#this was just me formulating the design part of things

[gamebunny-advance]

Pre-Valdivian Dishy (Aka Dishie)

"Hello. I am Dishy. I was your dishwasher."

Warning for Emetophobia/light discussion of vomiting ahead.

Huh~ You can see me trying to figure out his face in real-time.

Anyway...

So, a while back I posted a question about what a "Dishy" without Valdivian's influence would have been like, and that kinda started me on a thought train that led to these sketches.

I was thinking about how Dishy says he's your dishwasher now, presumably because you had a dishwasher before him. So I started to wonder why the old dishwasher got replaced and what he would have been like.

But, I'll go over the design notes first, and then the lore~ Just look for the dividers if you only care about one or the other.

(Small note, I call this version "Dishie" just to make it easier to tell which one I'm talking about, but his name is actually "Dishy" just like the original.)

------------------

As per the canon lore, Dishie is just another form of the canon Dishy, so he takes a lot of the same cues from his Realized design. The main way to distinguish them aside from their clothes is that Dishie's cheeks are a little more sunken, he has pronounced eye bags, and his bangs are cut bluntly to mimic his towel a little more.

As for the overall outfit, I went with a butler style design because I like the idea that all Dishys are some form of service worker. So, while the canon Dishy is a corporate mascot, this Dishy is a private servant to contrast how he isn't directly connected to his manufacturer, and is instead entirely devoted to you.

I imagine that an industrial dishwasher (like the kind restaurants have) would have a more "waiter" inspired outfit. Or maybe he'd wear a jumpsuit or something.

But full transparency, this design happened because I was actually designing a maid uniform for the canon Realized!Dishy (because I wanted to draw something "cute"). I decided to try a "butler" style design to match it, but it actually resonated with me more than the maid outfit. So much so that I decided to flesh him out into his own character~

I decided to keep the motif of having the dish racks be a pattern on the clothing, but instead of also patterning it with dishes and bubbles, I left them empty since this version of him actually isn't getting used that much. The only reason he even has silverware in his pocket is because I like the idea of posing him with him holding them between his fingers in a defensive pose, and I wanted an explanation for where they came from.

The spray arm bowtie actually came fairly late, and it was just his sleeves that had the spray arm detail. Originally, he had an ornament there that was a plate with a crossed fork and spoon. I changed it because I wanted to add more dishwasher parts and to set him apart from Daisuke who *is* the dishware, so dishes only appear with Dishie as a prop. Besides, since this version of him actually isn't getting used much, he should have a limited amount of dishes in his design anyway. I love the idea that it spins when he's experiencing extreme emotions. Maybe water even comes out if he's especially irate - just to ruin your day. Tbh, that detail is a little "clownish" but I think it suits how cartoon-y he eventually becomes.

Originally his gloves were also white, but I later changed them to yellow to reference the rubber gloves often used for washing dishes, and so that they wouldn't get lost in the rest of his outfit.

The bubbles coming out of his sleeves/pants cuffs are actually a carry-over from the original maid concept, but I thought it made thematic sense here too, since his problem is that he's leaking water from a lack of maintenance. I did think about actually replacing the bubbles with detergent build-up (so it looks like his clothes have been crusted over a bit), but I thought the bubbles were more fun for his "acting." Here's a fun fact - dish detergent is specifically formulated to *not* foam up so this exact thing doesn't happen. Maybe the human accidentally loaded him with dish soap instead of detergent one time?

The timer garter is actually a compromise. Originally I thought of giving him a pocket watch to match the butler aesthetic, but then I remembered, "Oh wait. There's already a character that does exactly that." In a stroke of irony, even though I switched him from the maid design to the butler design to not let my biases overtake the storytelling, this actually made him less "unique" compared to other canon characters. That said, I do think the cut of the jacket and the other details help set him apart from Timmy and the other suit-wearing dateables, but the irony is not lost on me.

I kept the rollerskates because they're too iconic to lose. Every version of Dishy is obligated to wear some kind of wheeled shoe. I don't make the rules. I did however give him some socks because I'm too much of a coward to let him keep those grippers out (but it must suck to work with water and wear "open" shoes with socks on). >m<;

As for the details I "missed", I'm a little sad that I didn't work in his door handle or his pipes. I couldn't think of where to put the handle without looking too much like Stefan - who is also based on a big white cube - and there wasn't much room left for the pipes. In some of the sketches you might see the attempts of a sort of "split ponytail" to explore the idea of having his hair resemble the pipes, but since his hair is colored like the dishtowel, it didn't feel like a proper follow-through of the idea, so I probably won't keep it.

I think that's it for the details that warranted explanation.

So it's lore time!

------------------

Again, as per the canon lore, he has a lot in common with the canon Dishy, but some of his "quirks" manifest in different ways.

While the sketches make him look "naturally" unemotive, I think that this version is still just as "dramatic" as the canon one, it's just that his sickness leaves him exhausted, so he can't be bothered to "put on a face" unless it's absolutely necessary, or he's pushed to an extreme emotion. I like the idea that some of his poses carry over no matter what form he takes. So him twisting his towel in frustration and his eyes turning white from shock/anger are things all Dishys do.

While he tries to stay professional, if he's irritated enough, he will slip into his trademark snarkiness. Usually he's level-headed enough that this doesn't happen often.

Like Dishy, his identity revolves around the fact that the *only* thing he can do is wash dishes. He doesn't have any hobbies or real interests outside of this, so when he's unable to perform his job, it hurts him deeply. I wanted to keep this intact because in my opinion, a dishwasher is one of the most superflousus appliances you can own - it doesn't take that much time or effort to wash most dishes by hand, so even when it breaks down, it isn't necessary to replace it right away. So, I wanted to explore this aspect from another angle. If Dishy is an unchecked desire to be more than a single defining trait, then Dishie is a desperate need to cling onto that one idenity trait when it's disappearing.

He is absolutely dedicated to giving you the best service he's capable of, but due to his sickness, he is physically incapable of giving you his "best". This is something he greatly resents about himself, so he's always pushing himself beyond his limits, which is just breaking him more.

Because he's so sick, he often ends up coughing and/or vomiting mid-conversation. In some instances, it's so bad that he completely keels over. Luckily, Tyrell is usually close by to help clean him up and get him to his feet, but sometimes he'll be completely knocked out and there's nothing to be done but wait for him to regain consciousness.

This detail is actually inspired by Inspector Hosonaga from the Great Ace Attorney.

I like the idea that Dishie has these violent coughing fits, and then he calmly wipes it away and continues talking like nothing happened.

A quick overview of his relationships with the other dateables:

Originally he only talked to Sinclaire when there were dishes that weren't machine washable, but as he got more sick, he had to start depending on him more to get the dishes fully washed. It's possible that having Sinclaire do more of the dishwashing work is part of why he started to get backed up in the first place. Since the human was so used to just leaving the dishwasher to handle everything, they might have started putting things down the drain without using the garbage disposal properly. I think Dishie might have noticed this, but he had been replaced by the time Sinclaire went mad, and he didn't tell anyone about his concerns beforehand (he was pretty occupied with his own troubles at the time).

As already mentioned, Tyrell was usually close by, since there's a towel hanging from the dishwasher. They also only had a working relationship, but as Dishie got more and more sick, Tyrell started being on stand-by to help clean him up when he started leaking. Tyrell worries about him, but they wouldn't call each other "friends". They're not close enough for Tyrell to intervene when Dishie pushes himself too far, he can only be there to clean him up afterwards.

While Daisuke has always been protective of the dishes, he was more willing to let this version of Dishie take care of cleaning them. They might have even bonded about how carefully they both treated the dishes. But after the sickness (especially when he started to notice that the dishes weren't being fully cleaned), Daisuke became more hesitant about letting Dishie do anything with them. This was probably the biggest blow to Dishie's pride.

Otherwise, he had cordial relationships with the other kitchen dateables. He was always there to help clean any dirty dishes made by the other kitchen appliances/food/drink. He was respected, but he didn't really mingle enough to consider anyone a true "friend".

I'm still deciding on if Dishie is a separate entity from Dishy, or if Dishie somehow "evolved" into Dishy.

If it's the former, then I think they would have met briefly when they were being swapped out. I'd like to think that Dishie left his replacement with his notes about the human's dishwashing habits to help him get started, but also make him promise to "not repeat the same mistakes I made" which is part of where Dishy's obsession with efficiency and the human's health comes from.

If it's the latter, then I think this transformation is a result of Dishie wanting to "fix" all the things he thought was wrong with him. He wanted to be stronger. More efficient. More useful. But the tradeoff was a loss of identity and agency.

In my "canon" timeline, the human never actually meets Dishie because he was replaced before they got the dateviators. I can imagine Dishie "silently" pleading with the human to not replace him, but is powerless to do anything about it.

I'd need more time to think about what a proper "route" would be like with him, but I feel like they can only end in tragedy since he *will* eventually be replaced - I guess it's just a matter if your actions finally "kill" him or if you convince him to gracefully "retire".

------------------

That's all I've got for now. I have *some* ideas for things I want to do with him, but who knows if I'll actually get around to them. I've already got a few fic ideas on the backburner, and I'm starting to get overloaded with stuff I want to do~

As a "reward", here are the original maid sketches that got us to this point.

I won't talk about them as much, but I really liked the idea of the "caged dress" and the plate headband~ I'm never gonna have a design idea that big brained ever again ToT

[floorpancakes]

early draft but im designing an old school lolita maid miku for a prize figure contest 👉👈

[brattyspence]

sugar lips | s.reid

summary: (tweaked from request a lil bc im difficult.) early seasons!spencer/reluctant!spencer is so enamored by your lips and works up the courage to request head for the first time tags: 18+, MDNI. early seasons!spencer, same universe as ‘u up?’, oral (m receiving), finger sucking (??), no y/n, limited yucky words, reader is referred to as ‘woman’ and ‘girl’, spencer is down rlly rlly bad, reader swallows… idk what else. this is pure filth a/n: first request ever, thank u anon! sorry it took so long. i hope this doesn't suck, this is my first time publishing smut in ages and it was SO hard to write! word count: 1.2k masterlist

Spencer, the lover boy to end all lover boys, who insisted he existed simply to worship the ground you walked on, had never ever made a request like this. If you had asked him a few weeks ago, he would have freaked. Spencer, who was so, so happy to simply exist in your orbit, who never asked for anything in return, who was more than happy to give give give and never receive, making this request.

Yet here you were, happily settled on his lap, the warmth of your body reflecting off him. You had been teasing him all night of course, but this was different. The soft murmurs of conversation between kisses seemed to be fueling something greater. 

“Did I smear my lip gloss?” You asked, pulling away slightly. 

God. The damn lip gloss. The bane of his existence. How could he ever treat you with respect and dignity when you were looking at him like that, glossy-lipped and doe eyed?

“Just a little.” His thumb trailed along the border of your lower lip briefly, catching on the sticky gloss briefly. “Still beautiful.”

He couldn't be sure what exactly happened in the next few seconds. He could have been responsible, sure, or maybe you had done it on your own accord, but somehow the pad of his thumb, which was just tracing your lower lip, had dipped in your mouth.

Germs. The term briefly crossed his mind, a distant echo. Bacteria and viruses and other things that were not designed for the human mouth, especially not for you, the woman he respected so much it hurt. Germs. Still, he couldn't finish that line of reasoning. Not when you were looking at him like that, and oh god, oh god, oh god–

He was so mesmerized by it. He watched the way you had so willingly taken his hand in yours and encouraged him along, gliding your way down and then back up. He watched the way you had slowly pulled away, leaving his skin damp and sticky with that damn lip gloss. Clearly he hadn't heard your question.

“Spence?”

“Hm?” You watched his eyes flit back up to yours.

A hint of a smile crossed your face. “Did that do something for you?”

“Did… that? Did that… do something for me?” 

“You got pretty quiet.” You still held his hand in yours as you pressed a kiss to his thumb again. “I could do it again.”

Spencer ten minutes ago would have been so, so upset. But that Spencer hadn't seen the spectacle you'd just created. He could only manage a slight nod.

You hadn't given him a second to finish processing the first part before he found you doing it again.

He was already formulating a protest, but it was weak. You could see it fizzle out with the string of saliva that snapped from your lips to his skin. 

“Hey,” you said, softly. “Talk to me.”

How on earth could he talk to you when you just did that?

“I just… wasn't expecting that,” he replied. 

“Mhm,” you nod. “But you liked it. You got a little flustered.”

“I… yeah.” It was useless denying it. 

You shifted in his lap, leaning a little closer. “I know you're thinking about something.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he thought about it. You could feel his pulse under your fingertips. The gears in his head were busy ticking away.

“You looked pretty like that,” he replied, his voice soft. 

“With my mouth around you?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed audibly. “Mhm.”

You knew him well enough to know that he would never outright ask for something like that.

“Do you… want me to use my mouth somewhere else?”

He held your gaze for a second. You'd made this offer before, and he had aggressively turned it down in a string of “No, no, no baby. Don't worry about me”, but not this time.

“Please?”

You shifted off his lap in a split second before he could rethink his request. He considered it, of course, but you had settled down on the carpet with enthusiasm. He wasn’t even sure he was capable of turning you down when you were literally on your knees already.

You swiftly looped your fingers around his waistband, and you were surprised when he'd accommodated the motion, shifting his hips forward.

“Are you sure you-”

“Yes, Spencer. Would you please relax?”

His head fell back against the couch the moment your hand made contact. He was sure he couldn’t watch – not only was it defiling, but he was certain he wouldn’t last. Somehow, the second your lips wrapped around him, he threw all caution to the wind. 

An eidetic memory certainly had its perks, and he was damn sure putting all of them to use. This image, this entire moment, he knew would change him in irreversible ways, and none of them seemed to matter. 

You felt his fingertips gently brush the hair away from your face. He only hesitated for a moment before his hand came to rest on the back of your head, his thumb still rubbing circles against your cheek softly. He was looking at you with an incredible amount of awe.

“So pretty,” he breathed. “Jesus, angel. You look so–ah–so pretty.”

As you continued on, things only escalated. You had never seen him like his. Breathless, whiny, maybe. Desperate, absolutely. His eyes were heavily lidded, watching your every move as if missing the smallest detail would cause everything to crumble. He was half convinced that this was a dream, as he only ever let things like this happen in his imagination.

He was actively resisting the urge to tighten his hand in your hair, but you weren’t making it any easier. Your motions hadn’t relented in the slightest, and you didn’t exactly plan on letting up. 

“Baby–oh, fuck—baby, please,” he sighed. “You should… slow down.”

The words barely had a chance to leave his mouth before you reacted, of course doing the exact opposite. 

There were things Spencer never fully understood. Until now, he never understood the appeal of a blowjob. He didn’t do messy or sloppy. He thrived on selflessness, or at least he thought. But here he was, and here you were, changing that forever, nudging him closer and closer to the edge.

He had every intention of putting things on pause and finishing anywhere but in your mouth–but in the moment, his body did not want to follow his brain. 

He would feel bad about it later. 

You heard the momentary hitch in his breath. Then, the slight tightening of his fingers in your hair, and then the ever anticipated twitch against your tongue followed by the flood of warmth. 

After another minute, he finally managed to open his eyes again and draw his focus back in. 

You wiped your lips on the back of your hand, looking immensely proud of yourself at the same time. You could see the guilt hit him all at once as you looked up at him. 

“That wasn’t- I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, and-” 

“Spencer,” you sighed, with a smile. “It’s fine. You were fine. I’m fine. I’m very happy.”

You climbed back up onto the couch next to him, brushing your knees off before settling in. 

“Are you… are you sure?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Are you happy?”

He sighed, and looked away for a second before returning his gaze to you. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. You could detect the faintest of smiles. “Very happy. Thank you, pretty girl."

[pyreo]

very ace post I'm about to make here

I think I'm just exhausted by how much of everything has to be Hot Woman

of course I'm responsible for choosing a lot of media I engage with here, that might be what's degrading my tolerance level, but like there's no escape from Hot Woman

you look into any kind of artistry by a man who's great at drawing or painting etc... as soon as you look for more stuff you'll also encounter 'guess how small I made her waist in proportion to her boobs'. but like, you can't judge. everyone can draw what they like.

fictional women in male dominated spaces have always been idealised but it feels like that overton window shifted once they figured out they could get away with anything. but it's just fanservice right. but it's so unavoidable. waifuslop dominates as a moneymaker which ensures there'll be more of it. character designs are less tasteful sideboob and more 'outfit with nothing on the legs just straight up underwear and we're pretending it's normal'

fantasy setting with grotesque monsters to be killed? the monsters can also be Hot Woman. a game where you obtain and raise creatres, well, of course, those can also be Hot Woman! here at women we are all about being controlled and managed by someone else, and we will do a little dance for you.

It's not any one thing. it's just everywhere. there's so many fantastic artists online, and they're working very hard with their own styles and ideas to formulate their very own best Hot Woman. And they have amazing taste! I love seeing designs and creativity, and yet in the back of my mind I know it's a variation on Hot Woman, the cultural topic. The inspirational ideal. I do this too!! I make up a character and I realise that I have a chance to be part of the Hot Woman moment. Whatever I'm not, she can be. But instead of that potential being varied and personal, I'm leaning towards the mould I've seen so many times. I can be a part of Hot Woman too.

And I should be part of it, right? Because there's supposed to be common ground there right? I identify as a woman for lack of anything more suitable. I guess that's what I am. My body represents those same ideas I'm seeing. Some anime lady with boobs bigger than her head... and me. Both women. There's gotta be some overlap.

And it's not the kind of dichotomy that gets solved by 'we should treat men the same! more male fanservice!' to me. You cannot do any of this to men. We will never be culturally inundated by images of men in speedos with massive cockbulges in our daily lives, in ads, on posters. We will never have every blockbuster movie based around dynamic interesting women while a dude is thrown in the back somewhere and just has a small romance going on. We will never trope-ify men into broad flavours like 'cute and fun and helpful' or 'dark and tall and sexy (dubious)' to classify them from the POV of picking The One For You off the shelf. We will never have animes about schoolboys where people argue on imageboards about which one is 'best boy', the one who succeeded in being Commodity.

I don't know what to do with this. This is an idea that has escaped out the window. Women get hired to stand in front of things. I'm in spaces that don't want me and freely advertise it - every convention I've ever been to has stalls with body pillows and a woman who wants to be fucked on it. And that's me, apparently! That's what I am! I'm supposed to be like that. Hot Woman doesn't look like me - I'm unfortunate enough to sit in anime video game spaces where they can't even be an average weight, let alone having realistic diversity. But Hot Woman does have the appeal of weight while being thin, because now every girl - that's me! - has a random belt strap around her skinny thigh, with a meticulously drawn flesh pudge either side. She's thicc now. That's what thicc means, being underweight, having huge tits, an utterly flat stomach, and a strap on your leg that would cut off circulation.

This is a genre. Of course it's always existed. And how can I blame anyone for the fun of a fantasy, for idealisation, for people joining in without wondering if it could ever be different. Imagine a world, people say, where Hot Woman can ALSO... wear glasses. Incredible. Just imagine. She's still hot though. Hot Woman cannot be dulled or diluted, but we can expand her domain.

I don't know. Obviously nobody is doing this with the expectation that real life women should conform to a concept on paper. It's not coercive. There are women who choose to have vtuber avatars with boobs that fill the entire screen. That's what they want.

I should be grateful for the rows of sultry-eyed babes staring at me across the convention hall, because the next booth is gonna have children, girls who look maybe 6-8, on the pillows, right there among the families cosplaying together. So it could be worse. Sometimes the girls look visibly distressed. It doesn't really get mentioned. Nobody else is taking issue with it, I wouldn't want to be a killjoy. So it's fine. It's fine. Let's see some massive boobs, haha.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

Regarding your post(s) about investigation checks and the like, there's something that's bothering me, and it bothered me for a while. Not in regard to investigation, but charisma (and similar checks, diplomacy, negotiation, persuasion, whatever the game calls it).

In a TTRPG with skills, those skills are an abstraction meant to simulate a characters actual capabilities. If I want to make a character who can effortlessly jump from rooftop to rooftop, I'll give them high Athletics, Agility, Endurance, whatever. Maybe some feats, abilities, perks, advantages etc that pertain to jumping. Now, if I want my character to jump from rooftop to rooftop, I just roll the dice, and the skills, attributes, perks etc will make sure I have a high likelihood of success. I don't need to prove to the GM or the group that I myself could make that jump.

But now let's talk about Charisma checks. I've often heard stories of groups who say they don't make those checks, they just let the player make the argument, and if the GM is convinced, they "pass." But like... that means the character will always be as persuasive as the player. If the player isn't good at formulating an argument, the character won't be, either. Same with perception, investigation, etc. Sometimes, players just aren't good at picking up on hints and clues and/or they're not good at drawing conclusions from the clues they have. So that means that they can't play as a character who is?

Don't get me wrong, I get your point, I just find this is an issue worth thinking about. Why are things like athleticism, stealth, and combat prowess, or even things like lockpicking, hacking, or repairing stuff okay to abstract away as dice rolls, but deduction, perception, and maybe also persuasion and rhetoric aren't? Or, maybe the better, more constructive question: How would you propose handling a player playing a character whose skills exceed the player's?

I also think it's an issue worth thinking about, but I think "thinking about it" also has to involve asking the questions "why is this a problem?" and "is this ACTUALLY a problem?"

Like this discussion comes with the prepackaged assumption that allowing you to play a character whose abilities exceed yours as a player is both a) a universally desirable thing, and b) something that must be treated as a game design priority. And, with that assumption, it's logical to conclude that a TTRPG has an *obligation* to allow you to play a character whose abilities are not limited by yours as a player in any way, and not allowing you to do so constitutes a failure on the game's part.

But let's question that assumption a little bit. Because, the way I see it "allowing you to play a character who is good at X even if that's something that you, personally, are not good at" is not an inherently desirable design goal. It's a value-neutral feature, and it becomes a good or bad design goal to pursue depending on what X is and whether abstracting X so that the player doesn't have to engage with it benefits or detracts from the desired gameplay experience.

Let's for example, imagine a TTRPG with wargame elements, where, among other things to do, there are situations where your character can assume command of an army to engage in large-scale battles. It's pretty clear that, in such a game, you simply can't play as a character who is a better tactician than you, the player, are. If I'm not a good tactician, I don't get to play a character who's supposed to be the most brilliant tactician in all the land. That's simply not a character concept I get to play unless I am also skilled at tactical decision-making.

Is that inherently a problem to be solved? If we got rid of tactical decision-making as an activity that the players have to engage in, and instead gave the characters a "Tactics" skill and we used a Tactics skill check to determine whether they win or lose a battle, that would certainly allow a player who's bad at tactics the freedom to play a character who's the best tactician ever. But would this be an objectively good change? I'd say no, because it would skip past the entire point of the wargame elements, which is engaging as a player with the process of tactical decision-making, and that's not something that I'd consider worth sacrificing in pursuit of allowing the player to play a character whose skills exceed theirs in this particular aspect.

To name a more concrete example that someone else mentioned in the notes of that post: Mothership has no equivalent of a stealth skill, despite being a game where a lot of your playtime is spent hiding from some flavor of Scary Space Monster, because if the game abstracted stealth that way the resolution to any situation where you're trying to hide from a Scary Space Monster would be saying "I roll stealth" and hoping you roll high enough. Without a stealth skill, you're forced to participate in the narrative conversation of paying attention to the GM's description of the environment, ask clarifying questions if needed, and describe how you try to hide in the space presented to you.

This, once again, presents a situation where your character's skills are limited by your own. It's pretty clear that your character can only be as good at hiding as you are at thinking of places to hide and describing how they hide in them, and that if the game took the "i roll stealth" approach instead, it would solve the "problem" of your character's skills being limited by your own in this particular way. But is solving this "problem" worth sacrificing the tension that the game seeks to create by deliberately refusing to abstract stealth in this way?

So yeah... I think lacking skill checks for stuff such as perception or investigation makes a dungeon-crawling game better because it forces the players to narratively engage with the environment as a real place when they're looking for something, and it's also true that the lack of such mechanics kinda does mean that a player who just isn't good at picking up hints and clues from environmental details simply doesn't get to play a character who is supposed to be good at picking up hints and clues from environmental details. But I think that ensuring a player's ability to play such a character regardless of their real-life skill level is not a design goal that a game has any inherent obligation to pursue, especially not at the cost of skipping over the actions that, to me, are the meat and potatoes of a dungeon crawl.

My answer to "why is it okay to abstract certain skills as dice rolls and not others" is that games are allowed to make decisions about which actions they want to skip over with a dice roll and which actions they want the players to have to exercise direct narrative control and mastery of, and sometimes that's gonna interfere with their freedom to play a character whose skills exceed theirs, and that's okay because sometimes other game design goals are going to have priority over the goal of ensuring the character's skills aren't limited by the player's real-life skills in any conceivable way.

[gothamsfavorite]

After being voted Gotham’s hottest woman of the year, you were invited to go on The Gotham Talk - only the most famous talk show that only invites gotham’s elite. You, now among the top models of gotham are apparently referred to as one of gotham’s elite faces. 

You arrive at the studio where the talk show is being held, lifting your dress to avoid the puddles the harsh Gotham rain left behind as your driver opens the door for you. “Enjoy, I’ll be waiting when you come back outside.” He closes your door behind you, “Nonsense!” You exclaim, “My first talk show and you don't think I’d want you there?” You close your driver's door and grab his arm, “those people,” you point, “will help you find the guest entrance, see you after!” He smiles at you revealing his surprisingly straight teeth, and gives a shy wave. Your driver was never much of a chatty person, but he seemed to feel more comfortable around you; you are the prettiest face in Gotham after all.  

Jaci, the talk show host, grabs your hand and leads you to the beaming crowd in front of you. You blow kisses to the crowd, ignoring the way your ankle rolled because of your choice of footwear for the day. Jaci utters your name with a smile on her face, “So good to see you,” she beams, “here, sit, sit!” She helps you sit down and fixes your dress. You’ve been a big fan of Jaci ever since you could remember, so this is definitely one for the books - she just has an aura about her that you admire. She’s able to make all of her guests comfortable and ask them those iffy questions every celebrity dreads - you of course would be no different. 

“Introduce yourself, and your occupation.” Jaci orders, and you smile and nod as you tell her your name, “I’m a model as well - new to the business, but happy to be doing it.” Her face lights up as she reads one of the questions on the cards, “I’m sure you’re aware how my talk show works, I ask my guests a few icebreaker questions then turn up ‘the heat’ if you will.” You awkwardly smile, expecting this - she’ll definitely ask about things like the darker side of the modeling industry and things of that nature. “If you weren’t a model, what would your dream occupation be?” Jaci questions, luckily for her this wasn’t the first time a question like this has crossed your mind. “I love fashion,” you tell her, “and expressing myself, so probably a fashion designer to make others feel the same way.” 

After getting into a grove with Jaci, she asked rapid fire questions - although they were nothing out of the ordinary. Something settled over her face, and this meant trouble. “Gotham’s hottest guy? In your opinion, although it went to Bruce Wayne for the fifth time in the row.” You laugh at this, it does seem to go to Bruce Wayne every year  - he did have looks going for him, but the vote was most likely influenced by his generous donations to the city. “I say Jason Todd." Your statement makes Jaci freeze and give you an eye, “Have you seen his pictures at the Wayne Gala? Oh my gosh Jaci he’s gorgeous, if I saw him in the street there’s no way I could even formulate a sentence!” you pause to stop yourself from practically drooling, “The one commercial they got him to do? With the leather jacket?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dick Grayson was minding his business off duty in the manor, scrolling on his for you page as one does - until he heard your interview. The specific part where you called Jason Todd gorgeous. “Timothy! Bring everyone!” Dick screams, and suddenly - in front of him stands Damian, Stephanie, Duke, Cassandra, Barbara, and Tim. “Wow, okay, so you definitely did bring everyone.” He wastes no time and he plays the video for his siblings (and Barbara). Damian scoffs in disbelief, “and this is the same Todd we know that she’s claiming is gorgeous?” Timothy snorts, and Barbara swats his wrist. “Be nice you two.” She fixes her glasses, and sits next to Dick on his bed. “Why’d you hit me and not him?” Timothy screams, grabbing his arm. “Overreaction of the century, Drake.” Damian rolls his eyes, “Oh yeah? I’ll show you overreaction.” Duke stands between the two, “Guys, this is about Jason.” Duke scolds - Stephanie squeals in disbelief, “Who’s calling him to break the news?” Damian shakes his head, “ I for one am not, I still don't believe anyone would say that about him.” Cassandra throws her arms over Damian just for them to be removed, “Dami don't leave.” He ignores Cassandra and walks out. 

Meanwhile, Jason is at his apartment with Roy, and he gets a call from Damian. “Hold on Roy.” He grunts and leaves the room, “Todd, check your messages. Now.” Damian tells him to which Jason sighs and opens his texts, “What is this? Actually, who is this..” Damian can sense his lie from a mile away, “Don't act like you don't dream about her every night, just play it.” Jason hangs up the phone and plays the video, over and over, he walks over to Roy and shows him. “No way man! I mean, way! I’m not calling you ugly, that is just the hottest chick in Gotham.” He claps him on the back, “Text her! DM her, I know you’re following her.” Jason side eyes him, “You think I like her? She’s the one who technically made the first move.” Jason voiced, making Roy roll his eyes. “You would die before initiating contact with a woman.” Jason opens his mouth, “Don't say you already did, stop trying to be Mr. Funny guy and text the girl already. 

“I sent it,” Jason says, throwing his phone onto the other side of the couch, “Are you twelve? Man up.” Roy orders, slapping his thigh. “Says you.” Jason retorts - and to his surprise you answer quickly. He sent you a quick hey - not as extensive as Roy would prefer but still. You reply to him with the same energy, ‘hey so I guess you saw the interview?’ Jason smiles, he can’t believe you of all people are talking to

 him on a Tuesday night? Is it even Tuesday? Who cares, the hottest woman in Gotham finds him ‘gorgeous’.  

“Ask her out.” Roy says through gritted teeth, 

“All the girls on you and you still can’t take a hint.” Roy threw out. 

“All the girls? What girls?” Jason asks - and his friend scoots away from him.

 “Kori, Artemis.. Hm lets see, that girl in the bar I tried all night talking to?” Jason exhales at what Roy says, “Let it go dude, she came up to me.”  Your message lights up his screen, and he’s never entered his password faster. ‘I’ll make this easy for you,’ you tell him ‘you, me, gotham steakhouse at 9 tomorrow?’ Roy shoves Jason over to read the message, only to shake his head, at a loss for words. “You forced the poor girl to ask you out, what a woman.” Roy says, grinning and Jason swears he’s blushing. “Pick her up in a nice car, no motorcycle you hear?” Jason lies his head back on the couch, running his fingers through the silver streak in the front of his head. “Girls think motorcycles are hot, also where am I gonna get a nice car?” 

“You have the closest access to Bruce Wayne than any of us.” 

“Doesn’t mean I like asking.” 

“Do it.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason’s in front of your apartment, he’s driving a sleek black porsche. He has flowers in the passenger seat, which he picks up as he rings the doorbell to the apartment building. Once let in, he goes to the room number you texted him, and knocks. He can’t remember the last time he went on a date and neither can you, makes it all the more fun. You open the door, and you’re wearing red - you knew what you were doing. You watched his cheeks turn maroon, the color danced all the way up to the tips of his ears. “You’re the closest thing to perfect I’ve witnessed.” He says, which makes your eyes go wide - he sees this and profusely apologizes. “No it’s not that, no one has ever said that to me before.” You take the flowers from his hands and tell him to hold the door while you find a cup of water for them. It takes everything in him not to look inside your apartment, to see the contents of your mind. “You can come in!” You scream from the kitchen, “It’ll take a second.” Your voice drifts over to him from under your cabinet. He walks in and his eyes fall upon a poster of a Red hood in your living room, and a Red hood blanket. “There’s the vase!” You say, popping your head up nearly hitting it. “Oh. I kinda have a thing for him.” You say, watching him stare at the poster, “But that won’t get between us - he’d never go for me anyways.” You say and Jason wishes he could prove you wrong then and there. 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 4: Beverly Hills]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, lowkey sexual harassment, emotional distress/panic attack, Maroon 5, some shouting, minor injury, Sunshine and Aegon share an apple.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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Baela has made you breakfast. On the kitchen counter is a plate holding a single slice of wheat toast with a transparently thin smear of peanut butter. You’re already nauseous; the smell of toast in the air is enough to make your stomach lurch and the caustic burn of acid rise in your throat. In their vase, the sunflowers are perky and radiant, like the nuggets of gold that beckoned settlers to the West Coast in the mid-1800s, the hope, the possibility, the indomitable dream.

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” you say.

“Try,” Baela insists, pushing the plate towards you. Jace isn’t shuffling around lackadaisically or sprawled across the orange couch; he must still be asleep. “You aren’t going to make a good impression if you’re all woozy and retching everywhere. You don’t want to look half-dead when you meet Maroon 5, do you?”

“Oh my God.” You chuckle languidly, rubbing your forehead. Your eyes ache; you’ve barely slept. “I completely forgot they’re going to be there.”

Baela grabs a can of La Croix out of the refrigerator and sets it down beside your toast. “You’re that freaked out about the bathtub thing?”

“I guess so.”

“You wanted to be an actress. You’re getting your wish. It’s a blessing.”

And a curse, you think before you can stop yourself. You nibble at your peanut butter toast reluctantly. “I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Baela says.

You crack open the La Croix and take a sip: icy, sharp, oddly dry, Strawberry Peach, pretty awful. “It could be a lot worse.”

“Yeah, it’s not like it’s a Harvey Weinstein situation.” And in her tone is a quiet condemnation: you don’t belong here, you don’t have what it takes.

“What are you doing today?” you ask to distract yourself.

“Gym, the farmers’ market, practicing French.” Because Baela is leaving for Paris in a few weeks, and her agent didn’t even have to forge her a resume to get her the part. “Maybe you’ll meet a guy on the music video set, like a camera dude or a boom operator or something, and then you can finally have a real boyfriend and stop fantasizing about your elderly engaged agent!”

I doubt it. Nonetheless, you smirk weakly as you nurse your La Croix. “Let’s hope he’s not a hobosexual like Jace. We’re running out of room.”

“Hey,” Baela says as she admires your sunflowers with a soft, fond smile. “Jace isn’t so bad.”

“No,” you agree. “No, he’s not.”

You are standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment building when Aegon rolls up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible, just a few minutes shy of 8 a.m. Hair stylists, makeup artists, and costume designers will reinvent you when you get to set, so you are dressed for comfort: an olive green floral sundress with large buttons down the front, your trusty TOMS wedges, just a blur of eyeshadow swept across your lids with a fingertip so you don’t feel naked, sparkly gold Bold Moves by Huda Beauty. Aegon is already blaring Lose Yourself and rapping along loudly, wearing his aviator sunglasses and flashing gang signs, his sandy blonde hair brutalized from the wind:

“I’ve got to formulate a plot, or end up in jail or shot,

Success is my only motherfuckin’ option, failure’s not,

Mom, I love you, but this trailer’s got to go,

I cannot grow old in Salem’s Lot,

So here I go, it’s my shot,

Feet, fail me not,

This may be the only opportunity that I got…”

“I told my dad you drive one of these,” you say as you climb into the Sebring. “He said they’re super unreliable.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Aegon replies. “But I have lots of money and very few responsibilities, so repairs aren’t a problem. And it cruises so smooth.” When he passes you a venti-sized iced vanilla latte, his right hand is shaking.

“You okay?”

Aegon flashes a grin. “Too much caffeine.” He whips away from the curb and drives towards the interchange of the 405, five chaotic lanes that fly northwest towards Beverly Hills. He is wearing his haphazard suit again, his jacket too big and his tie too skinny, reminding you of the Jehovah’s Witnesses who used to come proselytizing to your parents’ house until one day Tripp got fed up and told them you were Satanists. That is apparently sufficient to get a family on some kind of blacklist. Mom was mortified.

You are slurping your vanilla latte—very slowly, so your queasy stomach will not rebel—and trying to think of how to bring up the new scene situation when Aegon gets a call. Eminem vanishes from the Sebring’s speakers, and Aegon unplugs his phone from the aux and lifts it to his ear.

“Hello?” Aegon is merging onto the 405, crossing dotted white lines until he reaches the High Occupancy Vehicle lane along the concrete barrier. “Hey, Brando. What’s up?” A pause. “Why, what’s on Monday?”

You look over at Aegon: one hand on the steering wheel, hair whipping in the wind, black sunglasses that the early light glints off of, thoughtful creases etching into his forehead and around his eyes as he listens, endless blue sky above and miles passing anonymously below. It’s the morning of Thursday, July 3rd, and you have known him for three weeks, and you—who once made Mason wait months to do anything more than kiss you—think that if Aegon laid his palm on your thigh right now, only a whisper-thin layer of cotton between you and the warmth of his palm, it would feel not just good but right, safe, destined, and your drumming heartbeat would turn calm like the sea after a storm, and you would believe you were capable of anything he asked for.

I don’t want him to think I’m weak. I don’t want him to be disappointed in me.

“Right, yeah, I have to go to that,” Aegon says. There’s a lull as Brandon asks him something. “Because they keep trying to get Steve to do his own stunts and I don’t want him to end up with a broken back like Brendan Fraser. Uh huh. Sure. Oh, and remind Steve that he’s invited to the charity gala thing. Yeah. I don’t know, call Aemond and ask. No, I don’t want to call him, that’s why I’m telling you to do it. Okay. Cool, thanks. Hey, I have no idea when we’ll be done with the Maroon 5 thing so no need to wait at the office, you can take off at three or four or whenever. Sounds good. See ya.” Aegon hangs up and glances at you. “You’re invited too, by the way.”

You startle; your thoughts had been drifting. “Invited to what?”

“The gala in a few weeks. It’s to raise money for UNICEF. All my clients are invited.”

Just like they’re invited to his wedding in Turks and Caicos, you think, and you are hit by another pang of nausea so strong you put your latte down in the cup holder next to Aegon’s drink, something topped with whipped cream and a swirl of chocolate syrup. “I’d love to go! It’s like grown-up prom!”

Aegon shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Again, you are mulling over if and how to mention the new scene—does he already know? will he think I’m complaining?—but now traffic is thick and a Tesla cuts Aegon off, and he is focused on driving and reading the directions on the screen of the GPS mounted on the Sebring’s windshield, and you don’t want to distract him, and when he plugs his phone back into the aux there is a Red Hot Chili Peppers song that comes plucking out of the speakers as the mid-70s breeze ghosts across your skin like feather-light fingerprints: She Looks To Me.

The mansion is perched on the cliffside of Bendict Canyon, red-gold earth that glows under the rising sun, gnarled trees and shrubs twisting skyward from arid soil. The circular driveway is already crowded with trucks and vans, along with a few BMWs and Range Rovers. Aegon parks his convertible near the end of the driveway and then walks with you into the building: mid-century modern, glass walls and sand-colored marble floors to match the accents of amber and warm teak wood, jewel-tone velvet furniture and shag area rugs, statues that pretend to be gold and plants made of plastic. There are attendants brushing exotic cats, Ragdolls and Himalayans. There are people picking over trays of fruit and sandwiches, and others setting up light fixtures and placing marks on the floor with tiny Xs of white tape. You imagine yourself standing on them, and your knees and ankles feel weak as you toddle in your wedges.

Dan is here, and he parts a sea of assistants and sound technicians to cross the living room to greet you and Aegon, beaming and energetic and showing no indications of deception or malpractice. You watch as he and Aegon chat and laugh at each other’s jokes, tales of their most disastrous filming experiences, and you think: If Aegon trusts him, shouldn’t I?

Dan waves Maroon 5 over, and you meet the band but even as it’s happening you can feel yourself not committing it to memory, your skull too full of rattling anxiety, fog-like doubt. They are here to tour the set, but they seem halfhearted about it, and soon they find an excuse to leave; the band is filming their scenes on a different day and presumably have more interesting things to do. If I had millions of dollars, you think distractedly, I would want to be on a film set every day of my life. You are also introduced to the male actor, and he is very attractive in a tan, gym rat, California sort of way, and he seems perfectly polite as well. Aegon hovers nearby until the actor casually mentions his husband, then Aegon slides his sunglasses into his suit jacket and wanders off to pet the long-haired and ill-tempered exotic cats.

A copy of the script is placed in your hands and an assistant leads you upstairs to a small bedroom filled with racks of clothing and a station set up for hair and makeup. The costume designer and stylists work on you, and you make small talk so you won’t think too much about what’s about to happen and start hyperventilating. The first scene, blessedly, is fully-clothed: blush pink Prada ballgown, four-inch heels, your updo gracefully falling loose, dramatic fake eyelashes and inky mascara tears snaking down your cheeks, a screaming match with your supposed soon-to-be-ex lover. You and one of the makeup artists chatter about favorite eyeshadow palettes as she paints your skin like a canvas: a base of matte pink Love Letter by Anastasia Beverly Hills, the sheen of dusk-colored Brink by Natasha Denona.

When you’re ready, the costume designer says: “I don’t think they need you quite yet. You can stay in here, if you’d like.” She smiles, believing she is doing you a favor. “I know you actors need your space to get into character.” And then before you can think of how to protest, she herds the stylists out of the bedroom and you are left alone with the poltergeist of the near-future, cold pockets that make you shiver and the racket of furniture being rearranged in other rooms. You leaf through the script and then, when your hands start shaking, leave it on the low platform bed with a geometric print blanket.

Knowing you shouldn’t, you go to the racks of clothing and paw through garments until you find the lingerie for the bathtub scene: all black lace, all semi-transparent, and while clever camera angles and post-production editing will conceal anything elicit from the audience, there will be no such discretion here. And even if only the essential crew is present for the scene—though there’s no indication it will be a closed set—that’s still a cinematographer, a key grip, a camera operator, a sound technician…and Dan the director, of course.

Your family’s words come rushing back to you, a chorus of skepticism and caution and an underlying conviction that no one could want you for the right reasons:

If she wants to embarrass herself, let her.

Well, be careful, darling.

Who knows what his intentions are.

Men can be so creepy.

You walk towards the bed in a daze and then sink to the floor, backing up until you hit the mattress, hiding there in the small shadow, a sanctuary from the daylight that is flooding in through the glass walls. You feel like you can’t breathe, like your vision is going dark, like the chambers of your heart are splitting open, and yet you know from all your father’s stories of people showing up at the ER erroneously believing they are dying that this is all in your head, and you force yourself to take deep, slow breaths so you won’t pass out.

I can’t do this.

But you have to.

Everyone’s right. I’m not the kind of girl who makes it in Hollywood. Not exceptional enough, not bold enough, not beautiful enough, not willing to do what it takes.

But you’re not ready to give up yet.

There is a knock at the door. “Hey, you camera-ready, sunshine?” Aegon says from outside.

You press your curled index fingers just beneath your eyes to try to stop them from watering. “Yeah. Two minutes.” But your voice cracks, and now he knows something is wrong.

“Are you naked?”

You sniffle. “No.”

Aegon opens the door, and then he has crossed the room and is kneeling down on the floor beside you in his black suit, and he’s completely mystified because he’s never seen you this way before, and he’s half-reaching for you but he’s also hesitating, not knowing if you want to be touched. “What happened? What’s wrong with you?”

“I think…um…” Another sniffle. “I guess I’m just a little freaked out about the scene they added.”

Aegon is confounded. “What scene?”

You reach up onto the bed behind you and fumble around until your fingers grasp the script. You give it to Aegon and he hurriedly skims through the pages. When he stumbles across the scene in question, he goes entirely still and his murky blue eyes turn dark and hard and focused in a way you’ve learned is rare for him.

He asks without lifting his gaze from the paper: “When did you find out about this?”

“Yesterday night. Dan brought the script to my apartment.”

Aegon looks at you. “He showed up at your house?”

“Yeah,” you whimper pathetically.

“Did he touch you?”

“What? No, nothing like that. He stayed in the hallway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry. I kind of assumed you knew.” A pause. “And I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Aegon, still clutching the script, stands and bolts for the bedroom door.

“No!” you beg in a whisper, lunging after him and grabbing his empty hand. “Aegon, no, I can do it. I don’t want to lose the job. I’ll do whatever they want. Aegon? Aegon, please, I don’t want to give up, I don’t want to go home a failure—”

“Don’t talk,” Aegon says, low and violent. “Let me handle it.” And before you can reply, he has ripped away from you and is through the doorway, down the staircase, into the living room where people are gathered under bright lights and making last-minute adjustments to furniture, décor, equipment. Exotic cats lounge on the velvet sofas. Your faux lover paces in a flawlessly-tailored white suit; he smiles when he sees you, then it swiftly dies.

Dan is chortling with two other men and leaning against a wall. Aegon rages to him, shoves him so hard Dan stumbles, strikes the wall two inches from his face. Aegon’s knuckles come away bloody; there is now a dent in the wall marred with a stain of crimson. An assistant screams; everyone in the room is gawking.

Dan is not just stunned by irate. “What the fuck, man?! That’s coming out of her paycheck!”

“How about we take it from your life insurance policy?”

“What is your problem?!”

“No, you know what you did!” Aegon shouts, and Dan is bigger than him but Aegon is seething, fearless, unrelenting, giving him no space. He balls up the script and pitches it at Dan; it bounces off his temple. “You knew any changes to the script were supposed to go through me and you hid this, and that’s fucked up, and it’s not happening. Take the scene out.”

Dan throws his arms wide in disbelief. “You said no nudity and no sex scenes, and this is neither. I didn’t con you, man.”

“Don’t act stupid. You went to her house and you sprung this on her and you thought you could get away with breaking the rules, and maybe you’ve done this before and no one stopped you because it’s just innocuous enough for you to have plausible deniability. But you’re not going to do it to me, and you’re not going to do it to my girl.”

“You think I need her?!” Dan yells, as if it’s preposterous. “She’s a nobody, she’s nothing special! She should be down on her knees thanking Baby Jesus that she’s on this set right now. You think I don’t have ten other actresses I could call?”

“So call them,” Aegon says. “But you’ll have to reschedule the shoot, and I know you’re paying a thousand bucks an hour for this place.”

“Hey dumbass, I spent over a thousand dollars on wine last night—”

“And I will never work with you again. And neither will Aemond, or Helaena, or Daeron, or any of our people.”

For the first time, Dan looks uncertain, stymied, wary. He studies Aegon as his crew avert their eyes awkwardly. On the sofas, the Ragdolls and Himalayans lick themselves and swish their fluffy tails. Aegon glances back at you. Your eyes are wide, glossy pools of pleading.

I don’t want to lose the job. Please, please, don’t make me give up on the dream yet.

“Look,” Aegon tells Dan, now level and diplomatic. “Do the right thing. You fucked up, you own it. Take the scene out and we’re cool. You get your music video shot on schedule. We get the originally agreed-upon terms. Everyone goes home happy. You’re a very talented director and I’ve only ever heard great things about you. I’d hate to have to start correcting people when they’re singing your praises.”

There is a long stretch of silence, and then Dan chuckles and holds up his hands as if surrendering. “Fine, no problem, we’ll axe the scene. It was just an idea, and maybe I got carried away. That was my bad. I had no idea you’d be so touchy about it.”

Aegon smiles, thin and tight and ingenuine. “I’ve been known to be sensitive.” He holds out his right hand; blood drips from his knuckles. An assistant drops to the marble floor and scrambles around wiping up the mess, viscous and scarlet. “No hard feelings?”

Dan shakes Aegon’s wounded hand. “No hard feelings.” Then he marvels at the blood in his palm and an assistant descends to disinfect him. Another moves an abstract painting so it covers the damage to the wall.

Aegon returns to you, and your pulse is slow and hushed, and your breathing is effortless, and you are transfixed; you cannot look away from him, you cannot believe he’s real. “So, uh,” he says, quietly so the rest of the room won’t hear. “No need to worry about that anymore. You want to take ten minutes to chill and get in the zone, and then we’ll get started?”

“No, I can go right now,” you tell him.

“Okay.” Aegon turns to Dan. “She’s ready.” Then he points at the male actor. Aegon probably doesn’t mean it to, but it comes out sounding like a threat. “You ready?”

The actor nods frenetically. “I’m ready!”

“Great,” Aegon says, and he steps out of the shot, and you step into it, and by the time the camera rolls you aren’t you anymore. You are a woman who desperately loves the man in front of her—instantly transformed from a stranger to a soulmate—and you are betrayal and jealousy and loss and wrath, and while your pink Prada dress is formal and wondrous your body is ever-contorting to be weak, vulnerable, breaking as you realize he is leaving.

Then you are clawing your way up the staircase in a heavy fur coat that seems to swallow you, then you are in a bedroom making unanswered phone calls in a lavender silk nightgown, then you are in the kitchen shattering plates and glasses in a neon green mini-dress, then you are in a leopard-print robe petting the exotic cats in the living room, then you are drowning in the swimming pool in a black empire-waist evening gown. Aegon follows you around the mansion and stands wordlessly in corners, chomping on his Juicy Fruit gum, holding the towels that assistants bring him against his knuckles; during every wardrobe change, he waits just outside the bedroom door.

The shoot isn’t done until after sunset, and you thank everyone profusely before you leave: the crew, the male actor, and especially Dan. You still need him to promote and release the music video, and assuming he doesn’t hate you after Aegon’s outburst, he’ll be a valuable reference.

When Aegon speeds his Sebring out of the mansion’s circular driveway and onto winding cliffside roads presided over by the towering shadows of palm trees, the first thing he says to you is: “You are never working with that man again.”

“Okay,” you agree immediately. And before you can say anything else he has put his phone to his ear. Faintly, you can hear ringing, and then a voice that you think you recognize as Brandon’s.

“Hi,” Aegon snaps. “What do I pay you for?”

“Aegon, please don’t be mad at him,” you say quietly. He’s driving very, very fast. The streetlights race by in a blur, the night wind tears like talons through your hair.

Aegon ignores you. “Why was her address on the stuff we sent to the Maroon 5 video people?” A moment passes. “No, it clearly wasn’t redacted because Dan Sacco showed up at her apartment last night. Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. Well, open your email and find out.”

“Aegon, he’s supposed to be off work right now. He’s at home, I’m fine, it’s not important.”

“Shh.” And then, after a long pause, Aegon says to Brandon: “Oh. I get it. Okay, yeah, my mistake. Sorry about that. Enjoy the 4th tomorrow, I’ll pay you extra for this conversation. Alright. You too. Bye.” Aegon sighs and looks over at you, as if he’s asking for forgiveness. “I mislabeled the PDFs. Brando thought he sent them the redacted one but he actually sent the original. He should have double-checked anyway, he usually does, but I was rushing him to get it out because I was trying to make sure you got the job. So…it’s my fault and I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Aegon,” you say softly.

“It’s not fine.” And you don’t have the opportunity to correct him because Aegon is scrolling through his contacts, and despite his earlier aversion to calling his brother Aemond, soon Aegon is recounting what happened and warning Aemond to never work with Dan, never recommend him to actors, never sell him a script, that Dan is dead to all of them as soon as the music video is officially released.

Aegon merges onto the 10 and heads east towards his office in Elysian Park. You don’t wonder why he’s not taking you south to Harbor Gateway, because you don’t want to go home yet. It’s well after 9 p.m., and the freeway is vast and open, silhouettes of skyscrapers and palm trees, reflective green signs indicating routes to Pasadena, San Bernadino, Santa Ana, San Pedro. Under the streetlights that arch overhead, you can see that the knuckles on Aegon’s right hand have turned violet and maroon, bruises down to the bone. When he reaches Downtown, Aegon’s Sebring takes the 110 north, and you are reminded of the route you drove to Elysian Park on the day you first met him, a girl with no prospects that he believed in anyway.

Aegon doesn’t hang up the phone until he’s at the curb outside the half-duplex he rents, a blinking blue neon sign that reads Targ Talent Agency in one window. He rests his wounded hand on the back of your seat when he twists around to look as he’s parallel parking. In the lobby, he goes to the minifridge behind Brandon’s desk and gets two green glass bottles of Perrier, passes you one of them, continues to his office and collapses into his chair, staring up at you as he swigs his Perrier and drops of condensation fall down onto his suit. He thumps his shoes up onto his desk, characteristically littered with gum wrappers and manilla folders and loose papers, framed photographs and his recently-acquired ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples. You are still standing.

“That happens sometimes,” Aegon says after a while. “Just so you know going forward, because I failed to make it clear before, script changes always go through me. I negotiate with the other party and if any modifications are approved I tell you about them, not the other way around. And unless you’ve cultivated some kind of working relationship with them, directors and producers should not be reaching out to you personally.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You aren’t really sure. “I guess I should have known better.”

Aegon smirks, tired and cynical. “I told you this place is a curse.”

“You tried to warn me,” you concede.

“Do you believe me now?”

“No. I still want to be in Los Angeles.” I still want to be here with you.

He considers you, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side. “You did a really good job today, sunshine. Despite everything.”

“I hope so.”

He gives you a wry half-smile and takes another gulp of his Perrier. You haven’t opened yours yet. You are wearing your street clothes from this morning, TOMS wedges, unceremonious olive green sundress. Your hair is still damp from the scene in the pool and smells like chlorine. Aegon sighs deeply and kneads the area just above his right eye with his fingertips, as if he has a headache.

“Aegon?” you say, and he looks up at you. “Thank you for what you did for me.”

“I’d do it for anyone.”

“You’d almost break your knuckles?”

He glances at the back of his hand as if he had forgotten about the damage incurred there: clotted blood, subterranean bruises. “No, that was just for you.”

You set your unopened bottle of Perrier and your purse on his desk. Then you step out of your wedges, reach beneath your sundress, hook your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and pull them down to your ankles. You kick them away and leave them on the scuffed wood floor with your wedges. Aegon is watching you, his lips parted and his dark blue eyes amazed, as you walk to his desk and sit on the edge, pluck a Honeycrisp apple out of the bowl there, and take a large, famished bite. When saccharine juice spills down your lips, you don’t wipe it away.

Slowly, Aegon’s own mouth blooms into a smile. “I was wondering if it was mutual.”

He stands, harvests the apple from your hand, buries his teeth in the wet yielding flesh in the same place where you bit it. Then he lets the apple tumble to the floor as his hands rise to your face and he kisses you, and if you once discovered that this was easy with Mason then here it is instinctive, necessary, sheltering, and you have never felt so safe, and you have never been so sure of anything. You are unfastening the large buttons that run down the front of your sundress. Aegon is shrugging off his suit jacket and opening his shirt, his chest and belly soft and warm, no distance between you as you lie back across the desk and Aegon climbs on top of you, tasting like apples and Juicy Fruit and night air. Folders and papers cascade in a flurry. The bowl of apples is shoved off the ledge and shatters. Photographs are knocked to the floor, their glass panes splintering.

You are afraid only once, when Aegon unclasps your bra and tosses it away, but then he’s touching and kissing you there, lips and tongue and teeth, and his need is so palpable, and you can’t believe you ever considered scalpels and stitches. “I knew you were perfect,” he whispers against your throat, and when his war-torn hand travels between your legs you are already slick and starving, and you tell him you can’t wait.

You glance down as he rummages around in a drawer of his desk and eventually—seconds that feel like an eternity—finds a few condoms in silvery wrappers. “I’m sorry you have to use one,” you say, breathing heavily as you lie beneath him, not wanting to ruin this. “I’m sorry I’m not on the pill or—”

“I’d wrap up anyway. I’m serious about the no kids thing.”

And then he’s easing himself into you, and it’s better than it’s ever been because you’ve never wanted it more, and you’re trying not to moan too loudly because you don’t know if there’s anyone home in the other half of the rundown little duplex, and when your eyes flutter open you see flashes of the mint green walls, beams of headlights raking across the windows, gleaming emerald shards of your Perrier bottle that has tumbled to the floor and broken there, hemorrhaging a sea of carbonated water. It’s not a climax but a plateau so high you can’t think, can’t speak, your fingers in Aegon’s hair and your hips moving with his, your legs linked around him and his voice in your ear, is this okay for you, is this good, and you are nodding and gasping and letting him take you to a place where you can have everything, magic that usually only exists on pages and screens.

Aegon finishes—too soon, with some embarrassment—then pulls back and is alarmed to find tears on your cheeks. He wipes them away with his hands, bewildered, concerned. “What are you doing? Don’t cry, sunshine.”

You laugh shakily. “I’m fine, I swear, it’ll go away. I just get emotional.”

“Always?”

“When it’s good.”

Aegon kisses you, sweet and slow, and then he climbs off the desk and flings the condom somewhere, grabs your hips, drags you towards to him. You sit up when you realize what he’s doing.

“Oh no,” you say. “Wait, no, you don’t have to. Don’t worry about it.”

Aegon furrows his brow at you impatiently. “Do you want to come or not?”

“Well yeah, but it can take a while. So I’ll just do it myself later.”

“Shut up and put your legs over my shoulders.” He yanks you closer and you fall back onto the desk, now damp and slippery with perspiration, and you are grinning up at the ceiling, astonished and euphoric and a little sheepish, not expecting it to work but then being overwhelmed by him, coaxed into it like tumbling down the crumbling wall of a canyon, plummeting into inevitable and effortless gravity, the earth disintegrating beneath your clawing fingers when you try to catch yourself. Then Aegon takes your hand and shows you that he is hard again.

“More,” you plead in a whisper, and you go with him down to the floor, careful to avoid jagged flecks of glass and fragments of the shattered ceramic bowl, and you are helping him roll a new condom on because he’s taking too long and you can’t wait, and you’re both laughing as you straddle him, and then it becomes something quiet and slow and indelibly heavy, imprints in sand that eons of waves could not wash away, and afterwards you lie together on the floor for a long time, not saying anything, not tethered to reality, drifting in a bone-weary mirage of nightscape chemicals until the sun will rise and paint the world in color again.

You get up and start looking for your wedges. You have to shake them to get pebbles of green glass out. Aegon, still lying on the wood floor, watches you; you smirk guiltily. “I should probably go home soon. I have to be at Cold Stone tomorrow morning.”

Aegon seems surprised. “You’re working on the 4th of July?”

“Only until 6:30. Then Baela and I are going to see the fireworks.”

“And you’re driving to work, right? Not walking?”

“Right,” you promise.

Aegon groans as he drags himself to his feet, pulls on his suit and misbuttons his shirt, surveys the damage done to his office and runs his hands through his disheveled blonde hair. He shakes his head and looks a little sad, vacant, meditative. Does he regret it? you worry; but then Aegon turns to you and smiles. “Let’s get going.”

The long-gone daylight has been replaced by streetlights and headlights and coils of neon, glowing through the darkness like manmade stars, young synthetic constellations. As the Sebring sails down the ghost town of the 110 at midnight, Aegon passes you his phone. “Listen to whatever you want.”

You scroll through his Spotify playlist; there are five hundred songs, lots of Alanis Morissette and Pearl Jam and Third Eye Blind and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You remember listening to one of their songs on the way to the mansion in Beverly Hills this morning; Aegon must really like them. You choose another Red Hot Chili Peppers song at random, one you’ve never heard of before, Hard To Concentrate. The hypnotic guitar chords spill from the speakers, and as you gaze dreamily over six abandoned southbound lanes, you can see on the periphery of your vision that Aegon keeps glancing over at you, his hair flying in the wind and his bruised right hand resting on the steering wheel.

Aegon parks illegally in a fire lane on the curb outside your apartment. “Hey,” he says when you open the passenger’s door, and you stop and return to him. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

You check the analog clock on the dashboard, a black box of green numbers. It’s just after midnight on July 4th. You murmur as you kiss Aegon one last time, your lips curled into a smile: “Happy Independence Day.”

Then you float up the concrete steps and into your apartment building, higher than the sun at noon.

[leafdragon16]

So another idea came to mind just now

For Wheeljack's facial mods I heard you're still working on their structure and such. May I present my reference? I've been using a wasp mandible reference for the the way I've been drawing your wheeljack. It also reminded me of preying mantis and tiger beetle. Thought about how his jaws were supposed to split apart, and it gave me an idea.

I did a few concepts of my own and settled on this for his jaws. It's not exactly canon to your design, but I wanted to do my own take on it and wanted to know your thoughts! Just thought this was pretty cool :D Here's a little bit of what I had in mind!

This fic just has me locked in and has given me so many ideas and I love it so much

NECRO. GRIPPING YOUR SHOULDERS. NECRO OH MY GOD THIS IS ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE

Ok normal for exactly 2 seconds because I started rambling and drew some small diagrams so I’m putting it under the cut because this got LONG (and it also is looking like it won’t initially post with the readmore TUMBLR so I will probably go back and edit this post a few times upon posting it lol)

EDIT: Okay it is not posting the readmore for some reason so apologies for any nuked dashboards lol

I WILL ANSWER YOUR QUESTION BUT LET ME FREAK OUT ABOUT THAT ART REALLY QUICK BECAUSE I HAD TO SIT DOWN AND PROCESS IT FOR A FULL 30 SECONDS BEDORE I COULD EVEN BEGIN FORMULATING A RESPONSE. I KEEP SCROLLING BACK UP WHILE TYPING JUST TO STARE AT IT

THAT IS TERRIFYING. HE IS ALL TEETH!! THERE IS NOTHING BUT TEETH IN THERE!!! THERE IS TOO MANY TEETH FOR ANYONE TO RIGHTFULLY HAVE WHICH IS EXACTLY THE AMOUNT OF TEETH EX!JACKIE SHOULD HAVE!!!

ALSO THE CIRCULAR SCRAPLET TEETH FAINTLY VISIBLE AT THE BACK OF HIS THROAT?? OH MY GOD?? I HAVE BEEN STRUGGLING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO PORTRAY THAT FOR SO LONG I AM LOSING MY MIND. I AM STICKING MY HEAD IN THERE

OH AND THE ADDED DETAIL OF THE PLACES WHERE HIS JAWS CONNECT ADDS SO MUCH. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT IT LOOKS SO MUCH MORE RAW AND MONSTROUS AND NOT CYBERTRONIAN AND EGHFGRHGFHSGDHFHBDGRFRGRGRGGRR

Ok I will move on to my explanation now but thank you so much!! This is so gorgeous and I love it so much!! This is the sort of thing that would make someone hide their face for centuries and give their teammates nightmares if they were looking it dead in the face (looking at you Ratchet). This is exactly the level of terrifying that I was going for when I originally started writing this fic. It encapsulates it perfectly! He is an absolute nightmare in the best way possible

I have been having a lot of trouble figuring out how his facial mods would work, and that’s mainly because I haven’t been using any references LOL. When I first tried doodling his face wayyyy back in the first post about this AU I used a few screenshots of Terrorcon Breakdown, but I only used it loosely. I absolutely LOVE the insect references for his jaws, it really helps clarify the structure and when I opened the ask and saw them (particularly the mantis) I went “huh that’s actually really close to what I had in mind!” And the got completely blown away by the concept at the bottom LMAO

I originally based his facial mods (or at least how they unhinge) a lot on Predaking. His jaw splits down the middle and at the sides to create two halves (I THINK), and I thought it looked really cool so I wanted to do something like that. But especially now that I’ve been playing with how his jaw works again, I’ve been thinking that it would be better if it splits into three parts like how you drew it. It is more visually cohesive, and it also just makes more sense looking at it! It allows his lower jaw to drop down much further and his mouth to open much wider and just in general isn’t as awkward. I may have downloaded your art both to keep it forever and also to draw a few diagrams, I hope you don’t mind^^

(I had to take a screenshot of your art bc Tumblr won’t let me download it until I post this, so sorry for nuking the quality LMAO)

While I do like the Predaking jaw, I think it works on Predaking but not on Wheeljack because Predaking’s face is so long and his is so flat. So if his jaw were to split into only two parts it would be very awkward, you can see all the lines in the drawing on the left where I kept redrawing his jaw because conceptually it didn’t make sense. Like I mentioned before it also doesn’t really allow his jaw to unhinge, which is a very important part of his design lol.

On the right however, it splits a lot more cleanly! It just all around looks more natural and less awkward and has a lot more maneuverability. I also love the addition of the teeth on the walls/sides of his mouth!! I added a few in my references bc it looked better and made his jaw come together a bit more in it’s horrifying-ness, but the addition of even MORE teeth just amplifies that. It also implies that when he latches on to something, all of the teeth dig in and make it extremely difficult to pull away, allowing him to just drag it into his mouth and shred it to pieces. If he bites down on someone, even if they’re strong enough to pull away they’re not getting their limb back in one piece. The way the teeth are curved in will ensure that they have to rip through their own plating to get away. He looks like a living iron maiden and I am OBSESSEDD

Plus the way his jaw splits is so much more extreme in a way that is so. LOOK AT HIM. When he opens his mouth it’s like a giant tear separates the upper half of his face from the lower half. Horrifying to behold and also looks like it would be painful even though it isn’t, which is exactly the vibe I was going for. He just doesn’t look Cybertronian. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Anyway sorry for the long rant, his jaws have been on my mind a lot because I’ve been struggling with the concept so I kind of just dumped all of the thoughts I’ve been having for 2+ weeks plus all of the thoughts I had when seeing your references and art. If you don’t mind I may be borrowing the references because they really do help illustrate how a split jaw would work. And also if you don’t mind this may be the canon design from now on, just because IT’S SO COOL!! And it makes so much sense conceptually, I actually cannot put into words how much I love this. It fits right in with the worldbuilding!

TLDR: Absolutely god tier take on his design thank u Necro

[tired-reader-writer]

Something possessed me these past few days (as I was coughing my lungs out T_T) and I just for no reason started collecting snippets from the Khorda Avesta site? Anything and everything that caught my attention????

I'm still not sure if I can formulate these into a proper post since I was aimlessly exploring when I picked these up but... I'm gonna try—

[EDIT: I suddenly remembered the reason as I was compiling the quotes in the drafts! I was curious about the royal bracelets' design (which @innerchorus pointed out likely drew inspiration from tauroctony scenes as they were described as being engraved with a design of a young man on the back of a bull, stabbing the bull in the head with a short sword) and I thought, okay, why does specifically this imagery indicate royalty? And so I started looking around about the tauroctony, then Mithraism, then Mithra, then cue me scratching my head and screaming in confusion, then going around for the actual prayers 😭]

I won't get too deep into the tauroctony stuff (mainly bc there just isn't much to get into in the first place) but long story short it's a Roman thing, not a Persian thing, it was the cult of “Mithras” and though they shared a deity/name, I don't think there was any substantial link between Mithraism and Zoroastrianism— David Ulansey even apparently said that “there is no evidence that the Iranian god Mithra ever had anything to do with killing a bull” and I think I am inclined to agree, considering that he in Zoroastrianism is a protector of cattle instead. (In the hymn dedicated to him, he is repeatedly referred to as “lord of wide pastures”).

So anyways, I don't currently have a concrete explanation on why imagery connected to Mithra (kinda, not really) was used to indicate the potential royal status of three characters in the second part of the novels, but I may have concocted... something.

Bear in mind that this has nothing, nothing to do with real history, do not take it as such, by me trying to adapt things to fit the ArSen narrative we've already left the harbor of historical accuracy. So here goes—

I posit that in Pars, Ahura Mazda, Mithra, and Anahita in particular are revered as “civilization-building” deities, aka foundational to the prosperity and functioning of a nation as opposed to individual and spiritual righteousness.

Yeah, this still doesn't quite explain the tauroctony imagery, I got nothing for that, I think I might just end up changing shit, we'll... see...

Mithra is the divinity of covenants, light, oaths, justice, the sun, contracts, friendship, and also a judicial figure, an all-seeing protector of Truth (Asha), the guardian of cattle, the harvest, and the Waters (Anahita)— which, a lot of it sounds pretty essential to a prosperous civilization functioning, doesn't it?

Mithra is invoked in several royal Achaemenid inscriptions:

“Ahura Mazda, Anahita, and Mithra protect me against all evil” — Artaxerxes II's inscription at Susa and Hamadan, where he “beseeches them to protect what he has built”

“Ahura Mazda and the God Mithra preserve me, my country, and what has been built by me.” — inscription of Artaxerxes III

Mithra is also featured in rock reliefs depicting the coronations of Ardashir II and Khosrow II

Mithra is considered a member of the “Ahuric Triad” along with Apam Napat (this one is complicated, more on that later) and none other than Ahura Mazda himself

“The ruffian who lies unto Mithra brings death unto the whole country, injuring as much the faithful world as a hundred evil-doers could do.”

×

“Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, gives swiftness to the horses of those who lie not unto Mithra. Fire, the son of Ahura Mazda, gives the straightest way to those who lie not unto Mithra.”

(I... will get into the whole Mithra-Asha thing later on, I promise, I'm assuming “fire” here refers to Asha due to the truth divinity's associations to fire)

“We sacrifice unto Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, who is truth-speaking, a chief in assemblies, with a thousand ears, well-shapen, with ten thousand eyes, high, with full knowledge, strong, sleepless, and ever awake; To whom the chiefs of nations offer up sacrifices, as they go to the field, against havocking hosts, against enemies coming in battle array, in the strife of conflicting nations.”

×

“We sacrifice unto Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, .... sleepless, and ever awake; Unto whom nobody must lie, neither the master of a house, nor the lord of a borough, nor the lord of a town, nor the lord of a province. If the master of a house lies unto him, or the lord of a borough, or the lord of a town, or the lord of a province, then comes Mithra, angry and offended, and he breaks asunder the house, the borough, the town, the province; and the masters of the houses, the lords of the boroughs, the lords of the towns, the lords of the provinces, and the foremost men of the provinces.”

×

“We sacrifice unto Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, .... sleepless, and ever awake; Who upholds the columns of the lofty house and makes its pillars solid; who gives herds of oxen and male children to that house in which he has been satisfied; he breaks to pieces those in which he has been offended. Thou, O Mithra! art both bad and good to nations; thou, O Mithra! art both bad and good to men; thou, O Mithra! keepest in thy hands both peace and trouble for nations.”

— Mihr Yasht (Hymn to Mithra)

A lot of nation imagery there!!

So then, my attention was drawn towards the rest of the Ahuric Triad, but I'm choosing to make it that for Pars in this fictional setting, Anahita is there in Apam Napat's stead.

Here are my reasons:

It is very likely that Anahita, even irl, gradually usurped the position of Apam Napat in the Triad, causing the latter's place to be lost and his veneration to become limited to the obligatory verses recited at the Ab-Zohr.

She is described as “life-increasing, herd-increasing, fold-increasing, who makes prosperity for all countries” in the hymn dedicated to her.

Anahita is featured in a rock relief depicting the coronation of Khosrow II, the same one Mithra featured in

As a river divinity, she is responsible for the fertility of the soil and for the growth of crops that nurture both man and beast.

The hymn dedicated to her features like. Multiple stanzas(?) of multiple people praying to her “that [they] may become the sovereign lord of all countries” which is super interesting

I don't know how related this is to everything else I've written so far but I also found it interesting that apparently, due to the association between water and wisdom, she is “the divinity to whom priests and pupils should pray for insight and knowledge”.

Anyways here are some of the verses I yoinked:

“Offer up a sacrifice, O Spitama Zarathushtra! unto this spring of mine, Ardvi Sura Anahita, the wide-expanding and health-giving, who hates the Daevas and obeys the laws of Ahura, who is worthy of sacrifice in the material world, worthy of prayer in the material world; the life-increasing and holy, the herd-increasing and holy, the fold-increasing and holy, the wealth-increasing and holy, the country-increasing and holy;”

×

“To her did Haoshyangha, the Paradhata, offer up a sacrifice on the enclosure of the Hara, with a hundred male horses, a thousand oxen, and ten thousand lambs. He begged of her a boon, saying: "Grant me this, O good, most beneficent Ardvi Sura Anahita, that I may become the sovereign lord of all countries, of the Daevas and men, of the Yatus and Pairikas, of the oppressors, the blind and the deaf; and that I may smite down two thirds of the Daevas of Mazana and of the fiends of Varena." Ardvi Sura Anahita granted him that boon, as he was offering libations, giving gifts, sacrificing, and entreating that she would grant him that boon.”

(there were multiple instances of multiple people asking her for a boon, and she either gives that boon or withholds it depending on who's asking)

“Offer up a sacrifice, O Spitama Zarathushtra! unto this spring of mine, Ardvi Sura Anahita... Whom Ahura Mazda the merciful ordered thus, saying: "Come, O Ardvi Sura Anahita, come from those stars down to the earth made by Ahura, that the great lords may worship thee, the masters of the countries, and their sons.”

— Aban Yasht (Hymn to the Waters)

So yeah. A modified Ahuric Triad of sorts being revered for the more “practical”, society-wide, civilization-related domains. Or, well, Ahura Mazda is Ahura Mazda. One can't not include him as he is the god of light and everything good. (Tanaka seemed to have taken Ahura Mazda out of Pars' faith entirely, oh whatever I'm putting him back in)

Yeah. Still haven't really... figured out a way to connect the tauroctony to any of this. Maybe I'll have the design to feature Mithra and Anahita instead, blessing a royal birth of sorts (Anahita is associated with fertility, after all! She is said to purify the wombs of women and the seed of men, as well as encouraging the flow of milk for newborns. Plus, it's a royal birth. Surely something could be bullshitted here?

(as for Ahura Mazda, I saw in the Zoroastrianism subreddit that you can't really depict Ahura Mazda, he's just a strong, pure light, he can't be captured in image, which probably is true? I haven't been able to confirm it but I think it makes sense. ANYWAYS—)

Also very neat how Ashaya (the secret royal child who rejects their origins) has like, people who kinda sorta represent Mithra and Anahita in her life— Farangis' entire existence, of course, but also Shapur keeping the promise he gave to Sâyezân, the whole Mardi clan situation coming from a broken oath, and then the Mardi clan embodying the whole life-increasing herd-increasing healing fertility thing with their magic and such.

And I based her name on Asha, the Zoroastrian divinity of... ah, fuck. I'll just leave this here:

Asha (/ˈʌʃə/) or arta (/ˈɑːrtə/; Avestan: 𐬀𐬴𐬀 Aṣ̌a / Arta) is a Zoroastrian concept with a complex and highly nuanced range of meaning. It is commonly summarized in accord with its contextual implications of 'truth' and 'right' (or 'righteousness'), 'order' and 'right working'. It is of cardinal importance to Zoroastrian theology and doctrine. In the moral sphere, aṣ̌a/arta represents what has been called "the decisive confessional concept of Zoroastrianism". The opposite of aṣ̌a is druj (Avestan: 𐬛𐬭𐬎𐬘, lit. 'deceit, falsehood').

Look, for the purposes of this post I'm gonna grossly simplify it into “truth” and “righteousness”. It's more complicated than that even in the AU Parsian society, but I don't think I'm equipped to get into it.

(also I've been referring to Asha as feminine all this time before this post, apparently the hymns refer to Asha as a male... do I wanna modify this or not................ arrrrrrrrrrrgh)

Remember that “Fire, the son of Ahura Mazda” thing? So I've been thinking about it. I don't think Zoroastrianism has a genealogy and such like say the Greek pantheon situation, but maybe for the AU version of the Parsian faith (which I'd named “khuda-yasna” for “khuda” being the Persian word for “god”, more than likely referring to Ahura Mazda but let's just say that here the meaning expands to the other divinities as well) (kinda kills me inside a little that faith and religion in ArSen is just flattened down and lumped in with nationality like “Parsian faith” like, could you not have named it?? Also the Yaldabaoth religion? Does it not have a name??) (anyways back on track) I had imagined taking this snippet rather literally. Asha is the child (or the closest child) of Ahura Mazda the holy light. And Mithra is who serves and protects Asha. They're both really tied together, aren't they? Truth and oaths and lies and such. Maybe, in Pars, in this setting, Asha is the spiritual and moral righteousness that must be nurtured in every individual person while Mithra has to do w those civilization/society stuff. Not that I think Asha would be any less revered? Just different axes, different paradigms of worship and veneration, if that makes sense?

Anyways here are some snippets that caught my eye:

“He will smite the most oppressive of the oppressors of men, he will afflict most oppressive of the oppressors of men.”

×

“The most lying words of falsehood fled away; the Jahi, addicted to the Yatu, fled away; the Jahi, who makes one pine, fled away; the wind that blows from the North fled away; the wind that blows from the North vanished away.”

×

“He smites the most lying words of falsehood; he smites the Jahi, addicted to the Yatu; he smites the Jahi, who makes one pine. He smites the wind that blows from the North; the wind that blows from the North vanished away.”

— Ardwahisht Yasht (Hymn to the Highest Asha)

(the part about smiting oppressors in particular made me go 👀👀👀)

Anyways I just wanted to lay out some stuff for the AU worldbuilding to help myself make heads and tails out of this really, I don't have a conclusions, uhhhh hope y'all enjoy this

[you-cant-fuck-megaman]

Here, we all wonder why people can’t, but does anyone even stop to think if Robot Masters even have such capabilities? Because I feel like there are implications to making your industrial robots have the ability to bang in the first place. You don’t design and add a feature on your expensive robot just to not use it in some capacity.

I was wondering your thoughts on the matter. I hope this isn’t a bit too serious since I know this is a lighthearted blog, but stuff like this bothers me because I think too much.

It's definitely not too serious, but it's something I'm going to have to step out of character to do, since Stop Man has a lot of baggage about this subject and there's some things I can't shitpost about in good conscience.

You're correct in that there's a lot of implications in making industrial robots with the ability to have sex in the first place! There are a lot of implications.

Now, keep in mind that this is a franchise for children. Capcom isn't going to go into it, and most fandom participants aren't going to dig into it. And they have every right to not want to! But as any asexual in the last several centuries can tell you, the impact sex has on the way society at large engages with the individual formulates much of our life, whether on a micro level or a macro level.

If we're going to do some serious hypothetical worldbuilding upon the themes of this over-35-year children's franchise, we have to think about the nasty. Logically speaking, with Light striving for a transhumanist future where humans and robots live in harmony, that will have to include sex in some capacity. Sex, including the choice to have sex or to not have sex, is an essential part of the human experience.

And for a good chunk of humans, that's something they have the freedom to explore, learning about what they wish and what makes them feel whole as a person. What is it that you enjoy? What do you not enjoy? Do you want to pursue sexual satisfaction? Do you want to save it for someone that you feel is special? Do you feel your heart beat towards one person but you feel a burning inside towards another? Does it not interest you at all and it's just another part of your body's upkeep? Or etc, etc.

It's not universal, unfortunately, but ideally that's given to them by default. People given this have the freedom to explore how it defines them as a person.

Robots, well...don't have this by default. Your vacuum cleaner doesn't have a dick. It can't explore that. And that's okay, it's not human. It doesn't need to explore that.

But what if it did? What if we wanted it to be more human?

Now we're getting into some potentially very-horrifying territory.

The robots in the Mega Man world are not self-aware, not until the X timeline. The Archie comics struggled with this a bit, but generally speaking that's the big divide--until the X series, robots cannot make their own decisions. If you are building a robot, be it a Master or another kind, and you start installing naughty bits onto it, you are intentionally putting your choices onto another being.

Likewise, Robot Masters personalities have to be programmed. You can't just type install_Personality(); into the command line prompt--machines cannot do things by themselves. Machines must be specifically made to consider if X, then Y. If this, then that. If you make a machine to count from 1 to 10, and then ask it what goes past 10, it will not know what the fuck an 11 is. It has no concept of anything past ten. Maybe a 101? Going up to 1010. Then after that is 10101? The existence of an 11 must be explicitly defined by a creator. If you make a machine to catalogue a list of aquatic animals, you need to have a defined database of animals to sort through as "aquatic" and "not aquatic".

This is supported in canon by the existence of the IC chip, the Integrated Circuit--where everything that makes a Robot Master them, a dedicated storage house for all of their thought processes, considerations, and clauses to run through when making decisions. Even if we consider that the Megaman world runs on fucking wizardtech and it's possible that there's generative AI processes that theoretically allow for the generation of new reactions/thoughts/etc on the fly, there has to be a seed for this data to draw new information from in the first place.

This seed has to come from someone. And that someone is defining their thoughts and feelings on sex beforehand. And if that someone defines it as "you like sex, and you like sex with me specifically", that is...

Well, at best, that's an abuse of a power dynamic. When you're responsible for the well-being of another, you are in a favorable position of power that you really shouldn't use for your own satisfaction. Fucking your boss is kinky, but you really shouldn't.

At worst...well. As I mentioned before, this choice isn't universal even among humans. To this day, we have people being being forced to live lives that they don't want, and to be with and do things with people they don't want to.

There's ethical ways to handle this. It's possible to have a very in-depth exploration of the different roles, kinds, and ideas of sex and start setting up databases of those--attempt to give a neutral presentation. But what is neutral? Even nowadays, people argue about what's good and what's not good, don't they? When I wrote just one paragraph earlier "Fucking your boss is kinky, but you really shouldn't do it", I can guarantee you there are at least two readers--one that was nodding because they think it's morally wrong to do so and another who's thinking "But it doesn't really hurt anyone...and it'd be really hot for me and the boss". And that's one of the most plain vanilla kinks out there--but even on something as plain vanilla as that, the creator's own thoughts would influence the thoughts they inscribe into the machine. And the machine, in turn would use that thought as a basis to expand on their own thoughts.

We know the vacuum cleaner really is into sucking. But does it suck because it likes to suck, or because it was programmed to like sucking, or because it was told to suck and that's an extrapolation of performing its function (which is the natural job of a machine)? Now it's all existential and shit.

The only way to completely bypass this would be through self-aware, free-thinking machines--machines that develop themselves and do things outside of the limitations of their programming. Which we have, in canon! Reploids! From Mega Man X! Surely they would be the fuckable ones, right?

Well, yeah. They are.

I'm sure once I get back in-character and we hit the X series, Stop Man will be sputtering about how you can't fuck them because that's how he is. Or maybe I'll have a Reploid character who does that, I dunno. But if the theme of the Classic world is one of the relation between the robot and the roboticist, the theme of the X world is one of choice. They would not be restrained by the nature of what they've been programmed with--they can choose what they want to do.

But that also comes with its own consequences.

The Mega Man X world is very fascinating to me because it (very lightly) brushes against a narrative theme that I've always found tantalizing in classic literature; accepting the beauty of free will also means accepting the frustrations of free will. If you let people make their own choices, that also means that some people will not agree on what the right thing is--or worse, will intentionally not choose the right thing. If we create a new race of superpowered beings to aid us, and they decide not to aid us but instead to hurt us, how do we handle that? Do we try and suppress what made them different for our own protection? Do we roll over and let them kick us and take it for the sake of societal progress? Do we try to establish a set of guidelines to follow and systems to help maintain order? At which point, how much order is too much order? Etc, etc.

It's all very Asimovian and shit, which is appropriate since the series is founded on the Asimov laws. But the point of the laws in Asimov's stories WAS THAT THEY DIDN'T WORK! The X series is written with all the narrative skill of a ferret let loose across a series of typewriters, and hoooooooly shit does the Zero series handle it even worse.

But it's there. Robot are built, they're put off the assembly line, and they have a choice; they can choose what they like, what they don't like, what they want to do, who they want to do it with, and more. But as a result of their sexual liberation, they end up wrestling with a lot more in society as a result.

X is really struggling with the Dick of Damocles, there.

[usagifuyusummer]

I LOVE your picture of Timmy in a victorian era dress! He looked so pretty!

This isn't his default design for this AU tho. (There's a lot that's still in development on this concept/aspect of his character honestly.)

Nonetheless, I will attempt to draw his default outfit in the next concept piece. There's a lot that I have to handle in real life currently, so it'll probably be in progress for a long while. (Like, I have to prepare for a family outing this weekend, plus next semester uni preparation stuff for this October.)

Still, I took the time to draw this short (stupid) comic lol because I felt appreciated by this comment! I actually took a lot of time studying and finding inspiration from childrens clothing of that era when designing this alt outfit of Timmy. Like, you can Google the outfits online, and you'll notice which garments I took lol. Except, for the bonnet part. You have the OG show to thank for that. (I've decided to include the bonnet too, because it is an existing wear during those times, plus Timmy's outfits most of the time will include a type of hat, so that cemented my decision on utilising the bonnet with this alt wear.)

I am actually quite unsure if Timmy has ever been complimented as "pretty" or good-looking in the OG show before? Like, most of the time, I remember a lot of insults about his little pink hat or his large rabbit teeth, but why can't I remember anyone complimenting him? Hm, maybe it's because of the dark comedy and mean-spirited vibes the show has that I can't recall much on this?

Initially, I had a hard time coming up with how he should respond to such a positive comment because I didn't remember instances of that happening too frequently in the show. So, in the end, I've decided to just make his response be neutral-ish (with hints of his low-self esteem) and also attempt to include Cosmo and Wanda's fae mishevious behaviour or goofing off attitude in this short comic.

I do notice from the show that Timmy is actually quite shy, but I'm not sure if he responds shyly to positive comments about himself. This means that I have to hit the books more, study the characters (by watching the show) and the related concepts when in the middle of thinking and formulating about this AU.

So yeah, this is a baby's early attempt at trying to write and understand how the characters work and bounce off each other lol. I think my writing still looks stilted and off, but I'll try to learn from the mistakes I've made as I progress on my creative works. And as this AU is still in development, a lot of things might change. (This short comic is considered a practice round.)

Credits: This AU (Victorian Era FOP) and Cosmo and Wanda redesigns are originally by @keyintheeye-blog.

Overall, thank you for the kind comment anonymous person! It made me feel appreciated about the efforts I took on that piece. I hope you like this silly attempt at a short comic I made to express my gratitude to your comment. Have a nice day anonymous! 💐

[theempressofthenile]

The Sun's Creator : Create Your Reality

WHICH PICTURE OF THE SUN DRAWS YOU CLOSER TO CREATING YOUR BEST YOU?

Hey so I designed a beautiful pick a card reading on how to find the best way to create a stronger bond for yourself. What do you need to know to know right now? Its best to give ourselves a chance to breathe some new light, so just enjoy the picture and the message is right below :)

PILE 1 - 'Do you get me? I'm right around the corner.'

Picking up where we left out sometimes gives us the chance to find our new wings. Because the climate is chilling, you cover yourself up to keep that warmth inside your belly, but it only keeps trying to show its weight. Because you're accustomed to the usual. You've become light headed to whats in front, but not the deepest parts in it. Change is around the corner for you, full on differences and expansions of the imagination will keep you moving forward in this horizon. Places you felt not so sure of will bring down the uncertainty you've been carrying for the past several weeks. Charming experiences will show soon as you've let out a big roar to yourself and for others to appreciate. Congratulate yourself for the work that you've BEEN doing because its been a lengthy road. That hidden joy is soon to pop through as you continue to awaken the force that continues to knock inside of yourself.

PILE 2 - 'Look at me now, I was chosen for this path.'

Pat yourself on the back boo! You're incredible. Your appearance is changing and you feel that beautiful light showing itself on a daily. Please, keep it that way. Look forward to the shifts you've been creating for yourself. You were meant to soar, forgiveness is needed and appreciated. Taking a jog and getting a full on exercise will help your mind feel more clarity. Get a camera, and take some new pictures of yourself for these next few weeks-months so you can feel the gratitude of being in the moment, being connected to a life that you could remember.

Enjoy the surface, the waves are magical.

PILE 3 - 'Can I get you something? Guilty Pleasures, & Formatting A New Love For Life.'

There's many opportunity we get to pick from, sometimes not every choice is going to get us the good one. That's okay, at least you learned something. Enjoying your familiarities and picking and choosing when to go saves you from a lot of problems in the long run. Because you've kept quiet about certain things to enjoy the love, you've made a promise to the ethers that you could forgive and for bide by a new law of justice inside of yourself. This world was created for us to become the versions of ourselves that was hidden in the shadows; There is another way to go than the ones from before. Thank the universe for allowing the lessons to bring more fullness, more creativity, more power, more love and more light in your heart. A thousand times plenty. Abundance can formulate deeper bonds inside of you, relationships, etc. Financial rewards coming in larger quantities than before. Congrats, would you like someone to get you drink? You've been eaten them up this hol' time ;)

[projectkarya]

Friendly PSA to fellow writers who love STEM:

Do your best to combat the spread of misinformation and anti-intellectualism by making sure the terminology you use is true to what their definition actually is. For example, "the Scientific Method" is not a religious ideology, yet I've noticed a common misconception (as well as a dogwhistle for many far-right/alt-right individuals, including those in positions of power or influence) is people saying that scientists "absolutely refuse to accept anything that doesn't fit within the scientific method" (looking at you @kmt7878)

What this fails to address is that the Scientific Method isn't something you just call upon to dismiss anything that doesn't fit within a given worldview; it's not a religious dogma. It's a step-by-step method to determine the what/when/where/how of a phenomemon. As a refresher, the steps of Scientific Method is:

Ask an initial question pertinent to the phenomenon

Look up background information on the phenomenon to see if it's been previously researched/discussed

Formulate two hypotheses, one null and one alternative

Design and conduct an experiment to study the phenomenon based around your hypotheses (this can be repeated ad nauseam as necessary)

Draw a conclusion based on your findings

Form a discussion on the implications of your findings, as well as potential for improvement on your own experiment(s) and potential errors/flaws conducted on your part

Publish your findings so that others may have the chance to repeat the process in order to filter out human error via peer review.

If, for instance, you then try and say that a society rigorously adheres to science and following the scientific method, you cannot then say that "they dismiss anything that doesn't fit within the scientific method". Literally everything fits within the scientific method, that's the point of it in the first place, to properly analyze everything around us. Trying to then say that people that supposedly follow the scientific method are thus susceptible to having themselves to being blinded about the world around them is thus unrealistic at best and, at worst, is actively trying to discourage one from thinking critically.

In short, if you're gonna use scientific terminology, actually use it correctly. Otherwise, you're doing a terrible disservice and disrespecting the hard work and diligence put in by those who've done their best to bring understanding of the world around us, by pushing false narratives that serve the interest of anti-intellectuals.

((my major is in Public Health, which, among other things, involves making sure the general population is properly educated and not at risk of being manipulated by academic dishonesty of the sciences. this post is meant to educate, especially for the benefit of @kmn7878 who decided to block me after valid criticism of their works was brought up to them while failing to properly focus on what the criticisms were actually addressing.))

[stolas-realm]

Prince Sitri

Colour scheme not decided yet, so have a Pride version of him :) Text-wall under the cut:

Original text from the Ars Goetia: “The Twelfth Spirit is Sitri. He is a Great Prince and appeareth at first with a Leopard’s head and the Wings of a Gryphon, but after the command of the Master of the Exorcism he putteth on Human shape, and that very beautiful. He enflameth Men with Women’s love, and Women with Men’s love; and causeth them also to show themselves naked if it be desired. He governeth 60 Legions of Spirits. His Seal is this, to be worn as a Lamen before thee, etc.”

When I first read about Prince Sitri, the fact that they wrote "He enflameth Men with Women’s love" and vice versa using WITH rather than FOR, made my initial reaction to be "oh so his power is to turn people gay because that sounds like some old fashioned way of saying he made people attracted to their own gender". I know that's likely not what they meant and that it was just me getting confused by the Old English, but whatever. Now most people know you can't really change your sexuality, so in my version Sitri's power is not to change people's sexualities - it's to help people understand and accept what attraction and gender they already have, even if they might not be able to formulate it. But of course, homophobes consider that to be the same thing as "turning people gay/trans" so that's what they consider his power to be even if it's incorrect.

Sitri is one of the characters in my WIP Stolas' Realm, and the drafts consists of two parts: The prequel: The Reaper's Son, and the sequel: Hearts of Stone. In TRS he is still a child (compared to a human child, he would be the roughly the equivalent of a 12-year old like Stolas) while in HoS he have grown up to an adult. Sitri is a cheery person who fluctuates between being chill and seductively lounging and restless. Once he's an adult, he is happy to flirt and have one-night stands with almost anyone who is mature in body, mind, and soul, but he knows better than to flirt with people he can sense are not inclined to such things. He only shoots his shots when he knows it will be appreciated - or when it's to make creeps uncomfortable. Not sure yet if I will give him any partners, but if I do it will be a poly relationship that is very open though he will rarely go outside his pack - though he does help his partners find safe one-night stands when they want to explore others.

He is childhood friends with Stolas and Avaun, and will befriend Nilev and Varisu as a child too.

He/him, pan and poly, age probably about 1200 as an adult (it's not decided yet).

Sitri can - like Stolas - take on a human form as an adult, but it is not designed yet. All I know at this point is that he will be Black.

[cloudsbrainpopped]

Okay so I’ve been thinking again and just wanted to put this lukewarm take out there? (No idea if people outside of one other person agrees so like??? room temperature take)

I hate Jade’s mission dress for what it is; whilst it absolutely blends in well and abides with Pagan Mins tastes to a degree there’s way too much room for failure with the dress itself and with any kind of scrape with a weapon if that happens (also like whilst the fabric was light it sure as hell wouldn’t provide any kind of defense in the case of… I don’t know… a gun? just saying…) it does it’s job, is a staple, seems like the kind of thing you can run in but can’t exactly breathe in just in case. I feel like there’s too much room for error with it despite being a disguise. (The hair is fine, out of the way and definitely doesn’t call attention to itself which is what a disguise is supposed to do. Like that part is perfect it’s the outfit I take issue with.)

I’m not one to call any design choices horrible when it’s serviceable to a point… but it feels so horrendously thought out and more like a kink meme fill then a serious idea and I know the designer took steps to mitigate that feeling (the accessorising is alright… not really feeling it but it’s the base that feels shallow to me so of course whatever’s attached is just going to be bought down and there’s the raise in the skirt that both brings a bit more dimension and makes any kind of tripping on fabric less likely which is a massive plus which makes hate kind of a strong word but you know what I stand by that.) Like I get the thought process, it just feels quite underdeveloped and underwhelming and there were so many avenues to go down at a gambling den, like a dress that falls just above the knee would do it, wigs, contacts and slight changes in makeup could have done it (though that would take some workshopping) but also! Pretty much everyone who works for Pagan Min is seen in a suit. It does not make sense for the henchmen to pass the outfit choice off like that when there’s a clear dress code. Given the access she’s given it’s a red flag (literally) that she appears to be so different from everyone else. (Yes, alterations are clearly allowed on top of that base because Pagan Min clearly seems to be a fashion guy and fashion is a way to see through someone and what they enjoy so like… hmmm.)

TLDR. Jade should have been in a suit similar, maybe a forest green tie so it’s… more recognisably her or because the original dress is a shippy moment, a navy blue tie would look fantastic (and be fantastic for a bit of a tie pull moment so long as it’s Sarah doing it or like. Anyone who isn’t yknow. A relative. And that could be the fanservicey moment. Not over the top but would drive an audience that’s interested in that absolutely wild and be subtle enough to not feel like it’s just 10 minutes of an extended unfunny joke.

On top of all that, with all that in mind Sarah would’ve known that, and Jade might’ve known that too given her own investigations. So really that design choice, given that it was canonically Sarah’s idea makes her look foolish and underprepared for something that she literally kidnapped people to do meaning she absolutely had the time to weigh each and every minor detail out and how it should go whether orders are followed or not and frankly it throws an Actually Out of Character moment onto her. Because is she a raging lesbian who was at least a little into Jade and was absolutely looking at her with hardly contained lust? 1000%. Would she allow that to get in the way of a formulated plan? Absolutely not. Yes, she acts impulsively, but changing a well manufactured plan without a solid reason is Not Her Thing. And was this thought through further? No, but if they were men maybe they would’ve been I’m just saying.

[deadly-espresso]

(Flutter) EYY I DREW THE FLOOTER!!! 💖💖💖

Some design notes:

I ended up giving Flutter a face mask to visually allude to how she's mute and also seem to visually lack a mouth (Although she may have a mouth like a proboscis or something because Teagan does invite her to her tea parties). While Flutter's Toon design seems to have no hands, I decided to have this gijinka design of Flutter explicitly be able to sign with her hands.

This gijinka design for Flutter is meant to be an anthro butterfly, hence why she still has wings and antennae. I also insteaded to instead interpret the fluff on Flutter's thorax as being a fluffy scarf, since butterflies don't have particularly fluffy thoraxes in real life.

I decided to instead interpret Flutter's light violet dress as a poncho with a darker purple dress underneath so that Flutter would able to hide her hands underneath the dress. I also choose some light purple tights with exposed toes for her footwear so that she'd be able to free up her feet to manipulate things, as Toon Flutter is known to be able to pick up objects and extract Ichor from Machines with her feet.

Oh also a silly bonus tangent: I really am a fan of Flutter not just because she can fly and flutter around, but also because of how her muteness is represented? Like, her muteness isn't treated as a flaw or a bad thing, she just is what is, and her fellow Toons can get along with her and understand her just fine. Funny enough, Shrimpo ironically gets mad about Flutter being loud instead of quiet! I like this so much because while I'm not really mute myself I still face issues regarding speaking up to people in my life, especially in person. My family tends to get angry when they expect me to speak but I don't, not because I'm refusing to speak, but because it really can be hard for me to formulate what I "should" say. It's like I can't get the wheels in my mind turning, even though they should be. So that's why I like Flutter regarding mutism rep; it's not treated as a bad thing or something better off "fixed", it's just another part of who she is, and I love it.