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afroslacks · 1 day ago

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My long list of requests for either or both smokestack twins

- stubborn reader

-quiet reader who defends herself

-reader who moves back from school

- recent times model who gets spoiled by one or both of them

-baker reader who made sweets for their mom before she passed

- younger reader who depends on one or both since her papa has passed

All requests could have smut or whatever you want to add thank youuuuu🩷

a/n: I don't think I've ever written for Stack. I hope I did a good job! Also, I like this so much I MIGHT make it into a sequel or series. idk anyways bye!

Model! reader x Sugar Daddy! Stack "Elias" Moore

You’re a top model mainly based in New York City, but you don’t mind traveling for a check. The bare minimum you’ll work for is $200,000, nothing lower. You’ve been featured in many high-profile magazines such as Vogue, Marie Claire, Harper’s Bazaar, and ID magazine, just to name a few.

Modeling has been your passion since the age of eighteen. Immediately after you graduated high school, you jumped headfirst into the career path, making a name for yourself. Currently, you’re on your treadmill in the penthouse gym when you receive a call from your manager, Giselle. The treadmill slows down to a light jog as your finger moves to answer the phone. “Hello gorgeous, how are you?” she asks with a chipper tone in her voice.

Giselle has always been willing to do whatever it took to get you in the door; she has done her best to propel your career forward. She understands especially how much harder it is for you to succeed as a Black model in this very white, Eurocentric, and nepotistic industry. Most of the time you have to know someone to make it in the door, and she was your somebody. Lightly panting, “I’m alright, just finishing a workout. What is the reason for your call?” The sound of a door closing could be heard from the other side of the door. A deep sigh escapes her lips. “You’ve got a job,” she confesses, but you know she’s holding something back, so you stop the treadmill and stand still. “Okay, what’s the job?” you push, wanting her to spit it out already. “Your special gentleman caller.” Giselle replies.

Your heart suddenly picks up at the mention of your special code name that you both use when referring to your secret life. Your manager has been your confidante regarding your sugar daddy situation, not because you wanted her to, but because the man made himself known. The man's name is Stack. After Giselle called one too many times when you were together, he got so sick of it that he called up an associate of his to give me access to your phone. Because he’ll be damned if he’s someone’s fool.

Recently you’ve been avoiding him because you’re working non-stop. The replies to his text messages don’t stop; it’s just when he mentions seeing you that things get tense when you decline. You curse before ordering Giselle. “Tell him I’m busy; he’ll understand,” hoping that’ll be the end of it. A slightly nervous chuckle can be heard. “Baby girl, I’ve tried; he isn’t taking no for an answer. He offered $12,000,000, and he said if you don’t, he’ll just clear your schedule anyway. I’m sorry.” She says he pisses you off because he can be crazy and demanding, like he doesn’t have a business to run. But always make time to get his dose of you, unfortunately. “This is some bullshit...when does he want to meet?” you ask, making your way out of the gym and going towards the elevator. “He said in two hours.” You shake your head, leaning against the wall, not ready to face him again. “Alright, I’ll be there. Thank you, Giselle.” Giselle ends the call with “I’ll let him know. Be safe and let me know if you need me, much love,” and then you hang up the phone. “Clingy ass bitch” slips out before you can stop yourself.

Two hours later you showed up, got dressed, and put on his favorite perfume. Stack texts your phone before you can walk out the door, keys in hand.

Leave the keys at home; you’re getting picked up.

Stack that. It's unnecessary; I can drive.

Don’t argue with me like you aren’t already in trouble for leaving me dry for the past two weeks.

I have to work, and you know that.

You don’t have to work, and I told you that.

I don’t mind taking care of you at all.

I don’t want to live that way; it’s not safe for me.

Well, now you’re going to live like this. Which is making time to come see me every week since you’re so damn busy. Now get downstairs; the driver is waiting.

At his attitude, your face twists into a scowl. “Okay, crybaby ass,” to nobody in particular after getting downstairs his usual driver Chancy is standing outside when he sees your familiar face; he smiles. “Hello, Miss, how have you been?” he greets, stepping closer to pull you into a fatherly hug.

All of Stack’s personal staff know exactly who you are; that’s how deep you are in with him. Your photos, whether magazine or personal, are hung up on his walls, your face is on his phone, and your name is on your accounts.

Stack will even show up to shows sitting in the front row just to see his pretty baby. “I’ve been hanging in there, Chancy.” After stepping back from one another, Chancy confesses, “He’s missed you like a madman; it’s been hard to ignore.” We staff members have done our best, but he really just wanted to see you.” You bite your lip as your mind races as you imagine what his staff members had to go through, possibly “Don’t make that face. He wasn’t crazy or mean; he was just not his usually loud self. He was full and short, that’s all.” Chancy says soothing your worries “Now let’s go; we can’t keep him waiting.”

The car ride was thirty minutes due to the New York City traffic, but once you arrived, you stared at the tall building, preparing yourself for the inevitable reunion. “Wish me luck,” and then you step out of the car and make your way upstairs.

As you ride on the elevator and look at your reflection, you wonder if it's even worth it anymore. What you had wasn’t serious when you started, but as you continued, it became a lot for you to maintain. It's difficult to focus on your career and also meet Stack's needs.

Those thoughts before and after, though, as the doors slide open, legs carry themselves down the hall until you make it to his place and you knock on the door. “Come in,” you hear him say, and the door is pushed open to be greeted with the sight for sore eyes. He sits there with his waves, earrings, cream-colored suit, and some dark liquor in his hand. “Look who it is,” the first thing that comes to mind when he sees you. “Finally got you to put a pause on work and come and see little old me.” He walks closer, and your heart beats fast because no matter how long it’s It's been just the sight of seeing him that makes you excited.

“Stack, I’ve told you I have to work, baby,” you explain, reaching out to place your manicured hands on his suit-covered chest, hoping to ease his anger, but he shakes his head, not liking the sound of your words. “Nuh-uh, baby, you come here when Daddy calls,” before taking another sip of his drink. You lean your forehead against his. “Stack, you have to respect that I’m my own woman, but I’ll always communicate with you.” You promise, holding his gaze as he looks at you with those beautiful brown eyes.

His eyes never stop following you. “We’ll discuss that later. Now that I’ve got you, your time is mine. Now go into the bedroom and go model the clothes I bought. Give me a show, baby,” he orders before breaking out of your hold. You stare at him for a moment before walking towards the bedroom.

“Don’t keep me waiting. I want to see every piece.” After throwing on most of the clothes, you spot a separate bag filled with lingerie. Your hand reaches in to pull out a lacy red set and a pair of red bottoms to match. Once you put it on, you make your way into the living room to see Stack had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

“Come here,” the words slip out of your lips. You slowly walk over to him before standing in front of him. Stack’s hand reaches for the thong, pulling on the material to test the stretch.

“That’s good, so these might not rip the next time I want to fuck you.” Both hands then slide up to the cups, breast massage them through the cups as you slowly feel yourself getting wet. “Look at you, getting wet already,” he cockily observes and chuckles at your flustered state with the sudden heat rising in your face.

“I shouldn’t even be touching you right now since you were too busy to see me.” His hands start roughly squeezing your breast, causing a moan to slip through your lips. “Elias, please,” you beg softly. “Nah, don’t use my name now,” he taunts, enjoying your desperate state. His large hand then slides up to your neck, getting a firm grip on your throat, pulling you closer. “Now say you’re going to make time for me whenever I say,” he orders. Your lips press together at the refusal to say the words. He sits there, waiting for you to come to your senses, but you decide to be bold.

His other hand slides into your panties; his index and middle fingers find the entrance of your lips, slowly sliding in, cursing pants to escape your lips as you close your eyes in bliss. His fingers move, curling them inside your tight heat as he watches you enjoy yourself. His finger then finds your sweet spot. “Oh!” you exclaim, trying to stay standing with your wobbly legs.

“Say it,” he orders again, knowing that you’re getting close. Your moans fill the living room as your hands find his broad shoulder to brace yourself so you won't fall.

His fingers then separate for a second just to fit your pearl between the two, and he continues his movement, being mindful of your center. “You gonna say it, or I’m not gonna let you come?” moans escape your lips in protest, not wanting the pleasure to stop.

Your legs continue to wobble as they start to give out. His hand escapes your panties before he pulls you onto his knee, then he slides right back in. As your stomach starts to get tighter and you get close, he stops. “Elias!” you exclaim in frustration. He then pulls you back so you’ll make eye contact. “Girl, you better say it like you mean it.” For the last time, he reinserts his fingers, resuming his motion as you get closer again. “I—” you are cut off by a moan. “You what? Keep talking,” he orders, looking at you with a hard glare. “I promise when you call, I’ll be there.” You rush out, trying to chase your high, and then you start to come. “You better,” the words are said in your ear as you come down.

#michael b jordan x reader #sinners x reader #stack x reader #x black reader #micheal b jordan sinners #elias moore x reader #sinners x black! reader

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virahaus · 1 day ago

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Something something, Anakin and Obi-Wan not agreeing in their role in each other life.

Anakin wanting/needing/referring to Obi-Wan as his father ("you are the closest thing I have to a father") yet also unconsciously realising Obi-Wan doesn't quite fit in that image (Anakin seeing Qui-Gon and, regrettably, Palpatine as father figures also). It also implies that Anakin craves a more authoritative figure in his life and he'd like for Obi-Wan to fill that space. And this also ties with Anakin trying to keep secrets from Obi-Wan, being afraid of not measuring up to him if he showed his mistakes.

Obi-Wan stubbornly trying to fit Anakin into a brotherly bond, so seeing himself as less imposing (different from father) and more equal and yet he only tries to do so after Anakin's knighting. He tried to fit Anakin into a brotherly figure as soon as Anakin was set from knighthood, so he'd still be his responsibility in a way but less arbitrary than before. In a way this idea was detrimental to their time as master and padawan, since Anakin craved a much more involved and guiding presence than the brotherly and pedantic way Obi-Wan sometimes lectured/ignored/gave him a pass.

Those two search for different things in each other and yet.... They agree only in one specific way to describe their bond which I think is far more significant:

They are partners. They are the team.

They see each other as their missing part, never whole if parted. And they both feel this. Anakin was upset about Obi-Wan going alone to fight Grevious and he literally wished he could run away with him. Obi-Wan on his solo mission missing Anakin so much he almost talks to the air since he's so accustomed to sharing jokes with him.

They try to fit their bond into platonic, friendly, or familiar ties and yet they always come up short in understanding each other's needs. Only when they act as each other's partners, then it's when they finally are in harmony and happy.

All of this to say, if they got married instead of anidala there might have been way less fuckery going around.

#anakin skywalker #obikin #obi wan kenobi #star wars #darth vader #vaderwan #prompts & ideas #prompt: obikin #my post

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akanemnon · 1 day ago

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Hi akane.

So I wanna know how you come up with a good funny comic.

Because I wanna do a comic in the future. But I have a bit of trouble with creating an actual funny and appealing comic.

That is actually something that can't really be taught that easily through a simple explanation. Unlike with art where there are visual tricks and workarounds, this is all writing-based.

This will be a longer read, so answer under the cut.

Humor is very subjective. Everyone finds different things funny. I am someone who enjoys character-based humor for example. I'm also not a big fan of telling easy jokes myself. The kind of jokes that are repeated in the fandom many times. All power to you if you love them though! Can't help but enjoy a good meme. These kinda jokes are actually used in The Other Script however as a sort of love letter to the fandom itself. BUT the way I use them is to explore these charcaters and their dynamics. In a transformative way so to speak. Lemme use a direct example: So there is this scene in The Other Script where Frisk is upset and really sad. Previously they were venting their frustration that Kris wasn't telling them anything about their previous adventures. So Kris circles back to that and as a way to cheer up Frisk they do the "Kris get the banana" bit from Chapter 2.

It is a direct reference, but it is used in a way that makes sense in the story. It's not a random gag. It's used in a situation where it is applicable. So as you can see the way I write is very character-centric in general.

So if you also are most interested in character-based humor, what you can do is explore the characters you wanna write about. Their behavior, the way they talk, what they like, what they dislike, how they react in certain situations. Most of the comedy already comes from putting contrasting characters together. Characters can also just be funny on their own with how they interact with the world around them.

But who knows? Maybe you prefer puns! Maybe you like slapstick! Or silly humor! Or dark humor! There are TONS of different ways to go about it. Find out what you find funniest and play into that. Sometimes a good frame of inspiration is all you need. Maybe there were movies and TV shows you really gravitated towards when it came to the jokes they were telling. In the end, it is about what YOU think is funny. There will always be other people who might vibe with your brand of humor and others who won't. There are probably plenty of people who don't get my brand of humor. And that's okay. I'm grateful enough there are already a lot of people who think I'm funny. Which you might be one of them, since you asked me about a humor-based question.

So yeah, TDLR ask yourself what you find funniest and find the right inspiration to work into your comic.

#ask akane #art talk #the other script #writing #queued post

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inkpetrichor · 2 days ago

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Nasty Dog! | Kuroo Tetsurou x f!reader

8.- Part eight

masterlist here<3

cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. suggestive. fluffy. tw: mentions of bullying and rumors. anxiety/stress. academic pressure. reference to suicidal ideation. pls let me know if i missed anything<3 wc. 5k an. i love yall <3 as always, your comments are appreciated <3

The morning crept in slowly, filtering through the blinds in strips of gold. You stirred first, cheek still pressed to his chest, his arm a dead weight across your waist. His skin was warm, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

"Don't move," Kuroo rasped, voice gravel-deep with sleep. "Five more minutes."

You smiled sleepily. "We already had five."

"Then ten. I'm injured."

"You're not."

"You used me like a jungle gym. I'm emotionally and physically wrecked."

You snorted softly and shifted, your bare legs tangling with his under the blanket. "Your grandparents are going to wake up soon."

He muttered something unintelligible and burrowed deeper into the pillow, refusing to move.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the fond smile tugging at your lips. You shifted closer and pressed a kiss to his neck, slow and lingering.

"C'mon, captain. Didn't you say something about showing me how to play for real?"

That made his eyes crack open—dark and hooded with sleep, but sharp in the way they raked over you.

"You sure you're ready for that? You could barely walk to the bathroom earlier."

"I bet I'd look hotter in your shorts than you do," you whispered, your voice teasing against his lips.

He chuckled, low and rough. "Debatable."

You kissed him before he could say anything else—slow at first, then deeper, needier. His hand slid up your thigh under the covers, warm and firm, fingers curling into your skin. His other hand found your waist, dragging you over him as his mouth claimed yours again, hotter this time, a little desperate. You sighed into him, your fingers threading through his messy bedhead, running your nails over his scalp to make him groan into your mouth.

His hips shifted beneath you, just enough to make you feel the way he wanted more—wanted you—and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it.

Then—

You tensed, breath catching.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that threatened to break at any moment with a knock or creak or door swinging open.

You pulled back with a breathless laugh, still close enough to feel his lips brush yours. "We can't. Not here."

Kuroo's eyes opened, frustration and affection twined in equal measure. "Seriously?"

"If your grandparents find out I'm here, they're going to kill you."

"They'll like you," he said, chasing another kiss, already pulling you back down.

You kissed him once more—quick and sweet this time—before slipping just out of reach. "They could like me. Not if they find me like this. Now let's go."

He groaned and flopped onto his back like he was being punished. "Cruel."

"You'll live," you whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

"Barely."

You smiled and rolled out of bed. "God, you're such a baby."

You stood and stretched, letting his shirt rise up just enough to make his eyes narrow.

He huffed. "You ruin me, call me names, and then tease me. Incredible."

You smirked, blowing him a kiss on your way to the door. "Better get used to it, jungle gym."

"My legs are still jelly," you muttered, tugging at your sleeves.

The gym was cold when you stepped inside, lights humming overhead, polished floors gleaming beneath your boots. The faint scent of varnish and dust clung to the air. You were still rubbing sleep from your eyes, Kuroo's borrowed jacket half-zipped over the —also borrowed—shorts. Soft and warm around your thighs, a little too big, smelling like him.

He looked just as wrecked as you felt—hair messier than usual, stretching his arms above his head with a groan that went straight to your stomach. That low sound, paired with the lazy flex of his muscles had your brain flashing right back to the night before.

You stared a second too long.

Kuroo caught it, lips quirking, one eyebrow cocked. "Still jelly? From the morning run or from riding me into the mattress?"

Your face heated instantly. "Don't test me, volleyball boy. I will start a rematch right here."

He chuckled, dropping his arms and resting his hands on his hips, already shifting into that calm, commanding air he always carried on the court.

"Alright, alright. We'll keep it light. Just a little warm-up. I want you to get a feel for the ball."

You eyed him warily. "You say that like it won't end with me breaking a window."

He smirked. "Have a little faith."

Before anything else, the two of you worked together to set up the net—well, you fumbled while Kuroo quietly took over. You nearly pinched your fingers on the crank, got tangled in the cords, and argued over which side was supposed to be the front until Kuroo stepped in, gently nudging you aside with a smug little smile.

"You're so annoying," you grumbled, crossing your arms.

"You're lucky you're cute," he shot back, tying the last knot like it was second nature.

Net up, cart stocked, and Kuroo already tossing the ball between his hands—playtime officially began.

You tried. You really did. But your first serve skimmed the net and flopped to the ground like a dying fish. Your second one bounced off the side wall. By the fifth, you were ready to throw hands.

"I'm gonna kill that ball," you growled, fists clenched.

Across the court, Kuroo nearly doubled over laughing. "Okay, killer. Let's reel that in a little. We don't threaten the ball, we respect the ball."

You glared daggers. "The ball started it."

"Alright, alright," he snorted, walking toward you. "Let me show you how it's done."

He stood tall, his posture perfect, his gaze narrowing as he tossed the ball into the air. You couldn't look away. His movements were fluid and confident, practiced, sexy as hell. Arms stretching, hips rotating just right, a sharp snap as his palm met the ball. It soared over the net with a clean, echoing thud.

You blinked.

"...You're gonna have to do that again," you said, shaking your head. "Sorry—I swear I'll pay attention this time. You just looked way too beautiful."

That made him choke.

That made him blush—bright red ears, neck flushing, eyes darting away like the words hit deeper than all the filth you'd whispered into his skin the night before.

"Oh my God," you laughed, wide-eyed. "You're blushing? That's what gets you?"

He spun toward you, even redder.

"Oh yeah?"

You blinked, and then he was charging toward you. You squealed and bolted, but his arms caught you halfway across the court, wrapping you up from behind. You laughed as he spun you around in a slow, clumsy circle, dizzy and breathless in his grip, both of you stumbling and giddy.

"Let me go!" you managed, though you were smiling too hard for it to be convincing.

"No, I won't," he murmured, his mouth brushing your neck. He pressed slow, lazy kisses there, soft enough to make your knees weak.

The doors creaked open right in front of you.

Kenma stood there for a second, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He blinked once. Twice.

"Never again," he muttered, turning to leave.

Kuroo lunged, grabbing the hood of his sweatshirt. "Nope. You're here. You're setting."

"I was promised peace and quiet."

"You were promised a DLC," Kuroo corrected. "Now come on."

Kenma groaned but let himself be dragged in like a reluctant cat in a box.

You gave him a cautious little wave. "Hey. Sorry in advance for whatever crimes against volleyball I'm about to commit."

He blinked at you. Then, with a soft sigh, wandered over to the cart and grabbed a ball.

"Let's just go slow," he muttered. "You've never played?"

"Not unless you count chucking dodgeballs at teachers in junior high."

Something flickered in his eyes—not quite amusement, not full judgment either. Something more... curious.

Kuroo leaned against the net, arms crossed, that lopsided smile tugging at his mouth.

The thing was... it clicked fast.

Kenma didn't warm up to people easily. It took weeks for him to even speak to Lev when he joined the team, let alone find a steady rhythm with his spikes. With Yamamoto, it was months of tolerating his volume and 'willpower' bullshit before anything resembling friendship bloomed.

But with you?

It was different. He didn't mind you as much as he thought he did at first.

You didn't crowd him. Didn't press. You asked simple questions, nodded when he corrected you, and didn't take offense when he was blunt. Even when your frustration flared, you stayed grounded—focused. You were all fight, sure, but it wasn't mindless. There was focus under the snark, intention under the sarcasm. A spark that made sense.

Halfway through your tenth try, once you landed with a click of your tongue after another failed spike, Kenma narrowed his eyes.

"You actually listen."

You blinked at him, confused. "Uh. Yeah?"

"No, like… really listen. That's weird."

You shrugged, panting lightly. "I mean, I don't know what I'm doing. It'd be stupid not to."

Kenma tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn't quite figured out yet.

"People who don't know usually pretend they do. Or argue. You don't."

"Because I'm not trying to impress anyone," your voice was even even, then teasing. "Except maybe your dumbass best friend."

Across the gym, Kuroo's voice rang out. "I heard that!"

Kenma squinted at you. "Okay. Again. Let's try that timing one more time."

And this time—

Something snapped into place. A few slow reps, a couple of awkward tosses—and then it happened.

The ball landed just right in your palm. You moved without thinking—instinct guiding your arms, weight shifting, body coiling. You slammed it down hard. The sound cracked through the gym like thunder.

Kenma's brows lifted slightly—his version of shock.

You stood there, stunned, heart pounding.

Kuroo's head jerked up. His own heartbeat stuttered.

He'd expected effort. Maybe some messy hustle, maybe a laugh or two. But that? That kind of power? That kind of control? It wasn't polished, but it was real. It had weight.

You stood tall across the court, breathless, flushed, strands of hair stuck to your cheeks, your eyes wild and alight like you'd just stepped into something raw and electric.

Holy shit.

You didn't even realize what you'd just done.

"Oh shit," you said, eyes wide as you turned to Kenma. "That felt awesome. Do that again."

Kenma, unreadable as ever, tossed up another ball.

Kuroo watched the play unfold—Kenma's fingers snapping into position, your body moving like it had done this a hundred times. No hesitation. Just motion.

You looked feral. Sharp. Alive.

Boom.

The second spike was even cleaner. You landed with a slight stumble and a burst of laughter, breathless but radiant.

Kuroo dragged a hand through his hair, lips parted in disbelief.

He'd never seen you like this. Not even the night before, not in your smugest or sexiest moments. This wasn't about proving anything. This was joy. Pure, kinetic, unfiltered joy.

And it was Kenma—Kenma of all people—who unlocked it.

He didn't know who he was feeling jealous of, he just knew he was. More than he'd like to admit.

You kept calling for more, flushed and beaming, eyes glittering like your lungs were full of lightning. Every spike echoed like a heartbeat.

And then—

The gym doors creaked open.

Kuroo turned just in time to see three familiar heads poke in—

Yaku, Lev, Yamamoto.

And at that exact second, you launched into another spike. Your body snapped through the air like a whip, palm striking the ball with a vicious crack that echoed across the gym. It slammed into the court so hard it bounced halfway to the second floor's balcony.

All three boys flinched like someone had fired a gun.

"That noise was her?"

Kuroo didn't answer. He couldn't. He was still watching you.

You landed hard, boots squealing against the polished floor, shoulders heaving, grin tugging at your lips from the leftover rush—until your eyes found them.

In the span of a breath, your entire demeanor changed.

Not loud. Not obvious. But Kuroo saw it—the shift in your spine, the flicker of your eyes. The way your grin faltered and your hand brushed across your mouth like you were wiping it away. That sharp edge returned to your expression, the one he'd seen before—the one built for defense, for distance.

You moved quickly, snagging Kuroo's jacket from the bench and shrugging it on in one smooth motion, zipping it halfway.

Yaku stepped forward, voice already tight. "What the hell, Kuroo?"

Kuroo opened his mouth to explain, but Yaku cut in, his concern outweighing his irritation.

"She's not even wearing proper shoes! What if she landed wrong? You want her blowing out her knee just to show off? If Coach hears about this—"

"Yaku."

Your voice cut clean through the tension—low, respectful, completely steady.

Everyone froze. Even Kuroo.

"I'm sorry." You bowed your head—not dramatically, but enough. "That was my mistake. We were supposed to leave before practice started, but I lost track of time."

Yaku stared, thrown.

You turned toward the others. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I know this is your space."

Silence.

Even Lev looked disoriented, his mouth slightly ajar as he glanced at Yamamoto like wait, what?

Kuroo watched their reactions carefully. The confusion on Yaku's face. The uncertainty in Yamamoto's posture. Lev's visible shock.

Because here you were—you—the girl they'd only heard about in whispers. The one who'd decked two guys outside the station once. The one people warned first years not to look at the wrong way.

And instead of being what they expected—brash, rude, dangerous—you were bowing. Soft-spoken. Apologizing with your head down and a steady, neutral tone.

You weren't trying to prove yourself. You were just being respectful.

You offered Kuroo a small smile—quiet, unreadable—then turned and grabbed your bag, slinging it over one shoulder as you headed for the exit.

"See you in class, Tetsurou."

The gym door clicked shut behind you.

Silence stretched out.

"She... she's nice?" Lev whispered, like he wasn't sure if he'd imagined the last two minutes.

Yamamoto frowned. "I thought she was gonna, like... flip us off or threaten to set the gym on fire or something."

"She's not not scary," Yaku muttered, still trying to recalibrate. "But... yeah. She's also nice to me in class."

Kuroo stood there, heart thudding like he'd just run suicides.

You were rough. Reckless. Intense. He liked that.

But when it came to his team—you'd seem to soften, even if just a tad. Not because anyone asked. But because you knew it mattered to him.

That hit him in the chest harder than any spike.

Yaku sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kuroo. Just... be careful, okay? With the rumors and all. Bringing her here might not—"

"I know," Kuroo said quietly, still staring at the door.

Kenma, who had silently been returning a ball to the cart, spoke without looking up.

"She'd be good," he said, voice flat but certain. "If she stuck with it."

Kuroo let out a breath, slow and full of heat.

Yeah.

You'd be dangerous.

As the morning wore on and the first period began, Yaku tried to apologize for the little gym incident.

You didn't let him.

You didn't even seem fazed by getting caught—tension gone, mood light, swagger returned. You lounged back in your chair, spinning a pen between your fingers like it wasn't the same hand you'd used to spike the soul out of a volleyball less than an hour ago.

You talked about it like it was a random Tuesday.

Mostly, you talked about the feel of it—how the ball connected with your palm in this perfect, violent snap. How the impact echoed down your bones. How dumb the boys looked when you landed.

"I mean, it was good," Kuroo admitted, tone casual—but his lips curled ever so slightly. "And you're new to this, so it's obvious we'd be surprised."

"Tetsurou~ Are you saying I'm a natural?"

"Oh no, the ego of a spiker. Tragic."

You turned to fire back—but the words froze on your tongue. From the doorway came a calm, measured voice. Cold as an iceberg.

"L/N Y/N."

Your whole body went still.

Inukai-sensei.

Slowly, you turned your head, and there he stood, one hand in his pocket and the other resting against the doorframe.

He didn't look angry.

That would've been easier.

"Step outside with me."

You didn't say a word. Kuroo watched you go, brow furrowing as you just stood, quiet and obedient—too quiet—and followed him into the hallway.

The hallway was quiet. Cool and sterile. You stood with your back straight, hands shoved into your pockets, every line of you locked in place.

Inukai-sensei didn't look at you right away. He stared out the window at the end of the corridor, as though gathering his words from the pale sky. After a couple minutes, he nodded into the distance.

"You know what a leash is for?" he asked suddenly.

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"A leash," he repeated, calm. "It's not about control. It's about protection... You leash a dog not because you don't trust it, but because the world outside can kill it before it knows where the danger is."

Finally, his gaze found yours—sharp, deliberate.

"But some dogs don't like leashes. They pull. They snap. They fight it until they choke themselves."

His metaphor made you flinch.

This wasn't about leashes.

"I thought," he continued, folding his arms behind his back, "when I brought you into this class, that we had an understanding. That the exception the head of department made—one they've never made before, wasn't something you'd toss aside. I told you this was a rare opportunity. I told you I needed your resolve."

You opened your mouth. "Sensei—"

"I assumed," he spoke over you, voice unwavering, "when you nodded along, that you understood what it meant. That I didn't stick my neck out for a lost cause."

His words landed heavy, like slow stones dropped into your gut.

"Two weeks and a half," he said, tone flat. "Two weeks and a half of skipped classes. Three schoolmates injured. Two phone calls from other schools with complaints about you and the rest. And speaking of—" he gestured faintly at the gauze wrapped around your knuckles. "I assume Ookami Junpei's face is also your doing?"

You didn't answer.

"So you're fighting your own friends now?"

"He's not my friend."

Inukai raised a brow, like that made it any better.

"Two weeks and a half," he repeated.

"It was a slip-up," you said quickly. "I'm back on track."

He regarded you for a long moment. Then, a single nod.

"I want to believe that," he said. "Considering you're here. And for once, you don't reek of cigarette smoke."

Your jaw locked, tongue heavy behind your teeth.

Still, he didn't raise his voice. He never had to.

"This school has never done this before," he said again. "Bringing someone with your record into a class like this one. It was a risk."

"Someone like me?" you cut in, sharp.

"Yes," he said simply. "Someone like you is a risk. There's no use pretending otherwise. And there are dozens of students who would kill for that desk. That chance you're wasting."

His voice didn't shake. Just twisted the knife with calm, deliberate finality.

"Exams are approaching," he continued, turning slightly. "If your grades drop from what earned you this transfer, the administration will assume you cheated. And you'll be sent back to your original class."

Your stomach turned. But he wasn't done.

He glanced back at you, tone colder now. Final.

"And if you get into one more fight, I won't vouch for you anymore. I won't argue for you in the staffroom. I won't look like a fool anymore to protect someone who spits in my hand after I offer it."

And with that, he walked away—his shoes clicking steadily down the sterile floor.

You stayed frozen. Let the silence close around you like a second skin.

The hallway felt colder now. Like the light from the window had turned blue.

When you slipped back into your seat, it was like nothing had happened. But your shoulders sat heavier. Eyes duller.

Kuroo felt the shift immediately.

He leaned closer. "Was it the rumors?" his voice was low and laced with concerned when he asked.

You shook your head once. "No. I don't think he's heard them."

"Yet," Yaku muttered from behind.

"Yet," you agreed quietly. "It's because of the last two weeks. If I bomb the exams or throw another punch… I'm fucked."

Yaku's brows furrowed. "Isn't he your old homeroom teacher?"

You exhaled, shifting in your seat. "Still is."

"Why?"

You tilted your head, eyes fixed on the desk like it held answers.

"Because he's the only one who can put a leash on us."

Kuroo watched you. The change in your posture, the fight drained out of your limbs, the soft gravel in your voice when you said us.

You leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk.

"He dragged me into this," you muttered. "Begged the teaching board to give me a chance. Just one. This means something. Not just for me—for all of us. Me, Taiga, Kenkiba, Emi… A chance to prove we're not just some ticking time bomb."

Your nails pressed into your palms.

"He saw something in us when no one else did. When every teacher wanted to write us off as burnouts and thugs." Your voice dropped to a whisper. "And I made him look like a fool."

Kuroo's chest ached at the quiet shame in your tone.

Before he could say anything, a sharp 'Shhh' cut through the air from the front of the classroom.

But he kept looking at you from the corner of his eye.

He'd seen you laugh. He'd seen you fight. He'd even seen you fly.

But this—this quiet war you were fighting with yourself, just to be seen as worth the chance? This war you were fighting for you and your team?

This was the part of you he hadn't expected.

And it made his heart twist.

Emi exhaled slowly through her nose, the smoke trailing upward in a lazy, curling spiral.

"How pissed?"

"Like a Buddhist monk watching his dog dig up a grave."

That earned a sharp snort from her—half a laugh, half disbelief.

"Jesus."

"He pulled me into the hall," you muttered, flicking ash off your cigarette. "Gave me the whole 'you're lucky to be here' speech. Said I've got until exams. If I screw up again, he's done with me."

You were tucked into the usual corner—half-sheltered from the wind, the brick walls funneling the breeze in gusts that carried the bitter tang of tobacco and the damp scent of old rain steeped into concrete. Only this time, Kuroo leaned beside you, legs long, gaze unreadable and Yaku sat a little stiffly on the floor, clearly not used to this part of the school—this kind of company.

Emi squinted at the unfamiliar face, puffing out smoke slowly. "Who's the little one?"

He visibly tensed. "Morisuke Yaku."

"Oh! I knew I'd seen you somewhere," Emi said, suddenly brightening. "Shiromaru Aiko. Big fan of your work."

She extended a hand, black polish chipped and catching the light. Yaku shook it, more out of social instinct than warmth—clearly unsure what 'work' she was referring to.

"You beat up my ex in junior high 'cause he called you tiny," Emi explained with a grin when she caught his confused stare.

Kuroo raised a brow. Yaku stared into the middle distance like he was trying to astral project.

"...He had it coming."

"He did," Emi snickered. "Iconic."

For a fleeting beat, things almost felt normal—easy. The way they used to be.

Then Kuroo leaned forward slightly, his voice low but direct. "If Inukai-sensei hears the rumors, you're probably done. But if you beat Hebinuma up to stop her spreading them, you're extra done."

The warmth in your chest died instantly. You frowned.

"But I can't let her spread that shit about Emi either," you snapped.

Beside you, Emi's posture faltered, like something inside her had been knocked loose. Her smile dimmed. She stubbed out her cigarette on the cracked pavement with more force than needed.

"I'm going home," she said quietly, brushing ash from her skirt. Her voice was paper-thin. "Not feeling too well."

"Emi—"

"Y/N." She didn't look at you, and her tone was stern, cold, and final. "I'm fine. You can't protect me this time. You finally have something good—getting your grades up and shit. A real chance. You're proving a point for all of us."

Your throat tightened. That ache bloomed again—low and hot behind your ribs, frustration curling into helplessness.

Kuroo spoke before you could.

"Why do you even want to stay in Class 5 anyway? If it's for me, don't. I don't care about that. I'll still like you even if you're not there."

"Gross..." Yaku muttered from the side.

You gently shook your head. A warm smile creeping to your lips despite yourself.

"It's not about that. I don't want to disappoint Inukai-sensei," you murmured. Your voice came out rougher than intended. You took a breath, the air sharp in your lungs.

Kuroo's brow furrowed slightly, watching you.

"He's been looking out for us for too long. Before anyone gave a shit about what happened to me, or what I could be, he did. He saw all of us—me, Kenkiba, Taiga, Emi—not just as trouble, but as kids. He stuck his neck out when no one else would."

You turned to Emi with a smirk. "Hell, remember in first year when Kenkiba trashed the storage shed during that fight with the upperclassmen?"

Emi snorted, a nostalgic smile making its way to her lips despite all of it.

"He threw a shovel through a window."

"Yeah. Should've been expelled on the spot," you said, half-laughing. "But Inukai-sensei told the board he asked Kenkiba to clean up and that the glass was already broken."

Yaku let out a small, surprised snort.

"Or Taiga," you added. "The cops caught him spray-painting with his uniform on. Inukai convinced them not to press charges. Said it was 'an experimental art project.'"

Kuroo looked mildly horrified. Emi looked back and smiled at him.

"It was a giant flaming skull smoking a blunt, by the way."

"Experimental," you repeated, deadpan. "And you know what? After all that, after every time he'd catch us smoking or fighting, or breaking almost every rule in the book—he still let us back in the classroom like nothing happened. Of course, after a lecture or a speech that made you feel like you actually didn't want to do it again. Like you didn't want to disappoint him anymore."

You paused.

"He's been backing us from day one. Even when we didn't deserve it. Even when we gave him every reason to stop."

Your hands clenched at your sides. "He argued with the board for us and begged them to give me a chance in class 5. Not because he thought we were harmless, but because he believed we could be better." Your nails dug into your palm. "All that trust, all that risk, and I'm screwing it up."

Emi nodded once—tight, unreadable, like she didn't trust her own voice—then turned and walked off, her shoes crunching gravel and brittle leaves.

You didn't stop her.

But a weight sank low in your gut—cold, immovable.

Kuroo's hand brushed your arm. "We'll talk to her again tomorrow."

You nodded, but your eyes stayed fixed on the spot where she'd disappeared around the corner.

You weren't sure she'd show.

You wanted to believe Emi would be fine. That she was strong. That she meant it when she said she could hold on. Even if Hebinuma had the pictures again.

But that night, she wasn't answering your texts, and the unease that had been simmering inside you all day finally started to boil.

The last message you sent—

:You okay? Please call me.

—just sat there. Unread. Unanswered. You told yourself not to panic as you paced your room, fingers twitching every time your phone buzzed. But it was never her.

It was just past nine when your phone buzzed again with an incoming call.

You lunged for it, hope flaring that it might be Emi.

It wasn't.

Your thumb hesitated over the screen, confusion tightening your brow.

Junpei.

You stared at his name, your gut clenching like a fist. Every instinct told you to let it ring. Whatever he wanted, it couldn't be good—and you didn't trust him. Not after what he pulled. Not after everything.

But your thumb didn't drop.

What if this was about Emi?

Your heart started racing before your brain could even catch up, a primal kind of fear that surged through your body like a warning siren. You hesitated, one breath too long—

Then you answered.

You shouldn't have.

His voice came through low and shaky.

"Y/N… Emi's not okay."

Your stomach bottomed out. "What? What happened?"

"She called me earlier," he said, breath hitching. "Said she couldn't take it anymore. I—I tried to call her back, but she won't pick up. She was crying. I think… I think she's in Shibuya. That spot by the old station—you know the one."

Your lungs tightened like they were collapsing. The air in your room thinned.

The fear hit you like a body blow—sudden, all-consuming. Images flashed rapid-fire behind your eyes. Emi crying. Emi alone. Emi gone.

You felt it earlier, in the way she wouldn't meet your eyes. In her voice. But you let her go.

And now it might be too late.

You wanted to be smart. To question why she'd call him of all people. Why he suddenly cared. But logic shriveled under the heat of your panic. There was no time.

Because if there was even the slightest chance she was really out there—alone, scared, hurting—

You had to go.

"What about the gang?" you asked, your voice brittle, barely audible over the thudding in your ears.

"I don't know," Junpei whispered. "Please. Just go."

You didn't respond.

You were already pulling on your shoes, shoes on, bag slung over your shoulder, phone clutched like a lifeline. Your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to break out.

The cold air hit like a warning. Last time, you hadn't moved fast enough. And you couldn't survive being too late again.

Next chapter↪ (coming soon<3)

tags. @themoreeviltwin @taylordenae @rhea-sylvea @iluvikeu @tgnvhp @adangerousbalance @orphicarchive @tammytaamm @iluvmusicxoxo @rvm1ne @kuzoq @espressocandies @ashley95943734 @jayathelostdragon @kyokoyya @crystal-lilac @kuzuven0208 @lblackwood @evilari111 @chaoticotaku @uekarashi

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lordcharles01 · 15 hours ago

Note

So, since there's a lot of comments I'll keep things concise in one reblog. Thanks for the answer Mark, it's unfortunate to hear that the sci-fi forward angle was very intentional.

To the person calling me conspiratorial, I have a job in data analytics. I literally look at cause and effect for a living. Seeing as we see UB products routinely justified by the once admitted mistake of Arabian Nights, I can't say that I find it unreasonable to find that this taking a sci-fi first angle will be used to bludgeon future detractors of other products.

To the people saying that if I see spaceships and robots and think UB and not magic, I say why not use constructs? Why very specifically "spacecraft" as opposed to something more unique. D&D has space ships but they're called "Spelljammers" and they largely have a distinct feel separate from conventional spaceships. Construct is conventionally magical in nature, robot is conventionally sci-fi. There is a choice in language here that is uninventive at best and at worst was intentionally chosen to break from magic.

The Star Trek reference is getting some attention so I'll clarify that with limited space, Trek was the easiest encapsulation of what I was going for. In truth, the setting has this overall generic sci-fi design and people are kinda solidifying the point i was intending to make. There's at least 3 other comments saying "it's not Star Trek, it's more like XYZ instead" which shows that yes, this does in fact feel more generic sci-fi and not a uniquely fantasy take on a space opera. When announced, my hope was more in the line of the Weatherlight and, since we're in the business of specific examples, less from HALO. The planeswalker's guide features ships with art by Viko Menezes and Sergey Glushakov have a lot of shared lines with a Covenant Intrusion Corvette and a Covenant Heavy Corvette respectively.

And to the person who wants to bring up Discworld. It starts as a sincere parody of fantasy, and definitely has science as a part of it. Core to the world is that magic is always very much a thing but also that fantasy and sci-fi are cousins. It's the words you use to describe them that truly make them unique. To quote Thor: "Your ancestors called it magic, but you call it science. I come from a land where they are one and the same." Combine this with Prattchet's own words "It doesn't stop being magic just because you know how it works" and you have the exact reason why this doesn't gel with me. Annotations by Tezzeret call for a translation into a familiar lexicon because how out of universe this is. He is literally a fantasy character transplanted into a Sci-Fi world.

As someone who dislikes UB but had accepted your "don't like it don't play with it" mentality, Edge of Eternities has me concerned. The addition of spacecraft and proliferation of robots feels more like an attempt to blur the line and bring proper sci-fi into MTG for future UB product than an attempt to ask how Magic the Gathering would do sci-fi concepts. Any chance we could see more MTG influence in our spacecrafts and less star trek (or something more uniquely MTG than spacecraft as a whole?)

This is 100% us doing a Magic version of space opera.

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sissylittlefeather · 1 day ago

Text

Sanctuary

A One Shot

A/N: When I tell you this was a labor of love, I am understating it. This piece came out of nowhere, took root in my heart, and bloomed out of my very soul. It is my favorite thing that I've ever written. This is my love letter, my declaration, my covenant to him. This is what I've always dreamed of for him. There are remnants of my blood, sweat, and tears here, folks. I hope you enjoy it, my heart on the page.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, this has some of the gentlest, most respectful and subtle sex I've ever written. Drug use and addiction are also in there. As is childbirth and death. There are also Christian/Biblical references throughout.

Word count: ~3.4k

Somewhere in Memphis, tucked behind a fence covered in ivy, there's a little white house with a sign outside that reads Sanctuary. The house has fallen into disrepair, with peeling paint and a sagging roof, but when you sit on the porch in the early morning sunlight, you can still see it how it used to be when he was here. It lives in your heart and your memory with the blue shutters intact and the lawn perfectly mowed and him, always him, singing somewhere in the house.

Back then, the now-quiet house was full of noise, especially after the children came along. But even before that, you always had music. From the day he handed you the keys and installed the sign out front, you filled the place with him even when he couldn't be there.

The memory of how you met in 1960 floats up and you close your eyes to really see it. You were cleaning the church when he walked in and sat in a pew at the back. It was after midnight and at first, you were scared. No one ever came into the church this late. You considered going to the phone and calling the minister, but then you heard him. He was crying. And not pretty, quiet tears. No, he was sobbing, his arms wrapped around himself as he rocked, shoulders shaking. You tried to get a little closer to see if you knew him. You'd lived in this town for most of your life, so the odds were good. When you realized it was him, you quickly stifled your gasp.

Elvis Presley.

But not the version you'd seen on your TV in the ‘50s or even on the Frank Sinatra show recently. This man was broken. It cracked open something inside you that never closed again.

You approached him gently, heart in your throat, not because of his fame, but because of his pain. All you did was slide into the pew beside him and wrap an arm around his shoulders. He fell into your embrace like he'd been searching for it, tears soaking the fabric of your dress. There were no words between you in those first few hours. You held him and he clung to you and cried. Eventually, though, he noticed you were whispering and sniffled.

“What?” His voice rumbled low in his chest after all the crying.

“Huh?” He sat up and looked you in the eyes, your own as red-rimmed as his from your tears.

“You're whispering.” For a moment, you considered not telling him what you were doing, but something inside you wouldn't let you lie to him.

“I'm praying.” He kissed you then. But it wasn't sexy or sinful. No, it was holy. A gentle kiss of just lips and tears and all the words you didn't need to say. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and took your hands in his. And then he sang.

“There is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God.” He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckle. “I don't think I've ever been so near to the heart of God as I am right now here with you.”

His eyelashes were splayed against his cheeks as you watched him press kisses to your hands. You'd never seen anything more beautiful.

“Then stay.” He had looked at you then with a kind of quiet reverence and nodded. You spent the rest of the night in conversation, laughing, crying, and then laughing again. By morning, the two of you had fostered something that he knew the world would never understand.

The ceremony was like a dream, just you and him and the minister and God. Not even his daddy knew. It wasn't legal, but it meant more to him this way and you knew that. You didn't ask to be on his arm in public, didn't need it. You just wanted him and like this, he was yours and yours alone.

After the midnight wedding, he took you to this house. Then, he handed you the keys and made his own kind of vow.

“I promise to keep this house, to keep you, as my sanctuary. My peace. My Shiloh.” He had taken to calling you Shiloh early in the relationship because it meant rest and that's exactly what his soul did with you. You were the only place it was safe for him to exhale and he cherished you for it.

When he made love to you for the first time that night, it wasn't dirty or shameful. It was beautiful. You opened for him like a sacred flower and he honored the gift of your body with his own. But it also wasn't chaste. He whispered verses from Song of Songs into your skin as you came undone in his arms. At the end of it, he held you close to him, both of you trembling with pleasure, and whispered, “I think that's what God intended it to be like, Shiloh.”

You nodded, tears caught in your throat. “I love you, Elvis. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. I don't care what else happens. Here, you're mine and I'm yours. Just like this, Mizpah.”

The name just slipped out of your mouth before you knew what you were saying, but he knew what it meant. Love despite separation. A sacred biblical covenant to love each other even from a distance. He smiled.

“May the Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent, one from another.” And then he kissed you and made love to you again.

That was the other thing this house always had: love. If music was in the air, then love was in the foundation, and you made your home there with him whenever he could get away. It wasn't often, but you made the most of the time you had together.

It wasn't long before the first baby came along. He rushed off a movie set when you called and flew home to be by your side. When he walked through the little white door, the sound of your screams nearly scared him to death, but the midwife assured him everything was fine. She tried to keep him outside the room, but he wouldn't stay. No, he pushed past her and kneeled down next to where you were lying on your side in the bed, holding your hands in his.

“You're okay now, Shiloh. I'm here. You can do this, baby.” You groaned and writhed with another contraction.

“It hurts, Mizpah.” He pushed your sweaty hair back and kissed your forehead.

“I know, Shiloh, I know.” And then he started humming. His humming turned to singing and your son was born to the sounds of his father’s voice and gospel hymns.

The midwife cried at the sight of you both bathed in the golden light of sunrise, your son in your arms wrapped in a blanket you'd crocheted in anticipation. Elvis kissed his head softly and then smiled as he pressed his lips to yours. When she left the three of you alone in the bed, he cried and thanked you.

He stayed for a whole week that first time. It was the longest he'd been there in a long time, and he caught hell for it when he got back to Hollywood, but he didn't care. He'd never been more proud or content in his whole life.

It killed him not to show off his son to the world, but he knew if he did that there would be too many consequences. He wanted to keep you safe and away from his life in the spotlight.

So you stayed hidden in the little house in Memphis and raised your son. He had golden hair and round blue eyes, and he looked at things like he was genuinely curious. Elvis always watched him with pride. “Look at him, Shiloh. He's so smart. He's gonna put his daddy to shame.”

When the twins were born, he missed it. He was in Hawaii, too far away to get home, and it damn near killed him. After the fact, you reflected that it was probably for the better. They'd been born in a hospital and he couldn't have been there anyway. He'd just scoffed and kissed your forehead, each of you cradling a little girl, “That wouldn't have mattered. You know you're my world, Shiloh.”

For the first time, your smile had faltered then. “But I'm not, Mizpah. You have a whole life outside of us. How much longer will it be before you stop coming back? Before that life owns you fully?”

He laid the baby in the bassinet and then took the one you were holding to lay her next to the other. Then, he took your face in his hands and forced you to look into his blue eyes. “That'll never happen. That– that person that I am there? It's not me. It's an act.”

“Then why don't you leave it? I need you here. We need you, Mizpah.” He brushed away the tear that slipped down your cheek.

“Is that what you really want?” A deep sigh escaped you.

“No. You were born for that life, for more than just this. I know that.”

“I'll leave it tomorrow if you ask me to, Shiloh.” You looked up at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. But no, he had a restless soul that could never be fully happy here with you. He needed his other life and you loved him too much to ask him to land in the nest you shared. You decided in that moment that you'd never ask him to stop flying again.

“No, Mizpah. Just remember where your home is.”

“Always.”

Time passed and he never stopped coming home to you. Truth be told, you were so busy raising babies that you barely noticed his absence. Only in the night, when the moon was high and the breeze was soft, did you ache with missing him. But somehow, like his soul heard you calling for him, he always showed up the day after the hardest nights. There'd be a soft knock on the door, the children would squeal, and he'd be there glowing with the softness that only came from being truly at peace. He held sick babies and played with them in the yard and washed dishes and made love to you in the old four-poster bed. The years slid by and you were happy.

And then one day he came home and something was different. You were sitting on the couch nursing your newest baby, another boy, when he walked in. You'd seen him angry before, of course you had, he was human, but this was different. He had a storm in his blue eyes and your heart jumped in fear.

“Mizpah?”

He tried to whisper and not wake the baby that had fallen asleep in your arms, but he was clearly upset. “They're makin’ me marry her, Shiloh.”

You'd felt like your stomach was full of lead. You stood up slowly and laid the baby down and then turned back to him. This moment had been a looming possibility for years, but the reality of it was worse than you could've dreamed. The silence stretched out between you, and you tried to decide how to respond. He looked at you like he wasn't sure what to expect.

“Say something, Shiloh.” Your mind reeled with the possibilities. Should you ask him to leave his other life? No, you swore you'd never do that again. Should you yell? Be angry? It felt more like sadness than anger, though. You really didn't have any choice.

“You have to do what you have to do.” He fell to his knees and sobbed and you walked to him without thinking. You let him grab you around the waist and cry into your stomach.

“I don't want to, Shiloh. Please believe me. You're my wife. You're my wife.” Sinking to your knees, you took his face in your hands and kissed the tears on his cheeks.

“I know, Mizpah. I know.” You held each other then, both of you crying, baptizing the rug of the little house with your weeping.

He married her a few months later and you did your best not to see it in the magazines. You knew he'd been with other women. It had always been that way, but this felt different. Like he belonged to her now. He stayed away for almost six months, and it felt like you might break. But you had four children to keep alive, so you never let yourself go fully. Instead, you just cried yourself to sleep night after night and prayed that he'd come home.

When he finally did, he looked so different you almost didn't recognize him. It was more than just the sideburns, though. He carried something else now that you'd never seen before: shame. It was close to midnight when he quietly opened the door. You heard it from your bed and sat up quickly, your heart in your throat. He stood in the doorway and stared at you like a stranger.

“You're home.” He nodded silently, and you cocked your head to the side. “Unless you're not?”

“I hate myself, Shiloh.”

“Because you love her?”

“Because I don't.”

“You've been trying to.” He walked over to the bed and settled on the quilt, leaning his head back.

“Yeah. I have. She's pregnant. And I just… I'll love the baby. But I can't love her.”

“Should I let you keep trying?” The question came out of you so small that you wanted to cry when you heard it. He turned to look at you with tears in his eyes.

“You are the one whom my soul loves, Shiloh.” There was a beat of silence and then you opened your arms. He crawled into them and held you, his body wracked with sobs. “I missed you so much it hurts.”

“Oh, Mizpah.” You stroked his hair as the tears slid down your cheeks.

“I can't do this without you. I tried. I-I-I can't.” He held you even tighter as he cried and you kissed his forehead.

“You'll never have to.” And then his lips found yours with a newfound desperation. There were no more words as your hands trembled and you undressed each other. When he slid inside you, it wasn't a departure from his sham of a marriage. It was a homecoming. A sacred return to the only thing in his life that had ever been true. He made love to you like his life depended on it, and maybe his soul did. By the end of it, everything else had fallen away and the only thing that remained was the two of you and the love that bound you together.

He never stayed away that long again.

But something in him had changed. He was torn in a new way. Driven in his career and wearing himself thin physically and emotionally. He was always happy to be home when he was with you and the children in the little house, but you saw the way it wore on him, knowing he had to go back.

He never took the pills in your home. But his stays got shorter as he started to withdraw from them when he was with you. One night, he got out of bed in the middle of the night and started to dress to leave.

“Mizpah? Where are you going?”

“I can't sleep here. Not without– I just can't sleep.” He paced around the room nervously, his hands twitching.

“Come get in bed and I'll hold y–”

“I said I can't! I have to go. I just–”

“Need your pills.” He looked at you with his eyes wide. Did he really think you didn't know? “I'm not stupid. You think I don't see you when you get here, still high from your last dose?”

“Shiloh…”

“You need help. Let me help you.” You opened your arms, praying he'd surrender like he always had. But this was bigger than you, bigger than the love that had always kept you together.

“I need ‘em, Shiloh.” He'd turned and left, then, for the first time leaving you to cry alone. He sat in his car, weeping into the steering wheel, before he shakily poured a couple of pills into his hand and swallowed them.

You hadn't expected him to come back in, but he did. He slept in your arms, like always, but you knew you'd lost even more of him that night.

Your children grew and changed. You grew and changed. And so did he. It hurt so bad to see him destroying himself with the pills and the work. But what could you do? So you did the only thing you could: you loved him through it.

You stayed steady and there, loyal and loving, everything you thought he needed. It got harder and harder to bite your tongue, but you did your best. Still, he drove himself into the ground trying to please the people in his other life. His wife left him, but he was more upset about what it meant for his daughter than anything else. He played tour after tour, engagement after engagement, and every time it took more and more from him. The pills became more than just a necessity. They became a lifeline. His body began to break down, but still he came home to you and the kids whenever he could. They were old enough to know who he was, now, but they also knew to keep it quiet. When they were smaller, you'd told them their daddy was a superhero, and some part of them still believed it. He thrived in their presence. They were the only thing keeping him going.

And then it was 1977.

“I'm so tired, Shiloh.” He breathed against your shoulder one night, just before the filming of his television special.

“Then rest, Mizpah.” You meant that night, but something rose up inside him that he had never really considered before.

It wasn't until he was on stage that he decided. He was singing the final chorus of Unchained Melody and his soul settled. There was only one choice.

On August 16th, 1977, he walked through the door of the little white house and stayed.

He watched on TV with a cigar in his lips as the world mourned, a single tear sliding down his cheek. And then he let them bury Elvis Presley.

You held him through all the worst parts of the detox symptoms. It was hard, and there were several times where neither of you thought you'd make it. But you did. He let his hair go white and the weight dropped off of him with the stress. When he did finally leave the house, no one expected him, so no one recognized him.

He was free.

The rest of your life together was a blur of raising teenagers, and then adults, and then grandchildren. The only one from his other life who ever knew was Lisa Marie. She met her siblings and found her own kind of home there behind the blue shutters.

You grew old together in the little house that was always filled with love and music. The porch swing became your favorite place to watch the sunset. When he died surrounded by those who loved him best in 2012, you buried him in the yard under the peach tree, his final resting place marked only by an old wooden cross.

That's what you're looking at as you sit under the sagging eaves. There's a single word etched into the cross: Mizpah. When you got your diagnosis, you had a matching one made that says Shiloh. You can feel it in your soul. You'll be joining him soon.

But for today you'll sit here and feel him beside you on the swing as the wind blows softly through the trees. Because he's always been here in this place, in your Sanctuary, ready to welcome you home.

******

Thank you.

Taglist:

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#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfic #Elvis my love #this one is for you

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d-lanx · 2 days ago

Text

Ok here's a little thing i thought would fun for any artists to show off their progress at learning art (plus I'm nosey🤭).

Show off the oldest drawings you did (or the oldest that you can still find), the first things you were confident enough to upload online, and your most recent drawings and talk about them and show off how much you've progressed :)

Probably gonna end up missing some people, but I'm tagging a bunch of cool artists I follow/am mutuals with and am nosey to see how they started out, but no pressure :)

@fantasticalleigh, @thlayli-ra, @heelhausen, @stupidmarkzone, @2ndcitynightmare, @punk-o-ween, @normallypassingby, @tvheit, @seasonal-depression-of-punk

And if you wanna have a look at my old stuff, I've got it below =)

Oldest Drawings I Can Find

Of course, the first is an OC. Never did anything with her tho. Notice the lack of forehead and elbows, the arms that barely reach the hips, how indishtinguishable each part of the body is from one another. They're a perfectly smooth pole. and of course those wings. This is the first thing in my first proper sketchbook when I decided I was gonna start taking art more seriously. This would have been when i started secondary in 2014 at 11 years old. And I can't find anything from before that, since I never kept anything in a proper book/folder.

Second image is another of the first drawings in the book. It was my first closeup of a face, and also my first time drawing anime. I know I'm not the only artist who was desperate to learn to draw an anime-style as a kid. I remember doing this while on holiday, trying to follow an online tutorial, taking about 4 hours to get the outcome I did, and getting so frustrated that I couldn't get it to look right, that I was almost brought to tears. I'm pretty sure this was one of those "I'm never drawing again! >:(" moments, lol. Looking back, it was a pretty good first attempt. But I guess I was always a bit of a perfectionist, lol. Funnily enough, while I carried the anime eyes forward in my art style for years, to this day, I still can't draw a proper full anime style character.

First Drawings I Uploaded Online

I put these on insta to show my mates from school. The first picture was an attempt at a close up face with the new brush markers i'd got for christmas. This was 2017 just before i turned 14. Pretty sure I copied the design from an art tutorial book, that was supposed to be hyper-realistic (another christmas present). But I just couldn't bring that to life so just did what I could. Also, first time I used a signature. My signature's very different nowadays cos it's based on my tumblr username and not me actual name. But yeah. I was tryna get more professional I guess.

Second pic is the first full body piece I uploaded a few days later. Again, used the drawing books trying to learn how to draw flowy clothes. Think it was a book about drawing anime clothes that I used for this (another christmas present). By this point, each body part could move seperately and had joints. Also note the anime eyes, cos my simpler-but-still-anime-inspired eyes were something I stuck with a long ass time. This was the style I drew most often, and could usually do without having references (but obviously for this drawing specifically, I had the reference for the clothes). Had a lot of trouble with perspective, so all my characters faced forward, and later they would always face a 3/4 angle. And they could never lean or reach forwards cos I just couldn't get that to look right.

Most Recent Pieces

The most most recent is on the left, being my most recent closeup of a face. Still has a cartoonish edge with the lineart but much more realistic. And I'm fucking with this semi-realistic look atm. Tbh I dunno if i'd have the patience for the tiny details in hyperrealism. Also, fun story, in 2021 when I was doing my a-levels, I did an art piece that we were free to do in any style we wanted, and my teacher saw mine and was like “I wish you’d done it as realism instead of a cartoon style :(“ but it was actually my best attempt at realism and she hadn’t even realised. So I dunno, maybe I’m not cut out for realism 😂😂 I like my style rn tho so who cares

Then I got my most recent drawing of a (almost) full body. I got joints and decent hands and proportions and more body details.

Also this last year is the first time I've really got into digital. I always used to just do pen and paper. I even got a cheap drawing tablet, but couldn't get used to drawing on one surface and the image being up on a seperate screen. So I could never get the lines right. I did draw on my old ipad for a while which was easier, but the stylus was one of those with the thick rubber ball on the end, rather than a fine nib. Again, I had trouble cos I couldn't tell where it would register the contact with the screen and draw the line, which made it hard to do details. I got a new ipad a little while back that supports apple pencil, so I got one for it. And it's so much easier now that I've got a fine nib and can see where I'm drawing. I'm in love with drawing digital atm.

But yeah. That's how i've drawn over the years. Mental to see how much my style has changed and improved :) makes me feel better when I get frustrated with a drawnig and think I'm shit. Cos I know I'm getting better with each new drawing, even if it's only baby steps.

First: Now:

#figured this would be a good bit of fun #plus i'm really nosey to see how other people started out drawing #cos just out of the people I follow/am mutuals with. there's a lot of variety in art styles #it's always cool seeing where people began :)#my art

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hanjicakes · 3 days ago

Text

꒰ 𝜗𝜚 ꒱ beware

synopsis .ᐟ - you and chris were never meant to work out, but when he shows up again, can you actually resist?

content info .ᐟ - nonidol!chan x gender neutral!reader, but the word 'girl' is used for reader once but in a slang way yk?, they both ain't shit, lots of mentions of alcohol, reader has canonically been to jail and has an alcohol problem, chris is an alleged cheater, chan referred to as chris

word count .ᐟ - 4.1k words

author ' s note .ᐟ - hey... it's been a while... my phone broke so lowkey wasn't focused but i'm here now!! this was in the drafts for a while and also can we tell i CANNOT write toxicity?? go easy on me guys

my mastrlist ૮₍›ᆺ ‹ ₎ა

You should’ve listened to your friends.

Your subconscious replays those words over and over again. You weren’t made for each other. You were terrible for each other. What made you think this could possibly work? Jealousy seeped into your bones, ran through your veins, and ruined every relationship you ever had. This time wasn’t any different— it never was.

You lean against the cool bar as you down the most recent drink you ordered. You had lost track of the number of glasses you sent back to the bartender. It didn’t matter much, anyways. They weren’t going to stop a paying customer, no matter how intoxicated they already were. The loud music doesn’t help the pangs in your head. The bass rattles through your core. It feels like you’ve been chucked into a giant blender with all the hateful words, the sour tears, and the glass bottles you finished alone and the only thing you can do is continue to drown yourself.

Slowly, you move away from the bar and towards the dance floor. Drunk, sweaty bodies crowd together to thrust and grind against each other in a practice that is nowhere near elegant or appropriate. You know you came with your friends and you glance around in hopes of spotting one of them. You spot one of them squished in a leather booth with a man you certainly didn’t know. Their mouths are connected in an almost animalistic way and they don’t seem to be letting go anytime soon. You look away and shudder slightly. Turning around to return back to your sanctuary at the bar, you recklessly run into a man standing off with his friends.

You barely recognize that you spilled your drink until the coldness seeps through your outfit. You mentally curse yourself for wearing something that stains easily. Your mind whirls with a possible response for this accident and the one you choose is to get defensive. You immediately stand up to your full height and grip your glass.

“Why the hell are you standing in the middle—” You begin, only for the words to die on the tip of your tongue. Bile bubbles inside your gut as you look eyes with the man who wasn’t much of a stranger at all. He stares down at you with a furrowed brow, his plush lips curled downwards into a disappointed scowl.

“You drink too damn much, you know that?” Chris says. His voice is low and you’re sure you are the only person who heard him. Despite all the music blasting, his words rattle through your core and shake your mind into a jumbled mess. You try to speak up again but nothing escapes your mouth except a weak whine. He looks at you as if you were nothing more than a waste of time— a disappointment who drained the life out of him. On one hand, you did. You sucked out everything he had to offer and then more. On the other hand, he made your life a living hell.

Maybe you were meant for each other. In some sick, disgusting way.

The crinkle of fast food wrappers is almost like music to your ears. You and your friends had just spent the last few hours walking around the new shopping mall in your city and were, quite frankly, worn out. You sat on the hard, plastic food court chair, slurping on your slushy while two of your friends bickered over which movie you all would see later. One argued that a thriller was getting better reviews online. You didn’t care too much about what you guys would go see. You reach across the table and break off a piece of the soft pretzel you purchased.

A warm feeling of comfort settles over you as you watch your friends chatter away with each other. Life had gotten so busy for all of you that you rarely spent time together anymore. As the argument over movies gets more heated, you decide it’s time to intervene before they claw at each other’s throats. Parting your lips to speak, a deep masculine voice speaks up and causes your friends to go silent.

“You guys are trying to go see Scream?” He asks. His lips raise into a smile and he shows off a pair of teeth that are white enough to make even a dentist envious. His cheeks dip slightly and two dimples make their appearance. He was undeniably handsome with slightly ruffled hair and loose curls. He had an accent when he spoke, too. You weren’t sure where it was from— it wasn’t British but it didn’t seem American, either.

“Yeah… What about it?” Your friend, Sana, speaks up. There’s a slight smile forming on her face as she looks over him. You almost chuckle at how she isn’t able to hide her attraction. Part of you can’t blame her. He looks like he could’ve been sculpted out of marble. His smile widens a bit at her sharp response. Your head tilts slightly as you watch him formulate a response.

“Me and a few of my mates,” He says, gesturing to two other men sitting in another booth. One wears a black tank top while the other is basically drowning in his hoodie. “We were plannin’ on seeing that movie too, y’know? Thought you guys might want to see it with us.”

You glance over to your friends and raise your eyebrows. You weren’t completely opposed to going out with them… This man— who you still didn’t know the name of, oddly enough— seemed nice enough. You lean in closer to your friends to whisper between each other.

“He’s cute.” You mutter, letting your eyes flicker over his sturdy frame for a second too long. He spots your gaze easily and gives you a small wave.

“Please, don’t start right now…” Soyeon says. Out of the quirky characters that made up your friend group, Soyeon seemed to be the most level headed on. She was headstrong and made the better decisions of the group. Still, most people didn’t take her advice.

“We should go.” Sana blurts out, “Him and his friends are cute. And, the movie theater is a public place. They can’t axe murder us there, right? We could use some fun…”

After a few moments of hesitation, Soyeon nods her head. The three of you pull back and look back at the man in front of your table.

“What’s your name?” Soyeon asks. Her tone doesn’t allow him any chance to avoid the question.

“Just call me Chris, yeah?”

︶︶︶︶

The movie theater is almost dead silent as the audience waits for the unexpected twist. Unfortunately, the movie wasn’t as good as the reviews made it seem. While it did have a few comedic moments, the plot was rather predictable and the same as any other slasher movie. Your fingers drum on the side of your leather recliner and your eyes are glued to the screen. You know if you look away, you’ll make a fool of yourself. After a minor argument with Sana, you managed to claim the seat next to Chris. She and Soyeon sat next to his friends, who were decent guys in their own right.

You can’t help but steal a glance at him. He seems to be focused on the movie. Your nails dig into the seat before turning back to the large screen in front of you. Just as you were about to forget about the ungodly handsome man beside you, he leans in to whisper to you.

“Are you nervous?” He mutters. His warm breath fans over your ear and you swear you feel goosebumps form over your skin. You take a moment to mentally prepare yourself to look at him.

“No,” You lie. You were nervous, just not because of the film. You were nervous because you were already ridiculously obsessed with a guy you know damn near nothing about. Your mind ridicules you for being so careless with these things but Lord knows you could never stop wearing your heart on your sleeve. “Just… Bored, I guess. This movie is kinda shitty.”

He snickers at your statement and that simple sound sends butterflies whirling around inside your stomach. A small grin forms without your control.

“Shitty, yeah? Well, I’d have to agree with that.”

“Mh…” You hum. “Uh, hey… Where are you from?”

He lets out a faint hum in acknowledgement of your question before actually responding. “Australia. Why?”

“You just have an accent. I couldn’t figure out where it was from.”

“Yeah, I mean, I get that a lot. Have you ever been to Australia?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I could take you, y’know.”

You look over to him and meet his eyes. Something in you tells you he is being dead serious and you furrow your brows.

“Why would you do that? We just met, you don’t know me.”

“Yeah, well…” He murmurs, glancing back towards the screen. The main character is trying to find a hiding place but clumsily trips over a loose extension cord. There’s a few quiet groans emitted from the audience. Chris turns back to you.

“Maybe I want to get to know you.”

The bitter taste of cheap alcohol lingers in your mouth and forces you to lick your lips. Your mouth felt so damn dry, it was insane. You pull your knees up to your chest while shifting slightly over the leather seats of Chris’s car. You weren’t sure when you left the party. Part of you could still hear the music ringing in your ears so mauve you were just parked outside? All you really remember was your friends telling you not to leave.

“Girl, we just got here!” Sana protested. Soyeon stood beside her with crossed arms and a grimace.

“Are you seriously leaving us for a man…?” Soyeon muttered. She sounded like a mother. One who was most certainly disappointed in the choices her too drunk daughter was making. You rolled your eyes.

“We’ll only be gone for, like, five minutes… We’ll come back before the party ends, alright?”

The words were pretty disingenuous. You weren’t sure when you and Chris would come back and, frankly, you didn’t care. He could keep you all night if he really wanted to. You are pulled back to your reality when you feel soft tugging on a strand of your hair. Chris is sitting beside you in the backseat, mindlessly fidgeting with the locks of hair. You brush his hand away and stare at him slightly. The corners of his eyes were tinged with red, but he held a big gummy smile on his face.

You poke your finger inside his dimple and chuckle slightly. “What are you smiling for? We’re just sitting here…”

“Well,” He murmurs, “You’re pretty and I’ve got you in my car. I think that’s a reason to smile.”

“And, why exactly are we in the car…?” You question. Your hand moves down to caress the curve between his neck and shoulder. He leans faintly into the touch and you feel his hand begin to roam over your back. His palms were soft and warm despite the air being on in the car.

“Why don’t you tell me why?”

The both of you are quiet for a second. The alcohol flowing through you has you feeling a bit bold— more bold than you probably should. You snake your hand into his dark brown locks and tug on the curls. He lets out a faint grunt, one that you probably wouldn’t have noticed if it were anyone but him. It’s like all of your senses are on high alert around him. You don’t want to miss a single detail about him. You pull his head down a bit so you can meet his lips in a drunken kiss. It’s rough at first, trying to guide his head, but you both manage. His lips are soft and the faint taste of bubblegum and beer linger on his tongue. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hip as he leans in closer, absorbing the heat you emit.

“Damn,” Chris mutters. His words only add fuel to the fire inside your gut and don’t let him go— not until you both are breathless and weak.

You pant lightly while pushing back some of your hair. Looking up at Chris sends a slight shock through your body. How could one kiss leave you feeling electrified?

“Do you wanna head back now…?” You ask quietly. The whirl of the air conditioning in his car fills the quiet between your words.

“Nah, I think we can stay here…”

︶︶︶︶

Six months was a hell of a long time. You weren’t sure the last time you committed to something for that long, but you managed to commit to Chris. Unsurprisingly, many people doubted that you would last. Well, basically everyone did. Your friends always told you to take things slow and now to rush things because that’s how you get your heartbroken. It’s safe to say you didn’t listen because after two months of dating, you had already met his parents. Now, on the six month anniversary, you were about to make the biggest commitment of your life.

“A tattoo!?” Your friends say so loud, it makes a few people standing nearby uncomfortable.

“It’s not like it’s going to be his face or anything…” You murmur, stirring around your coffee with a wooden stirrer. “It’s a cute thing, stop acting like I’m fucking crazy.”

Soyeon scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You sure as hell are if you are getting a tattoo with this guy. It hasn’t even been a year! You always rush these things and—”

“You’re going to be looking for tattoo removal places in three months, y'know. Your relationships never last…” Sana says.

You groan heavily. “You guys always do this. I’m happy with Chris, alright? Stop meddling, we are fine… Maybe for once, you guys could be supportive?”

Sana and Soyeon share a concerned glance before Soyeon speaks up. “You know, the last time we did that, we had to bail you out of jail.”

“That guy was an asshole! Chris is different…”

“Maybe,” Sana says. “But, you are also… Reckless, when it comes to break ups.”

You bite your bottom lip slightly. They were being ridiculous, they always were. You never did anything that was unjustified— at least, in your eyes they weren’t unjustified. Maybe you did have a problem. Everyone else did. You raise your coffee mug to your mouth and continue your outing in uncomfortable silence.

Maybe you were too reckless.

The bright light from your phone screen illuminates your face as you scroll on Instagram. Okay, scrolling is a slight understatement. You were stalking. A bad habit, you know, but it was necessary.

You shift under your blanket as you scroll through your boyfriend’s following list. Your eye twitches whenever you see him following another girl, but you try to ward off that feeling. Eventually, you decide it’s time to give up. You didn’t have any reason to be worried, after all. You power down your phone and begin to focus back on the movie you had turned on. It was a Scream sequel, and it was just as bad as the original. While you reach for your bowl of chips, your phone vibrates with a message from an unfamiliar account. You stare at your phone for a while before picking up the device and reading over the message.

"hey, ik u dont know me, but ik chris and like hes been flirting with this girl all night and ik u two r dating, so i thought u should know"

You chuckle slightly at the message, not completely believing it at first. This was just some random person trying to ruin your day. You begin to type out a response to give them a piece of your mind when another message pops up. A series of photos, all of them depicting Chris being comfortable with a pretty girl in a green dress. Too comfortable, you think.

Your eyes scan over the photos again and again. It looks like Chris, but maybe it’s photoshop. Maybe it’s AI. Maybe you are just being paranoid. But, you remember seeing him leave in that jacket earlier. And he’s wearing the same watch he always does. Your lungs hitch when you see the final detail— a dark butterfly tattoo on his wrist. One that matches the butterfly on your ankle. It seems like the world around you quiets and disappears, leaving only you and the images. After that, all hell breaks loose.

You barely have time to think when you open your contacts and press the dial. You call his phone again and again to no response. That’s when you open your messages.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

R u joking me rn? Ur fucking CHEATING on me??

U have to be insane

This is crazy

UR CRAZY

Do u want me to die?? Is this how u treat me??

Answer ur damn phone Chris

Miserable fucking bastard

Chris <3: What the hell are you talking about?

Answer my damn calls

Where are u right now??

Ill find u rn

Im going to kill u

In the middle of your next spew of texts and violent threats, your phone rings. You hardly think before pressing the answer button and immediately yelling into the speaker.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? After everything I’ve done for you—”

“First of all, you haven’t done shit. Why are you blowing up my phone?”

His voice is quick to cut you off and his tone is sharper than you’ve ever heard. He’s pissed off, probably just as much as you are. Your grip on the phone tightens.

“Why am I blowing up your phone…? Are you serious? You’re out all damn night, feeling up other girls, and I should just stay quiet? What, did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I’m not with other girls? I told you I was going to Changbin’s party. Stop acting fucking crazy.” He retorts.

“Crazy?” You repeat. Something about the word sends waves of heat running through your body. You push back the blankets and sit up. “You think I’m crazy? I’ll show you fucking crazy. Don’t call me again.”

There’s a faint scoff on the other line. The sound of house music can be heard muffled in the background. “Yeah, wasn’t planning on it.”

︶︶︶︶

You weren’t ready to accept that your friends were right. You fell in love too fast and ended up getting burned. The last few days have been spent hiding away in your apartment, trying not to rip your own hair out. Part of your heart yearned to crawl back to him, like a dog looking for water in Arizona heat. Another part of your heart wanted to watch him suffer the same way you were. You still watched his stories on a burner account. Seeing him still go to parties, still visiting friends made you outraged. You were supposed to be the best thing that happened to him— He got a tattoo for you, after all. You were supposed to mean something to him.

The familiar taste of hard liquor helps you manage the stress, though. As unhealthy of a habit it was, it worked surprisingly well to help you forget. Well, you could never forget. You could never forget the lingering kisses and longing touches that set your skin on fire, but you could numb the pain of missing it.

You fidget with the empty, your mind blurred with heavy thoughts. You couldn’t understand the strange feeling of grief in your heart. How could you miss someone so badly when they only lived a few blocks away? At the thought, an idea pops into your head.

You slowly move from the couch and towards the storage closet in the hall. It was just as messy as your life was, but that wasn’t the point. You search deep into the back until you find exactly what you were looking for. Your old softball bat.

The walk to his house felt enthralling. Your entire body buzzed from head to toe with adrenaline and it seemed like for once, you were able to forget all about how upset you were. You could hardly care about the time of day, or night for this matter. Your feet drag along the concrete as you turn the block and spot the house he shared with a few buddies. Parked just outside the garage was Chris’s car. The same one that you shared your first kiss in. That was where you bawled your eyes out or indulged yourself in all his sweetness. The sight of it brought back a disgusting amount of memories. Memories you were ready to destroy.

Approaching the vehicle, you glance up towards the house. All the lights were off, so you assume everyone must be asleep. You let out a shaky breath and wind your arm back before swinging full force. The way the steel warps from the hit is almost mesmerizing. You wind up again and take another hit. This one sets off the blaring car alarm. You could care less if someone wakes up from it. You move to the side and take another hit, knocking out the passenger window.

“What the fuck are you doing!?”

You are pulled from your stupor at the sound of someone yelling at you. Not someone, Chris. You could tell before turning around and even then, the sight of him looking at you from his open window brought a drunken smile to your face. His brows were so furrowed that they basically became one. He still manages to ignite such a fuzzy feeling inside of you no matter how much you convince yourself you hate his guts.

“Get the hell away from my car!” He shouts out, his hands gripping the windowsill. A few of the neighbors have begun to peer their heads out their doors or look through the blinds. You could care less about their eyes watching you. All you could focus on was Chris.

“I told you I would show you crazy, didn’t I!” You reply to him, holding out the bat for him to see. “This is your last time calling me crazy!”

Chris stares at you for a moment, completely bewildered. He grunts before slamming the window shut. You can only assume he’s coming down to stop you so you get your arm ready for one last hit. You raise your bat before slamming it down on the windshield. The glass cracks around the spot of impact and just as the front door opens, you take off running.

In a split second, you are returned back to that club. And he’s in front of you again, staring at you like you are nothing but garbage from his past. Your mouth is suddenly dry and it feels like no amount of alcohol will help it. You finally break eye contact and look down at the ground. In your peripheral, you noticed his bare wrist. He must have rolled his sleeves up. Despite that, something sticks out to you.

“You kept the tattoo…?” You murmur, looking back up at him. His face relaxes slightly and it was obvious he wasn’t expecting that question from you.

“Reminds me not to make mistakes. Like you.” He says, his tone flat.

“Geez, you’re still a dick…”

“You broke my fucking car windows.”

“I wouldn’t have to do that if you didn’t cheat on me.” You say. His lips twitch slightly like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. The air settling around the two of you is heavy.

“Something tells me you aren’t ready to let go.” He says as if it were fact.

“Really?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, really.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. Something in you didn’t completely trust him. You know you shouldn’t. But, you know he’s right. Even months later, you weren’t ready to let go. You weren’t ready to let go of the memories and the dreams. You weren’t ready to let go of the man who gave you the best few months of your life.

“You ruined my life.” You say.

“You ruined mines, too. Let’s call it even.”

“... So I can call you again?”

Chris tilts his head at your question. After a moment, though, a sly smirk forms and you catch a glimpse of those beautiful dimples.

“Yeah, you can call. Only if you lay off the alcohol.”

#stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #kpop #kpop fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #bang chan x reader #bang chan #stray kids #skz x reader #ʚɞ ﹏ hanjicakes writes

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iwtv-theories · 10 hours ago

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The names of IWTV characters and their symbolic significance (analysis)

1. Claudia (and her nicknames):

-Claudia is a beautiful name that roughly translates to the offensive term : “cr*ppled.” Something Lestat calls claudia: “14 forever , she’d be a cr*pple.” The coven also tells Claudia , “children” & "the cr*ppled" are not allowed to be turned.Many fans have already mentioned Claudia’s arc being a metaphor for disability & abelism.

As unlike other vampires , she can not turn anyone on her own (due to her size), and is often infantilized and demeaned by others due to her body. We also have the coven cause lulu to develop a limp in the play, this furthers the disability allegory (as claudia derives from the name Claudus meaning 'to limp'). In addition to this , Claudia is based off of AR’s daughter who passed away due to a physical illness.

-Lestat calls Claudia “milk weed “ and a “belladonic beauty.” Both milk weeds and belladonna are poisonous plants . And this foreshadows Claudia poisoning the blood that Lestat drinks at the end of season 1.

- puce (flea): flea is obviously a metaphor for vampirism . “fleas are blood-sucking parasites that use their sharp mouthparts to pierce the skin of their hosts “. But what’s interesting is , in France, calling someone “puce “ is considered a term of endearment . ‘Ma puce’ literally translates to "my flea" but is roughly equivalent to calling someone : “honey," “pumpkin”, “sweetie pie “, or "sweetie”. “In French , it’s most often used as a term of endearment for CHILDREN, especially young girls.” Which not only greatly changes the context of the coven calling her this, but it certainly foreshadows the infantilization that the coven does later on (via the play). Before the reveal, Santiago calls Claudia "puce" & a "moppet." moppet is british slang for a "child/young girl'. They were all infantilizing her long before the play (but due to language/regional differences it went over the audience's, and perhaps Claudia's head).

- Lulu: Lulu has various meanings such as 'famous warrior' & 'light'. Before dying via light she states she will kill all responsible and sings the baby lulu song (showing her warrior-esque nature even in the end). It also signifies how Madeleine perceived Claudia as her "light". Claudia states if she gets scared during her turning, 'to look at the light and listen to (her) voice.' Why we see Madeleine perceive Claudia in an 'impossible afternoon light' (overlayed with the headlight Claudia previously told Madeleine to look at if she got scared).

-Lulu is also the feminine version of the name Louis : perhaps this illustrates that similar to Armand forcing Claudia into this infantilizing baby-lulu role. 'Daddy Lu' was inadvertently similar because (by convincing Lestat to turn her) he forced Claudia to be infantilized for all eternity! Like Claudia said the Lulu-costume is just “a REMINDER of every night of (her) existence… being trapped in the body of a little girl.” She can never truly take off the costume and be free . She will always be in an infantilized body - "she lives in it, breathes in it, feeds in it, hunts in it-off stage".

-Also,the names Louis, Lulu, and Armand all roughly translate to “warrior or soldier “ perhaps hinting at how all 3 were constantly butting heads with one another .

2. Armand (and his many names):

Arun roughly translates to “the first ray of sunlight”, "sunrise", or “dawn” - a reference to his ability to go out into the sun even as a vampire.Arun (in Hinduism was affiliated with the Hindu sun/fire god) . “Arun's role was to manage and mitigate the sun's intensity, making it bearable for the world.”

The story of Arun/Aruna also had a subplot of placing a family member into slavery for “500 years of servitude”. Similar to (show) Armand's background.

-Amadeo (is an Italian name meaning “lover of god”- aka as a human he loved Marius like he would love a god. And, he was also the LITERAL “lover” to said ‘god’). Saint Amadeo of Italy was “renowned for his ardent love of god .” He founded the catholic ‘servite order’ . Servite is latin for servant . Servites make solemn vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience (*pretty much his time in the ‘children of Satan‘ where they served god via satan). “Saint-Amadeo died in Italy, and in Catholic art, saint Amadeo, is often portrayed holding a FLAMING heart (cough more fire symbolism). “

Armand (is the French saint of “hospitality and food/alcohol”). Armand to Daniel : “it was rude, you’re a guest in our home.” Orchestrates a 7 course meal for him with wine . And even Daniel admits Armand can make an amazing drink. Armand also was shown feeding a human hostage at the theatre , and he chose a target to kill because they profited off starving Parisians. And Saint-Armand was also a saint to boys: so if the show has him save 12y old Benji (also pretty apt) .

Rashid : Remember how Lestat said vampires are “gods”? Ar-Rashid is one of the 99 names for Allah, and Daniel even asked Armand how many names there were for Allah… so it was 100% intentional by the writers). In Islam, the 99 names of Allah describe the 99 different attributes about him. Similar to all of Armand’s aliases /names representing a part of him. “Ar- Rashid “ represents Allah being a “teacher” : Armand teaching Louis the fire gift, Armand telling Lestat he can “teach” him about vampirism, Armand telling Louis they can be “teachers to one another” , and Armand demanding Daniel “teach him how to be fascinating” . Maitre is also a common title for a “teacher" , in France. Ar-Rashid can also translate to "director" ("he didn't witness the play he directed the play!").

Rashid is also often used as a personal name with the prefix "Abd" (meaning ‘servant of’). Armand (as Rashid) pretended to be a servant to a vampiric god , instead of Allah: “I serve a god.It’s my honor to serve .” It’s probably symbolical that despite Armand’s god like powers (because of his background) he still has some subservient tendencies . Or sadly , when he pretends to be a human he jumps to what was normalized to him by Marius: serving an unholy vampiric god with slavish devotion, doing sexual things in front of house guests, and being used as a blood bag… because that’s what he was taught to do. What’s interesting is Ar-Malik is also one of the 99 names of Allah. And Armand kills Malik . Malik is a title meaning “lord” , “master”, or “owner “👀 ( if in the future he wants to kill his “god/master” Marius I won’t be opposed ).

3. Madeleine

In German Madeline can translate to “ young girl” (possibly alluding to her connection with Claudia , and within the show universe it could illustrate their dynamic as equals).

We also see they’re equals in the fact that Eparvier (her surname) means “sparrowhawk “ (a type of bird ). She’s similar to Claudia , who is also compared to a bird on many occasions . In the play, baby lulu dies as she mimics a bird flying . In s1, Lestat says to Claudia that European vamps will kill her because she’s built “like a bird”. Claudia in s1 lays in a coffin called the “bird’s nest.” Madeline before her turning even tells Claudia : “I love this song, ‘my heart is an island bird.” The 2 being compared to birds , sadly foreshadows the coven killing them. But it also signifies Madeleine's 'love' for Claudia (the 'bird'). The song Madeleine loves & quotes is sung by an American-Creole singer who became famous in Paris (similar to Claudia at the theatre).

3. Louis

Lestat: " Your name is Louis, of course it's Louis... I had planned to make a new life for myself in Saint Louis (the city). That was to be my destiny. And now I know I was right! Only it turns out the Saint is not a city, but a handsome man ."

This is one of the reasons Lestat calls Louis the pet name "saint Louis" (to show his devotion towards him, and to illustrate Lestat’s belief Louis is his “destiny”).

-Louis (whose Creole family comes from wealth) was nicknamed the “prince of the quarter" & his businesses are described as an "empire" . “Louis was a common name among French royalty and was often used as the name of first born heirs(such as Ldpdl)”.

-Louis translates to “famous warrior" or "renowned in battle". We see Louis initially catch lestat’s eye due to this quality. And although Louis probably would prefer to just chill out and read a book. He is indeed good in battle : taking out the French coven by himself , and in the s2 finale essentially saying to the entire vampire community that he’ll fight all of them if they attack him first.

-Similar to the names of Louis’ siblings : Paul and Grace (his name also has catholic roots as well) . Lestat calls him “Saint Louis” . “saint louis implemented reforms in France aimed at establishing a more just and fair legal system, and outlawing outdated and unjust practices. “ Which, ironically , our Louis … didn’t get the benefit of for his trial in Paris.

4. Daniel

The name Daniel has its origins in the Bible. The biblical-Daniel had frightening dreams and visions that unveiled hidden truths (hmm...that sounds familiar).

Daniel 7:15 , “As for me, Daniel, my spirit was distressed within me, and the visions in my mind kept alarming me. “ If past d.m did happen he'll most likely continue to have visions & dreams that alarm him (and that reveal hidden truths). Also, if the rumors are true that Daniel relapses in s3- the dreams/visions may be harder to interpret and trippy (similar to the trippy/abstract biblical visions Daniel saw) .

-The biblical Daniel also famously survived the night being thrown into a lion’s den (which I mean …being trapped in a room full of mentally ill vampires is probably similar to that) . lets' see how Daniel deals with being trapped in the den of Mr. LION-court in s3😆.

-“The name Daniel also symbolizes the belief in divine justice, wisdom, courage, and steadfastness in the face of adversity.” (Pretty much our Daniel: no matter the obstacle he’s always steadfast and courageous when it comes to exposing a story).

-The prefix of the name Daniel, aka Dan also means “judge”. It’s certainly interesting that the fake-judges at the trial cause so much of Louis' trauma . And Daniel (the judge) helps Louis to a certain degree move on from the trial.

5. Lestat

According to the writer his name was supposed to be Lestan (as a reference to her husband Stan). And in the books Lestat was an anagram : and each letter of his name was the first letter of one of his brothers. In the books, Lestat says his name is “meaningless “. Lestat is possibly derived from the Old French word "estat," meaning "state" or "status”. Lestat in the books is called a “prince” and was a human nobleman . But, his noble status was infact “meaningless “ because he grew up in poverty. Lestat is of both French and Italian descent . L'estate" is the Italian word for "summer" or "summertime" , and is associated with “warmth.” Show Lestat gets emotional thinking about the “warmth of summer”, and it’s going be revealed he can also go out in the sun and be able to tolerate its heat (most likely in s3) .

#claudia de pointe du lac #armand #claudeleine #armandaniel #loustat #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #daniel molloy #madeleine eparvier #devil's minion #iwtv #claudia eparvier

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alexanderwales · 14 hours ago

Note

Thoughts on Chilli, Northen Caves, and When I Win? Personally they're probably my favorite things on the whole list, but I feel like they never got as big a reception as a bunch of the other stuff. :(

The Northern Caves: I really really loved the first 80% of so of this. I grew up with forums and their particulars, the ways in which you'd come to know the personalities, and how the superfans would get into these long, drawn out debates that were steeped in the prior histories of conversations. There's something really magical about how TNC does this, and the "found media" elements work really well. It reminded me of the better parts of House of Leaves, I guess, and was also just hugely nostalgic (since I was in high school during the Forum Years). The philosophical stuff was also great, and the series they were reading felt rich, and nost is a great writer with wonderful prose. And then I just did not enjoy the ending at all. I think that in spite of that, I recommend it highly, and think it's one of the things on the webfic bingo card that's most worth reading.

Chili and the Chocolate Factory: I adored this one from start to finish, and also Dahl was one of the authors whose works I was steeped in growing up and also at the time it was coming out I was rereading a lot of Dahl's books with my son and also there are a few references to me and my discord server within the work. So I'm biased heavily in favor of this one, but I also also think that it's got this crazy energy to it, an insane density of ideas and weird things, and a wonderful sense of humor. Remy would probably hate to hear me say this, but I think he's one of the best writers I know. It's really really rare for me to read something and have so many individual pieces of it stick with me. I do wish that it were easier to get people on board with, because I have no clue how to pitch it to prospective readers.

When I Win: A few things here: I am just not a Pokemon guy. Red and Blue came out in 1998, when I was 12 years old, and everyone at my school was obsessed with it, and I just did not get into it, and had to suffer through a lot of Pokemon conversations I wasn't interested in. It's like the opposite of FOMO, then you wish that everyone would shut up about this thing you're "missing out" on. So whenever I read Pokemon fic, it's an uphill battle to care about the core thing, and I have enough Pokemon knowledge to get by, but sometimes it'll end up feeling like homework if I have to look up references or jokes or just understand things. Another thing is, I think Bavitz and I have very different tastes in character dialogue. I noticed this with Cockatiel x Chameleon too, and I suspect that when I get around to Bavitz's other stuff I'll see it there too. The differences in speech seem really exaggerated to me, blown out of proportion, idiolects heightened, and I think I've gotten in disagreements with people over whether this is actually true or not, but it's definitely how it feels to me. I found Cely in particular to be fairly grating whenever she spoke. This is a personal preference thing, and I don't know how much it generalizes to other people; I'm not sure that I've seen anyone else mention it, but I also haven't read a bunch of reviews.

So with that said, Bavitz is a skilled author who goes into a story with Something to Say, who milks the premise and theme for what it's worth, and brings a literary sense to his works. The fight scenes are really well done, even for someone like me who is not a Pokemon guy. There's a lot that I found interesting about competition and stagnation, the capture of competitive drive. Bavitz likes to think about the end of history a lot, and it shows here. It's thankfully a concept that I find interesting. I enjoyed the core relationship of Cely and Toril, it's a good, interesting dynamic. Without spoiling it, the ending worked well for me. Well worth reading.

#asks #webfic #chili and the chocolate factory #when I win the world ends #the northern caves

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thesummerstorms · 1 day ago

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Antaam Invasion of Antiva:

Almost all of this is repurposed from something else I was trying to work out for myself, before finding one single line of a codex entry that answered my question but I had somehow skipped every time prior to now. I figured it might still be a useful reference post for someone, so I reformatted, cut some stuff, and added some stuff.

Blue text is proven fact, red text is inference/supposition by me.

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As of the quest, Coffee with the Crows, Antiva as a whole is still occupied by the Antaam.

Evidence: Codex: A Letter from House de Riva

"Now we have Qunari in control of all Antiva. Treviso is like their favorite toy. They flaunt the occupation here, showing off how they took charge of our poor, lawless people for their own good. I know you [Lucanis] just got out and too much has happened already, but we still have work to do."

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2. The King of Antiva is still free, not under house arrest or a hostage, etc. However, he is not currently assisting with the resistance towards Qunari occupation.

Evidence: Multiple pieces of in game dialogue (sourced from the script file, but I have heard most in game) + Codex: King's Draft: Action on the Behalf of Antiva

Teia (Codex): We aren't required to give His Majesty a point-by-point, but he's your blood, Viago. It is a courtesy to let him know we are going to war."

Rook de Riva: "We Crows are all the army Antiva has, but it's not like we can field a garrison. Outside support?" Teia: "The king would say to call on us. The price for being patriots."

Ivenci: "Without you, the king would be forced to deal with this mess. To give proper power to real officials."

Teia: People are desperate. We need to arrange shipments of water from further inland. Viago : (snorts) Maybe the king can be convinced to build an aqueduct—if we involve his favorite sculptors. Teia : It is not a bad time to ask him for aid. Viago : (sighs) I'll go.

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3. The Antaam started by invading Antiva and northern Rivain, then used that as a launch point to conquer half of the rest of northern Thedas.

Evidence: Codex Entry: The Antaam Invasion

When the Antaam invaded the South, the people there were completely unprepared. Antiva and northern Rivain were overrun quickly, with the invaders pushing down through the Green Dales to the Minanter River, leaving only the southernmost of the Free Marches spared. From there, the Antaam pushed west, overpowering Tevinter magic with gaatlok cannons and brute strength until the defenders finally held at Vyrantium. Nevarra was spared, likely due to the Antaam fears of necromancy and unwillingness to attack until Tevinter was conquered, but almost half of northern Thedas fell to Antaam rule in just a few years...

My messy PowerPoint annotated/color coded map:

(I had to guess where exactly counted as "southern Free Marches", but I feel like the Minanter River makes the most likely boundary given its explicit mention in the codex.)

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4. Initial occupation of some parts of Antiva was implied to be particularly brutal, though no specifics are given.

Evidence: In game dialogue, confirmed by the script file.

Ivenci: "You know what the Antaam did elsewhere in Antiva. And in every other city they occupied."

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4. Although the Antaam still hold all of Antiva, they have struggled with supply chains as none of their support teams defected with them. They have been reliant on seizing the resources of occupied territories, presenting a possible weakness.

Evidence: Codex Entry: The Antaam Invasion; in game dialogue

It is also important to note that the Antaam fought alone. With little in the way of supply lines or experts in food production—the craftspeople and strategic experts who would normally support them had not broken from the Qun when the Antaam did—the invaders needed to attack to keep eating. When they encountered resistance that would have forced a siege, the Antaam invasion stalled. The kithshoks who wished only to conquer now had to learn to rule the lands they would claim.

Lucanis: The Crows may have something. The Antaam are moving large quantities of supplies out of the city. Weapons, armor, gaatlok…And food. About half our remaining provisions. Enough to feed the Antaam navy.

Civilian 1: You went to the physician? Civilian 2 : She stitched it well enough. Gave me what she could to ward infection. Civilian 2 : What she could? Civilian 1 : The Antaam confiscated half her supplies. Said they need it for their army.

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5. Josephine Montilyet's family and their estate in Antiva City appear to be safe, and potentially operating somewhat normally . Antiva City is also the capital where the King reigns.

Source: Codex: Notes from the Inquisition (if Josephine was romanced); DA:I dialogue placing the family home in Antivan City, Eight Little Talons

"The family writes the weather back home is beautiful. I do miss our quiet times together." "When we return to Antiva, I will ask you, on the steps of the estate, if you will do me a great honor. And I dream you will say yes." "Yvette and Lord Otranto send their best wishes, and hope to see us back home in time to welcome their third child."

Josephine: Well. My parents are alive, and in good health. They live in our estate in Antiva City.

Teia snatched his walking stick and twirled it in the air. “Are you going straight home to Salle?” [Viago] sighed and shook his head. “Antiva City.” “To brief His Royal Fatherliness?” She balanced the stick on the tip of her boot.

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6. Teia and Viago have left behind their home territories of Rialto and Salle to join with Caterina in Treviso.

It's unknown if the presence of the Cantori Diamond predates the occupation, but this might mean they are choosing to show a united front in the city most threatened or most symbolic and move outward from there to then retake their own territories.

Possibly this is a deliberate alliance due to Teia, Viago, and Caterina being three of the four Talons to survive the initial attempt to sell Antiva out to the Antaam by a rival House.

Evidence: Eight Little Talons, Codex: A Letter from House de Riva

"Teia had a garden full of the bell shaped flowers in Rialto."

"Andoral [Teia's horse] rarely gets a chance to let loose in Rialto.

"Teia snatched [Viago's] walking stick and twirled it in the air. “Are you going straight home to Salle?”

Now we have Qunari in control of all Antiva. Treviso is like their favorite toy.

This might also be supported by the unimplemented Codex Entry: Many Houses, One Roost. However, many things in the game files were struck on purpose, or contradict the final canon.

7. The Antaam control the port in Treviso, limiting the availability of supplies. However, they don't entirely restrict entering ships, instead taking a "cut" of the foodstuffs they do permit.

Rivain at least is working to send supplies through anyway.

Evidence: Codex Entry: On the Invasion, in game dialogue, Note: Flour Covered Grocery List

Treviso has always been a free port. Even the Merchant Princes respect this. Their fortunes exist because we trade and work where we will. So of course, the first act of the Antaam invasion was to blockade our trading ships with their dreadnoughts

Crow Prisoner: The Antaam kept me alive so they could use me to trick Rivain into sending more supplies....Thank you for your timely arrival. I'll get the supplies to Treviso… and pay back the Antaam there.

A list in Lucanis's handwriting: -Spring onions -Green cabbage -Short-grain rice -Vinegar (white, for pickling) -Vinegar (dark, for dipping with bread) -Coffee beans (for Neve, when she is back) Cinnamon, please! —Bellara If it can be found. The Antaam's navy takes its share from whatever trading ships pass through Treviso. —Lucanis

8. The Antaam across nations aren't working together, but have broken into smaller bands. Any coordination seems to be from the Evanuris.

The Butcher seems primarily occupied with Treviso, so we have no information about who is occupying the rest of Antiva or any alliances they might have.

Evidence: Warlords of the Antaam

It is easy to think that the Antaam broke from the Qunari as one, but the reality is that of a vase shattering into countless shards, each broken in its own way, reflecting the warlord who now leads each kith. Some, like the Butcher in Treviso, use their new freedom to indulge in cultures long forbidden to them. Others, like Ataashok (Dragon King) or Isskatari (Master Killer) in Rivain, reject foreign cultures and either lean on the trappings of the Antaam or invent a heritage to inspire the loyalty of their soldiers. What seems consistent among the Antaam warlords is cruelty, from Baqounasaar (Flaming Wind), whose ships terrorize the northern coast, to Kashtaar (Jewel-Taker), whose kith have become a bandit army in the mountains outside Marothius.

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Further cut information about the Antaam Invasion that can be found in the game files, but aren't technically canon due to remaining unimplemented: Codex Entry: Observations on the Antaam, Codex Entry: Many Houses, One Roost, Codex Entry: No Need for Armies

#Antiva #DATV #Antivan Crows #Antaam #I feel like a lot of this is common knowledge so idk if any of it will be useful to people #but I spent a lot of time trying to infer the status of the rest of Antiva from scattered comments and data #before realizing I had skipped that line in Viago's letter to Lucanis #And I wasn't willing to trash it completely #at the very least now *I* have my sources handy and compiled to double check when I forget again #teia cantori #viago de riva #lucanis dellamorte #Rook de Riva #in that they're sources not so much that it's about them

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holding-on-to-josh · 2 days ago

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i need to rant about how much i love snap back. this song is an absolute masterpiece in terms of sound, lyrics, harmonies, and meaning. me and my close friend were talking about how amazing this song was yesterday. love you avery

- it has this distinct summer sound that sounds nostalgic to me and it just feels like i’m driving toward the sunset and it gives me a feeling like everything’s gonna be okay, despite the song itself

THIS PART is so deep. it’s like you’re still running from the past, but more so you’re still THINKING about the past which is keeping you from looking into the future and seeing what’s right in front of you. this i feel is something anybody can relate to because we look back a lot on life and try to use it to improve.

This idea of refusing help and possibly pushing away people you love because of how closed off or isolated you may feel. i know for a fact that when i’m going through something or having a rough day i lash out at anyone who tries to talk to me or help, and this lyric is absolutely amazing at describing this feeling of biting the hand that helps you, then giving it stitches.

first of all, the backslide reference! these two songs feel like siblings to me. but about the lyrics, the song is talking about a backslide, a relapse, a return to something. “all of that progress lost today” “it’s a backslide”. feeling like all that work, all that progress is worth nothing because you ended up back at square one. it’s as if you were climbing a slide only to slip back down.

This is not so much about lyrics but more so about structure and sound, BECAUSE THE HARMONIES?? god when i heard those harmonies for the first time on this song i ugly sobbed for a good fifteen minutes because holy crap it sounds amazing. it feels like several different people are telling you it’s all gone, and that’s what anxiety and insecurity feels like to me, like a bunch of tiny voices telling you stuff

don’t get me STARTED on this lyric because if you’re introspective like me and you’re always trying to look into how you feel and why you feel like this, this is insanely relatable. sometimes i’m able to come up with a bunch of reasons that make sense on why i’m feeling a certain way, which can lead to me being able to feel better or deal with it better, but there are also times where i run out of excuses as to why i am this way, why i feel this way. but i just think as humans we won’t always have the answers, and that’s okay

I really like this part because he’s USING THE FALSETTOS TO COMMUNICATE TWO VOICES. he’s talking to the backslide/relapse as if it’s a person (kind of like how nico/blurryface is a person that resembles tyler’s insecurities) and it’s genius. he’s saying “welcome back to the show”, welcome BACK being that this is not a one time occurrence, but something that keeps returning, even if it’s not wanted.

the way i see it, the normal voice is his more rationale than just his insecurities, and this is shown through him saying he better move to a fresher approach, showing that he has a desire to change things up to see if it makes him feel different. and the new adaptation, in my opinion, i see it as him realizing that it may not ever go away fully, but he can adapt because humans adapt.

Let’s not forget this gem. absolute genius at lyrics tyler joseph is, and this line is evil because it cuts so deep. The fact that he’s referring to himself as having elasticity, i see it as him saying he’s changed a lot, or he’s willing to change if it means finding his way back. the feeling of knowing you’ve gotten off track and wanting to get back to where you were before, but not knowing how, so all you can do is pray that you’ll somehow get back there, to how things were before. this further contributes to the backslide theme of the song.

That’s all i have to say for now, just wanted to get that out there because i cannot listen to this song without sobbing my lungs out. 😵‍💫

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geraldmariaivo · 24 hours ago

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i can actually chip in on the TFA side of this! Part of the reason so many people think he’s a kid in tfa (if not in physical development, then mentally), is because of Human Error (parts 1&2).

short version: this is the episode where they’re “turned into humans”, and why so many tfa humanizations will show bumblebee as being like 8-14 years old or something.

this is taken from the show:

Prowl has the same body as the hologram he uses (impersonating a police officer, actually), Bulkhead looks like a large but young football player, Optimus looks like a generic white dude (i still think they did him dirty with this design), Ratchet is an old man, and bumblebee is a kid. How old that “kid” is supposed to be is kind of unclear because he looks slightly younger or older depending on the angle and the shot, but given how Sari is portrayed it’s safe to assume he’s somewhere in the age range of 8-14.

Prowl being in the form of the hologram scanned from a preexisting person is actually kind of important here, because the rest of them have personalized designs, but he doesn’t. It’s not direct, but it hints at what’s actually happening: they’re trapped in a simulation.

In-universe these forms are might be partially generated based on self-image, but more likely than not they’re based on how Soundwave views them. Soundwave, mind you, who is maybe a year old -probably less- and was brought online on Earth, whose only reference for how development works being 1) himself, 2) his creations like Laserbeak and Ratbat, and 3) humans. Prowl’s hologram is like that so they wouldn’t need to design a new model for him because Soundwave sees him using the hologram to represent himself as a human. Boom, copy-pasted, easy peasy, i can get on with the rest of my evil plan.

Even if we don’t read into it that much, and assume that the writers only barely said “alright what should we assign them based on human development without putting in a ton of work we work on the details of the episode?” The easiest thing to do is use sterotypes as templates, and add details based on the character.

The ninja already has one, no work there, cranky old man, big dumb jock, generic leader figure (generic late 20s to middle-aged white guy, given media’s tendency to do that), and the loud, rambunctious, messy, irresponsible one with a short attention span and likes video games slots neatly into the traits associated with boys of late “child” to early teen years.

this is also part of why some people get so up in arms about shipping tfa Bumblebee with anyone. He’s literally portrayed as a human child in the show. It’s also worth noting that his “human form” being black seems like it’s due to his voice actor being african american, rather than pure stereotyping.

slightly unrelated: the funniest thing to me about blitzbee is that it’s shipping Larry Robinson with himself.

Yesterday I saw someone on Twitter mentioning the babyfication of Bumblebee in the fandom, and that's been somewhat of a thought in my mind before, so I figured "eh, might as well write my own thoughts on the matter myself". Though in a tumblr post, since Twitter has a character limit and I don't feel like doing a thread

So yeah, that's what this is

Why does Bumblebee get babyfied so much in the Transformers fandom?

Disclaimer though: I'm only really touching on the shows and movies and how they might contribute to the issue, and only the ones I've seen, so no Unicron Trilogy or RID 2015. And probably not much on the live action movies either since I remember them very little, just design things. I've also not read any of the comics, so they aren't weighing in either

I'm also not claiming I have the definitive answers, just some guesses based on my own understandings. I'm very socially inept, so I could be completely wrong. It's also why I'm not touching on the fandom side much

My friend told me to put a "read more" tab on this after showing her what I was doing, and yeah I probably should. Take note that this is an absolute monster of a post, this took me hours to write. So be warned

But yeah anyways, let's start this

Oh right, I should probably start with what I mean by "babyfied", so we all are on the same page here. The biggest things I think are making Bumblebee a teenager or child, whether in interpretations of canon material, AUs of official series, or people's own versions of the Transformers (though note the most damning one here is the first one, seeing a canon Bee as a kid, specifically when it is not shown that he is one. The third one is completely fine, it just is a symptom I think), and then also basically just making Bumblebee Optimus' son, or Elita's, or Megatron's, or a combination of characters; basically, just making Bumblebee someone's kid

I'll be tackling it in a general order of the shows/movies and how they contribute to the issue, starting with:

G1 cartoon

So in g1, I will admit, I think I can see Bee and Optimus having some sort of father-son relationship, at least in moments; like Attack of the Autobots which is where Optimus and Bumblebee have that iconic little hug

But I mean also, Optimus just kind of generally has paternal vibes in g1, he feels like everyone's dad. I think it might just get magnified with Bumblebee because Bumblebee is small and probably has the "cutest" personality of the Minicars, so it's just him from that group. And also, he's got a cute little Beetle car as his alt, which factors into it

He also does seem to have been written with the idea of him being younger, at least that's how the toy description feels to me

He was also Spike's best Autobot friend, and as I'm pretty sure Spike was supposed to be the young teenage human for the kids to relate to more, that probably helps with his youth factor

Though he is still functionally an adult. But I don't think the problem is as bad here, since let's be real, people mostly remember g1 for the nostalgia, iconic moments, and being the origins of the franchise; people aren't really making g1 AUs outside of that one person with the Orion Pax and Megatron knowing each other AU

So from the start, he's always had this, but I don't think we can call it an issue at this point. But it does bring in some of the main factors in the babyfication of Bee, namely:

He's small, which can give the impression of younger

He generally is one of the younger bots, even if he's still an adult

He tends to be the main friend of a human protagonist, who generally tend to be kids or teenagers

These will show up again, so keep them in mind. Now, let's move onto our next show, 23 years later

Animated

So in Animated, Bumblebee is yet again, one of the youngest members of the main cast, though this is specifically told to us, like how Sentinel, one of Optimus' contemporaries (and TFA OP is meant to be on the younger side of his variations too), was Bee's drill sergeant, as well as just Bee's general behavior

He is also the smallest member of the main cast, which can contribute to the feeling of him being younger

He is also friends with the human protagonist Sari, who is an 8-year-old at the start of the show, and the two of them tend to go along with each other's crazy schemes, rather than Bee trying to be responsible with Sari; that's more Optimus' job.

What I didn't pick up until way later than I probably should have was that Bulkhead is around the same age as Bumblebee, thus making him also one of the youngest members of the cast. Which honestly in retrospect, makes a lot of sense with how he's written, and him also being one of Sari's closest friends. I think why I didn't pick up on it while watching however comes from two things: 1, he's like the biggest member of the main cast, which doesn't immediately make me think he's one of the younger members, even though younger people being big is something they can be (I mean my brother's like 6 feet tall and he's not even 15 yet), and then 2: Transformers Prime Bulkhead, aka the one from the show that might be more popular than TFA, is very much an adult, and that was the Bulkhead I knew. So I didn't know he was supposed to be younger

We'll swing back around to Prime later, I think it's one of the main contributors to the issue, but keep in mind that interpretations from popular series tend to stay in mind and bleed over into other shows and their versions, even if that's not how they are

But back to Bumblebee, things generally aren't super different between this and g1, other than the fact that he and Optimus don't have much of a parent-child dynamic, and that this Bee definitely is on the younger side in canon, though probably still an adult? I'm not sure, but he can't mentally be more than like, very early 20s. But it happening again does reinforce these ideas of Bumblebee as a younger bot

In fanon, I don't know if the TFA side has this much of an issue, at least nowadays? I see him get shipped with Blitzwing and Prowl plenty, and I don't see him as Optimus' kid, other than like one time with the "9 months in my womb" meme, and him being an oplita kid, which might have just been for the joke and also TFA Elita was yellow, so eh. But I'm also not too big on the TFA side of the fandom anyways, so I could be wrong

So before we get to Prime, I just want to sidestep into the movies that were also coming out at the time

Bayverse/live-action movies

Now I can't say much on the writing front with Bee, since I have not seen any of these movies in a hot minute, outside of the first hour and a half of the 2007 movie. I will say though, based on what I saw of Bee there (aka mostly his car shenanigans), that is not a child, that is a sassy little bastard man. Though that could be because Bay was trying to market more to like, teenage boys and trying to make him "cooler"

But anyways, what I wanted to talk about was his design, and how it contributes to the babyfication issue

The Bay movies gave Bumblebee a redesign, looking pretty different from his original design (though that goes for pretty much everyone except Optimus)

The thing I notice most with these movie designs is how round they make him, specifically with his eyes, being so big and round, especially later. While it was probably originally just a reference to bug eyes, it makes him cuter looking, more innocent. I think by Bumblebee, they were trying to capitalize on that in the movie, making him seem cute and non-threatening in certain scenes so Charlie knows he's not a danger. Which makes sense, but it does contribute to the problem here

And in general, he's a lot rounder I think in his design. And while I'm not expert on shape language, I think I can gather that more round shapes leads to him looking more friendly and less threatening and cuter in our minds, and "cuter" leads to "younger". That's why I keep bringing up "cute" by the way, forgot to say earlier. Cuteness tends to be associated with youthfulness and thus younger characters more

And in general with Bumblebee, him being yellow, a bright color more associated with joy and optimism, and thus youth, and generally having a more optimistic and extroverted personality (though not necessarily in the Bay movies, though I can't say for sure) again leads into him being younger. Now it probably came from the fact that bees are yellow, thus he's yellow (and also black), and his personality came from that bright color. Actually the name probably also comes from the yellow color scheme, but you get it. His color scheme and personality lends Bee to being a younger character

Back to Bayverse, it did change Bumblebee's alt mode from a Beetle to a Camaro (again probably to make him "cooler"), and I think since then, Bumblebee's basically always been a sports car, outside of explicitly g1 referencing things. So it does tend to take away the "smaller" aspect of what makes him seem so young, as he's more average sized now. But the youthful connotations don't necessarily go away

This is also (I think) what started the trend of Bumblebee losing his voice, being replaced with either radio/movie clips, or just beeps that the characters can understand. Now while I'm not too sure how this affects him in Bayverse, as I haven't seen much of Bee proper in the movies in a long time (the first half of the first movie is pretty much just car Bee), and since I know he can still talk in some way, it does mean you focus less on his dialogue and how that characterizes him, and more on his appearance and actions (at least in robot mode). Or he just doesn't talk, and you can have your own interpretations of what he's saying. And as mentioned prior, his design tends to make him look cuter, adding to the issue. I'll get more into this in Prime, since I am familiar with Prime, and he doesn't talk at all there

He's also again, I'm pretty sure one of the younger bots, despite probably being an adult. We'll go over that more in Prime

I don't think I have much else to say on these movies, so to go over the general points, this seemed to cause a bit of a shift in Bumblebee's portrayals. He got a bigger alt mode, so he's not tiny anymore, but he got big round eyes that make him seem cuter, rounder features, and he lost his voice, which means you can fill in the gaps in what he's saying in your head

Now, let's get to the real meat of this, and I think the biggest cause of this all:

Prime

I hope I didn't hype this section up too much. But I think this is where all the things conglomerate into the main factors of Bee's babyfication

Bumblebee is not the smallest bot, but the smallest is the female motorcycle bot, as opposed to his sports car, so. He is the youngest Autobot, and bot in general outside of I guess the Predacons, until Smokescreen comes in in Season 2, who is also considered young. He and Optimus have a close relationship, that given their age differences, could be read as paternal. He's got the big round eyes of Bayverse and a generally round design, which we've already discussed as to how it contributes to the problem. He also does not speak at all, only using beeps that we the audience cannot understand, until the finale. His designated human friend is the youngest human companion here, and the most child of them, being only 12. All these factors combine to create the most "baby" Bumblebee so far

(I just added a picture since I felt like I needed to. But there's not much to talk about design-wise that wasn't in the Bay section)

First up, the age thing. I keep saying that Bumblebee is one of the youngest bots in the casts, even though he's technically an adult. This is true, in part because as far as we can see in canon, Transformers don't really have "child" stages, they're just born adults. And they don't really age; or well, they do, it just takes millions and millions of years to do so, so they're functionally immortal. So, they don't really age like us humans, physically and probably mentally too, given they skip the young child years. So I mean like, technically speaking, Bee's an adult, it's not really clear where that translates into our perception, so maybe he's more mentally a child? I don't think I'm making sense here, maybe ignore this section

But he is younger, and particularly in Prime, he's in a team of bots all much older than him. If I were to put them in mental human years, I'd say he and Smokescreen are probably somewhere in their early 20s, while everyone else is probably like, 35+. Bee is notably younger than his peers, and we are made aware of this fact. And this makes him appear even younger than he is

If I were to make a comparison, and maybe this is a bit random, but take Mouthwashing for example. I may never have been super knowledgeable of the fandom, but I am aware that Daisuke is like, 22, while everyone else on the Tulpar is 35+, and that makes him feel so much younger by comparison. He's only just started his adult life, compared to the far more experienced adults around him. And while I didn't see it, I do think I remember seeing people talk about how people kept portraying Daisuke as younger and more innocent than he is when he's a 22-year-old man. I also remember someone comparing the portrayals of Daisuke in the fandom with another character from another series (I think it was Omori?), who was the same age as Daisuke, but because that character is the oldest of the protagonist group, everyone else being children or teenagers, he was portrayed super differently to Daisuke. The other character had to be responsible and make mature decisions, while Daisuke is allowed to be silly and reckless. The point I'm trying to make here is that age, and how a character is portrayed and interpreted, is relative to the characters surrounding them, with the characters on the extremes sometimes getting exacerbated because of it. This is true in real life too, but for the sake of analysis

Bumblebee is the youngest member of the Autobot team (at least until Smokescreen), and thus, he feels even younger as a result. This is probably also helped by the fact that there's no Decepticons around his age either, everyone around Bumblebee is a full-grown adult by comparison. And his close relationship with Optimus, who is meant to be one of the older bots in the group, feels very paternal, which serves to make Bee feel again younger, like he's Optimus' son. Which I like here, but it furthers the issue

And on the topic of him just feeling younger, let's bring up Raf. Bumblebee is again a friend of a human protagonist, but in Prime we have 3 main humans, ranging in ages but all in grade school, and each one has an Autobot they're paired with. And Bumblebee gets Raf, the youngest member at around 12. Due to Raf's youngest member status and technically not being a teenager, he is, as I said before, the most "child" of the group, even if they're all technically children still. I thought he was 10 until I double checked and saw he was 12, and honestly, I feel like he feels younger than Sari did, who was only 8 when we met her. Probably because unlike Sari who had no human friends, Raf does, both of whom are older than him and treat him as such. It's the relative age thing again

But back to Bee, unlike with the other humans and bots, Bee doesn't act as the responsible adult, but more of a friend for Raf, though not nearly as chaotic as TFA Bee and Sari. They aren't causing trouble; they're just having fun and cute moments. There's again, the cuteness factor that probably contributes to the young feeling he brings, but it also serves to make Bumblebee not feel as much as an adult. Arcee is definitely an adult with Jack, and Bulkhead particularly gives me responsible adult vibes with Miko, at least on some occasions where they aren't indulging in fun, reckless behavior and Bulkhead has to get serious with her. They're responsible with the kids, even if they slip up at times, and help them learn things. But Bee doesn't have that with Raf, probably because Bee can't talk and give him the lesson. Raf also doesn't cause much trouble on his own and has Ratchet for that

Which segues me nicely into Bumblebee's lack of voice in this show. This was a carryover from Bayverse, since Hasbro was still trying to have synergy with the movies at that point. But instead of radio clips, he just beeps, with the other bots and Raf just being able to understand him, even though we the audience don't. And because of this, we never know what he's saying, and he also just straight up doesn't have a voice for us to gauge his age with. Thus, it's up to us the audience to fill in the blanks in our imaginations. But with all of the discussed factors of him being cute and young, we can just end up interpreting him as younger because of it. It's also again, probably because he doesn't talk. It's like R2D2 and BB-8, who only speak in beeps, but because they're cute, we see them probably as much cuter than they would be if we knew what they were actually saying (R2 especially)

To maybe go off on a weird tangent, I think child characters tend to be seen more as objects than people, or I guess objectified more, since they don't have fully developed brains and personalities and are less likely to be able to hold their own in a fight. They're things to be protected and loved and angst over, while all they need to do is be there and be cute. I think the lack of voice ties into this in a way, I just don't know how to explain it, other than like, because they took away his voice, we can see him as even cuter and child-like instead of the grown adult he is. Infantalization, that's what I'm trying to say. I think that's term for all of this, but you get what I mean by "babyfication"

Especially because at least for me, when Bumblebee did get his voice back, I started seeing him more as an adult, because he could actually talk and had an adult voice. Yes, him learning to take more of a leadership role in Predacons Rising is also a factor, but him having a voice now is part of it too. But he only got it back in the finale and the movie, so you spend pretty much the entire show with voiceless Bumblebee, and what comes with that

I think that wraps up everything about Prime Bee's portrayal, but now let me get into why I think overall, it was what really caused this baby Bee thing to stick

Like I said prior in the Animated section, the more something's repeated, the more it sticks, and these traits of Bumblebee being the youngest have been consistent throughout the series we've covered. Not to mention, I just think personality wise, this Bee feels the youngest/child-like, though again, it probably has to do with his company and lack of voice. And also, the fact that he's well-behaved, like how people want children to be

So, by this point, this interpretation of Bumblebee is stuck in our minds as how he is, younger than the rest of the team

But I think another big thing is that Transfomers Prime is probably the biggest series in the fandom, at least show-wise. G1 was influential and Animated is still popular, but no show comes close to the amount of popularity I see for Prime stuff, particularly their brand of megop or for their Decepticons in general. The only thing I've seen come close is Transformers One, which is also the newest one and what brought new people in during this wave, so who knows if it'll stick forever. I'm not sure where IDW stands though, because I know that was big too

If I had to attribute Prime's success in the fandom to things, I'd say it's because plenty of people around my age (20s-ish?), who are definitely online and on social media, grew up with Prime (though I will note that Transformers tends to have an older fandom than I'm used to), the fact that for a long time, Prime was easily accessible in its entirety on Netflix, long before the streaming wars (and this is how I watched the show), it generally has good writing and animation, it feels like it had a complete story, unlike Animated which had Season 4 cancelled, and Frank Welker and Peter Cullen were back as Megatron and Optimus, making them feel more "definitive". Among probably other things I'm missing

But the point is, Prime is big, and it'll take a lot to dethrone it, outside of possibly some TF One sequels sticking the landing after the first movie. But that's not certain at the moment

And like I said before, popular interpretations tend to bleed into other series and interpretations, even when they don't entirely fit. There's a reason when people want Knock Out in another show, they basically want more TFP Knock Out, design and character wise, or why Breakdown was in Earthspark without the other Stunticons. Or why people basically try to recreate the g1 backstory when making Skyfire and skystar for their stories, even when I'm not really sure versions of Starscreams would ever be scientists. Why Functionism will show up in fanfics despite something like TF One not really having a place for it outside of the cogless thing. Why people will instinctively ship megop across continuities despite it not working as well in some (*cough cough TFA cough*). Why Megatron and Optimus have largely had the same backstories for ~15 years, with One being probably the most different, but still the same general beats. It happens both in canon and fanon, but it definitely happens

So when Prime Bumblebee is portrayed as young, and probably intentionally, it sticks in our minds that Bumblebee is very young and usually will be. He's like Optimus' son here, especially since he explicitly is younger than him. He's cute and friendly, even if he can get into trouble sometimes. He's just a little guy

And by this point, the franchise was like, 30 years old. There's been a number of series, and a lot of the general staples of the series had been set and remain today. I'd argue Prime is the last of the "foundational" series in this franchise, at least where we are now with it; we could end up going in another direction in the future. So it's gonna be hard to just change how we see the characters here

The shows after

I won't go into each one in detail after this, because let's be real, this is long enough already. And again, I don't think at this stage, anything other than One has left as much of an impact on the fandom/series

We're skipping over RID 2015 since I haven't watched it, but I do think it's one of the shows with the least of this problem. Probably because he is at least initially surrounded by characters his age or younger, so the age relativity isn't a factor

Cyberverse actually has Bumblebee around the same age as Optimus here, not being notably younger, but that holds true for everyone in that series; basically everyone here is the same age, outside of like, Cheetor. I don't interact with the Cyberverse fandom enough to know how it fares with Bee there, but given he's a main character, probably more than Optimus, he's probably doing fine?

Though I have to admit I personally find it weird when Bee gets shipped, because surprise, I too have some amount of the babybee influence on me too. I mention it here because there's genuinely nothing wrong with shipping Bumblebee and Windblade here, if anything it makes so much sense; it's just that I can't get out of my head that Bee is supposed to be younger, and thus, shouldn't be shipped

I know nothing about the War for Cybertron trilogy

Earthspark Bumblebee is another case of being hit with the baby beam the least, which I think is attributed to his role as the Terrans' mentor. Once again, he is put as an older character instead of younger, and even more so than RID because he's the main adult teaching our young child protagonists. The age relativity is working in his favor this time. Most you're gonna get is him being called megop's child of divorce, but those two are old anyways

So far, canon wise, it doesn't seem that bad

But then we get to One, which is where I think the problem is really rearing its ugly head. See, B-127 is never said to be younger than the rest of the quartet, he's assumed to be the same age as them. Heck, you could maybe even see him as a bit older, given his odd knowledge and having been in Sublevel 50 so long. But B is constantly portrayed as younger than the rest, being the child of divorce, but actually more "child" this time, him basically being Optimus and/or Elita's son (Megatron is another parent too), despite no indication of such a bond in the movie outside of just being friends (even less so with Elita, whom he has the least screen time with of the group), or just straight up being made into a child or baby for the rest of the group to parent, despite it taking out a member of the group, especially when again, he is not said to be younger

But it keeps happening to him because it's the new popular series and some are coming in with prior expectations and knowledge of B and his relationships, that Bee must always be baby, and probably because he's very energetic and hyper and probably neurodivergent, which has a history of getting characters infantalized. Not saying everyone who sees him as younger is problematic or ableist for doing so, just that this probably contributes on some level to why it's so widespread

I think I've covered all my points at this rate. Are we finally done? Can I go do my schoolwork? Sorry, just random, I've been here for a while

So, to summarize, why does Bumblebee get babyfied so much?

Because Bee has a long history as being young, he's put around older characters who make him feel younger by comparison, he's got a design that lends him to be seen as cute and young, especially in the most well-known depictions (I mostly mean g1, Bayverse and Prime here), the fact that the show were all of these traits are at their biggest is also the most popular show, and thus influencing people's minds going forward that this is how he should be, even when it doesn't fit so well

And I don't think this mentality around Bee is going away anytime soon, and it isn't necessarily wrong to make Bee a young bot, but I think we should acknowledge that sometimes it's trying to fit a square in a round hole, it just doesn't fit as well, and we need to be mindful of that

#tfa bumblebee #tfa #tfp #transformers bayverse #maccadam #so yeah there’s my 2 cents

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