eyebrows and batted his optics. “But aren’t WE~ friends?” He lightheartedly exaggerated.

Windblade laughed. “Yeah, I’d say we are.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the stars. This distance between them seemed to shrink when Starscream slowly turned back and looked into the optics of the other jet. “Windblade…” he started, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yes?” Windblade whispered back.

“Those markings on your face— did you emerge from Caminu’s forge with them?”

“They’re tribal tattoos, actually.”

Starscream softly smiled. “Very interesting! Your pain tolerance must be something to admire.”

“Oh, don’t even REMIND me.” Windblade exaggerated, making Starscream slightly giggle.

“I think they’re beautiful.”

Winblade blushed and bashfully averted her optics. “Th-Thank you!” She mustered up the courage to look back into his optics, softer than she had ever seen them before. “Did you emerge with the black tearstain markings?”

“Yes, and so did my siblings. Faceplate markings are very common in seekers.”

Starscream had thick black markings covering his optic lids, like permanent mascara. Markings known as ‘tear stains’ ran down from his optics to the start of his neck. Markings like this were often considered physically attractive in many cultures.

“You’re very handsome. But I’m guessing you are already aware of that.” Winblade complimented, her spark fluttering.

“I am aware of that, thank you.” Starscream took a long sip of his drink, still looking at the fembot.

The air felt thicker and a subtle scent of pheromones began to emanate from both bot’s bodies. Starscream and Windblade bridged the gap between them, pressing each other lips together. The kiss was far more gentle than Windblade would have expected from Starscream.

Once they pulled apart, both seemed at a loss for words. They stared into each other’s optics for a few moments before going back in for another tender kiss.

Windblade ended her story there, sparing Rung the more intimate details.

“After we— Ahem, did our thing… we lay in bed for a while and shared a joint. He opened up to me a little bit more.” Windblade fiddled with a loose thread on the arm of her chair. “I think there’s a lot more to him than people think.”

Rung shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his one antennae twitching. “……uh-huh.”

“He mentioned he used to be conjunxed with Megatron. Can you believe that? And they were together for a long time, too. I think that relationship really hurt him…” Windblade looked down at her thighs, the memory of Starscream’s lip paint smeared all over them making her blush. “Rung, I know he’s older than me, but I…”

Rung forced a smile, trying to ignore the voice in his mind saying, “Oh good heavens, please don’t say what I think you are going to say, PLEASE.”

“…I think I have deeper feelings for him. But I’ve never had feelings for someone before, so, I’m not sure what to do next. Especially considering who he is…”

Rung’s optics squinted, still forcing a smile. “Oh my god, what have I done? Bumblebee is going to be crushed!” he thought silently to himself.

“I’m also a bit concerned that he won’t want me. I mean, he obviously finds me attractive, but everyone knows he usually prefers larger mechs over fembots.” Her leg restlessly shook, heel tapping on the metal floor. “He said Megatron used to carry him around on his shoulder. Used to call him his Lucky Star… I think Starscream really misses that kind of affection, but I’m not sure I can give it to him. I’m a lot smaller and weaker than Megs, after all.”

Rung scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t think you should rush into things.” He paused for a moment, rubbing his temples. “But I also don’t think it’s useful comparing yourself to someone’s Ex.”

“Yea… Maybe. I guess I’m just nervous about asking him if we could be conjunx enduras, or at least test the waters for a while and see how things go.”

“D-Don’t you think you may be going too fast?”

“Romantic love is so rare in this universe, Rung. I’m not sure I’d want to risk wasting this chance. Would you?”

Rung leaned back, steepling his fingers in thought. “Windblade, it’s perfectly natural to seek romantic connection, especially after facing so much loss. But I think you need to consider what you’d be getting involved with. Starscream, by his own admission, is a rather complex individual. And you can’t enter a healthy relationship based on trying to fix someone who doesn’t want help.”

Windblade frowned, wings dipping slightly. “I’m not trying to fix him. He just…. He just needs someone who believes in him and has his back. I can see that he’s always scared and tries to hide it. He’s spent most of his life being hated and has gone through so much abuse. Nobody else seems to see what I see in him….

Rung slowly nodded. “That’s not a bad start, but are you even sure HE’S ready for a connection like that? The turbulence of his past relationships is not exactly a secret.”

“Uugh! That’s because he was abused in nearly all of his past relationships! He still has chronic pain from his damaged voice box, for Primus's sake!” Windblade snapped. She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry! Sorry… I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“His voice box is damaged? Well, that sure explains a lot. Should’ve been obvious in hindsight.”

“Rung!”

Rung held up his hands a little. “Apologies! That wasn’t appropriate of me.”

Winblade ex-vented. “Look, I get it. Nobody on this fleet likes him. But you’ve personally seen Drift’s reform, as well as Megatron’s of all people. If a monster like Megatron could be a better person— I think… —Then why couldn’t Starscream?”

“Megatron and Drift WANTED help. That’s the difference. Starscream is an extremely stubborn person who refuses help from anyone who offers it. He’s very well known for this.”

“Well then maybe he just hasn’t met anyone who makes him feel safe enough to trust.”

“Windblade…. You can’t fix someone who doesn’t want to be.”

“But- I want to help him. I… I think I’m in love with him. And because of that, I don’t want him to be in pain anymore. I care about him.”

“GOD DAMN IT,” Rung thought to himself, still trying his best to be professional and supportive. He couldn’t lie to his client, she had a few solid points. If Megatron could learn to cope with his issues, then it theoretically should be possible for someone like Starscream. But Rung personally did not have the slightest bit of confidence when it came to that bot. His stubbornness and arrogance were legendary. Rung had also formally diagnosed the seeker with a laundry list of mental illnesses. Narcissistic Personality Disorder, CPTSD, Bipolar Disorder, and whatever the hell else he didn’t have time to test him for. And Primus almighty, was he a combative patient.

Rung gently set his tea aside and clasped his hands together. “I understand. Love is elusive, and you want to bring out the best in him. You’re a good person, Windblade. But I think you need to be approaching this with caution—“

“THE GOD OF CHAOS IS UPON US!!!!! KNEEL AND PRAY THAT PRIMUS HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SPARKS!!!!”

“Oh no.”

“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR FATES!!!”

“Um… What is going on outside your office?”

“HIS TEETH WILL GRIND OUR METAL INTO DUST AND HIS EYES WILL BURN THROUGH OUR VERY SPARKS!!!!”

Rung let out a long, exasperated sigh, “Red Alert.”

Red Alert forced the door open again and ran in, startling Windblade and causing her to jump out of her seat, wings fully extended.

“It’s okay Windblade! He’s harmless! He’s just confused!”

First Aid stumbled through the door again, this time followed by Ratchet and Jazz.

Jazz attempted to rationalize with Red Alert, “Come on, man. We’re your friends! You’ve known Ratch and me for vorns!”

“You two have just been playing me for a fool all this time and you know it!”

“Red, you’re sick! Please come back, we’ll help you!” Ratchet said.

Rung tried to step in. “Now Red, I know you’re scared and frustrated right now. Being medicated will take that away.”

“Sure! But then it will just come back? Won’t it?! This is the real me, Rung! And I’m not crazy!”

Rung could see First Aid quietly sneaking up behind Red Alert, small syringe in hand. It was the kind used to inject through the neck or a joint. “You’re right, Red. You aren’t crazy, you’re just unwell.”

“JUST SHUT UP, SHUT UP” Red Alert grabbed the sides of his helmet and screamed, curling over on the floor.

Rung, nor anyone else in that room, had ever seen Red Alert get this bad.

Windblade felt obligated to help settle the frantic mech down. She slowly approached him, “Hey, you’re gonna be okay buddy. Everyone here wants to keep you safe.” She knelt next to him.

Ratchet was quick to warn, “Windblade! I know you’re trying to help, but you need to stay back and let us take care of this!” But he said it too late. The moment Windblade placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, his gut reaction was to strike her in self-defense. She was hit directly in the optic and was knocked out. Rung, Ratchet, and Jazz rushed to her side as First Aid used the distraction as an opportunity to jab his syringe right into Red Alert’s neck. The effect was instant, and he passed out. He was unharmed, only having fallen asleep.

First Aid rolled the unconscious Autobot to his back. “I’m so sorry, friend. I didn’t want to do it.” First Aid’s voice cracked.

Rung’s composed demeanor was thrown out the window, “Oh my God! Oh my God- Windblade! Can you hear me?!” He lightly but firmly shook her by the shoulders.

Windblade’s optics were dim and half-open, the injured one was flickering. A little bit of bright pink blood trickled down from it like a tear.

“Shit!” Jazz yelled, “Ratchet, is she gonna be okay?!”

“Everyone get back!” Ratchet pushed Jazz and Rung aside. He knelt next to Windblade. “Jazz, go get more medics while First Aid takes care of Red!”

Jazz left for the medbay without hesitation.

Ratchet took a look at Rung, who was trembling and hyperventilating. “Rung, you look like you’re about to have a panic attack!”

“I-I am having one!”

“Shit— Just go sit down and try to relax, I need space!”

Rung stepped back, his legs threatening to give out from how much they were shaking.

“She isn’t going grey and I can feel her spark beating. She’s alive.”

While Ratchet was trying to take a closer look at Windblade’s damaged optic, a low groan came from her frame to everyone’s immense relief.

“Oh thank heavens!” Rung exclaimed.

Winblade’s optics fluttered open. “Augh! What just happened?”

“You were knocked out. Take it easy.”

“What happened to Red Alert- OH MY GOD! Am I missing an optic?!” She felt around the side of her face that was hit. “I can’t see out of this one!”

“You’re fine!” Ratchet firmly reassured. “It probably just came a little loose. I’ve seen it happen more times than I can remember.”

Her face and the back of her neck were very sore from the impact. Thankfully, the hit wasn’t strong enough to have likely caused serious injury, and it took a lot more than being knocked out to cause real brain damage in a Transformer.

“Hold still, this is going to hurt like a motherfucker.” Ratchet warned Winblade.

“WAIT WHAT ARE- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!”

Within a second, Ratchet had used his thumb to forcibly push her optic fully back into its socket. He released when he felt the ‘click’ from it setting in.

Rung looked away, nearly losing his tea. “Ratchet! Was it REALLY necessary to do that right here?”

“You couldn’t have at least sedated me first?!” Winbladed added, rubbing her optic.

“Sorry— field medic habit. But can you see now?”

“Ugh…” Winblade’s optic blinked open. “It’s blurry but… Yea, I think l so.”

“That’s normal. You’ll be okay, kid.” Ratchet patted Windblade on the back after she sat up.

Jazz and Knockout came back just in time. Ratchet sent Windblade with them to get an optic patch. She wouldn’t need to stay in the hospital, but the optic still needed to be examined in a less chaotic environment.

Ratchet made sure to check on Rung. “You okay, pal?”Rung was still venting heavily. Ratchet held him by the shoulders and rubbed them. “You’re okay, buddy. You’re okay. I think you should take an early break and get some rest.”

“Yea…” Rung took in a deep vent. “Okay... I’ll do that.”

“Need me to get you anything?”

“Plain liquid energon, please.”

Ratchet luckily had a tube of some in his storage compartment. He gave it to Rung, who thanked him. Ratchet stayed with his fellow doctor till he was finished drinking and calmed down.

Rung took Ratchet’s advice and took an early break. He pressed a button on his terminal, changing the sign on his door to read ‘closed’, and list what time he’d be back.

His tea was cold by now, so he quickly drank the rest of it, not wishing to waste the energon. He turned the radio on— anything to help him shake off the lingering anxiety gripping his chest.

The voice of Rewind, who had been substituting for Blaster ever since Iornhide’s suicide attempt, could be heard on the radio. He was saying something or whatnot. Rung wasn’t paying attention, he just needed the background noise.

He set his alarm for an hour and a half before laying down in his bed to take a much-needed nap. It took him about 30 minutes to go into recharge mode, his mind fixated on what he had just seen. He was only able to relax after resorting to his very limited supply of anxiety medication. It was a small tube of liquid that had to be injected into a port on his wrist. It offered near-instant relief.

When he woke up, he didn’t feel very well-rested but knew he didn’t have time to keep recharging. He had slept through his alarm and only had around 20 minutes left of his break.

He turned to his side, reaching for the datapad on his nightstand. He needed to see who his next client was. When he read the next name on the list, he sat up, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it.

[sapphiresaphics]

The reason why I keep bringing up media literacy and bad faith criticisms is because of things like this. Follow along if you can!

^^^———

I saw this post the other day where this person suggested that the reason Vi didn’t get as much character development was because the writers didn’t know what to do with her. That’s a pretty bold statement to make. I’ve certainly not heard any of the writers express that opinion at all. So where did this idea come from? What interview provided us with that look behind the scenes?

Luckily someone asked for a source, and they obliged! And my friends… this gets weirder…

The “source” ends up being this game journalism article:

This is an entire article dedicated to basically interpreting, reframing, and summarizing…. A tweet.

A single tweet by Christian Linke.

An entire article that took his response to a question WAY out of proportion and infused it with more meaning than was intended.

Here’s the original tweet. A user ask’s about VI’s character being less prominent, and his response is basically “we had a lot of characters” which is true. There were a lot of characters to squeeze in appropriate amounts of time for. Vi included. Here’s the original tweet:

It’s really not much at all, is it? This isn’t him admitting they didn’t know what to do with her, or that they abandoned her storyline or anything like that. All he said was there were a lot of characters and as a result Vi got a little less screen time as a matter of fact. Nothing more, nothing less.

But here’s how the game article summarized things:

^^^———

So do you see what I’m getting at here? A fan asks a reasonable question, and Linke gives a very straightforward answer. This is picked up and interpreted by the games journalist reporter and given far greater weight that it deserves, including a flashy headline. People see this and add even MORE of their own personal biases and exaggerated opinions and spread that around… and before long that innocent tweet somehow is “proof they didn’t know what to do with Vi and that’s why her arc was reduced to X thing I didn’t like!”

Swirling around Season 2 of Arcane is this weird game of telephone where with each step of the journey the original message is getting lost and distorted and twisted around. Unfortunately when a quote is this ambiguous, it leaves it open to interpretation. I’ve seen this same tweet be used to explain why every character had “bad writing.”

And the games journalist isn’t technically wrong in their coverage… after all, all they did was post the tweet and then re-summarize the same tweet. But by taking what the fan asked and twisting it into “Arcane lead explains why Vi felt like a side character” as an article headline, they’ve distorted the original interaction and infused it with this twinge of negativity designed to get you angry enough to click on the article.

Arcane Season 2 had a lot of story to tell with a lot of characters. As a result Vi’s screen time was slightly reduced. Doesn’t matter that out of all the characters she has the most screen time across both seasons. Nothing about acknowledging that as a simple fact explains motivations behind the writing of her arc in season 2 at all. It says nothing about her pitfighter phase, her relationship with Caitlyn, or her final battle fight with Jinx and Warwick. But if you were already critical of season 2, this gives you a plausible air of credibility for whatever “reasons” you think they did what they did. And then you just spread this fabrication to the internet where it just snowballs out of control.

So much of the negativity surrounding Arcane Season 2 is the result of this game of telephone and it’s really starting to bother me. And when you label overblown garbage like this as “arcane critical” then I genuinely believe you’re doing this on purpose and you don’t have an original thought in your body. You’re not being critical, you’re just letting your ignorance and biases control everything. This is bad faith argument construction at it’s worst.

[scuttling]

I Can Handle Me A Dangerous Man - Ch 8

Fandom: True Blood (TV) Pairings: Eric Northman/Female Reader or Eric Northman/OFC Word Count: 6,775 Tags: 18+, NSFW, D/s, Making out, tension, oral sex, murder, feelings Summary: Things get complicated. Notes: I just love him 😝

Masterlist

After the night of her attack, things are… strained. Cam isn’t surprised, necessarily, because things between her and Eric have always been one incendiary step forward and three steps back, but that doesn’t mean she’s happy about it. 

They have a history of kissing, flirting, then getting back to business, butting heads, but on this occasion, he even goes so far as to ignore her when she walks up to him one evening at the bar. He’s mid-conversation with a vampire in a dark blue dress, she understands that, but he completely refuses to acknowledge Cam’s presence as she waits, something he has never done before. 

It makes her feel irrational anger, shame, and she orders a strong drink and takes it to the back of the room where she can sulk peacefully.

“How’s the assignment?” Pam asks Cam later as she stops alongside her table. She doesn’t ask how Cam is doing after the attack, for which she’s grateful. Everyone has been doting on her, but she’s ready to put the whole mess behind her and get her head in the game. 

Eric called her here because of reports of an aggressive V dealer in the area, and she needs to scan the bar for related thoughts, proof of their existence. She has no time to deal with her stupid feelings about the hot and cold nature of Eric’s attention.

“It would be easier to track the people who aren’t here for V,” she responds with more judgment than intended, taking a sip of her drink. Pam folds her arms in front of her.

“Does that really surprise you? Humans are gluttonous and greedy. Always looking for instant gratification,” she says with her own critical tone. Cam raises a brow.

She can think of one very such vampire who has been stringing her along for his own gratification… but that’s not exactly true, because she has been initiating, pushing, just as much as he has, enjoyed it all just as much as he did. Probably more.

“And vampires aren’t?” she asks, all the same. Pam takes the seat beside her—this practically makes them besties, Cam thinks sardonically—and scans her eyes over the crowd.

“I never said that. Humans seem to think they are so much more evolved than we are, but when you remove the fine details, we’re basically all the same.”

“Now with that, I agree.” 

“So what’s stopping you, then? From… instant gratification,” Pam asks, glancing over at Eric. He wears a black button-up shirt tonight, and Cam has been thinking about untucking and unbuttoning it for the last hour and a half. She exhales deeply. 

“It’s not like that.” Pam immediately shoots her a look that says ‘bull shit,’ complete with a roll of her mascaraed eyes, and Cam waves her hand before she can go on a full blown rant. “What I mean is, I don’t want instant gratification, and I know that’s all I’m able to have, so I try to refrain.” 

Tries and fails epically, she doesn’t say.

“I think you’d be surprised,” Pam tells her after a brief silence. Her eyes fall to Eric again, and Cam can see the affection there, the loyalty, the care. “Eric doesn’t treat anyone quite the way he treats you.”

She’s not so sure that’s a good thing, even if it’s true. He makes her feel wanted, special, but it only causes her to drop that much harder when the winds of his favor change. It would be easier if he treated her like any other employee, all the time, but their undeniable attraction severely complicates that.

Later the same night, when Cam is doing a casual loop around the room, Eric steps in front of her, blocking her path. She looks up at him, brow quirked in question, and tries to ignore the way her body responds to his sudden proximity.

“Something I can help you with?” 

There has to be something wrong with her, because the way his eyes darken with irritation at her flippant greeting only makes her heart race faster.

“No,” he says, with an edge to his voice, even though she’s fairly certain that’s not the truth. He’s just responding to her attitude with one of his own. “I was coming to see what you wanted earlier, when I was having a conversation with the woman in blue.”

“I didn’t want anything,” she replies, and she can hear in her own voice that she’s being unnecessarily curt, but that doesn’t stop her from carrying on in the same tone. She takes a sip of the drink she’s been nursing the last half hour. “I’m here because you told me to be.” He wets his lips like he’s agitated and looks beyond her, at the clock on the wall, for a long beat before responding.

“Well far be it for me to keep you, if you want to leave.” His voice is frustratingly monotone, unreadable, and she sets her drink down a nearby table. 

“Are you dismissing me?” she asks, crossing her arms in front of her and raking her gaze over his face. His expression gives nothing away, but his eyes slide back down to make contact again. 

“Do you want me to dismiss you?” She says nothing—she doesn’t know what she wants anymore, or what he wants—and exhales deeply, tracks the way he lingers over her neck and chest when she does it. He moves in closer, wraps long fingers around her upper arm and holds her tightly; it hurts the way his kisses sometimes hurt, like their desire is dangerous, and it does nothing to quell the growing arousal that tenses her body. “Do you want me to dismiss you?” he asks again, this time more slowly, and for the first time she fears the wrong answer might actually end these things between them once and for all. 

Sometimes, all she wants is for them to behave normally with each other, but when presented with the option to be the one to put a stop to it, she finds herself completely unable to drag herself away from him. 

“No, I don’t,” she tells him firmly, and he lets go of her arm but grazes his fingers down the length of it, to her wrist. He lifts her hand to his mouth, presses soft lips to her pulse, and releases her. 

“Good. Now tell me what it is you wanted to say.” 

Between Cam’s analysis and Eric’s own conversations, they determine that the V dealer who has been abducting vampires is a vampire himself, and that he is a newcomer to the area who is becoming a frequent flyer at Fangtasia. Eric hates traitors more than he hates greedy opportunists, and he likes to make an example of them, so their apprehension of the dealer has to be swift—and, if he has his way, bloody. Cam has involved Sookie, against his own wishes, because that means Bill is lurking in the corner of the bar, and everyone is aware that lurkers are bad for business. 

Okay, much of their clientele probably loves having a brooding old corpse like Bill on display, but that doesn’t mean Eric is happy about it. Still, with as cold as he has been toward Cam lately—for her own good as well as his—he chooses to let her have anything she wants. 

She and Sookie turn up in little sundresses, block heels, playing the role of good Southern girls looking for a dark vampire adventure. Cam’s is nude, with small leopard spots, and Sookie’s is white, with intricate lace and a deep v-neck; both women are gorgeous, earning looks of interest from humans and vampires alike, but he’s hoping Cam’s unique, captivating aura will catch the perpetrator’s attention, that she can glean something from the way he behaves if he approaches them.

Eric watches her: the determined set of her eyes as she scans the room, the curve of her lips as she sips at a drink that’s mostly non-alcoholic, so she’ll stay sharp, not miss a moment. His eyes linger over the curve of her dress as it clings to her ass, her bare legs, and then he reminds himself that he's trying to be good—a word he passionately despises—and glances away. 

He follows Pam around, listens for concerning conversations himself, but when his phone buzzes with a text message he pulls it out of his pocket and scans the bar for Cam immediately. 

Check out Nosferatu chatting up your friend in blue, she’d sent him, and when he spots her, they make eye contact and she tugs on her right earlobe, a clandestine signal for him to look in that direction and follow up on her tip. 

The vampire she pointed out does have a bit of a resemblance to the pale, bald, very fictional creature she referenced—and he is irritatingly familiar to Eric. Instantly on edge, Eric puts his phone away and stalks over toward that side of the room.

“Something’s wrong,” Cam murmurs to Sookie where they stand beside the bar. It was Eric’s idea that they act as bait for the vampire V dealer, despite Bill’s protests, and though they’ve gotten some interested looks, nothing particularly stood out to her until now. A short, rather pale man—even for a vampire—has cornered the woman Eric spoke to the other night, and while she can’t hear either of their thoughts, the general atmosphere surrounding them is bitter and biting. She doesn’t like the way it feels.

“What do you mean something’s wrong? Everyone sounds— looks fine to me,” Sookie says, scanning the floor, but Cam’s eyes are locked on Eric across the room, as he strides up to the man she suspects.

“Eric isn’t happy. His shoulders are tense, look at him.” It takes Sookie a moment to locate him, but when she glances over the shape of him she shrugs, like she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe the nuances of Eric’s personality, his body language, are simply clearer to Cam than to anyone else. “If I could see his face it would be easier to tell what he’s thinking.” 

“You can’t,” Sookie reminds her, taking hold of her arm to stop her mid-stride. “If the dealer is here and he sees you with him, it’s over.”

“I think he’s found exactly who we’re looking for,” Cam explains as she takes in the tension of his muscles beneath his t-shirt, as she feels for him through the tether. He is thrown off balance, but quietly enraged. Murderous, even. “And I think he’s pissed about it.”

“I have known him for 100 years—he would not dare,” Bill says when Cam and Sookie find him, when Cam points out the bad guy on the other side of the room. Apparently he’s an old friend of both Eric and Bill, someone neither of them had never expected to see in Louisiana again. 

“It’s him,” Cam insists despite his disagreement, her eyes almost pleading, her hand firm around Bill’s wrist. Sookie is both confused and curious about her sudden insistence, the way she’d reached for Bill, and how intense her grip seems to be. 

Sookie has been sharing blood with Bill for a while now, but she’s never felt the effects quite as strongly as this.

“We need to follow them,” Cam says, and it’s then that Sookie notices the three vampires are walking out of the main area of the bar and toward the offices, the bathrooms… the exit to the alley. 

“Do you believe Eric is in danger?” Bill asks, looking seriously down into her eyes, and she shakes her head quickly. 

“No, he can handle this,” she replies confidently, “but I feel like I need to be there. I don’t know why, but I’ll go without you if I have to.”

Bill thinks this over carefully, then reaches for Sookie and lets Cam lead the two of them to the back of the bar. 

“...who you think you are,” Eric is saying as they step into the alley, watching him and the other two vampires from afar. The pale man is on his knees in front of Eric, the female vampire standing him, and Eric looks large and angry and unforgiving where he stands. Cam starts toward him, but Bill pulls her back, keeps her hidden in the shadows even though the others must already know they’re there. “But this is my bar, my territory—and I’ve already shown you mercy once. You know it’s not something I’ll do again.” 

“I did not know,” the pale man says, words tripping over themselves as he says them, like he’s begging Eric to hear them all. Eric raises one hand, silencing the other vampire immediately, and then leans closer toward him, fists his hand into his jacket to hold him still. 

“You know now,” he rumbles, and in one quick motion he grabs the man’s jaw and tears off his head. Sookie gasps at the violence, the blood and gore that sprays all over the pavement, and when Bill pulls her close to him, comforts her, Cam hurries toward Eric and stops to stand at his side. 

Sookie can hear him directing the other vampire to get rid of the head and body, to clean up the alley, and then he takes Cam’s hand and tells her to follow him. Bill offers to take Sookie home, tells her he’ll make sure Cam is okay later, and the two of them quickly head back to Sookie’s car.

“Do you have any idea who that was?” Eric asks Cam as he busts into the office with her and slams the door behind them. 

“Bill only said he’s an acquaintance of yours,” she answers honestly, waiting for the answer to his… it’s excitement, if the resulting tightness of his pants is any indication. She knows violence can turn people on, vampires and humans alike, so it’s unsurprising that someone like Eric would get hard right after a kill; it surprises her more that she feels it too, heat and fire inside her, though it could be their bond turning spark into a flame. Eric turns to face her and licks his lips.

“He’s not old, but he is connected, and to take him down the way we just did…” She flushes hot at his choice of words, we , that he credits her for this as well even though he's the one who did the killing; satisfaction, pride, and power surge through him, through her, and he moves closer then stops in front of her, takes a deep breath. “I want to taste you.” 

And just like that, despite everything, Cam is putty in his hands again, molded by the tether between them and the memory of his mouth, his fingers. She reaches for him, hand resting at the back of his neck, and he kisses her deeply, passionately, then lifts her into his arms and carries her over to the desk. 

Her knees separate easily for him, and he fits his body between them, leaning over her and kissing her mouth raw. He’s quick, eager, palms flat against the desk, but when he tips her head to bare her throat he slows down, glides his lips and tongue over her chin, her neck, her collarbones. 

She doesn't even think to question the way he wants to taste her; if it’s her mouth, if it’s her blood, if it’s the desire pooling between her legs, she’ll give it to him happily. Whatever he wants, she’ll give it to him.

“Lean back,” he guides, his voice thick and undemanding, his eyes so blue and heavy with longing. He presses a palm to the small of her back as she puts her weight on her arms to support herself, then ducks down to trail his mouth along the softness of her inner thighs. 

They move together wordlessly; she arches against him, lifts her hips as he cups her ass, as he pulls her panties down her legs until they gather at her ankles, then fall to the ground. Strong hands push her dress up around her hips, and he slots his broad shoulders between her thighs and mouths at her, slick tongue slipping through her wetness and making her gasp for breath. 

She focuses on holding herself up as he licks her, kisses her, probes inside her with a greedy tongue. This has never been the easiest way to climax, for Cam, but it’s like Eric can tell exactly where she wants the pressure, where she wants to feel him, needs to feel him. She lets her head fall back at the pleasure, lifts a hand to tug softly at his hair, and he moans against her flesh, making her legs shake with the vibration.

It doesn’t take long for his capable mouth to bring her off, not with his fingers spreading her open like a feast, teasing all of her tender, sensitive spots; he strokes one over and over that would have made her scream if it weren’t for his big hand snaking up to cover her mouth as she comes.

He moves up to kiss her after, sharing the taste of herself with a warm, wet tongue, and she nuzzles against his chest when they part, feeling secure and satisfied when his arms wrap around her body.

It’s no fucking wonder she can’t bring herself to walk away.

Eric gets the text at 1:30, on one of Cam’s rare nights off.

We ran into a feral vamp at Merlotte’s. Bill caught him outside but he got the drop on him and took off. I’m going to Buffy this bitch. Just letting you know.

“Goddamnit,” he groans, dropping his phone onto the desk in frustration. “I need to leave for a while.” 

“Your little girlfriend get kidnapped again?” Chow asks, and Eric shoots him a deadly look, silencing him immediately. He really needs to get better acquaintances. 

“She’s going after a rogue vampire because Bill Compton couldn’t handle it.” And with skills she only learned because he wanted her to take self-defense classes after the last incident. He should have known that would only empower her to make decisions like these, like going after sick, strange vampires without him, with only Bill and Sookie as backup, which is essentially the same as her being on her own. 

It was foolish of him, but lately half of his decisions are bad ones, made with things other than his rational mind. He’d blame Cam, but it’s his fault, really; she can’t help that she’s perfect, bewitching, that she draws him in no matter how many steps backward he tries to take.

When he tracks them down in the woods, it’s just Cam and Sookie, but the scents of Bill and the other vampire linger in the air. Sookie looks utterly unprepared for the events of the night, in a yellow checkered dress that makes her seem like a Southern Barbie doll, and Cam looks beautiful, in all black: t-shirt, slim pants, boots with a heel. 

Beautiful and bloody, a distinction it takes him about half a second to notice.

He walks past Sookie and raises his eyebrows at Cam, who lifts her arm to show him the thin trail of blood that begins near her elbow and ends halfway down her forearm. It’s only a few drops, but enough to get the stranger on her tail and away from the other woman, if that’s what she intended.

“I’m fine. It was bait,” she explains before he can ask, and he’s pleased to know he correctly understood her motivations. He takes her hand, moves slowly so she can pull away if she wants, because this is new; when she doesn’t back away, he leans in and licks from the base of that pooling blood, slowly up the length of her arm. She stands perfectly still in his grasp, her breath quickening, and he presses a kiss to her wound, then looks into her eyes as she watches it heal.

He’s been doing this over a thousand years, healing wounds almost as long as he’s been inflicting them, but the way she looks at him like it’s a miracle is going to be his undoing.

“I assume Bill has finally captured the other vampire,” he says after a moment, not looking away from her eyes, and Cam nods her head. “I should go back to the house and help him deal with it.” 

“We’ll be right behind you,” she says, conveying desire and gratitude through their bond when he lets go of her arm. “We came here on foot.” He agrees to that and exits, running toward the glowing porch lights of Bill’s house so he can give the vampire a piece of his very rational mind. 

“You let him drink from you,” Sookie whispers harshly as they walk through the field that leads to her house. Cam sighs, irrationally frustrated that she can’t even enjoy the memory of Eric licking the blood from her skin in peace. Horny peace.

“He didn’t bite me, he cleaned it up. It’s different. And there’s no sense letting good blood go to waste.”

“Oh, does he clean up every human who works for him when they bleed?” Sookie asks, faux-innocent, and when Cam flounders for an answer, she grins as if her point has been made. ”I didn’t think so.”

“Please stop trying to warn me away from him, Sookie—” She’s heard it all, from Sookie and, to a lesser degree, from Bill, and she knows the risks associated with… Eric—both their working relationship and whatever it is they’re doing the other half of the time. Sookie surprises her by raising a hand in supplication.

“Whoa now. I’m through trying to warn you, believe me. You took that job, you drank his blood, you’ve made your bed. I’m happy to let you lie in it.” She moves her hands to her hips, a Southern motherly gesture if Cam’s ever seen one, and then cautiously looks over in her direction. “So… have you?”

“Have I what?” Cam asks, eyes narrowed curiously. Sookie blushes a little and turns away. 

“You know. Laid in bed with him?” 

Technically, she has laid in bed with him, but she knows Sookie is talking about sex… and while they’ve covered a lot of ground in that area, she understands that’s not what she means.

“No, it’s not… It’s not like that,” she explains, but it sounds weak to her own ears. They haven’t fucked, exactly, but it is definitely like that . They just haven’t been stupid enough to cross that boundary yet.

Sookie looks at her again, and she’s not reading her mind, but Cam supposes she doesn’t have to to know the truth. 

“Mmhmm.”

When they walk into Bill’s house, the stranger is already gone—most likely dismembered, now a part of the roaring fire—and Bill stands by the fireplace, his tense back toward Eric and the door. Sookie goes to him, ducks down to whisper to him, and Cam takes her usual position next to Eric, looks up at him with curiosity. 

“It’s done, and we’re needed at Fangtasia,” he says, reaching out to press a hand to the small of her back. “The two of you are welcome to join us,” he adds louder, for Sookie’s benefit, and she looks up at him with a frown.

“No thank you,” she responds after a moment, lips morphing into her usual sweet smile. “I think we’re going to stay in tonight.” She’s playing into politics, being uncommonly courteous, and Cam guesses that means Eric and Bill had a very strained conversation. Eric nods, seemingly unaffected either way. 

“Very well. Thank you, Bill, for dealing with this unpleasantness for me.” He waits, pointedly, until Bill turns to face him with an answering nod, and then continues. “But next time, I expect you to take better care of my investment.” 

He turns away on a swift heel, heading for the door, and Cam shoots Sookie an apologetic smile and follows behind him. 

“I told you, your investment is fine,” she says when she catches up to his long strides, and she puts plenty of emphasis on the word. Is that all she is to him, after everything?

He opens the passenger’s side door of his SUV but blocks her from climbing into it.

“You had to offer yourself up to a starving vampire to do what he couldn’t do. Bill should have been more than capable of protecting you; he would have been, if he weren’t so hung up on Sookie’s every move.” Cam rolls her eyes—did he really expect Bill to prioritize her life over his actual true love?—and holds her hands out as if begging him to get a grip.

“I’m glad he took care of her before me. That’s what I wanted.” 

Almost as soon as she says the words, Eric is in her space, his face so close to hers she can make out flecks of silver in his molten eyes.

“It’s not what I wanted.” His gaze flicks over her face, and he wets his lips, but just as quickly he exhales and steps back so she can get into the car. “Let’s go.”

After a few silent minutes—silent because Cam thinks this is just a tantrum he’s going to have to wear himself out with—Eric pulls the car over and parks on an overlook that gives them an excellent view of swamp, stars, and not much else. Eric gets out and stands at the front of the car, and she follows because she’s always going to follow him, until the day he tells her to go.

“I thought we were needed at Fangtasia,” she says quietly, crossing her arms in front of herself. The gesture isn’t standoffish, this time, but self-soothing. 

“Not immediately, and I needed some fresh air.” It’s all he says, and she thinks maybe this is him cooling off, wearing it out, so she takes a few long breaths beside him and lets him take it in.

“The earth smells so good this time of year,” she says eventually, breaking the silence almost like a peace offering. Slowly, he looks over at her. “Do you know what I mean? Like rain and sun and new growth; I’ve never noticed it before.” 

“It could be my blood, sharpening your senses,” he reminds her, and she nods her head.

“If it is, then I’m grateful,” she says, and she truly means it despite her confusion about everything else. “Do you enjoy the smell of the sun? The way the pavement stays hot even when it gets dark? Does it remind you of being out in the light?” 

Eric shrugs, a gesture that seems so out of place on this confident, powerful man.

“Most of the time I find it unremarkable; just signs of the time. When you come to me just after sunset, though, and I can smell it lingering on your skin…” He looks down at her hand, then takes it in his, angles his body toward hers. “It’s been a very long time, but when I imagine a warm, sunny day, I think of you.”

That brief moment of vulnerability means more to her than she knows how to articulate, and she decides maybe the only way to respond is with vulnerability of her own. She ruminates over words she never thought she would say.

“If I were really hurt, or dying…” she begins, and he gently squeezes her hand.

“Would I turn you? Yes. If you wanted me to,” he adds, and briefly she’s shocked to consider he might imagine a world in which she didn’t want that. She exhales softly, chews on her bottom lip.

“Do you think I’d still be able to hear things?” Her voice is smaller this time, and like he can decipher this stream of consciousness he moves nearer, so that it’s almost uncomfortable to hold hands the way they are. His gaze is sure and serious as he crowds her against the front of the car. 

“I’ve never met a vampire who could—but until you and Sookie, I’d never met a human who could, either. I really can’t say.”

“If I couldn’t hear, would I still be important to you?” she asks with great difficulty, and he leans in and brushes her hair back behind her ear. It makes her nervous, waiting for the answer to the question she has been thinking since the first night she agreed to do business with him, but it’s something she needs to know.

“Would I keep you? Yes. If you wanted me to,” he murmurs, and though she can feel through their tether that both of them long for a kiss, he drops her hand and walks back to the car. He opens her door for her and closes it behind her, then climbs in and drives off in the direction of Shreveport once again.

They weren’t really needed at Fangtasia; Eric said that to get away from Bill, so he didn’t have to look at his face and furiously rehash their argument in his head the entire night. All Bill could do was make pathetic excuses that started with, “I’m sorry, but Sookie… ”  

Ultimately, Eric got his point across without violence, telling Bill in no uncertain terms that Cam was never to be put in harm's way while under his care again, or he would raze Bill’s whole life to the ground. Bill turned away to burn the rest of the body, tail between his legs, and then the women were back and all Eric wanted to do was take Cam and get out of there. He needed to be alone with her, to feel for himself that she was safe and unharmed.

He didn’t intend to bare his soul to her, his… heart, never imagined she could have wanted those things for herself: to be turned by him, kept by him. It’s thrown him for a loop, and for several days he’s been careful to limit their interactions, to stop staring at her when she’s at the club, to stop finding excuses to touch her or kiss her or challenge the dynamic between them.

He comes across a business opportunity, however, for which he needs her gift, so he goes up to her where she chats with bartender Darren and lays a careful hand on her lower back.

“We’re going to make a deal with some humans. I need you,” Eric says, loud enough for Darren to hear. Darren lifts a curious brow, but he doesn’t know about her gift, maybe never will—Eric has been strangely private about their arrangement lately, very business-like and quiet—so she just excuses herself and lets Eric lead her toward the VIP section where his guests are seated. 

He fills her in on the deal on the way, something about equity in a condominium being built in Shreveport, and when he takes his usual seat upon the throne-like chair, she curls onto his lap, the best way they’ve found to communicate in a situation such as this. She listens carefully as they discuss the arrangement, compares it to the thoughts streaming through the head of the man in charge, as requested.

“He’s low-balling you—$50k or so,” she whispers into Eric’s ear, running her fingers through his hair in an attempt to look casual, like she did at Melanie’s. 

“Arrogant or just stupid?” he asks under his breath, and when she hesitates he turns his head in her direction, looks up at her with curious eyes.

“Both,” she says, though she instantly regrets it. “He thinks you’re… distracted,” she finally says, skimming her fingertips over the curve of his jaw.

It’s an understatement, and projection: all the man can focus on is her bare legs, how close they are to Eric’s crotch, how easy it would be for the vampire to get rid of the clothing between them and thrust…

“Hmm,” Eric murmurs, and she almost thinks he’s reading her mind now, catching the replay, the highlights. “He’s jealous. He wants you.” Her breath hitches, because yes, the man’s thoughts were carnal, and she didn’t want to tell him that because she knew exactly what he’d do: taunt this petty business partner and drive her crazy in the process. The hand not holding her around the waist slides over her knee, along her bare thigh, stopping just beneath the slit of her skirt. “I think you’re being dishonest, Randy,” he projects at full volume. “And I hate dishonesty, don’t I, sweetheart?” 

She nods because she can’t think of what to say, how to address him in this context, this role, in front of these people; he put her on the spot, and she’s not uncomfortable, but she needs his guidance. Like he knows, Eric removes his hand from her leg, slips it around her throat, tilts her head so she’s looking down at him and only him. 

“I’m a bad man when people aren’t honest with me. I hurt people,” he coos, and she licks her lips, all but hypnotized by the eye contact, the fingers pressing against her neck. “I’d hate to have to hurt someone in front of her, Randy.” He pulls her closer, and she goes easily, willingly, pliant like putty in his hands; their mouths meet for a kiss, and Eric deepens it to something wet and messy, with lots of tongue and teeth for show. 

It sends aching waves of need over her body, but when he pulls back, she’s able to catch her breath and remember that it’s all just a game. Eric swipes his thumb over her slick bottom lip and rests his hand on her thigh again before turning back to the business man and his crew. 

“Final offer, gentlemen? There’s something I desperately need to do.” He squeezes her leg on the last syllable, guiding his fingers past the slit of her skirt, and she silently begs these assholes to get on with the deal so she can get out of this beautiful, confusing, stubborn vampire’s lap. 

Randy inhales deeply, shifts in his seat, and raises his offer by $75,000. Eric stands up and sets Cam down gently in the chair he vacated, shakes the man’s hand booming words of agreement and business well done, and then they leave and Eric and Cam walk away with Pam, striding down the back hall.

Cam is a little embarrassed; she hadn’t even realized Pam had joined them.

“You were so good,” Eric says in her ear as they walk toward the office, his body close behind hers, chin hooked over her shoulder, his fingertips on her waist. “So good, Camila. You got me more than I wanted. Brilliant girl.”

“Yes, yes, she’s amazing. I don’t have to be back here for this part, do I?” Pam drawls from behind them. Eric stops in his tracks, his hands falling to Cam’s hips so she’ll stop too. “I could use a drink and some eye candy that’s actually on the tasting menu.” 

“Yes Pam, you may be excused. Go find a pretty little thing to eat,” he calls over his shoulder, and with a wicked laugh and a toodle-lo they’re alone — or, nearly alone, the door to Eric’s office the only thing standing between them and peaceful silence. 

They enter, and he closes the door behind them, then walks around the desk and pulls the chair out from under it.

“I want to give you more money,” he says, and he opens a drawer and produces a wrapped stack of bills, $10,000 in hundreds. Cam furrows her brow, confused.

“I don’t need more money.” 

“Everyone needs more money,” he says, almost with a laugh, but she holds up a palm so he’ll see that she means it.

“No, I’m really all set. Thank you, though. It’s a generous offer.” 

Looking almost equally as confused, he drops the money back into the drawer and closes it, stepping around to the front of the desk.

“What would you like, then? As a bonus—you were really perfect out there for me,” he adds, his voice low, and she has to hold firm or she’ll let the praise go to her head and walk out with thousands of dollars burning a hole in her handbag.

“I don’t need anything, but I’m glad I could help you. It’s what you hired me for.” 

Hired seems to be the magical word that breaks them both of the post-kiss haze, and Eric crosses his arms, his expression serious. Suddenly he’s back to the strangely stoic version of himself she’s been seeing more of the past few weeks.

“I know I have been pushing the boundaries of our business relationship lately. I want to make sure you know I value you.” 

“Thank you,” she says, and she knows he means it. She doesn’t need his money to know she’s important to him—or important enough to keep around for the time being, at least.

“I could take you out for a fantastic French dinner. Buy you a bottle of wine older than Bill Compton? There must be something you want,” he says, imploring this time, something he just doesn’t do; she doesn’t know how to handle it, isn’t sure she can be as vulnerable now as she was leaning against the hood of his car.

“Wanting is dangerous,” she says eventually, even tacking on a half-smile. “I’m happy with what I have now.”

“I never stop wanting,” Eric counters, and as he moves closer to her she finds her will fading, weakening with each step he takes.

“Does that speak to your character or your species?” she asks, breathlessly, trying to bait him into more banter, but he doesn’t play along this time.

“You don’t want this?” he asks, his voice a whisper, and then he tilts her head and glides his lips over her jaw, down her throat. Her breath hitches when he scrapes his teeth over her pulse—no fangs, just teeth—and when he presses his hips against her she can feel him stiff and thick in his pants. 

She wants to grab for him, to rip off his clothes and lick and kiss and bite every inch of his perfect body, wants his hands and his mouth on her, wants to be his , but that way lies madness and she’s not stupid enough to risk everything they have now for everything they don’t.

“You know I do,” she murmurs instead of saying all those things, and he pulls back to let her look at him properly, without his mouth on her skin distracting them from the present. “You must feel it.”

“Then why pretend you don’t?” He asks the question like it makes no sense to him—and for someone who has been leading with his wants, his desires for a thousand years, maybe it doesn’t. Or maybe he just doesn’t understand how deeply she feels for him, even now.

“Because it doesn’t end well for me. Because I care about you,” she says, her voice soft and unguarded, and despite his cold reply, she can feel him ache through their bond when he hears her words.

“You shouldn’t.”  

“I know,” is all she can say, because she has gone over the same thoughts on her own for quite some time now. It’s her own fault for giving in to all of the delicious offers Eric makes, for letting his words get to her the way they do. She knows that, too. “That’s why I can’t do this anymore, this tug of war, this back and forth. I can’t see you and not know if you’ll make out with me or–or treat me like an employee. I can’t put my personal life on the back-burner because I’m always sitting around waiting for you to decide whether or not I’m worth it.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to work for you anymore, or that I don’t want to see you… just that I can’t have you on my lips and on my skin without knowing if I’m just a pawn in a game you enjoy playing, or if I mean something more.”

Eric looks over her face, but says nothing, and she decides it’s time for a sensible exit, before she can say something she may not be able to take back. She steps away from him, then heads for the door, but she pauses before closing it behind her. 

“Can you please send Bill and Sookie the wine? I think it’s their anniversary tomorrow.” He nods his head, and she slips out the door and back into the chaos of the bar.

[durgeapologist]

Saw a post complaining that a companion gave too much feedback about Solas to Rook and I was kind of on board with the criticism thinking it was about being spoonfed info but then the rant ended with a snide "I romanced him you didn't so shut up, you'll never know him like I do" and it honestly rubbed me the wrong way. You're playing ROOK. Rook can't see Solas through a romanced Lavellan's eyes. They don't have the events of inquisition to go off of? Idk they lack of distinction between player and character rubs me the wrong way with a lot of Solavellans who dump on Rook. And I feel like that's a big factor in general I see in DAV criticism. That people don't like that people in game keep telling Rook about Solas but honestly I never thought it was a big deal and in a way those are actually good perspectives to have since only viewing him through the romanced lens gives you a very rose tinted window into the man's mind and you don't get to really see how other people are affected by him. Can it be tedious at times to sit through a breakdown of something you just saw? Sure, I can see that, but when they add "I know him better than you ever will because I played Solavellan" it kind of just comes off as them being mad that people were negatively affected by their pookie-bear. Even then it's just the lack of self-awareness or even narrative awareness. Like, I'm sorry not everyone in the fictional universe is privy to your internal perspective that you got from playing the Solavellan route? That Solas had an impact on the wider scope of people he interacted with and not all of the impressions he made were positive? I kind of hate it because I'm a Solasmancer myself but I feel like I don't have many people in the fandom to talk to because they treat it like a dating sim.

OH GOD ANON I THINK I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU.

“only viewing him through the romanced lens gives you a very rose tinted window into the man's mind and you don't get to really see how other people are affected by him.”

“solas had an impact on the wider scope of people he interacted with and not all of the impressions he made were positive.”

^^^^ these have always been my two biggest critiques/points when i talk about the culture surrounding the solavellan ship but also, by proxy, solasmancer culture as a whole (bc some dreadrookers take this mantle up, as well). seeing him as simply yet another romance option, and only seeing him through the lens of his romance, causes a LOT of missed (and absolutely necessary) context and nuance to his character as a whole.

people who don’t romance him, ie. people who have never/will never romance him, are just as valid in their interpretations of him because 1) his friendship path is just as important, and 2) it’s quite literally how everyone else that isn’t a romanced lavellan across thedas sees him in-world. even rook. he has made now over a decade’s worth of modern impressions on those around him, and building on what you said, it’s so very likely a majority of them were not, in any way, positive. especially in the years following trespasser, when he is actively in survival mode and being hunted down cross-continent.

solas comes across as callous and uncaring, or rather— fronts as callous and uncaring to those he doesn’t view as his equal. it was painfully obvious in dai, and even more so in dav with the expansion we got on his character. he is goal-oriented, has a one track mind, and has made plenty points in proving that he will stop at nothing to achieve said goal, all the way up until the end of act 3 in dav.

refusing to acknowledge those characteristics or those very valid viewpoints from others, and instead dismissing them because “well i romanced him so i know him best and therefore i am superior in my knowledge of the depths of his arc” is so shallow in a way that i can’t even begin to describe. at least, no better than you already did, anon.

if you EVER want someone to talk to about this, please dm me. i am obsessed with takes like these and could talk for hours about unromanced solas and how his redemption arc is so much more meaningful when looked at thru an unclouded lens.

eta bc some weird asks are coming my way: i am a solasmancer??? lmao??? hello??? take one look at my account and you will see that. i am just not of the opinion that his romance is integral to understanding his character, whatsoever, either for solavellan OR for dreadrook, or any other solas ship. he is his own character with his own arc and growth/decline/development that happens WITH or WITHOUT a romance. bro needs a friend sometimes, and he is also a morally flawed, egotistical villain. WHO I LOVE!!! i just refuse to make excuses for him or whiddle down his entire persona to his romantic potential. that is all!! can't believe this is in debate pls my rook and solas are definitely together! he is just more than a love interest. and that is A GOOD THING to admit.

[alibiblu]

My Opinion on Loona’s Character

I’m gonna be honest, I really don’t like Loona. Like, obviously I’m not a “fan” of the show and I’m mostly just critical, so there’s a lot of characters I don’t like. But there’s a difference between not liking a character and disliking them. For example, Niffty is cute and has a funny personality, I like her. I think Beelzebub has interesting elements, but I wouldn’t say I like her because my negatives outweigh the positives. But characters like Loona, Stolas and Angel Dust; I dislike them, not just the way they’re written, but like, they genuinely piss me off when they’re on screen.

Don’t get me wrong, I think in concept Loona’s a pretty cool character, but her personality is SO unlikable. She’s like, that white girl who pretends to be all woke, but then straight up call you slurs and treat you like you’re overreacting when you call her out.

Idk if that makes sense, but that’s the vibe she gives me.

And I mean, I get it, it definitely feels like girl characters can often be demonized for being a little mean or even just stern in a lot of media. (Octavia) And I get that Loona had a shitty childhood and obviously isn’t gonna be this perfect flawless character, and she doesn’t have to be! But here’s the thing:

You still need to hold your characters accountable for their actions if you want to communicate that your character did something wrong. Because for a lot of flaws in these characters, the show just straight up doesn’t acknowledge these actions and treats them like a joke. Which makes it seem like the show doesn’t see what they did as bad.

And yeah, they’re in Hell, so it’s fine to have some dark comedy about violence and stuff I guess, if that’s what you’re going for. But don’t treat a character flaw as a joke and then turn it around like “Oh, this thing actually was traumatic for the person affected!” then TREAT IT THAT WAY WHEN IT HAPPENS! Not in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it compilation that shows it visually as a serious thing when the actual moment it happened in was a joke!!

That’s why that mafia episode was so tonally confusing, it couldn’t take itself serious for two seconds! If you want people to take a character’s trauma seriously, then you need to take it seriously. No interrupting the drama and/or lore for some stupid dick joke, let the scene breathe.

But back to the original point, Loona, like many other characters in these shows, would work so much better if she actually, genuinely grew from these mistakes.

But what Vivienne fails to realize, is that in order to have a character grow from their flaws, they need to acknowledge them, and by extension: the SHOW needs to acknowledge them. Don’t just have the character mope and feel sorry for themself, don’t have the show make us just feel sorry for them like Stolas: don’t throw a pity party and use that in place of self-awareness and actual accountability.

You need to have the show go out of its way to show that:

They’re doing something wrong.

This is why it’s bad.

This is why it happened.

And this is how it’s affecting people.

But with Loona, her actions aren’t taken seriously pretty much ever. And this would be fine if they didn’t imply she traumatized Blitzø in a scene that treated it like a joke. If they didn’t want to portray her as a character that “Has her issues, but is learning to overcome them” because again; a character can’t overcome their issues if the show doesn’t even take these mistreatments of others seriously or call the person out for their actions.

I’m not saying Loona needs to be perfect to be sympathetic, just give her some natural feeling self-awareness, not just the Near-Death-Experience shortcut. It feels kinda lame to just throw that bandaid on their relationship instead of actually taking the time to develop your characters properly.

And I’ll be real, the scenes with her and Blitzø are sweet, but they could be so much better! Imagine if, like a distrusting, abused dog, she sometimes attacked him (like in the show) when she felt threatened, which happened easily since she has a lot of negative triggers. Blitzø just sees this as roughhousing, even when it leaves scars, and (like in the show) he doesn’t know how to put his foot down. But when he finally does, she gets genuinely angry, being very sensitive to rejection, and not at all used to hearing this from someone who loves her, nor used to being loved at all. And that in a moment of instinct and rage, genuinely injured him more severely, and she immediately regrets it when she sees the fear in his eyes that used to be found in her own. This is the moment she realizes “Oh my god, I just injured the only person I that’s treated me as family. I’m just repeating the cycle.” And starts second guessing herself, beginning her growth.

This is I think the best way to handle the fight they had in Seeing Stars. Hold her accountable, have her actions mean something. In fact, having her actions suddenly be serious after them being seen as comedic in the past would make it so much more impactful.

(Yes, I know I said you shouldn’t suddenly take things seriously when you haven’t been, but the reason that pissed me off is because it didn’t genuinely take it seriously or even imply it was wrong at the time. It was just a quick implication that it caused Blitzø trauma, but they don’t do much outside of that)

I think it’s the right move to have her start out as genuinely unlikable and shitty to people before slowly developing throughout the show. They sort of do that, but they skip a lot of very important steps with her. The show sort of wusses out of actually giving her actions genuine acknowledgment and instead kind of coddles her. They treat her like a confused teenager who’s just going through some shit, but she’s an adult. This woman can drive, this woman can buy a car, order alcohol and go to college, she’s got no excuse.

Yes, she’s traumatized, but that doesn’t mean her actions don’t affect people.

[theadhddimsenion]

why the “being from hell is just an excuse” argument pisses me off!

my personal thoughts on why this argument is deeply flawed.

Look the hellaverse is no stranger to moral grey areas and complex situations. But I have come to loathe this bullshit argument because more often than not it in of it’s self is a excuse to deny the fact any character you may not happen to like not like and scrub away the nuance of any given situation like steel wool.

speaking personally as a neurodivergent individual I have never really understood what makes something an excuse vs a reason and if any neurotypical can explain it to me in the comments I would appreciate it because from my point of view the only difference between a reason and a excuse is that an excuse is simply any reason someone doesn’t happen to like which leads me to why I think this argument is flawed and too often used in bad faith.

point number 1 is that this augment fails to take into account the damage that a bad environment can have on a person. Let’s take the arguably biggest victim of this fallacy blitz. He’s the one to actively say it and people immediately jumped on this bandwagon of interpreting this as him deflecting criticism but I always interpreted it as him asking “why me specifically?” To which veroskia doesn’t answer she instead insults him. She never proved his argument wrong or even came up with a counter argument so I’m inclined to believe that she doesn’t actually have a way to prove him wrong and speaking of veroskia I would like to note something very interesting. Nearly all of the characters who say that hell doesn’t have to be shitty are generally in positions of power or have been in positions of power ei privileged. Veroskia the pop star, stolas the prince and who can forgot the most sugar sweet princess of hell who had an entire arc about learning that she isn’t acknowledging the reality of hell around her and for veroskia specifically in addition to her pop star status it’s possible and even likely that concubi like her are higher on the food chain than imps so what would any of these characters know about dealing with the reality of hell? Now that I think about it this argument Begins to feel like elitist dogma. “The poor are using the fact that have barely enough money to pay for their basic needs as an excuse for not making enough money”

Point number two. “But there characters who aren’t assholes in hell!! So that makes being in hell an excuse!!!” Yeah sure just because there are exemptions doesn’t make the rule invalid or nonexistent. For every demon that might have a rainbow inside them there will be a thousand more that have nothing inside them besides selfishness and malice. For cripes sake Millie’s family treats murder like a hoppy and drug dealing is a legitimate business along side Assassination!!

point three. “But but but admitting your not perfect is whwh what quarmire did so it’s ok to be a self righteous hypocrite!!” Look pal yeah admitting that you have a problem is only the first step and not everyone gets past that but what’s the last time you saw a self righteous hypocrite look in the mirror and say “I don’t want to be like this, not forever”?

the point I’m trying to make here is that while yes being from hell isn’t nesscraily a free pass to be an absolute asshole to everyone but if you just call it an excuse you essentially say “no deeply rooted phycological issues don’t matter and neither does being from a place where murder happens every second”. If anyone has any counter arguments please let me know in the comments below.

[mywitchyblog]

weird how a lot of anti-race changers have the automatic defensive saying of “We didn’t choose to be poc! We don’t have an escape from racism!”

yes you do. It’s called permashifting. You can literally permashift to a parallel reality where racism doesn’t exist.

Manifesting. If we can “manifest anything”, then you can just manifest racism away.

you claim to believe we are “limitless” and “all-powerful”, but for some reason you don’t think that’s true when it comes to things like getting rid of racism?

Maybe instead of asking why someone would want to experience being another race, you should question why you don’t wanna get rid of racism when you claim to despise it and how you’re using it to always play the victim.

(While yes, racism is a very horrible thing, that does not excuse you using it to victimize yourself all the time. Also no, just because you’re a poc and someone is rude to you or dislikes you that does not mean it’s racism.)

Clock it, anon.

For the record, I am a POC, and I am not opposed to race-changing.

A lot of the time, when people ask why someone would want to experience being another race, the question itself is fallacious. Why? Because it often assumes ill intent—like fetishizing or sexualizing that race—without any evidence. This is a classic example of a loaded question fallacy. The loaded question fallacy occurs when a question is posed in such a way that it assumes something negative or controversial as a given, without allowing for neutral answers. In this case, people are assuming that wanting to shift into another race must stem from problematic motives, like fetishization, rather than from curiosity or genuine interest.

The reality is, simple curiosity is often the answer—just the desire to experience something different. And let’s be real here: that’s the entire premise behind reality shifting. Everyone is shifting to experience something different from what they do in their current reality. So why is it that shifting into another race automatically raises red flags, while shifting into other identities, species, or even fictional races, doesn't?

This brings us to another fallacy: special pleading. This fallacy happens when people create an arbitrary exception for something they are involved in while criticizing others for similar actions. For example, they might argue that race-shifting is wrong, but it’s somehow “different” or “okay” when they shift into a fictional race or species. The logic simply doesn’t hold up. It’s an inconsistent standard, and that’s why I call it out as hypocrisy.

I’ve said this before in many of my posts on the subject, but this is something that requires a nuanced approach. It’s not black and white, and it definitely isn’t always about ill intentions. There’s a wide spectrum of reasons someone might want to explore shifting into a different race, and dismissing all of them under one negative assumption is not only unfair but fallacious.

Let me say this clearly: I will never take an anti-race changer seriously when they endorse or do the same thing themselves, like shifting into a different species or a “fictional” race. If you’re comfortable shifting into elves, Na'vi, or other fantasy species, then you should also be comfortable acknowledging that shifting into a BIPOC identity isn’t inherently problematic. It’s the same damn thing: both involve exploring different identities and cultures. You can’t just create special rules for yourself while condemning others. That’s hypocrisy, and it’s exhausting.

"Also no, just because you’re a poc and someone is rude to you or dislikes you that does not mean it’s racism" Lol-Good thing i specified that i am POC because i know for a fact that if i did not precised that fact in my race changing essay, people wouldve accused me of being racist because i debunk their arguments and expose their hypocrisy and they cant even do anything beside asking me if i wrote it using chat GPT.

[darcytaylor]

I don’t think you are hateful but you aren’t thinking critically per se either. For the longest time you tryied to deny Nicola’s relationship, trying to cover your behavior as not jumping to conclusions. You take whatever you want to see and use it as false proof to serve your narrative. Up until that point I had really enjoyed your blog but seeing you keep being delusional was so annoying tbh so I stopped following you. I truly hope you don’t do the same in your own life, not picking up the clues and ignoring the facts for as long as you can won’t get you anywhere.

Choosing not to label people I don’t know - and not declaring the status of relationships I’m not a part of - isn’t “delusional.” It’s called being honest. It’s called being careful with narratives that could easily be wrong. That’s not a flaw. That’s integrity.

You want to talk about critical thinking? It’s not parroting whatever everyone else assumes and calling it fact. It’s acknowledging the limits of what we actually know. It’s asking: What if I’m wrong? What if that relationship dynamic wasn’t what you thought it was? What if someone involved was gay? What if they were seeing other people? What if it looked nothing like the fanfiction in your head?

Then what? Do the people who screamed their version of “truth” issue an apology? Or do they just quietly move the goalposts and pretend they never jumped the gun? Pretend they didn't have the potential to hurt real people.

Because I’d rather be the person who says “I don’t know” than the one who pretended they did - and ended up hurting real people with their fake certainty.

So no, I won’t be bullied into rewriting my values to fit someone else’s fantasy. And if you think that makes me delusional?

You might want to sit with the fact that your issue isn’t with my logic - it’s with your need for everyone to see the world exactly the way you do. For everybody to bend to the version of your beliefs.

I will not put romantic labels on people I don’t know. That’s not insight. That's just plain decency.

I don’t put romantic labels on Nicola and Luke - and the Lukolas don’t seem to care. I don’t put romantic labels on Luke and Antonia - and the Luktonias don’t seem to care. But apparently, I must put a label on Nicola and Jake… or I’m the problem? And let’s just clock the hypocrisy real quick: Some of the same people who are mad that I won’t label someone’s relationship, are also the ones screaming not to label Jake’s sexuality (which I will never do because that's fucked up). So which is it? Do we respect privacy and ambiguity, or only when it serves your narrative?

And don’t worry about my real life - I’m doing really fucking well. My boyfriend is fucking amazing, and yes, I will put a label onto my own relationship, because I am the one in it.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Literally lol its called an OC and a faceclaim for a reason lol. And facts, i dont see anyone telling us not to like joe and ja'marr together as a ship 🤷🏾‍♀️ at the end of the day its just harmless fun and its just fiction lol people are so uptight

But on a serious note I can also get where the person is coming from. If the pronouns thing and sexual identity in real life is something they care about (which I dont personally understand but to each their own) then I can see why they felt the need to comment. And they didn't seem like they were meaning any harm. I just think if you don't like something then you can ignore it or block it. But honestly I think everyone needs to just respect eachother cause the amount of disrespect coming from behind a screen is crazy. Ion know you as a person lol but you seem chill and I like your work but you didn't have to be so rude the first time you posted (i say this respectfully 🤣). Now you matching the energy the second time the person commented and accused you of being a bad person is warranted.

Again I just dont understand why everyone cant just be nice or not say anything at all but maybe thats just my belief. Sorry if this offended you but lately I've been seeing a lot of rude nonsense on tumblr (and in my inbox) so im lowkey triggered. Stay blessed tho 🙏🏾❤️

Yeaaaa I’m blaming just a bad series of events that just put me in a mood yesterday, including my period acknowledging its existence.

I was shocked by the message at first, I just wanted to acknowledge that I would never misgender someone for any reason and that it was purely a creative expression.

I’ve never really taken well to illy timed criticism so I just try to stay out of things, but I was as triggered as the anon because they don’t know me and well they really caught me on the wrong day.

I do sometimes come off as a bitch as a defense mechanism but it has nothing to do with the person. Like most, I’ve just been through a lot.

Any other day and I probably wouldn’t have responded or been more lighthearted about it. I’m way nicer than that and even I after the fact realized it was too harsh. My personality isn’t for everyone and that first impression sucked on both sides because they were lowkey passive aggressive the first time and I didn’t like that.

Yep, I’m just a dramatic bitch to protect myself. Plus I hate the anonymous shit. I can’t take shit seriously if you wanna hide behind a screen.

Thank you and much love🩷

[demonqueenart]

Evie, hi! First of all I want to thank you for spending your time and energy to write all those answers and posts. I'm amazed that you're still able to keep them understanding and kind, which makes it much easier to have this conversation. Thank you!

Your frustration with DnP's lack of reaction is justified and the next thing I'm about to say isn't me coming up with excuses on their behalf or telling you to stop talking about it. It just hurts to see a kind and gentle person like you get upset, so I'm trying to give some consolation, but I'm not too good at that, so sorry in advance if I fuck it up.

Please have patience. Not for their sake, for your own. We won't stop trying to make them acknowledge the racism, but it might take some time. Since their comeback our way of interacting with DnP has been kind of a black box - we talk about stuff on different platforms and then they suddenly mention it. So we know they saw us talking, but we don't know exactly when.

The last 2 weeks have been pure chaos: the leak, the rushed announcement, the wrong dates in the promo, the venues not giving enough info or giving wrong info. After tickets went on sale they only had 4 days before they fucked off to have their just-the-two-of-us-ranch-ingredients vacation.

What I'm trying to say is: their current silence doesn't necessarily mean that they saw us talking and chose to ignore it. Maybe they haven't seen it yet, maybe they are thinking about what to do and what to say. Also, unfortunately white people do need a bit of time to go from "this is an unreasonable attack, I'm not a bad person and they are just haters" to "it's not an attack, it's reasonable criticism and I was being the asshole this whole time". I went through this process myself (and you were the one who helped me understand). Sorry it took me that long.

This isn't me saying it's fine that they haven't addressed anything so far - it's not. Just please don't give up hope yet. They listened to us when it came to Palestine, I'm sure they'll listen now too.

Oh, and ignore all the fuckers who are telling you to either leave or shut up. You make the phandom a better and kinder space. I want you here and many others do too. Plus it's not like anyone gets to gatekeep the community in the first place. You have the right to be here.

From beautiful hellscape with love 💜

Anon 🥹 I felt so cared for because of you. Thank you so much 🫂🫂💞💞 I always want this space to be gentle and kind, even when I’m hurt and angry, I still want to understand where everyone is coming from. I believe that everyone deserves to have their voice being heard. Even when our voices clash and don’t always go together, we can still come to a new understanding, try to mend and build a bridge together. Fighting isn’t always the end of things, it’s when two sides trying to express how unfair the situation is so that they can come together.

And of course, you’re right. They might be quite busy as you’ve pointed out, it doesn’t always mean they’re not going to do anything. I think why I assumed for the worst is because this is very much a new territory for them to cross. They have never brought up their racist remarks, never tried to address or take accountability in things. I’m just afraid it’ll end up just like any other time before.

But having you speaking this to me have reassured that I’m not fighting alone in this. In some way or the other, I have cultivated the most understanding and generous people of all who’re willing to support me during the toughest time, and for that, I’m so grateful. Thank you for reaching out and giving me some consolation to reassure me. Your words will not be wasted :) Thank you so much for everything 🫂🫂💖💖