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therobotmonster · 2 days ago

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Saw some of your posts about AI recently, but don't really know very much about you. I have two questions:

1. Are you an actual artist, or do you just do genAI?

2. If you are an actual artist, why do you use/support AI?

We're going to get into this in a minute, but yes, by what you'd likely use as a definition of 'actual artist', I am. I have a BFA in graphic design, a minor in art history, I've been working as a freelance artist either on the side or as my main hustle since 2001, and I've been making art since I was five. Multimedia, 3d modelling and sculpting, photography (in a darkroom type and digital), acrylic painting, illustration, writing, puppetsmithing, I'm a jack of many, many trades.

Because it's a potent force multiplier that lets me do things that I could not previous (as well as helping compensate for my increasingly arthritic joints) and because it's entirely keeping with the copyleft principles I've had since the 1990s. It's just plain interesting and fun. And I had my fill of moral panics in the 1980s.

This is gonna be a long one, enjoy a song while you read.

I've gone over all this many times before, (for full reading, here's the #AI Discourse tag on my AI blog) but the short version is that I agree with the Electronic Frontier Foundation's position on AI art.

To demonstrate, we've got some of my non-AI photobash work, and some of my AI-work of the same type. Both were made using many, many public domain images broken down to B&W lines, scaled, reinked, normalized and colored.

On the left, is a comic made with specific panels from comics that have had their copyrights expire (back when that could happen), on the right, a comic made with about 35 individual dall-E 3 gens. The techniques are the same, the only difference is the source of the pubic domain images.

No one debates whether what I've done on the left is art, yet somehow the one on the right is a problem for some people. Yet I have vastly more control over the latter than the former.

And it's hard to get more transformative than 'broke down into math and blended with literally millions of other math formulas in order to make a completely new image" Replace 'math' with 'memory' and you have how all human creativity works.

Moving to covers, one of my parody deepdream-adjusted comics, and a reinked-recolored AI one on the right. The one on the left no one had a single problem with, but Bruce Wayne and Jessica Fletcher are screencaps, the Specter is a sales photo of a statue with a copy of 1989 Ted Dansen's face, and I'm using direct DC trade dress. Crickets.

On the right, no actual images by humans are used (outside the barcode, comics code authority emblem, and the 30 cent mark.) Same techniques, same situation. Very different reaction.

I also was a young artist in the 90s when Disney and the RIAA bribed and lied their way into extending copyright to its current ridiculous 120 year term, and I recognize what's happening with the anti-AI movement.

The exact same fear-mongering was used to get small artists to rally their congressmen against their own self-interest, and that's what the Copyright alliance is doing now.

Copyright does not help the small artist. It's also a relatively new invention, one that would be baffling to humans through most of history. You can't own art. Not even the people who make it. You can own a canvass or a carved rock or a book, but you don't own the art itself because you can't own feelings or ideas.

Copyright is a limited patent on specific expressions intended (supposedly) to encourage production, a limitation on the business use of art. The arguments levied against AI would kill fanfic, fanart, pastiche, collage, and more.

This isn't a bug, it's a feature, because...

The anti-AI side isn't actually anti-AI, they're pro-regulatory-capture-of-AI-by-Megacorporations. The copyright anti-AI argument conveniently leaves it open for Disney, Warner Bros, Nintendo, Sony, the RIAA, all to make their own AI systems to lower their production costs, because they own more than enough material to make powerful datasets.

They get it, you don't, worst of all possible worlds.

Now, at the start I mentioned that we'd get into the "actual artist" situation. All those people making bog standard waifu-pics with AI? They're also making art. Kids using a spirograph make art. Duchamp's fountain is art. And people who make art are artists.

But more than that "if you're an actual artist why do you use AI?" is an interesting question, because if more people actually used the tech and saw how it works, you'd see a lot less people against it. Most of the anti-AI talking points are just factually incorrect or greatly misrepresent the situation, but nobody is gonna learn that if even using it is treated as a transgress worthy of 'fair game' treatment.

Funny how that works out.

To close out, enjoy one of my music videos, made from dozens of clips made using reference images made with dozens of heavily modified gens that I totally could have made the hard way, except for the lack of 5 million dollars and access to Geena Davis and Ron Ely circa 1982:

youtube

#ai discourse #art and artists #what is art?#copyright alliance #copyleft #copyright #public domain #fair use #my art

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charmedreincarnation · 1 day ago

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MOAB subliminal challenge

(Click links)

The Mother of All Boosters, commonly known as MOAB, is a high-potency subliminal booster originally created by the user ItsaKid (also known as Synergeticboy). Developed over the course of nine months and upgraded in three, MOAB is engineered to serve as the foundational accelerator for any subliminal system, built with both speed and complexity in mind. While multiple versions exist, MOAB 1.0 remains the go-to for those prioritizing rapid, concentrated results. It activates deep neural, energetic, and subconscious layers, effectively removing resistance, integrating affirmations faster, and collapsing the delay between intention and manifestation.

MOAB is structured around a modular design system—each formula is written in code-like expressions, such as {B} = {Topic} or {S} = {Topic[Submaker (Formula)] × Topic[Submaker (Formula)]}. These modules allow users to target specific goals (like confidence, wealth, or void state access) and fuse them together to multiply their effects. The booster works in tandem with these scripts, interpreting them like psychic commands. MOAB 1.0 is optimized for velocity: it initiates a kind of subliminal combustion that prioritizes speed over subtlety, making it ideal for users who are mentally stable and spiritually prepared for rapid transformations.

We will be using 1.0 rather than 2.0 because it focuses on speed. In essence, MOAB 1.0 acts like a raw psychic amplifier. It does not hold back. It is especially compatible with other generative subliminals, morphic fields, or void-based systems. When paired with clean scripting and a clear mental field, MOAB doesn’t just boost results—it warps time around them, often collapsing what would take weeks into hours or days. Due to its sheer intensity, scripting clarity, hydration, and intentionality are strongly recommended. This is not a casual track—it is the Paragon Core for speedrunners of the subconscious realm.

If you’d rather use your own subliminals instead of the ones I picked, you’ll need to learn and research how the module system works on your own. Direct any specific questions to the original creator on Reddit or to ishteham. I just don’t have time to build individual module setups for everyone. :)

The challenge

This challenge is extremely simple and honestly, you don’t even need to overthink it or do deep research unless you want to. I’ve already done the work for you. Everything is set up. The subs are chosen, the formula is written. All you have to do is follow the steps below and stay consistent.

1. Every morning, listen to the MOAB Booster. (Download here)

It’s about 45 minutes long. If you’re short on time, just set an alarm for an hour before you need to wake up, play it, and go back to sleep. That’s it. One listen per day.

Then, throughout the day (and overnight if you’d like), listen to the two subliminals I’ve assigned for this challenge. You can loop them while you work, study, sleep—whatever works for you.

2. Make a playlist called: MOAB Challenge

Add these two subliminals to it:

Infinite abundance by moza mroph

Problem solving by slade

These are your daily subs. Listen whenever you feel called, or just keep them looping gently in the background during the day or while you sleep.

3.important (!!!)

Save this in your Notes, Google Docs, or wherever you track subliminals. DO NOT CHANGE ANYTHING. This is your energetic formula. Just copy and paste it lol.

{S}= {infinite abundance[Moza morph (C.O.D)]} X{Problem solving[Submaker (Formula)]}

{S}= {infinite abundance[Moza morph (C.O.D)]} X{Problem solving[slade (thestral wings)]}

{B} = {Lucid Dreaming}

{B} = {Manifesting}

{B} = {Reality Shifting}

{B} = {Self Concept}

{B} = {Luck}

{B} = {Wealth Building}

{B} = {Mental Health}

{B} = {Void State}

{B} = {Lucid Dreaming(G)}

{B} = {Manifesting(G)}

{B} = {Reality Shifting(G)}

{B} = {Self Concept(G)}

{B} = {Luck(G)}

{B} = {Wealth Building(G)}

{B} = {Mental Health(G)}

{B} = {Void State(G)}

{R}= {Infinite Abundance [Moza Morph (C.O.D)]}

{R}= {Problem Solving [Slade (Thestral Wings)]}

{C} = {MOAB Challenge}

{H} = {Lucid Dreaming}

{H} = {Manifesting}

{H} = {Reality Shifting}

{H} = {Self Concept}

{H} = {Luck}

{H} = {Wealth Building}

{H} = {Mental Health}

{H} = {Void State}

If you’re using your own subliminals instead of the ones I provided, you’ll need to create your own formula and module sheet. If you have questions about how to structure them, I recommend reaching out to the creator directly—@Itsakid has a Reddit community and can explain everything way better than I can. He built the system, so you’ll get the most accurate answers there. But here’s the module explanation.

Final words

The subliminals used in this challenge also work perfectly with the Lucid Dreaming Challenge so if you want to combine both, go for it.

That’s it. I lucid dreamt immediately using this method. It’s simple but powerful especially if you’ve struggled with manifestation, resistance, or stagnancy. The booster handles integration.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #void state #lucid dreaming

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classjezter · 3 days ago

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I just had a terrible thought….

If the Baby Prime au has Transformers One in its entirety as canon…does that mean all the cogless miners had parents that gave up or had their sparklings stolen from them?

Does that mean Sentinel ripped the cogs out of the chests of newborn SPARKLINGS?!?

This got pretty dark huh… answer is not really.

Short answer: in most cases no-cogs weren’t carried, meaning they have no creators, instead they were cold constructed.

Long answer with more lore:

Cybertronian life emerges through two reproductive methods: forging, where sparks are harvested from the Well of All Sparks and put into a protoform to develop. And carriage, which is the least common method of creation, both because of its time demands and its resource cost, but also the most revered. Usually only the higher caste can afford to brink sparklings into the world this way.

And then a third method appeared after the disappearance of the Matrix of Leadership. Cybertron’s natural systems began to fail, and the Well of All Sparks went silent, halting the emergence of new sparks from it. Faced with dwindling numbers, Sentinel Prime introduced a new solution: the mass manufacturing of Cybertronians through artificial means, cold construction.

Cold construction involves the creation of artificial sparks and implanting them into pre-fabricated protoforms. These protoforms are often manufactured in large batches and shaped for specific functions, like soldier, medic, miner, enforcer, etc. This method allowed for fast expansion of Cybertron's populace, but at the cost of individuality. Cold constructs were seen by many as lesser, built to serve rather than to live.

Because the cold construction process is mechanized and impersonal, with protoforms and sparks created and combined in mass-production facilities, flaws in either part of the process can result in frame inconsistencies or functional anomalies. The protoforms aren’t grown naturally but cast, shaped, and assembled, and often rushed through calibration phases. As a result, some Cybertronians emerge with variations or “mistakes”. For example, Jazz’s mismatched optic coloring that impairs his vision, or Prowl’s abnormal neural processing, which results in his propensity to crashes.

Out of this system emerged an even more heavily controlled subset: the no-cog Cybertronians, or no-cogs. Most of the cogless began their life as cold constructs, who during the early development of their protoforms, their T-cogs were manually removed, a process done while their frames are still forming. This intervention not only strips them of their transformation ability, but also stunts their structural growth, resulting in their smaller frames.

#and boom mass produced miners #I’m thinking of also making a visual guide to explain these other methods #maybe later #transformers #transformers one #baby prime #baby prime asks #transformers au #transformers headcanons

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argyrocratie · 3 days ago

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(...)

"Across all of these phases, contrary to the seductive promises of fascist propagandists selling bomb-delivered freedom, what has unfolded is not “pinpoint strikes” on military targets, but the indiscriminate slaughter of civilians, women, and children. As of June 15, at least 600 people have been killed and 1277 injured. [On June 23, as we publish this, the numbers are considerably higher.]

In response, the Islamic Republic had launched over 350 missiles and drones at Israel by June 16. One major strike targeted northern Israel, including Haifa—the strategic industrial core and an energy-logistical hub. Although most of the projectiles were intercepted by the defense systems of the Israeli military and its allies, several reached civilian areas. As of this writing, 24 Israelis have been killed, including four women from a single family.

In this dire situation, the Islamic Republic has not only abandoned a terrified populace—failing to provide even the most basic services such as transparent public information, air raid shelters, or alarm systems—but has also escalated state control: deploying riot squads, erecting checkpoints across cities, and sharpening its blade for executions under the pretext of “spying for Israel.” While this is unsurprising during wartime—indeed, it is symptomatic of the regime’s inability to ensure safety—it carries with it the whispered threat of “hanging traitors from every tree.” Such logic flows naturally from a regime whose very survival depends on internal repression, executions, the militarization of daily life, and relentless regional expansion.

Colonial Representation and the Normalization of War

The “War on Terror”—the imperialist project which unleashed bloodshed across Afghanistan and Iraq at the dawn of the 21st century—has now passed the torch to Israel: a “preventive” strike aimed at containing the Iranian nuclear threat.1 Once again, the dominant media script is repeated: Israel targets only “military sites,” deploying “precision missiles” and “smart drones” to deliver freedom and democracy to the Iranian people.

But this narrative does not address Parnia Abbasi, the 24-year-old poet killed in Sattarkhan, Tehran. It makes no mention of the murders of Mohammad Ali Amini, the teenage taekwondo athlete, or Parsa Mansour, a national padel player. Not a whisper of Fatemeh Mirheidar, Niloufar Qalewand, Mehdi Pouladvand, or Najmeh Shams. These were neither “military targets” nor “nuclear threats”—only human beings, their bodies dismembered in global media silence, shredded by Israeli missiles. This is merely the tip of the iceberg of the “freedom” that Israel—backed by the West—intends to introduce by heaping up corpses and devastation.

Reactionary forces that reduce “regime change” to a mere political reshuffling from above—without any real social transformation—are now openly embracing their longtime savior, Israel. Monarchists have turned bombing victims into statistics, shamelessly declaring, “The Islamic Republic executes thousands annually, so the killing of dozens or hundreds by Israel is justifiable.” This is the same dehumanizing logic—the quantitative calculus of death—that the United States deployed to justify destroying Hiroshima and Nagasaki: “If the war continues, more will die, so drop the bomb.”

The killing of civilians in Israel’s recent assaults, the heightened state control within Iran, the destruction of social infrastructure—none of these are “unintended mistakes” or collateral damage. They are the logic of war, especially when waged by a regime like Israel’s. The familiar claim that civilians or non-military sites are being used as “human shields”—once invoked in Gaza, now used to justify attacks on Dizelabad Prison and Farabi Hospital in Kermanshah—is a deliberate distortion, deployed to mask and invert the truth of this exterminatory logic.

There is no such thing as a “just strike” or a “fair bombing.” The historical experiences of Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya—yes, the very Libya that Netanyahu openly cites as a model for regime change in Iran—testify in blood to this truth.

(...)

Gaza, for Israel, is not merely a battlefield—it is a colonization project. The assault on Gaza is a campaign to exterminate or expel over two million Palestinians and transform the blood-soaked coast into Trump’s vision of a “Middle Eastern Riviera”—luxury beaches, casinos, and a free trade zone for white people.

Step by step, Israel has driven Hezbollah from southern Lebanon, destroying its infrastructure, killing commanders, and dismantling its war machine. The same is now unfolding with the IRGC. In Syria, a regime propped up by Russia, Hezbollah, and the IRGC—at the cost of half a million deaths and twelve million displaced—has abruptly collapsed under Turkish-backed rebels. The Tehran–Beirut Shia Corridor, once a strategic artery linking Iran to the Mediterranean, has become its Achilles’ heel—the runway via which warplanes now strike it.

In the newly imposed order of the Middle East, a bloc of Israeli–US capitalist power is aggressively reshaping the region via logistical-economic routes (the India–Middle East–Europe Corridor), political-economic normalization (the Abraham Accords), and expansionist militarism in the form of the genocide and annexation of Gaza.2

Amid the disintegration of the “Axis of Resistance,” the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps’ longstanding doctrine of “neither war nor peace”—a strategy of manufactured crises and calculated brinkmanship—has collapsed. For years, the regime weaponized limited, controlled confrontations to forestall both total war and genuine peace. Today, it finds itself exposed on a battlefield where the rules have irrevocably shifted.

This collapse, compounded by the regime’s total loss of domestic legitimacy—marked by the mass uprisings of December 2017, November 2019, and the “Women, Life, Freedom” movement—amounts to a final blow. The Islamic Republic can no longer manage, defer, or externalize its crises. It commands no legitimacy at home and holds no strategic leverage in the region. It is a scorched remnant in an emerging militarized, multipolar order.

In this vortex of blood, the United States—racing against China and maneuvering through Russia—is striving to reclaim its fractured hegemony. Netanyahu clings to endless war as his ticket to domestic survival. And within the Islamic Republic’s ruling apparatus, many now aim to become instruments of regime change themselves. Meanwhile, the people remain hostage—trapped in a war that is not theirs, a war that offers no horizon of liberation."

...

Iran: “Women, Life, Freedom” against the War

https://crimethinc.com/Iran2025

This statement by Iranian, Kurdish, and Afghani internationalist feminists argues that we must oppose the US and Israeli military assault on Iran while also refusing to endorse the repressive Iranian government.

Genocidal imperialist projects will never liberate us, nor will patriarchal nationalist regimes protect us.

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makingfanfictionstosleep · 2 days ago

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the dragon's bride

smut || sylus x reader || alternate au || sylus and his dragon form during the medieval times || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || story masterlist : love and deepspace

CHAPTER ONE : THE MAIDEN

The scent of essential oils still clung to you, a testament to the meticulous preparations for this day.

You, a priestess born of a long line, were to be offered to the dragon god, a sacrifice meant to appease its ancient power and coax blessings and hidden treasures for your kingdom.

Other girls had gone before, never to return, swallowed by the lore that claimed the dragon devoured those who were impure, those who were not its fated mate.

Your family had guarded you fiercely, a delicate bloom nurtured in seclusion, shielded from the world to preserve the purity deemed necessary for this terrifying ritual. Books, your only companions, had offered no true answers, just whispers of a dragon awaiting its bride for centuries, countless maidens offered, none enough.

You had stared at the moon on countless nights, a sad understanding settling in your heart. You were just another offering, another hopeful sacrifice, likely to join the ranks of the unchosen.

The world remained unseen, freedom an unfulfilled dream. Yet, the ingrained duty, the notion of becoming its bride if fate willed it, for your family, for your kingdom, outweighed your personal desires. You were devoted, not for treasure, but for the act itself.

Finally, the day arrived with a flurry of activity. Maids, more numerous than usual, bathed you in scented oils, braiding your long hair with care, ensuring every strand was perfect.

They dressed you in soft, thin white sheer satin, then draped a meticulously crafted robe over it, designed to entice and appease. Flowers adorned your hair, and your body remained free of jewelry, emphasizing a natural, unblemished beauty.

The king and queen bestowed their blessings, and the kingdom celebrated with a festival in your name, lanterns rising into the sky, carrying wishes and prayers for you to be the fated bride. But for you, it was just your role, your unwavering devotion.

A beautiful carriage pulled up after the ceremony, whisking you away to the deepest, most secluded part of the kingdom. The world outside transformed into a dense, almost primeval forest, trees reaching skyward like giants, their trunks wider than anything you'd ever seen.

It was as if you had stepped into another realm.

The carriage halted before an ancient shrine, its weathered stone stairway leading to a cave. The doors, elegant and old, crafted from materials that had defied centuries, were pushed open by guards, revealing a gaping hole in the middle. A lever system stood beside it, clearly meant to lower you down.

You stepped onto the platform, your breath catching as the guards slowly, carefully, began your descent. Deeper and deeper you went, into a chasm so profound that escape without wings seemed impossible.

The platform ascended without you, the guards disappearing, leaving you alone on the old marbled floor, enveloped in a chilling silence. A fleeting thought of deception, of the dragon lore being a myth, flickered through your mind, but you pushed it aside.

You were here now, and you would see it through.

Despite the terror clawing at your throat, you slowly ventured forward, following a path that led to another doorway.

The intricate designs of the place, the golden arches, the sheer craftsmanship, spoke of a coveting kingdom. Yet, even they, with all their power, couldn't extract these riches without destroying the very essence of this sacred space.

You pushed open the elegant, heavy doors, your strength surprising you. Your eyes widened in wonder. Flowers bloomed in this subterranean chamber, a riot of color against the cool stone.

Corners of the floor shimmered with countless gems, some as large as your fist, others tiny, sparkling specks. A magnificent marble bench stood against one wall, the stone-carved walls making the entire room feel chilly yet majestic, ethereal.

In the very center of the room, on a large, intricate throne, sat a stone statue. This had to be a throne room. You approached slowly.

It was immense, somewhat human in form, yet possessed of powerful horns and vast, folded wings. Its face, if alive, would be stunning, beautiful and dangerously handsome, with defined, sharp jaws and a strong, unyielding presence.

Its eyes, even in stone, held a piercing intensity, as if they could see through to your very soul. High cheekbones sculpted its face, leading to a straight, noble nose and lips that, even unmoving, suggested a formidable will.

You reached out, your cold fingers tracing the hard cheek, marveling at the artistry. His body was chiseled by gods – wide shoulders, a well-defined chest, and an abdomen packed with strong, defined abs that tapered down…

You pulled your hand away, a blush creeping up your neck. Marveling at a statue, desiring one, of all things. You looked at its expression again, a subtle melancholy etched into the stone.

"You look so lonely," you whispered, the words barely audible in the vast silence. A strange pull, an inexplicable urge, drew you closer.

The way it was carved, the melancholic expression, the sheer loneliness in this cold, magnificent chamber… it made your heart ache. You weren't sure if it was the art, the raw emotion conveyed by its creator, or something else entirely.

Unaware of your actions, you leaned forward, pressing your soft, cold lips against its hard, icy ones, a silent plea for a response it could not give.

As you pulled away, your eyes slowly opened, and you froze.

Two sharp, beautiful, intense crimson eyes stared back at you, filled with power, intensity, and hunger. You jolted back in shock and terror.

The statue, still and unmoving moments ago, began to stir.

Slowly, majestically, its vast wings unfurled, stretching wide, towering over your tiny, delicate frame.

Its sharp, dangerous gaze fixed on you, unblinking.

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus lads #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x you #love and deepspace fanfiction #sylus smut #[the dragon's bride]#love and deepspace au #lads au #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader

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fairyyofshampoos · 17 hours ago

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The contrast between public image vs true self

- or the core theme of the movie «Kpop demon hunters»

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This analysis contains major spoilers for K-pop Demon Hunters, including character arcs and the ending, read at your own risk and thank you for your attention, hopefully this will give you some more insight.

Before diving into how this theme shapes the film's characters and narrative, we first need to understand the K-pop industry itself - an industry built on illusion, perfection, and suppression.

I. The cult of perfection

At the heart of the K-pop industry lies a meticulously curated image of perfection. Idols are expected to look flawless, act politely, remain scandal-free, and constantly exude positivity, regardless of what they're experiencing behind the scenes.

From a young age, they are trained not just in singing and dancing, but in self-policing: how to smile through pain, how to speak without controversy, and how to behave like a product rather than a person.

But behind this shiny exterior lies a reality often hidden from public view. Many idols suffer in silence under the weight of:

Mental health struggles

Burnout and sleep deprivation

Loneliness and isolation

Repression of one's identity (dating bans, hiding sexuality, masking trauma)

The system demands that anything not aligned with perfection be either discarded or hidden - swept under the rug for the sake of image.

In that sense, being a K-pop idol and being a demon hunter in the movie are not so different - both live double lives, expected to protect the world while sacrificing their own truth.

In my perspective, the two major figures in the film that represent this oppressive system are - Celine and Gwi-ma.

Celine - the group's mentor, stands firmly by the "never show weakness" ideology. She instructs Rumi to keep her half-demon identity a secret, even from her closest friends and fellow group members. Celine's intentions may stem from protection, but the effect is the same: Rumi must suppress her truth for the sake of image, reinforcing the idea that authenticity is a liability.

Gwi-ma - the demon king and the villain of the movie, mirrors the darker, more exploitative side of the industry. He doesn't just feed on fear - he weaponizes it. He uses people's deepest insecurities against them, turning them into tools for his own gain.

This can manifest in different ways:

Stripping people of their souls to gain power

Tempting them into soul-binding deals, transforming them into demons

This allegory is chillingly close to reality. In the real world, some artists quite literally sacrifice their lives to the idol system - drained by impossible expectations, endless schedules, and the inability to be human in a world that only values performance.

Gwi-ma's demonic deals feel eerily similar to what some idols go through: giving up pieces of themselves for fame, validation, and survival, only to slowly lose who they are.

But not all control in the industry looks like outright abuse. Sometimes, it comes disguised as guidance, care, or tradition.

In this light, Celine - Rumi’s guardian and mentor represents the conservative face of the industry. She’s not like Gwi-ma, who openly feeds on pain and insecurity. Celine is veiled in good intentions and legacy, believing she’s protecting Rumi by telling her to hide her demon side and uphold the image of perfection. Her motto is simple: “Never show weakness.”

And that’s exactly what makes her so dangerous.

Celine isn’t trying to destroy Rumi - but she is trying to erase or fix parts of her.

She’s a stand-in for the real-life managers, producers, and executives who claim to “know best,” silencing idols’ identities, emotions, and struggles in the name of professionalism and survival.

While Gwi-ma is the industry’s dark side personified - exploitation, dehumanization, manipulation, Celine is the polished exterior. She is the system trying to preserve its legacy, no matter the human cost. And her belief that Rumi must hide her truth for the sake of the group reflects the way real idols are often discouraged from speaking up about their trauma, sexuality, illness, or dissent.

Celine’s role reminds us that harm isn’t always loud or monstrous. Sometimes, it’s dressed in smiles, and quiet expectations.

Il. Persona vs Reality

In the K-pop world, every idol is assigned a role - sometimes by their company, sometimes by the public, and often both. These personas help make the group more marketable: the cold, mysterious one, the bright bubbly one, the clumsy maknae, the charismatic leader. It's branding - but for a human being.

Over time, these personas start to become cages.

Idols aren't just performing on stage, they're performing off it too, carefully maintaining their image in interviews, on livestreams, and even in private moments caught by hidden cameras or fan interactions. The longer this act is kept up, the harder it becomes to remember who they are beneath it.

The characters opposing the ones that represent the system, and suffering directly under their influence - are the victims: Rumi and Jinu.

Rumi - the Crowned but Caged

Rumi wasn’t just chosen to be a star, she was born into it.

Her mother was a member of the Sunlight Sisters, a past generation of demon hunters whose fame and legacy still cast long shadows. After her mother’s death, Rumi was raised by Celine, her mother’s groupmate, who shaped her into the centerpiece of the next generation: Huntrix.

From the beginning, Rumi was destined to lead. The responsible one. The strong one. Her image, particularly in the mv for Golden, presents her as almost mythical, untouchable - clothed and poised like nobility. She’s not just an idol. She’s a symbol.

Rumi’s persona is not one she chose. It was placed on her like a crown - and like a crown, it’s heavy. She must live up to the memory of her mother, the expectations of her fans, and the control of Celine. And all of this, while hiding the truth of who she really is: half demon.

Even among her closest groupmates, Rumi is taught to hide the parts of herself that don’t fit the image. Because in the world of idols, difference isn’t beautiful - it’s dangerous.

Jinu - the Haunted Performer

400 years ago, he was a poor boy with nothing but a dream and a bipa. Then came the voice: Gwi-ma, the demon king, whispering promises of power, fulfillment, and freedom from suffering. Jinu accepted. And from that moment on, his life was no longer his own, but at the hands of a devil, to do as he pleases.

The truth of what happened is fragmented. Jinu offers Rumi a version in which he lived with his family in a palace until his transformation forced them into exile. Gwi-ma, however, offers another: that Jinu left them behind to feast alone, turning his back on them out of selfishness. The past is uncertain - but what is clear is Jinu’s torment.

In many ways, Jinu is a symbol of the performer who’s lost touch with who they used to be. He’s played the part for so long, he no longer knows what’s real. But something in Rumi starts to crack through the mask.

In my honest perspective, Jinu is a fool.

A fool for believing the sweet words of a devil who dragged him into hell.

A fool for listening to the very voice that shames him, haunts him, and convinces him he’s a monster.

And perhaps most tragically - a fool for hesitating. For spending the entire film suspended between two choices: to keep following Gwi-ma’s orders or to stand beside Rumi and fight back.

He never fully chooses. He deepens his bond with Rumi - they sing together, share moments of quiet understanding, even sing a duet called “Free.” But all the while, he’s still stealing souls, still feeding the very monster that keeps him chained.

And maybe that’s the most painful part of all:

Jinu wants freedom, but he doesn’t believe he deserves it.

He thinks the past owns him. That redemption is for someone stronger, someone purer.

So he stays on the fence - torn between guilt and longing, between who he was and who he could become.

Jinu isn’t the cold villain he pretends to be - he’s a scared, broken boy who made a mistake, and keeps making it again and again.

III. The cost of being authentic

At the heart of the movie lies a painful truth: becoming your true self in a system that profits from illusion demands sacrifice. For both Rumi and Jinu, the path to authenticity is paved with betrayal, guilt, and the loss of everything familiar. Their arcs begin in isolation but end in collision - where honesty, no matter how flawed, becomes the only way forward.

Gwi-ma, the demon king, doesn’t enslave with brute force. He marks his victims with glowing patterns - symbols of repressed fears, insecurities, and shame. These marks are deeply metaphorical: they reflect how the K-pop industry often treats an idol’s humanity as a flaw to be concealed. In the real world, these “patterns” mirror mental illness, trauma, hidden identities, or even the simple fact of growing up - all things that can result in an idol being blacklisted, exiled, or torn apart by public scrutiny.

Gwi-ma weaponizes guilt. He manipulates memory, twists truth, and gaslights his victims into thinking they are the problem.

This is the dark side of K-pop personified: the voice that tells you you’re only loved when you’re perfect - and disposable when you’re not.

Jinu, caught in Gwi-ma’s grasp, spends the entire film torn between two versions of himself: the selfish monster that Gwi-ma insists he is, and the boy Rumi sees - someone capable of change. He listens to the voice that shames him and uses his past as a leash. And in doing so, he keeps hurting the one person trying to free him.

Rumi, on the other hand, is marked too - but hides it. Half-demon by blood, she’s taught to suppress every trace of it. Not just by Gwi-ma, but by Celine, who enforces a “show no weakness” policy, insisting she preserve the perfect idol image at all costs. But when the truth inevitably comes out - on stage, under the lights, in front of her members, Rumi is forced to confront what she’s spent her whole life avoiding: the fact that perfection was never hers to begin with.

The film’s climax doesn’t revolve around a final battle alone - it’s built around music, with each key song symbolizing the emotional journey of its characters.

“Your Idol”, performed by the Saja Boys under Gwi-ma’s control, is a chilling anthem of seduction and consumption. It reframes the idol as savior, obsession, and parasite all at once. With lines like “I’m the only one who’ll love your sins” and “Thank you for the pain, ‘cause it got me going viral”, the song reflects the toxic co-dependence between idols and fans, where personal suffering is exploited for engagement, and authenticity is replaced with spectacle.

By contrast, “This Is What It Sounds Like” is the antidote. Rumi sings not to entertain or seduce, but to confess. It’s a song about brokenness, honesty, and finding strength not in illusion, but in truth. Her voice trembles. She admits her shame, her fear, her failure. But she does it openly and that act alone begins to undo everything Gwi-ma built.

Where “Your Idol” thrives on manipulation, “This Is What It Sounds Like” is liberation.

It’s what happens when someone stops trying to be what the world wants, and simply says: this is me.

The most powerful moment in the movie is not the slaying of Gwi-ma - it’s what precedes it. After everything, it’s Jinu who returns in Rumi’s moment of weakness, not as a hero, but as someone finally choosing to break free from the voice that’s owned him for centuries. He gives her his soul - not because he thinks he deserves redemption, but because she believed in it for him.

Jinu: “You gave me my soul back. And now… I give it to you.”

This act of sacrifice becomes Rumi’s power. With his soul, she defeats Gwi-ma. And from that act of truth, a new honmoon is formed - not golden, polished, and performative like before, but rainbow-hued: multi-coloured, real, and whole.

IV. Conclusion

K-pop Demon Hunters isn’t just a story about fighting demons. It’s about fighting the ones we carry inside us - the ones fed by perfectionism, guilt, fear, and shame. It shows how the K-pop industry, for all its glamour, can often demand silence over truth, masks over identity.

But it also shows that healing doesn’t come from fitting the mold. It comes from breaking it.

Rumi and Jinu’s stories prove that authenticity isn’t free, it costs you everything false.

But in return, it gives you something far more powerful:

A voice that’s finally yours.

A past you no longer have to erase.

This is what it sounds like.

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh #deep dive #analysis #huntrix #saja boys #rumi kpdh #jinu kpdh #rujinu #kpop #hopefully this post reaches its audience #i just really wanted to share my thoughts as a longtime kpop fan #kpop demon hunters spoilers

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akijooo · 1 day ago

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If I Had 9 Lives (I’d Give Them All to You)

Summary:

After dying heroically, Jinu is reincarnated as a tabby cat — because karma’s a comedian. The celestial condition? He can only return to his human form if he finds the place where his soul truly belongs — his “true home.” Problem is, no one tells him what that actually means, so he thinks, “Maybe I should go back home to the village?”

Naturally, this leads to him getting chased off unfamiliar grounds, kicked out of a fish shop, and mistaken for a demon cat (twice). With each failed attempt, Jinu gets more dramatic, more confused, and a lot more flea-ridden.

But when he ends up staring at a giant ad board with Rumi’s face on it — smiling like how he remembers it — Jinu starts to wonder… what if “home” was never a place at all?

Prologue:

Freedom. Peace. No shame. No fear. Finally, rest.

Jinu had longed for this moment — to finally be free from Gwi-Ma’s control over his soul. It hurt to leave Rumi that night, but he owed her everything. She had saved him — saved his soul from being imprisoned to Gwi-Ma for eternity, and from disappearing entirely. And if he had even one life left to give, he would always give it to her.

That was how deeply he cared for Rumi.

Now, he drifted in the stillness of the afterlife, weightless, wrapped in silence. No more guilt. No more running. Just silence.

Until— A brilliant light pierced the darkness.

Jinu, whose soul had been floating in timeless limbo, squinted as the radiance grew stronger, until a voice echoed through it — ancient and commanding.

“Jinu,” it said. “You have been forgiven. Your sacrifice has atoned for the sins born of your pact with Gwi-Ma. As reward, I offer you one chance to return to the world of the living — to be reincarnated.”

The light took form — a colossal, glowing hand holding his soul gently in its palm. Below it, a swirling portal opened, crackling with threads of energy that felt both warm and unnerving.

“But,” the voice continued, “because your soul was long bound to darkness, this gift comes with a trial. You must learn. You must live differently.”

The light pulsed gently, like a heartbeat echoing through eternity.

“Before you can return to your human form, you must do one thing: Find your true home.”

The words echoed louder now as the portal beneath him widened.

“Only then will you be human again.”

And just like that, he was dropped.

He spiraled down the vortex, his form distorting and stretching like in a fever dream. His limbs twisted, his vision blurred in all colors, his senses dulled and then sharpened all at once.

When he finally hit the ground — or what felt like it — he gasped awake.

Where… am I?

He blinked groggily, squinting against sunlight. The buildings around him were massive, glass and metal scraping the sky. Cars honked in the distance. A neon sign flickered from a corner shop.

What year is it? he thought, disoriented. Why does everything feel… so tall?

He tried to stand and navigate the place, but he felt weird with how his feet felt. It was when he realized that yes, he was standing, on all fours.

What the hell—?!

He looked down quickly to his feet and froze.

Paws. Furry, striped, oversized paws.

In a panic, he darted into the street, weaving between legs, dodging tires, until he spotted a storefront with reflective glass. He jumped up onto a bench, scrambled toward the window, and stared.

And there he was.

Wide golden eyes. Twitching ears. A tail swaying behind him.

Am I reincarnated as a dark tabby cat?!

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh #jinu kpdh #rujinu #rumi x jinu #rumi #rumi kpdh #rumi kpop demon hunters #jinu kpop demon hunters #jinu #jinu kdh #mira kpop demon hunters #mira kpdh #zoey kpop demon hunters #zoey kpdh #huntrix #saja boys

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iron-mage · 3 days ago

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DP was like an og fandom of mine on tumblr, back in the day ppl tried to use the phandom tag which was a mix of danny phantom, phantom of the opera, and dan & phil stuff, woe betide anyone who was scrolling through a blog that used #dp to keep track of danny phantom stuff because you were one misclick away from getting a feed full of double penetration XD

RN the fandom im most active in is Transformers, most ppl in that fandom use #Maccadams (in reference to an in universe bar Maccadam's old oil house ) because the actual transformers tag is so flooded with other stuff

Ppl will still tag their posts & reblogs as transformers for sorting on their own blogs etc just include the additional tag when making the original post

This works pretty well for if you just wanna find posts about giant robots however if you wanna find posts specifically about the bot named Maccadam well you're kinda shit out of luck

I sympathise with lex's original grievance since it's the same issue i have with all the incredibly inconsistently tagged XReader content, i have thousands of variations of x reader / (character) x reader filtered because I don't want to see those posts but none of the writers ever use an umbrella tag

(if you want to see examples id suggest looking up the Jujutsu kaisen fandom or demon slayer fandom or any of its male characters' tags, I sometimes scroll for minutes while looking for posts to queue because XD)

Danny Phantom is the umbrella tag for the show & also the main character which compounds the problem here, trying to dictate to people whether they're allowed to use the main characters' superhero name in their posts is just not going to work so the only real way to move forward here is adopting using subtags in addition to the umbrella tag

So including #dponly on original posts in addition to the main/umbrella tag while asking people to use a tag like #dpxover on any crossover content on their og posts to allow people to filter specific posts without having to block a million different variants of a tag

Atm when i reblog/queue a post i usually tag it DP & if it's a crossover the other relevant fandom + a DPxtag since i usually try to keep tags as sort as possible but still wanna allow people to filter stuff if they follow me or scroll my blog but I'll definitely be including a subtag for baseline dp or crossover dp in any of my original posts going forward + the dpxover tag for any crossover stuff

I'm also in a lot of very small fandoms about kids shows that aired the same decade as Danny Phantom & ironically in their tags on here & especially their AO3 works a huge number of works are crossovers with Danny Phantom(& often a long list of other shows) where they're side or background characters XD so this honestly feels a little like karma to me

To give an example with of some of those fandoms The Secret Saturdays or American Dragon: Jake Long

TSS has 211 works on ao3 only 87 of those works are not crossovers (33 of those 124 crossovers are dp crossovers, TSS did actually have a crossover episode with one of the Ben 10 shows so that's where the majority of those crossovers came from)

While AD has 458 works with 161 of those being crossovers with Danny Phantom (also of note AD had a crossover episode with lilo & stitch but only about 10 works include both shows on ao3, only 142 works are not crossovers)

I use ao3 as examples here because it's easy to grab the numbers, as you can imagine scrolling those fandom tags on here are usually dominated by crossover content which is another reason i advocate for a general catch all Danny Phantom Crossover subtag like #DPxOver in addition to the #DPonly tag

Also watch TSS & AD so i can drag yall into eldritch dragon with a destiny/prophecy about them angst/existential horror

This would be used in addition to the danny phantom tag, turning it into a true umbrella tag for everything related to Danny Phantom, while having a few major sub-tags for people to find exactly what they want.

---

After some more discussion with members of the fandom in the notes of my poll asking about a community and elsewhere, it seems like the better option for everyone might actually be a new tag, so I'm making a new poll here!

Some answers to questions I think people might have are below the readmore:

Q: Why are all of these only one word?

A: For the same reason the dpxdc tag is only one word! Tumblr's tagging implementation is Not Good. Tags with spaces don't play well with it, and especially don't play well with blocked tags. If someone wants to block non-crossover Danny Phantom content, we want to make it as painless as possible for them.

Q: What issues were raised around communities?

A: A few! To name some of them:

Limited interactions with posts: Communities only let you react with emoji and leave comments on posts reblogged into them. Not great, if we want to have long reblog chains riffing on one another

Original Posters aren't notified if someone else reblogs their post into a community, even if it's public. So if someone reblogged your post into the community for you, you wouldn't know about it -- or know to look for people interacting with it.

Communities have mods, and therefore would need trustworthy, engaged mods to make it work. Over a short time frame, we could probably manage it! But over a longer one, a community for an entire fandom would probably have moderator drama. That could lead to fracturing, or people leaving specifically because they don't like the mods, etc. A tag is a lot less active maintenance.

A few people also expressed a general dislike for the feature, even if they were willing to move to one. This seems like a much smaller change that will let those people stay away from a feature they don't like, while interacting with the content they do.

Q: What about less-common crossovers? Won't those get excluded from this tag?

A: They will. I'm asking about this poll first because I figured getting the community to make a decision about the other crossovers would be easier if we'd already decided on the non-crossovers.

The current idea is to move those to their own tag as well, so they can get dedicated attention from the crossover enthusiasts who love them. One of the people I talked to about this runs the niche-dp-crossovers blog, so it's on the radar. If you have concerns or suggestions about that, the notes on this post is as good a place as any to suggest them!

#dp #DPonly #DPxOver #tss #ad

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toniejestblog · 1 day ago

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Don’t mind me, I’m just thinking how culturally and socially we are conditioned to choose Verso’s ending.

Disclaimer: This is not anti-/pro- any Ending (even if I skew a little). This is just me trying to make sense of it, outside the discourse and interpretations concerning character perspective and intrinsic motivations (Verso and Maelle), agency and its theft, micro vs macro scale of the worldbuilding, the sentience of Lumière citizens and value of art, and, letting go of the grief. In this ramble, I focus solely on the storytelling element across majorly Western cultures, our mortality system, and how this would unconsciously bias our choice.

Another disclaimer: I’m all for healthily processing grief. Sadly, I don’t see it in what was shown in either ending. I see it, however, in events that could potentially happen later in both endings.

Obvious spoilers under the cut.

Point I: the Monomyth, i.e. the Hero comes back to their world changed, once the journey is over

In countless media we see characters embark on beautiful journeys across other worlds, be in different dimensions, alternatives timelines, or fictional universes. These stories also often feature antagonists who struggle with grief and the desire to reverse loss at great cost. Such narratives almost always resolve with a “return”: the hero had their adventure, they’ve grown ("You will know love and you will know pain" Maelle's canvas mother said), and now it’s time to go back to the “real” world, the one that matters (cue the Monomyth).

However, I wonder if the above character archetype/story structure can be so easily applied to Clair Obscur due its own unique worldbuilding.

To say that Alicia (now Maelle) has "grown enough" in the Canvas, and must return to her "original world" is based on the classic reading of the Monomyth, and this view posits her as the typical heroine who is an intruder, or visitor, to a different realm and who ultimately needs to leave (she falls into Canvas as Alice falls into Rabbit Hole). But Alicia, although literally, doesn’t just fall into the Canvas—she lives two full lives within it, and thus, enters a liminal stage. She spent two different lives in two different dimensions, and her existence had two very different natures (one reborned as Maelle, a Canvas mortal, and one as Alicia, an outsider god). The classical western storytelling would argue against that liminality. The comeback to the "real" world is inevitable.

Farah Mendlesohn, in Rhetorics of Fantasy (2008), discusses "portal-quest" fantasies, that is narratives where protagonists enter magical worlds through portals but must eventually return. These stories preserve the “real” world’s dominance and often serve as allegories for growth and reintegration. If we apply that frame here, choosing Verso’s ending mimics this familiar pattern. But Clair Obscur at the same time resists that closure. The story could be not about returning, but remaining and transforming (Alicia becoming not a Paintress in the end, but a Curator; but that's for a different post).

It’s okay if anyone sees it in this way, you can feel any way you like about the game. But personally, I think of Barthes' concept of the “Death of the Author” (1977) which argues that player interpretation is shaped by cultural templates. This would explain why, most people, could be naturally drawn to Verso’s ending (for this particular reason amongst other reasons), because that’s what we are used to; firstly by the character archetype and secondly by the story structure.

Point II: Death gives meaning to life

It’s interesting how we only attach meaning to life if there is death. How life is only worth it if it ends, just like everything else. If it's not ephemeral, it's not beautiful. The finality of death is what serves for us as a warning and guiding point. We grow and change because we can die one day. This belief runs deep in Western existentialism. Heidegger argues that only through the awareness of death (Being-toward-death) can individuals live authentically (1927). Moreover, we are constantly reminded of the threat of immortality and how it strips away morality, humanity, and any meaning to our actions in a very nihilistic way.

The destruction of the canvas brings closure and finality, and, because it ends in ultimate death (in and outside the Canvas), it gives meaning to Verso’s life. And we want his life to have meaning, we want all our deaths to matter. But Verso’s life and death are also more than the ones he had outside, or inside, the Canvas.

For me, In Clair Obscur, it feels like projecting our, players’ reality, and assigning value from our mortality system, onto the game’s reality. And understandably so. But the game ‘s world offers its own systems.

Painted!Clea says "Don’t worry, death in there isn’t final. Every Canvas has its own rules. And I find death a boring outcome. Don’t you, Alicia?"

Young, original Verso gave Gestrals the reincarnation river, what they call "the gift of new beginnings" which is, ultimately (very importantly) a voluntary decision on their side. The argument I often see, is that in Maelle’s ending she robs people of mortality, as she can revive them with her godlike Painter powers, and thus, makes their life meaningless. There is no direct evidence supporting that (and as most things in both endings it relies on speculation), and moreover their new found immortality (or renewed mortality) does not have to be as binding for them as it was for Painted!Verso. Multiple lifetimes can be as beautiful and valuable as only one. For P!Verso, his painted life was not really his own and thus he found no silver lining in it (not to mention it being stained by other people's grief). Maelle-Alicia, in her second life which was her own and not bereft of agency, found purpose and inspiration (similarly to characters in Pratchett's Thief of Time (2001)).

(Bonus) Point III: narrative structures, we love parallelism

Eagleton (2003) argues that Western narratives fetishize tragedy as morally redemptive and aesthetically satisfying (Verso's continuous sacrifice which starts the story and ends the story).The Clair Obscur begins with creation of the Canvas and ends with its destruction. This mimics Genesis-to-Apocalypse narrative arcs prominent in Judeo-Christian storytelling traditions. Verso's ending offers rhythm and symmetry. (At least on the surface) it's a cleaner cut with much less space for speculation than in Maelle's ending. Her ending feels more emotionally and ethically complicated ergo narratively unfinished. Its ambiguity is more post-modern than Verso's more traditional,classical ending.

TLDR; We repeat familiar narrative patterns from (Western) storytelling culture which is built around dualism (life/death, good/evil)("You think in false dichotomies" Lune tells us and Verso), and we gravitate towards familiarity and closure they offer. We’re drawn to the hero who returns, to death as the validator of life, and to the ending that "makes sense" in our cultural logic. But what if Clair Obscur asks: what if sense-making lies elsewhere?

You choose where.

#forgot I have a literature degree #maybe I should shut up #but I can’t stop thinking about #clair obscur: expedition 33 #this is such a poor hasty imitation of research paper #expedition 33 spoilers #exp33 analysis #alicia dessendre #maelle #verso dessendre #maelle’s ending #versos ending #Clair obscur discussion #don’t come at me please #feel free to disagree #gustave #clea dessendre #aline dessendre #renoir dessendre

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quasarwake · 2 days ago

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Mentor Starscream x Seeker!Reader (31/?) Lore building, backstory, old friends 1300+ words

Ghosts of the past dream of you, sometimes.

Spotlight never felt quite right in his frame- and in his days at the Academy before the civil war, he got no small amount of grief for it. Many other mechs would grow tired quickly of his favourite form of relaxation- gossip and sharing news, discussing the various relationships between teachers and other students, and the faculty the Academy had been exciting. Yet due to his unstable flight...

He wasn't always so kindly treated.

But.

At least there was you- Spotlight could still recall the initiation flight, before they had been shuffled off to their suites- stumbling through flight, landing but barely to be mocked by fellow cadets of all size-classes.

And you had been there, watching him carefully, he could feel those optics on him as he flew, and he wondered at first if you were going to join in on taking him out, the quiet little blue mech.

Instead, you took a small jab at the other mech, calling her out on nearly setting off her weapons while trying to transform.

After that, it was history for him. He saw in you a friend, and friend you would become- You let him talk. That was huge, even on its own. But you would also respond, with quiet quips at first, soon turning to fun, playful jabs, sassy statements on the activity of the academy. His bare minimum hope was to be put into a room with a roommate that didn’t hate him. And here you were, somebody that not only made him feel heard, but was somebody he could have fun with.

Somebody that saw more in him than his mistakes.

It was peaceful. You warmed his spark and made him feel listened to.

‘Choplight’ was what some had called him in flight- he had a habit of stalling and stuttering, his nose turning downwards without meaning as he would try to pick up speed, dangerous things he had to correct for, sometimes overcorrecting and simply shooting into the sky. Maybe if there had been time to actually train himself into a proper Jet Seeker, he could have shown everyone- but there he was, working twice, no, three times as hard and still only being seen as half as good. One instructor with wide dark wings would berate him endlessly for it- and while Spotlight harbored his little crush on Sunstorm, there was something to be said about how backhandedly validating it was, to receive even the smallest bits of praise from his original.

Starscream, as an instructor, at least could see how badly Spotlight wanted to fly. Seeing the two of you roomed together, arguably his best and worst fliers, perhaps there had been hope that you would be able to lift him up- and there had been progress. Starscream encouraged you to take Spotlight flying-

And honestly, he made you feel listened to as well. The quiet of the Quintesson retreat had given a rare moment of peace for all of you, and this yellow mech that could barely keep himself level in flight always seemed to be bringing the most interesting gossip.

It was something he did with you, even before things went to hell. It wasn’t something he needed to think nearly as much about when you were flying with him. When Spotlight flew with you, there was no doubt in his processor that you would end up being the top of the class- good in flight, suited to your wings as they were, and not only that? You worked for it. So many of the best fliers knew they were good, and didn’t care to become better- but you didn’t just want to be good, you wanted to be seen, maybe just as badly as he himself ached to be heard. It may have been partly for Starscream’s attention, but just because he was no Sunstorm didn’t mean that it didn’t clearly push you to do better-

And maybe some mechs needed that. Maybe you needed that, and maybe Spotlight needed to see that in you just as much. Sometimes, we don’t understand how to make ourselves grow without a little bit of outside help.

And he would have so liked to grow with you, discover all of the ways you could fly together, mismatched frame or no.

Until it all went to Hell, that is.

Was it a direct Iacon attack on Vos? Was it retaliation for some Vosian slight? A bomb planted? A shooting? A curly straw and a knocked over glass of energon?

All of the information Spotlight had gathered after the fact had been jumbled, and many bots that he wished he could have asked were…

Missing.

Unable to contribute to the greater picture of what happened.

So it wasn’t too off the cuff that for all this time, he had no information on if you were alive. It was a marvel in and of itself that he’d only lost an arm in the building collapse, taken in by a mech that had only been visiting Vos for a conference- a medical mech by the name of Ratchet. From there, it was a whirlwind of being patched up, getting an arm replaced-

And eventually joining the Autobots.

It felt strange, seeing nearly all of his surviving neighbors on the other side. Like seeing a dark reflection of the community he’d been regularly denied anyways. After he’d seen the cruelty of Megatron against the group that had saved him, though, his mind was made up-

He’d heard all kinds of stories about the Decepticons.

Restrictive. More loosely militaristic than the Autobots’ rigid structure. Chaotic, with no structure past the higher command. Mechs made to order and made of the melted living metal that had been fallen Autobots-

Horror stories.

Things that he’d heard about some factions of Autobots hadn’t been much better.

Spotlight knew enough about the war to know that it was being drawn out artificially- the factions on either side grown tired over kilovorns. To their credit, it wasn’t always the rivalry between Megatron and Optimus Prime that seemed to push it onwards- sometimes, there were those out there as powerful and more crafty than Megatron turning the wheel, stoking the flames and causing resounding ripple effects across the universe. Sometimes, it was somebody more gentle than Optimus-

Terrifyingly coddling. Authoritative.

Functionist.

But Spotlight had been given the chance to see the side that would, if it could, save him-

So when the Transformers from both factions found themselves on Earth, it was with an Autobot insignia standing bright on his shoulder that he took the plunge. Neutrality didn’t suit him, and at least the bots he was with were good. In the end, it was Ratchet that made his mind up- Ratchet, who had saved him, and in his own personal ‘neutrality’, had chosen the side that he believed would save the most lives. And eventually, others on the team made him feel…

Welcomed. Accepted. Especially after he’d scanned a new form for flight-

His frame had settled, his wings had cracked in relief-

Splitting as though freed from a mold, they had rested against his back in flexible blades. His canopy was larger, but pushed upwards, allowing movement of his waist, he was springier.

It was like all he’d had to do was take on a new form, and there, he’d feel like himself properly.

And it made him realise just how much he wanted to show you.

It wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t contentment he felt-

Because even on a planet so different from Cybertron, he thought of you.

The sky really was your colour here, and not just like when bright spheres passed by the sunless Cybertron-

Every clear sunny day he would look out and remember Academy days with you. Sometimes he would climb into that blue, his blades quieter and his frame faster than any Terran heli should be.

He’d fly. And imagine what it would feel like, to fly with you, when he was finally in a body that suited him.

Pleased to really properly debut an old friend- thought long gone. Rats and I have been talking about Spotlight for a really long time, so it's nice to finally have him here proper! Thank you again @radioactiverats for letting me play in this sandbox .))))))

Prev/Next

#maccadams #starscream x reader #transformers x reader #transformers #seeker spotlight #cadet au #black pad

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spatialwave · 3 days ago

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V's All That

Chapter 6 || The Lab

➥ Summary: Jayce Talis, the school's golden boy and a guaranteed pick for Prom King, seems to have it all—looks, charm, and popularity. However, when Kino presents him with the opportunity to win back Mel, his ex-girlfriend and the one who got away, Jayce jumps at the chance. The challenge? To transform Viktor, a snarky outcast who is as far from popular as possible, into Prom King instead. Jayce takes the bait, but he may have taken on more than he can handle. ➥ Word Count: 3.7k ➥ Pairing: Jayce Talis x Viktor || Arcane

🧡 beta'd by @spxllcxstxr 🩷 art by @wapimostosis 🧡 available on ao3

<- part 5.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Caitlyn’s voice cracked through weights slamming, and distant chattering in the gym. With her knees bent on the leg press, her eyes snapped over to Jayce, who stood beside her with a lost look in his eyes, pleading for any form of advice. “You lied to him and then kissed him?”

Jayce’s eyes danced to the other people in the gym, who were far from paying attention, and hissed back, “Keep your voice down.”

“No one can hear us,” she snapped, inhaling a sharp breath and shutting her eyes. “Let me think for a minute.”

The older boy leaned against the weight machine, hands running down his face in exasperation after revealing everything to Caitlyn. The bet that started with Kino, which sparked the unlikely friendship with Viktor, was making its rounds amongst the students of Piltover High. Although only two – now three – people knew of the animosity behind the friendship. Though to Jayce, there wasn’t any. Not anymore, at least.

Jayce didn’t like to think of himself as a monster, but the way Caitlyn couldn’t look him in the eye was telling.

With a heavy sigh, he broke, “Listen, I know I’m a piece of shit for this, alright? I’m telling you because I need your help unfucking this mess.”

“A mess you made,” Caitlyn reminded, her eyes opening to meet his. Surprisingly, they were soft. It was Jayce; she was biased. “But… I can tell you like him. More than a friend.”

Jayce’s cheeks burned a deep red, the colour staining over his tanned skin as those bright hazel eyes danced around the gym. He didn’t want to think about it. The feelings he had for Viktor. The confusion that came with liking another man. It was—a lot.

It was unlike anything he had felt before. He hadn’t thought about Mel in days. All he could think of was Viktor. The kiss. His smile. Those amber eyes. It was embarrassing to him.

“Don’t look so sad,” Caitlyn breathed, her laughter relieving his stress, “No one is going to judge you, Jayce. It’s a very normal feeling.”

He scoffed, meeting her eyes and raising a brow.

“Okay,” she backtracked, “No one you care about will judge you. Better?”

“A little,” he mumbled, but he didn’t believe her. She didn’t know Kino. She didn’t know his other friends as well as he did. Being different wasn’t often considered a great way to propel yourself to the top of the social ladder. It was the very reason this bet took place.

Viktor was different, and Kino didn’t like that.

“Jayce,” her voice was so gentle, and he jumped in place when he realized that she was standing in front of him. Two hands rested over his bare shoulders, finger pads pressed into his muscles, “You need to be truthful with him. That is the only way to keep him in your life. It’ll be difficult, and he might need his space, but coming clean and being honest is the only thing you can do to make it right.”

“Technically, he’s already in my life—”

“Don’t be an ass, you know what I mean,” she hissed. He winced at a heavy smack on his shoulder.

“I hear you,” Jayce groaned. Coming clean wasn’t easy, nor did he expect Viktor to ever look at him the same way if he told him. Why couldn’t it be simpler? Why couldn’t Jayce just shove the truth deep and far into the ground, and forget it ever existed? Why did he have to bring Caitlyn into the loop?

✦︎

“Am I kissable?”

The question had come out of left field. Sky was sitting at the library table in the very back, where Viktor preferred to sit. Her nose was buried into a textbook as they analyzed their final biology project together. Sitting up straight, the girl pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose as she looked at her best friend.

He was slouched over, his chin in his hand as he stared at a blank page in his notebook. The hangover was killing him, but not as much as the lingering anxiety and depression that came after nights of drinking.

“I don’t think I’m equipped to answer that,” Sky spoke, raising a curious eyebrow as she closed her textbook. She stared at Viktor with thinned lips, having been waiting to ask about what happened the night before.

If Sky was anything with him, it was patient.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as Viktor refused to look up or further his question. “What happened?”

Viktor shifted, albeit very slightly. The headache that penetrated deep into his skull was making him nauseous, and he wished he had cancelled his plans to stay in bed. Though when he flickered his eyes up and met with Sky’s, he felt comfort wash through him.

“I fucked up.” He muttered quietly, and his mind jumped straight to the kiss. The one that lasted all of three seconds before he puked up the greasy dinner he indulged in at Powder’s. With a heavy sigh, that one might call dramatic, he collapsed his face into his arms that crossed over the table.

“Oh, Viktor,” Sky sighed quietly. A gentle hand stretched outward across the table and rested over his slender arm covered by the white long-sleeved shirt he layered under a black band tee. Her thumb rubbed against the fabric, a simple ministration that calmed him. “Tell me. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“I kissed Jayce,” he mumbled, his voice strained from his mouth resting against his arm. “I kissed him at the end of the night, and once we did, I threw up, and he took me home, and he hasn’t even tried calling me.” He was silent for a few beats, sitting up and speaking again before Sky could interject. “And I hate the way I sound right now. I shouldn’t be worried about my kissability, or why some stupid man isn’t calling me—”

Sky could see the panic in his eyes. A panic he hadn’t shown since Orianna was first put in the hospital when they were finishing sophomore year.

It was rare for him to break down like this or overwork himself beyond his limits. Viktor prided himself on his fierce independence.

“Why are you smiling?” He flashed a look of annoyance at Sky, his eyes wide.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in love before.” She grinned, pulling her hand away before Viktor could even attempt to swat at her.

“Love is egregiously advanced for what I am feeling, Sky,” Viktor said adamantly, scoffing. His sunken, pale cheeks had been dusted with a soft pink colour, and he refused to look at her. Instead, he found a row of books beyond them much more interesting.

“Okay, let me reiterate. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have a crush on someone who wasn’t Orlando Bloom or John Stamos—”

“I told you those in confidence.”

“Viktor,” she laughed, the smile reaching her eyes, “Just let me talk, okay?”

Viktor clenched his jaw tight, leaning back in his chair as he stared her down. She was too happy, too invested in this. Too optimistic. “Fine,” he muttered, fingers finding his pencil to toy with as he listened.

“What I want to say is that what you are feeling is very normal,” She explained, hands moving as she spoke, “I’ve had my fair share of crushes on boys, and your mind doesn’t work right when you’re caught up in them. You overthink, you worry, you are scared that you’ll mess everything up!”

Viktor looked back at her, chewing on his lip. Well, that was one way to put it.

“Jayce hasn’t called because he’s probably thinking the same thing,” she offered the input with a shrug. “He may think he messed things up by taking it too far… or maybe he’s just not sure what to say. Boys aren’t the best at communication. Yes, that includes you.”

“Thanks,” Viktor snorted a bitter laugh. After a moment to reel in her words, he shook his head, “I just can’t help but think something is underlying in… whatever I have going on with him. Why me?”

“Or maybe you’re just not used to good things happening to you?” Sky leaned forward, chin in both hands, as she smiled, “If I were you, I’d talk to him tomorrow. I’ve never seen you quite as happy as you are with him, Vik.”

Viktor scrunched his nose in forced disgust, “Okay, yeah. Whatever. I’ll talk to him.” He mumbled, as if it wasn’t the best advice he had received in a long time. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled, biting her tongue and deciding against asking what the kiss was like. She’d find out in due time.

✦︎

When Monday rolled around, both boys had no intention of taking the advice they’d been given. First period came and went, then lunch. Time ticked on quickly for a dreary, overcast Monday, and they became experts in avoidance—even in class. What had become a bad habit of stolen glances and shared notes torn from corners of notebooks turned into cold shoulders.

It wasn’t out of hatred. No. It was the very opposite that drove them away.

Viktor had grown to hate how his stomach churned anytime he set eyes on Jayce, how his gap-tooth smile made him want to scream into a pillow. Or better yet, kiss the smile off his face.

Jayce had stepped into chemistry class seconds before the bell rang, and much to his chagrin, the only available seat was next to Viktor. He had been staring ahead in class, bored and watching as the teacher wrote on the chalkboard the upcoming assignment.

It wasn’t until the sound of the stool next to him shifted on the laminate flooring that he was pulled from his thoughts. With a glance, he expected to see Sky, but his eyes widened when they landed on Jayce.

Shit, shit, shit.

Swallowing down a thick lump in his throat, he snapped his gaze forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted how Jayce slowly unpacked his books, obviously not planning on attempting to go anywhere else. Welp.

“Okay, class,” Mr. Heimerdinger said, looking out towards the students who all looked bored out of their minds, apart from a select few. “We’re going to do an exercise in class today because it appears that many of you do not understand how to neutralize acids after last week’s demonstration and pop quiz.”

There was a chorus of groans.

Mr. Heimerdinger puffed out his chest, clearing his throat, “You will work with who you are sitting with. Please flip to Page 135 and follow the instructions there. I have kindly provided you with all the materials you will need at your desk—”

The instructions, by this point, had gone in through one ear and out the other from both Viktor and Jayce. Neither of them had much trouble in chemistry, nor did they fail either the pop quiz or the hands-on demonstration given last week.

Without speaking, both boys had jumped into the assignment. Viktor had taken the task of pipetting acid into the flask, while Jayce put together the burette and filled it with a base. Minutes had passed, and both boys wore their safety goggles and lab coats in silence, working together seamlessly as if they were lab partners in another life.

“How’re you feeling today?”

Jayce’s voice cracked right through Viktor’s concentration as he scribbled down notes onto the paper given to them to fill out as they worked on the neutralization process. Looking over, he sighed and pushed his goggles up until his hair was pushed back.

“Okay, I guess. Tired.” Viktor shrugged in response, hating the way his heart ached as he watched Jayce study the burette. Making sure there was enough neutralizer, and that the stopcock was perpendicular and keeping any fluid from dropping out. “You?”

“I’m good,” Jayce murmured. He straightened up, breaking his concentration and glancing at Viktor. Even just a glance, it set his heart on fire. He looked cute, with his hair splayed in every which direction because of the goggles. It brought a smile to his face, one that warmed Viktor’s insides. “I don’t want to go to practice tonight. I could use another night lazing around.”

“Ah,” Viktor responded. He returned the goggles over his eyes. “Do you want to swirl the flask or drip the neutralizer?”

“I can swirl the flask. It’s fun,” Jayce replied, smiling to himself as he eased into the conversation better than he had worried about all night.

“Of course you’d think it’s fun,” Viktor chided playfully. He leaned forward, scooting on his stool a bit closer to Jayce as they coordinated their movements.

With his eyes fixed on the liquid being swirled in the flask, Viktor began to drop the neutralizer slowly.

“This might be a personal question,” Jayce’s voice was soft, too quiet for anyone else to hear as they focused. “But when I was at your house, I saw a picture on your wall… You and Dr. Reveck and—”

“Orianna,” Viktor spoke, his voice sharply cutting off Jayce’s. “Stop swirling.”

Jayce did as told. He ceased his movements, and just like clockwork, the liquid in the flask turned a faint pink colour. Neutralized.

Returning to the paper, Viktor began to scribble down more notes of their session, writing so fast that Mr. Heimerdinger would surely have a difficult time attempting to decipher the notes.

“Is she your sister?”

Viktor paused his writing, out of the corner of his eye, seeing Jayce turn towards him completely, with a gentle look in his eyes. He wanted to berate him for asking something that was none of his business, but he figured, after kissing him, he had the right to want to learn more about him. Viktor wasn’t exactly known for being an open book, and although he preferred to keep it that way, it wasn’t out of necessity more than it was preference—an easy way to shut people out.

He hadn’t wanted to shut Jayce out.

“No, she’s Dr. Reveck’s daughter,” Viktor said after clearing his throat a couple of times. A beat passed, then two. He huffed, turning to face Jayce and once again pushing his goggles back as their knees knocked together. “I’m a foster kid.”

Jayce’s eyes widened just enough for Viktor to notice—a reaction he wasn’t keen on receiving. Yet another thing to be so different about.

“I see,” Jayce murmured, watching as Viktor returned to the paper. He watched silently as he scribbled notes down, swinging a leg absently as he racked his brain for something else to say. “Is he a good foster dad? Dr. Reveck.”

“He was a lot better before Orianna got sick,” he muttered, squeezing his hand tight around his pencil as he temporarily lost momentum in his writing. A sudden jarring weakness, he fought through until his pencil no longer felt like it was going to rip through the paper.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault,” Viktor mumbled, writing his name at the top of the paper. He slid it over the tabletop to Jayce, fingers brushing as he took the pencil from his finger and signed his name right beside.

“I just meant, I’m sorry for not asking sooner. So, I can be there for you if you need it.”

Christ. Why did he have to be so goddamned kind?

Viktor’s eyes softened, a rush of emotion swirling through him. This was the first time in a long time he had found a friend, especially in someone as unlikely as Jayce. Who knew—maybe something more. He forgot what it felt like.

“Dork,” Viktor smirked, rolling his eyes playfully. For someone as nosy as Jayce, Viktor found himself quite forgiving of that fact. He, unfortunately, had developed a soft spot for him. “I should apologize for the other night. The kiss—” his voice dropped low, almost too low for Jayce to catch it. He heard.

“It’s okay,” Jayce perked up, following suit and pushing back his goggles. Viktor hadn’t looked over at him; instead, he was now focused on cleaning, and he was thankful for that. His bright red skin was a telltale sign that the kiss still had quite the effect on him.

It kept him up for hours Saturday night. And the night before. The only reason he had been dragging his feet all day and would rather go home instead of practice. It took over his entire being. Made him wonder what it would be like if Viktor hadn’t turned away, if they took it to the car. Maybe to a bed.

“You were drunk,” Jayce clawed his way out of his thoughts, fingers tapping the surface of the table. “I didn’t mind—”

“Let’s just forget about it,” Viktor spoke, crinkling his nose slightly as he settled his attention on Jayce. “Okay?”

Both fell silent, mulling it over.

“Yeah, okay,” Jayce nodded and smiled, relief flooding through him. Then, a growing sense of disappointment. For the sake of the bet and their friendship, he decided to go with whatever flow Viktor put forward. If that meant forgetting about it, then forget about it he would—even if it pained him.

Viktor, too, felt growing regret in his stomach, but he persevered past it. There was nothing good to come from pursuing the electrifying spark that had grown between them. Nothing good ever came from love. Look what happened to Dr. Reveck.

He didn’t want the disappointment that came with the only guarantee of their relationship: an end.

“Go hand this in,” Viktor shoved the paper to Jayce over the tabletop. Amber eyes settled on the mess of words, drifting up to meet those golden hazel orbs that caused a spike in his heart rate. Within seconds, he felt his hands grow clammy. Mouth dry.

Jayce smiled. That goddamned toothy smile that would surely make anyone’s knees weak.

“You’re bossy today,” the taller boy remarked as he easily slid from his stool to turn in the paper. Viktor, instead, ignored every sparking nerve in his body and cleaned up faster than anyone else ever had.

The sound of the bell rang, signifying the end of the day. A joyous reprieve from the torture that was Piltover High, and the students rushed to their lockers as Jayce and Viktor slowly pushed through the crowds side by side.

“Hey, Jayce,” a junior girl spoke up as she passed by the duo, her blue eyes landing on Viktor. “Oh, hey, Viktor!” She beamed, and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

As they walked down the wide hallway, Viktor’s eyes flickered around the chaos of students. He’d been so good at ignoring anyone who wasn’t Sky that he hadn’t noticed how every single person who greeted Jayce had offered him one, too. He perked up slightly, hand tighter around his cane that tapped against the worn tiling.

Students were noticing him—and not being Grade A Douchebags about it. They were kind. Too kind.

“Viktor!” A girl perked up as she held her textbooks to her chest, chocolate brown hair curling perfectly around her sharp features. She grinned, stopping Jayce and Viktor in their tracks, who had hardly made it more than three classrooms' lengths away from the chemistry lab.

He blinked, eyes focusing on the girl. Someone who ran around in Jayce’s circle—a close friend to Mel and part of the cheerleading team.

“Lest,” Viktor murmured, crinkling his nose when he realized he’d never properly introduced himself to her. Would she find it weird that he knew her name?

While his mind ran rampant, the girl grinned. Her smile was cat-like.

“You really should come to another party this weekend,” she said, eyes not even once looking over at Jayce. Invites were a thing of his past—oftentimes, he was just expected to show up. “Everyone wants to get to know you. Jayce can bring you…” she trailed off, giving him a slight nod before she brushed past him.

Viktor blinked a few times, looking up at Jayce. He was rightly shut up.

Again, that stupid smile and laugh. A deathly combo.

“You’re getting popular,” Jayce spoke through gentle laughter. Perhaps he took it a bit too far, but he couldn’t stop the way his arm latched over Viktor’s slender shoulders and had begun to tug him forward, “She’s right, you totally should come. Don’t go crawling back inside your shell after such a good weekend, dude.”

Viktor stumbled on his footing, but managed to stay upright as he followed next to Jayce. All he could do was nod.

He should’ve said no. He should’ve told Jayce that this was it and that whatever was going on needed to stop and that he wanted to go back to the way it was—but he didn’t. He said yes to the party, and yes to the ride home.

And that’s how he found himself sitting on the empty bleachers as the football team practiced, waiting for Jayce to finish so he could drive him home.

A bony hand held a pencil to a page, scribbling down notes from an earlier class he needed to jot down before they left his mind. Then, on another page, ideas for the next game they were planning for this upcoming week.

The sound of a whistle startled him from his deep thoughts, and he looked up. Squinting his eyes to work past the somewhat blurred vision that could really use a visit to the optometrist.

His eyes landed on Jayce, and his heart stopped.

The quarterback tore off his helmet, tongue slipping out from between his lips to lick at the blue mouth guard on his upper teeth. His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and he smiled—god, he smiled. The stupid mouthguard made his grin lopsided, and he looked oh-so beautiful as his eyes drifted towards the bleachers and landed right on Viktor.

Jayce beamed, his arm lifting and shifting the shoulder plates he wore as he waved at Viktor, who watched as Jayce’s jersey rode up his bicep, muscles flexing.

Viktor watched, and he smiled. A smile that reached his eyes.

He gave back an awkward half-wave and decided then, albeit stupidly, that he was going to ignore the flashing warning signs that he had put up in his mind. He tore them down, threw them away and allowed his heart to soar wildly—all because of him.

A/N - Wow, thank you for your patience. It was a long time coming, and a huge thank you if you are still sticking around and reading this. I can't promise that this will wrap up quickly, but I'll do my best. :)

#jayvik #jayvik fanfic #jayvik fic #viktor x jayce #jayce x viktor #jayce talis x viktor #jayce talis fic #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #jayce talis #jayce arcane #arcane viktor #arcane jayvik #arcane #wordsbyspatial #spatial fic: v's all that

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