#my zine days are over but you’re so real for this op

[sleepymccoy]

Hello! I wanted to ask you this bc I really admire your work and blog, and I get the sense that you're a person who can tackle nuance well (and I believe this topic deserves it). I've tried wording this as best as I could, and I'm sorry that it's very long.

I've started getting the impression that some parts of the Good Omens fanbase have been sort of contained, if that makes sense. I feel like small creators have a hard time getting attention to their work anymore. As if people are only looking at the same handful of established creators nowadays (and that those creators are only looking at one another). And by extension, content really only gets attention if it's liked/shared by certain people. And then on top of that, it really constricts a lot of topics in fic and art that get appreciated.

I know that the hype for Good Omens has died down in the past year and that explains a major dip in interest, but I still feel there's an imbalance. I see genuinely good work overlooked time and time again, and I worry that my own work has been looked over bc it simply hasn't been deemed a fan favorite. For a while it looked like there was an effort to boost smaller creators, but it's seems like it phased out pretty quickly. I will be honest, it's been a little discouraging. It feels like the Good Omens fanbase is a club a lot of us have been almost excluded from.

I wanted to know if I'm just imagining this whole scenario or if it's a thing others have noticed? If others have noticed, what can we do to spread some love?

I'm sorry if this came off the wrong way or like I'm scolding people. Or like I'm whinging like a needy child not getting enough attention. I'm curious and was wondering if it was worth asking someone else about. Thank you for reading! And thank you for responding if you do!

Hey! Thanks for all the compliments lol, that’s lovely of ya

I doubt i’ll be as succinct as you managed.

Overall, I agree. I don’t think you’re imagining things at all and I’ve certainly also noticed a decline in interest in my stuff since the start

This is a total theory, but I’m gonna put it forward cos it makes sense to me. When Good Omens started up everyone followed a load of people to get at the content and were reblogging and engaging all over the place. Spiderwebs of followers were formed. I think there are blogs who end up being more influential than others, it depends on what youre looking for in the fandom who that is for you, but there are always big sort of blogs that just reblog content to share it. I think they’re the things that change.

Cos what happens is interest wanes. Fans move on and go somewhere else. If you’re following and relying on a blog to show you lots of new art and they’re just not doing it any more, then you’re sort of left just seeing the popular stuff that gets cyclically reblogged.

For example, i was following, with notifications on, a blog that reblogged every bit of poc good omens fan art they came across. total mixed bag of quality, but it was fantastic and picked up blogs that were completely unknown to me. The person running it got tired and moved on, so i don’t have access to that any more. It’s a lost thread in my little spiderweb of access that cuts me off from so much and it’s a real loss

Alternatively, and this is the trap i fall into, you follow creators. Like what you said! So, when I see a post i like very much i go straight to OP and (after checking they’re not a terf or aphobic) i follow. This means i get new content from the source rather than relying on someone elses taste to have a chance of seeing it myself. However, it also means i’m not following many blogs that focus on reblogging a range of content, so i miss newcomers. I’m not ignoring newcomers, i simply don’t see them

Both approaches to who you follow come with the curse of as the fandom gets older, you don’t have a clear way to find new content or creators. There’s an early bird gets the worm element to it all

There’s also tumblr weird bad habit of not reblogging things. People who run personal blogs rather than themed blogs will like something and consider their work done, but that does nothing to help new art or new artists, cos it’s not permeated yet. That kills new content and content creators pretty thoroughly

So yeah, i think there’s a lot going on there, but you’re certainly not making it up and a lack of engagement on your posts isnt an indication that people don’t like it, it just means people haven’t seen it or have fallen for their habit of not reblogging things they really ought to share.

In terms of fixing this? That’s a toughie.

I don’t have a fix, but i agree the lethargy is tiresome. It’s a constant effort to get something to take off, i have to reblog stuff four or five times before it starts moving beyond my immediate sphere of influence. But it makes sense, there are less fans and the fans there are aren’t out looking for new people to follow.

but i don’t like ending on a negative, so i’ll talk about some options or ideas! even though i don’t have the kind of influence someone would need to be heard

In my perfect world (and i repeat this is my day dream, i do not pretend it is well thought out or fair for all) i would remove the like function; either reblog it or you don’t get to keep an access. I would see more blogs that reblog content to a theme. I would see blogs that search out new creators. I would see newsletters that name new creator blogs that have engaged recently. I would see blogs that make it a challenge to themselves to reblog art and fic that has less than 100 notes. I would see more low stress fan events, more prompt lists and less organised zines.

But that’s all a lot of work for individual people to take on (except the likes vs reblogs thing, but that a real personal dislike of mine). I’ve tried to take part, I run @goodomensevents which is a blog where i reblog any general community event on tumblr that doesn’t cost money to take part in. But i don’t really think it has much impact, cos i thought of it too late in the game and no one wants to follow new good omens blogs anymore.

which i understand. i’m happy with my dash, i don’t feel like it’s lacking. I love who i follow. my mutuals talk to me and aren’t cunts. And i have no idea how to find new creators even though i may want to.

But hey, if anyone’s running a blog like what i’ve described, please send me a link! Maybe i’ll make a rec list on good omens events lol, see what happens. I’ll definitely follow you

#sleepy speaks #long post #im so bad at remeembering to tag long post im very glad i remembered here #i added the bolds afterwards cos it was just a massive fucking wall of text otherwise whoops #Anonymous

[countessofbiscuit]

Suppressive Fire

(Sev/Scorch, E, 3.9k words)

Two bros, chillin' on a top bunk no feet apart 'cause they're vode. . . .

Fleet Support, Ord Mantell, barrack block 7 Alpha, six standard weeks after Geonosis

She’d be built like a tank. That was Requirement the First.

She’d be humanoid, or near enough. Her arms would number ... four. Yes, four arms, each of them doing something clever. Two to open my ass, two to pinch my nipples, her long tongue going to crazy town on my cock, burning off my pubes with her caustic breath—

Sergeant Draka. The near-human-tank was Sergeant Draka, sure as day.

Scorch grabbed this realization with one firm hand and tugged.

Her species was shab-if-I-know: some unhappy hybrid who’d washed up on the far edge of the Outer Rim and been scraped into one of those fringe clans that never removed their helmets. Her folks developed a reputation for ritualized kidnapping that didn’t sit right with Jango. He’d ripped Draka’s helmet off in a duel, apparently, and spending ten years training the spawn of her enemy was the price she’d agreed to pay to regain her honor. All those kids and nowhere to run: a bitter form of torture for both parties. Her trainees were an insular, silent bunch with a tendency to tactically acquire your shit when you weren’t looking, but they got the job done.

Scorch had first seen Draka at a parade for the prime minister when he was three. He’d never forgotten it: she had fangs and yellow eyes and ears that twitched at the tips like they were catching your current of fear. No wonder they’d encouraged her to keep a lid on.

Then Scorch was six and change and he’d stumbled upon her in a hallway. She’d had a cadet upside down, smoking him good for something. “What are you gawping at, Six-Two?” she’d snarled, her generous chest heaving, three spare arms tensing in his direction. “Shift it. Unless you want your balls torn off next.”

Scorch had been a little scared and a lot turned on.

Sergeant Vau didn’t have to use many words to put the fear of Fett under your skin. He was a conservative man. Sergeant Draka regarded a shebs-chewing as the highest form of oratory and her calling in life. Whenever Scorch stood downwind of her in the combat hall, he could feel his eyebrows being singed off a second time.

Sweating a little, Scorch’s core tensed as this fantasy tightened vividly in his holographic mind.

She puts two hands around my cock, one hand on my nipple, one hand clawing under my balls—

Scorch flipped her on her back.

She uses all four arms to spread her trunky legs, hairy as a man’s, wide in invitation—

“Knock it off,” barked Sev.

She was gone. In her place was the knowledge that his brother was clued in to what Scorch was doing on the bottom bunk and determined to make it stop.

But the pressure under Scorch’s balls held firm and his erection stood fast. Sev was an oaf with shit timing. There was a reason they gave Scorch the fiddly wires and det controls. He stretched his fingers and reset his grip. “Not happening, vod.”

“Do you have to be so loud about it?”

“Loud?” Had he said something? Lost control of his breathing?

“Yes. Loud. Like you’re slugging a hamm sandwich.”

Scorch frowned. “Have you ever had a hamm sandwich?”

“I don’t want one now.”

There was some improvement to technique needed there: Scorch was always open to feedback—to the challenge of reducing the marginal noise of a wank. “You embarrassed?” he found himself asking, strokes resuming. Less hamm-fistedly. His orgasm had slumped a little and he'd have to tenderly call it back up.

“I’m embarrassed for you,” Sev said.

Scorch closed his eyes, picturing something ...

Sergeant Draka was back, and now she was holding him and Sev upside down. The arrival of RC-1207 into the sim wasn’t throwing Scorch off. In fact, it was encouraging. Exciting. He even leaked a little at the idea. What was a commando without his squad? Chafed, apparently. He should’ve brought Sev into the game two nights ago, after they’d been rudely pulled from stasis in preparation for some op known only to Boss.

Scorch didn’t remember decant. But Sergeant Vau, who'd wasted no time rocking up to his watery exile when Jango had put out the word, said they’d been ugly, annoyed, and ornery. The nursery techs had given them mock, miniature Deeces to keep their fussy hands and mouths occupied.

Coming out of stasis had to be worse—they were issued Deeces again, but they weren’t left alone to soothe themselves to sleep with weapons. Now their waking moments belonged entirely to some Jedi named Zey. They’d been forced to run a gamut of proprioception and endurance tests, cleaned their spanking new Katarn and cleaned it once more for luck on Boss’s orders, and told to familiarize themselves with their upgraded HUD systems.

Scorch had and he'd found it wanting: no pre-loaded heavy-isotope bangers or high-definition tailhead reference holos. Did he have to do everything himself in this shabla army?

After submitting to all this with only mild complaint—Fixer had sworn in full sentences—the op order was still not forthcoming. Classic hurry up and fekkin' wait. Wait for instructions they didn’t even need. Coordinates, intel support, and a broad objective would have sufficed for a commando tasking: top brass still had a lot to learn. It had left Delta with more downtime than they liked and had left Scorch wanting nothing more than to take care of that perennial need in his groin. And each time, he had to get a little more creative.

“What’re you thinking ‘bout, Sev?” he teased, poking the boundaries of this sim. Longnecks hated that: it’s why they let the commandos have off-world field trips to forsaken places where they couldn’t peel back the corners without dying. “Something profane? Something a little non-regulation?”

“The shab is wrong with you.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking ... ” The opportunity for candor—without Fixer on the opposite bunk telling him to pipe down or Boss around to make it happen—was interesting. And as far as Scorch knew, this slap-dash prefab of a support base didn’t have surveillance bugs like their dorms on Kamino. The range and assault course here weren't even specced for lasers; they had to waste live rounds on discs and be honest about getting locked onto. Not likely.

With nothing left to hide, Scorch rolled away from the wall and relaxed onto his back, his cock stiff and spry. He pulled his hood up and over his wet glans and back down again, as far as he could take it, skin smarting nicely at the stretch. He went on, “I’m thinking about Sergeant Draka.”

“Stop,” Sev said.

“Her thick thighs in my face—”

“Stop.”

Scorch spat in his hand and throttled his shaft. “Biting our balls … ” Okay, maybe that was a little weird. But if Fixer’s quick work of the base pyrowall in the anxious hours before chill-down was anything to go by, weird could be good. Better than good.

“Don’t make me come down there,” Sev growled. Not unlike Sergeant Draka, actually.

Scorch couldn’t help himself. “Oh yeah, do come down here ... ” He bucked into his fist, as if to jerk out that ball of bliss from behind his sack. The mass of him tensed rigid under one fixed goal. His fumbled around for something in the sheets with his free hand. “Come down her thick legs ... ”

If anything could singe Draka’s hairs, it’d be Sev’s spunk. Scorch loved a blast, but Sev would sprinkle baradium on his Oaties every morning if he could. Sev would spill like a gutted aiwha, animalistic and uncontrolled, and Draka would hiss and gnash her teeth and—

And suddenly, Scorch was over the line. His base clenched hard, choking his groan of release. He convulsed and came thickly into one of yesterday’s socks.

“Shab,” he croaked, his vision returning, his limbs pooling with pituitary pleasure. “Blew up real good.”

Somewhere above him, Sev huffed. “Three nights in a row. You’re disgusting—you know that, right?”

“Stasis, my shebs. I’ve never had such busy balls in my short life.” Scorch twisted languidly to the edge of the mattress and sat up, squeezing his cock clean. “Cooking blanks like they might get lucky.” The knotted sock got buried in tomorrow’s laundry and Scorch borrowed some of Boss’s wet wipes for the cleanup. Sarge wouldn’t miss them.

“The rest of us are fine,” Sev countered.

Scorch glanced at Sev over his shoulder. His brother looked like a corpse who’d taken up reading in the afterlife. Base bunks weren’t much cosier than a stasis pod, but something else was keeping Sev’s spine stiff. Something that might affect squad performance if it wasn’t addressed: a bad case of self-inflicted blue balls.

Scorch pulled up his pants and ambled over. “You know ... you say that. But this says something else.” He grabbed Sev’s perky junk.

Happily for his brother, Scorch’s grip was light. So when Sev knocked Scorch backwards at the throat, he didn’t take Sev’s sack with him. A scuffle ensued, half-hearted on Scorch’s side, though Sev was obviously in one of his fuck-off moods. He always was crankiest after a nap; it’d take him days to shake off stasis. And he was still pissed about Procurement’s theft of his helmet, with its authentic Gamma blood enshrined in red paint. That di’kutla squad had been shipped to Triple Zero, and until Sev butted heads with them again, he’d be as scratchy as a flea-bitten akk.

Using the shallow bunkrail, Scorch flung himself up and collapsed onto his brother, asking the cantilevered cot to bear the weight of two commandos. He was a trusting soul. The tussle continued until Scorch allowed Sev to secure a headlock, rather than drag them both onto the floor. They’d just gotten out of one unnatural bath and he didn’t fancy a dunk in bacta.

Scorch tapped Sev’s thigh. “Alright, alright,” he said hoarsely. Sev’s hold loosened a fraction and Scorch scooted out from it. Sitting up, he grabbed the holozine that had gotten pinned against the wall: some monthly edition of erudition that called itself Lasers & Blasters. “Didn’t know you could, Oh-Seven.”

Sev snatched the ‘zine to stuff it under his pillow. “It’s above your cadet-grade.”

“I think everyone knows you’re the knuckle-dragger around here, not me.”

“I think everyone knows I’m the hero of Geonosis, Killer of Sun Fac.”

Scorch made a theatrical noise that sounded like a broken, wet bes’bev. “Woo-hoo! You hit the broad side of a bantha!”

Now Sev really tried to catapult him onto the floor. But Scorch’s close-combat situational awareness noticed that his brother’s cockstand was holding strong.

“Sev,” he said, panting a little when they’d reached another stalemate, “the only people who know Sun Fac’s name are us, some spooks, and that random forward air controller.”

“Shove off.” Sev kicked him with his boot. He wore them to bed like an animal.

Scorch shook his head. “Not until you take care of yourself.”

“You have some shabla nerve, vod.”

“Rule 45: there should be no happier union than that between a commando and his weapon. But you’ve neglected yours.” He cast a judgemental eye at Sev’s tented pants. They’d been sleeping, shooting, and shitting cheek-by-jowl for their entire lives: Scorch didn’t know why one more bodily function would be that much worse. In that moment, he had more sympathy for his brother’s dick than his brother’s karked-up dignity. Or his own.

He glanced at the chrono. Boss and Fixer still had half an hour at the range and they’d probably hit the mess on the way back. Time enough for a little more equipment maintenance; Scorch believed he was being supremely generous offering what remained of his. He flopped over into a plank above his brother, who was still lying deathly prone. “If you’re not gonna help yourself ...”

“What?” Sev sneered. “You’ll do the honors?”

“Maybe I will. I am better than you, after all,” Scorch grinned. Suddenly, he sensed a game that he wanted to win. They were all like that. Competitive. Not so much against each other, but with each other. Getting screwy Sev off would be the ultimate victory: no one would lose and everyone would leave happy.

“You can’t.” Sev’s disinterest was as threadbare as his pillowcase.

“Alright, vod. I’ll take that bet.” Scorch dug the heel of his hand into his brother’s persistent erection. Sev’s eyelids fluttered. No greater tell in the book. “I bet I can get you off before Boss and Fixer get back. Just this once.”

Sev circled his hands around Scorch’s throat, hissing through perfect teeth bared tight, “You—can’t—Sergeant—Vau—would—”

Scorch scoffed. “You see Sarge here? He’s fucked off to his castle with his kaminii retirement fund.”

Vau had never promised he’d be there on the other side, but ... did he know they’d done a good job? That they’d been singled out for the assassination of the bugs’ chief lieutenant? That they’d survived—no, that they'd excelled, when hundreds of other squads hadn’t? Did he even care? Scorch had to wonder.

He shoved those thoughts aside with conscious effort; they wouldn’t do him any good. Better that Vau wasn't here anyway: he would sniff mightily at this interpretation of no brother left behind. “Hells, he’s probably rubbing one out to a portrait of the dead missus right now,” Scorch continued.

Sev’s grip tightened for their sergeant’s honor. “He wouldn’t—”

“He would. Stars love the old chakaar, Sev, but he’s only flesh and blood.” Actually, that’s all Vau was: cragged skin and blue blood twisted ‘round a frame that seemed to boast a few more bones than average. There must have been a heart in there, too—see: Mird—but Delta had spent their entire cadethood seeking it out to little good. Especially Sev, though he’d slot you for saying so.

Oh, Sev’ika: flesh and blood, plus a lot of bile and bad humor. He stank out the backend when he’d scarfed down too many ration packs, but what would splatter out the front? Scorch was beyond curious now, as he palmed his brother’s package through his clothes.

Sev’s hands held firm, but it was half-hearted, his thumbs only tickling his brother’s trachea. His nostrils flared. He was afraid. No, even better—he was desperate.

It was all the vindication Scorch needed. “That’s right—breathe. Relax. Six-Two’s got you.” He tugged Sev’s fatigues down, hitching the elasticene band behind his balls. Sev grimaced. Yeah, it might not be comfortable yet, but just wait; a little pressure there goes a long way.

“That hurts,” growled Sev.

“Gonna hand me the game?” If Sev had lost sight of his mission objective, he really was gummed up. “Jerking off through a fly feels like doing it in formation,” Scorch said.

Sev turned his head to the wall. If he’d done it at all, that was clearly how.

Scorch took his theoretically-identical brother in hand and felt the heft and heat of a dick that was still an inch left of familiar, however many times he'd seen it. Sev was throbbing. His hands fell away, as deliberately limp as the rest of him, like he was trying to absent himself from his body.

“So ... Sergeant Draka—” Scorch began, realizing he’d just been staring at his brother’s kad for longer than was right. He mentally constructed the fantasy again, deliberately this time, while he warmed up to the idea of working someone else’s shaft. Sev’s shaft. He imagined what Sev might like to hear, because Scorch sure as shab wasn’t keen on hardening up between his brother’s legs himself. That would just be strange. “She’s got you under two hands and a squawking bug under the other, honkin' great tits ready to smother the both of you ...”

Up until he’d found his brother’s cock in his hand, Scorch had fancied himself an honest commando. He really did. Then he had to close the dissonance between his not-insignificant-interest in Sev’s pink tip and, well, Sev: that awkward grump-a-lump who couldn’t look at a sapient or sentient, droid or organic, without scaring them away.

Scorch did it by telling himself this was just his own his cock in a mirror. A learning experience, if nothing else. And his tongue loosened to remember the bet. He began rubbing with intent. “She snaps its neck. Crunch. And isn’t that just your favoritest sound, Sev, ol’ boy?”

“Not her,” Sev said hoarsely.

Manda, he really was giving this to Scorch in the bag. “Who?”

“—don’t know—I don’t shabla know.”

“Easy, vod. You got a lifetime to find out. Well, half of one.”

“Shut. Up.”

Scorch changed the program and flicked a thumbnail right under Sev’s hood. Scratched out whatever dream Sev had building behind his scrunched eyes. It was irrelevant, whatever cleaned the pipes. If his brother didn’t want to say, who was Scorch to ask? The silky give of his hard-on and his nasally gasps vouched that Sev was having an a-okay time. Scorch wouldn’t have a hand, otherwise.

Sev bubbled from his tip. Scorch felt himself flush, but he was more intrigued than anything. It really was like watching a holo of himself. Obviously, Scorch was more handsome, mostly because he wasn’t a fucking psycho ... but a cock was a cock. He lengthened his movement with the slick aid of precome, fisting all the way down to Sev’s slightly lighter curls.

Suddenly, Sev’s fingers wrapped around his. For an alarming half-second, Scorch feared his wrist was about to be snapped. Goodbye dominant hand and superhuman reaction times.

But Sev just held on, eyes pinched shut, arm as unyielding as a barrel.

The situation became more straightforward. Emboldened by the team effort, Scorch stroked faster. Harder. He read the lines in Sev’s fierce face like a manual for a weapon he’d been handed five years ago. A clone lifetime. A batcher’s intuition. He shucked Sev’s sheath down as hard as he could. Twisted his wrist at the top further than Sev’s delicate skin wanted to go. Scorch figured his brother liked the bite of pain. “You feelin’ the heat? You gonna spill all over my fingers, Sev’ika?” he teased.

Sev heaved like he might throw up, and he coughed out only two words. “Do. Not.”

Yeah, he hates that kind of chummy osik and yakking. It was almost sad how much Sev knew what he didn’t want, but couldn’t voice what he did. Even Fixer grunted in approval when something wriggled across the ‘pad’s screen; at least he had some idea what kind of parts he fancied. It was a very broad pool.

Sev just looked embarrassed to be asked.

“Someone’s gonna love your shit, Sev,” Scorch encouraged, coming at it again from a different vector. If he didn’t show his wacky brother some love, who would?

Vau hadn’t been there to bestow that curt nod. They didn’t want to be spoiled. Scorch and his brothers weren’t Skirata’s pups: they’d survived Geonosis because they weren’t. But ... Delta was here and Theta wasn’t and Vau had no karkin’ clue what a close-run thing it’d been. Didn’t know how the knife-edge of his training had probably made all the difference and how chuffed they all were about it.

Or how Sev had made that one-in-a-million shot to Sun Fac’s fighter with half his visor splattered in bug spray. Scorch would remember that for the rest of his short life: angry tendrils of smoke rising behind Sev as he turned contemptuously away from his kill, his helmet gooey with Geonosian.

There were brothers, and there were your brothers: the ones who’d made you better just by being there beside you. Sev was one of those.

Scorch didn’t have to improv osik, now. The words came as easy as his muscle memory as he pistoned his palm along Sev’s angry cock. “Fuckin’ proud of you, Sev: bane of bugs and sniper extraordinaire. Wish Vau could’ve seen it, I really do. I’ll have CLONINT’s guts for rappelling lines for wiping Boss’s cache.”

Sev’s free hand had bunched into the sheet, his knuckles whitening. He stilled suddenly, tense as the second before the opening salvo. Here it comes.

“Ooh, so that’s how Sev breaks. Result!” Scorch had imagined Sev’s orgasm would be like squeezing blood from a stone. Not at all: it came as surely and naturally as his own. Scorch watched intently. Who knew their balls became one in the moment of triumph like that? As Sev’s practically disappeared into his taut body, Scorch had to think on his feet to save his brother’s freshly-laundered fatigues—or, on his knees and elbows, as the case was.

Thunking his other arm across his face, Sev lost the bet with a violent shudder—and without a sound, probably so he couldn’t say he’d enjoyed it. He squirted fully but cleanly onto the open spread of the ‘zine, thanks to Scorch’s management and direction. A long, messy line of cloudy white right across the cross-sectioned barrel of a Magna-Caster-100. Thank fuck for flimsi.

Shaking off Sev's hand, Scorch dropped the wilting cock. It was not attractive, and he prayed the ladies wouldn't think the same, warring with himself about whether he could succumb to the mortification of going limp in someone’s mouth. Maybe it was better to pull out and stripe them? It merited further research on Fixer’s ‘pad, just in case.

“Target softened. Should make things easier for you. Hope you took notes,” Scorch said, oddly transfixed by the description of the ‘Caster’s invisible quarrels he’d spotted on the page. He was growing itchy for a time-sensitive rummage—Scorch would wager his lower left nut that Delta could now go toe-to-toe with any of Draka’s squads for acquisition. With any luck, this mysterious upcoming op would net them some exotic toys.

He shifted his weight, feeling the need to move before that idea made him stiff again and everyone got the wrong impression.

“‘m not soft, di’kut,” Sev mumbled from underneath his arm.

Scorch patted his thigh. “Sure you’re not.”

“Getting soft will get us popped.”

Scorch was halfway off the bunk, but he stopped to squeeze Sev’s fucked-up head. “Hey, ner vod. Look at me—look at me,” he demanded. Sev let his arm fall behind his curls but he kept his gaze elsewhere. “No need to quote Sarge to me. Or go grey over stupid stuff like him.”

Stuff like distraction—a dirty word in Vau’s lexicon. What did they have to get distracted by, anyhow? Grainy holovids? They had enough room in their over-engineered skulls for a few of those, and if they ever got to touch the real thing, Scorch figured they wouldn’t lose their heads. Right? Civvies were so unexceptional, after all. Probably couldn’t tell a maranium blast from a benign xenon light sculpture. Brothers, especially your fellow commandos, were the only company worth keeping—even Vau said so, and Skirata had said Vau had wined and dined New Mando aristos and had bedded a fekkin’ princess in a past life.

Eventually, Sev’s sour mug puckered in something like thought. “If you fucked up my range scores, I’m going to piss in your pack.”

Scorch laughed, dumping his feet onto the floor and wandering in the direction of Boss’s ration bars. Mess was a whole two hours away and Scorch had a month’s eating to make up for. “Sev’ika, no one could fuck up your range scores. You just pregamed with Lasers & Blasters.”

The ‘zine smacked the back of Scorch’s head, wet side flat.

Yeah, we're still good, Scorch thought, as he finally manhandled his stroppy brother onto the floor. And we always will be.

(also on Ao3)

#republic commando #delta squad #repcomm #sev #scorch #clonecest #biscuit fic

[tellmewhatyouc]

looked back at my Goals from last year and

so i did most of that! i actually got back into a hat in time recently, but i don’t really have interest in writing fic. it’d be cool but i don’t have anything specific in mind at the moment ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i’m really glad i opened a new ao3 account and started writing for a new fandom. it’s been a hell of a lot easier not to stress about what i write around here, and i’m getting a lot more feedback than i was used to. even with my niche little rarepair fics, there’s people who Care and i love that so much

i’ve accomplished a lot this year! this may get a little long so i’m gonna throw it under a cut:

i’ve written something every single day for the past 208 days, since june 8th. sometimes it’s 3k words and sometimes it’s just 3 words that i end up changing later, but either way, i’ve gotten into the habit of sitting down and typing words into a doc on a daily basis.

(as of my very last fic for the year, which will be posted soon) i’ve posted 106 op fics, totaling just over 150,000 words. which is Insane for me because i think i’ve averaged about 20-30k a year since 2016/17.

i posted smut for the first time, and after kinktober, i have a pseud entirely dedicated to it because i did Not want my entire profile to just be horny jfkdj

i learned that drabbles are A Thing and that it’s perfectly valid and reasonable to post a work on its own that’s only 100 words (hence how i ended up with over 100 op fics aksjdfjds nearly half of those are under 500 words)

i started 2 long-term multi-chapter works, one of which is now the longest fic i’ve ever posted (at almost 50k words!)

i participated in a lot of fandom events! i got into 2 zines, signed up for 3 gift exchanges, and started organizing my own ship week. most of this is going to wrap up in 2021, but even just joining these events was a big step for me and i’m glad i took the plunge.

i learned about the value of comments and interacting with works!! i Did Not Comment on fics before this year because i just didn’t see the point, but after receiving some lovely comments on my own that have made my day, i really get it now. there are people i’ve only spoken to in my comments section that i think about on a regular basis just because of their kind words. i don’t know anything else about them but now i write things with them in mind!

as mentioned in my goals from 2019, i Just stopped giving a shit about what other people think. like yeah there’s been some more questionable things i’ve posted that i’ve been a little nervous about the reaction, but i don’t let people’s opinions stop me from writing/posting stuff i like anymore. i’ve explored some weird concepts and posted some Real Niche Content, but i’m having a great time.

and now my goals for next year!

keep working a soft focus! i’ve got a lot of ideas for that series, i just need to sort out my ideas and figure out how i want to execute them

finish white coat syndrome! that fic isn’t meant to be especially long and i think i can close it off within the next year in a way i’m happy with.

try new things! i’ve written So Much Law and i love him dearly but i think it’d be fun to explore other characters & ships.

keep up the good progress in regards to writing what makes me happy without worrying about what other people think!

continue participating in events and challenges without spreading myself too thin. i’m having fun with all the things i’m working on right now but also i am a little overwhelmed

lastly, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been reading my works! even if you’re more of a lurker and don’t interact with them much, i appreciate you. i’m so glad i can do something that makes me happy, and it also means something to other people ❤️

#goals #in review #rambles #also i'm working on a lil masterlist of my favorite fics from this year bc why not

[tripstations]

Phrases in 5 Common Languages to Know when Traveling in Europe

Traveling abroad this summer? These helpful phrases will open doors and help you gain immediate acceptance.

You don’t need to be fluent in the language of the country that you are traveling to, but learning some key phrases makes a great impression. If someone hears that you’re trying to speak the language, they will give you their respect and help.

From saying hello to asking how much something cost; knowing some important phrases will set you up for an amazing trip. Its also a great way to meet and connect with people, you can find a secret spot that only the locals know or the best place to eat in town.

Your pronunciation doesn’t have to be perfect, all that matters is that your trying and that means a lot the locals.  Also it’s a great way to impress your friends when you start speaking the language of the country your in, works everytime!

Here are some helpful phrases in 5 common languages to know when traveling in Europe – French, Italian, Spanish, German and Dutch:

If you want to learn more check out the fun online language learning tool from Babbel (you can try the first lesson for free!).

  FRENCH

The Basics:

Hello: bonjour  (bohn-zhoor)

Please:  S’il vous plaît   (see voo play)

Thank you: merci  (mehr-see)

Goodbye: au revoir  (oh reh-vwar)

Where is the bathroom? pardon, où sont les toilettes?  (oo sohn lay twah-leht)

Do you have a menu in English? avez –vous un menu en anglais? (ah-vay vooz uhn men-u ahn ahn-glay)

How much is it? combien est-il (kohn-bee-an es-eel) 

I’m lost, can you help me find ____? Je suis perdu, pouvez vous m’aider à trouver? (zhuh swee pehr-dew puh   vooz- may-day ah tru-vay)

I would like: Je voudrais (zhuh voo-dray)

I am sorry, I don’t speak French: Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas français (zhuh swee day-zoh-lay , zhuh nuh parl pah frahn-say)

  Some Phrases Just for Fun:

I drank too much, can you call a taxi? J’ai bu trop, pouvez-vous appeler un taxi (zhay boo tro-op, poo-vay voo ah-puh-lay uhn tahk-see)

Can I climb the Eiffel tower? Est-ce que je pouvez monter la Tour Eiffel?  (ehs-ce kuh zhuh puh mon-teh la toor ee-fel)

How’s my breath? Comment tu trouves mon haleine? (kon-mahn tew troo-vay mohn ah-lehn)

  Some French Etiquette to Know:

Never say: Jokes are not appreciated in French culture. Intelligent conversation or funny real-life stories are appreciated.

Inappropriate gesture: Do not slap your open palm over a closed fist (this is considered a vulgar gesture).

Never do: Do not bring up money or religion. Do not use someone’s first name until you are invited to do so.

French custom: Instead of a 3-course meal that Americans are used to, the French traditionally serve 6 courses. In order, they are hors d’ oeuvres, fish course, meat course, salad, cheese plate, and dessert. Bread and wine are also staples that are always on the table.

  ITALIAN

The Basics:

Hello: Buongiorno (bwon-jor-no)

Thank you: Grazie (gra-tyse)

Please: Per favore (per fa-vo-re)

Goodbye: arrivederci (a-ree-ve-der-chee)

Where are the toilets? dove sono I gabinetti? (do-ve so-no ee ga-bee-ne-tee)

Do you have a menu in English? Avete un menu in inglese?

How much is it? Quantè (kwan-te)

I’m lost! Could you help me, please? Mi sono perso/a! Mi può aiutare, per favore? (mee so-no per-so/a! mee pwo ai-yoo-ta-re per fa-vo-re)

I’d like to buy___:  Vorrei comprare__   (vo-ray kom-pra-re__)

I am sorry, I don’t speak Italian: Mi dispiace, non parlo italiano  (mee dees-pya-che, non par-lo ay-tal-lee-on-o)

Drinking Toast: Salute! (to your health!) (sa-loo-te)

  Some Phrases Just for Fun:

Can you lower the price? Può farmi lo sconto? (pwo far-mee lo skon-to)

Where would you go for a cheap meal? Dove andrebbe per un pasto economico (do-ve an-dre-be per oon pas-to e-ko-no-me-ko)

I’d like the wine list: Vorrei la lista del vini (vo-ray la lee-sta day vee-nee

  Some Italian Etiquette to Know:

Never say: Do not call someone by their first name until they invite you to do so. Use their title and last name.

Inappropriate gesture: Stroking your fingers under your chin and thrusting them forward is a sign of defiance

Never do: Never talk about politics, taxes, religion/The Vatican, the Mafia, World War II, private or personal matters (income, family matters, occupation)

Italian Custom: Italians take part in something called La Passeggiata daily. This ritual consists of a stroll around the town at about 6:00 p.m. The purpose of this ritual is to see and be seen by other people and catch up with friends before dinner.

  SPANISH

The Basics:

Hello: Hola  (oh-lah)

Please:  por favor (por-fa-bor)

Thank you: Gracias (grah-thee-ahs)

Goodbye: adios  (ah-dee-ohs)

Where are the toilets? ¿dónde están los servicios? (dohn-day ay-stahn lohs sehr-bee-thee-ohs)

I would like a menu in English? ¿Me gustaría la carta en inglés? (meh goo-stah-ree-ah lah kar-tah ayn een-glays)

How much is it? ¿cuánto cuesta? (kwahn-toh kway-stah)

I’m lost , how do I get to____? Estoy perdido[a] ¿ Cómo llego a _? (eh-stoy pehr-dee-doh, koh-moh yay-goh ah __?)

Is there a phone I can use? ¿Hay un teléfono que puedo utilizar? (I ayn tel-lay-fone-o kay pway-do u-tee-lee-zar)

I am sorry I don’t speak Spanish: Lo siento no hablo español (loh-see-ehn-toh no ah-bloh ay-spahn-yohl)

Drinking Toast: Salud! (To your health!) (sa-lu-de)

  Some Phrases Just for Fun:

I drank too much, can you call me a cab? ¿Yo bebí masiado, puede usted llamarme un taxi? (yo bay-be day-ma-see-a-doh, pwah-day oo-stehd ya-mar-may ayn tax-see)

Where is the nearest hospital? ¿Dónde está el hospital más cercano? (dohn-day ay-sta ehl oh-spee-tahl serh-can-o)

I would like one of everything, please:  Me gustaría uno de todo, por favor (may-goo-stah-ree-ah un-oh day toh-doh por-fa-bor)

  Some Spanish Etiquette to Know:

Never say: Do not talk about politics, religion, the Civil War in Spain, or Franco.

Inappropriate gesture: Making the “ok” sign (index finger and thumb forming a circle) is considered obscene.

Never do: Do not order more food than you can eat. It is considered rude to leave food on your plate.

Spanish Custom: Bullfighting is a sport that is a tradition in Spain. After a cape is waved in front of the bull, the Matador and his Picadores weaken the bull by placing spears into it. The Matador dedicates the death of the bull to his president or the crowd before performing his faena. The faena is the Matador’s “dance with death” when he stands in the arena with his sword letting the bull charge him until he finally kills it. This tradition dates all the way back to 711 A.D.

  GERMAN

The Basics:

Hello: Hallo  (a-low)

Thank you: Danke  (dong-ka)

Goodbye: Auf Wiedersehen (all-veet-a-zen)

Where is the bathroom? wo ist die Toiette? (Woa is dee-toilet)

Do you have a menu in English? Haben Sie ein Menü auf englisch? (Have-n- see- ine- menuu-ov-eng-glish)

How much does this cost? wieviel kostet dies? (Vay-vel cos-tet dies)

I’m lost can you help me find ____? Ich habe mich verfahren, können  Sie mir helfen, __ zu finden? (Eek hab misch mivare-fa-ren, see mik-ch hell-ven___________ zoo fine-done)

Is there a phone I can use? gibt es ein Telefon, das ich benutzen kann? (Gipt –es-ine-telafon, das-eeck-ben-oot-zin kaan)

I am sorry I don’t speak German: Entshuldigung, ich spreche kein Deutsch. (Ent-shu-il-de-gung, eek sprek-a-nee doy-ch)

Drinking Toast: Prost! (May it be good) (Pro-st)

  Some Phrases Just for Fun:

I drank too much, can you call me a cab? ich habe zu viel getrunken, können Sie für mich ein Taxi bestellen?

Where can I find the best bratwurst? Wo kann ich die beste Bratwurst finden?

How many types of beer are served in Germany? Wieviele Biersorten gibt es in Deutschland?

  Some German Etiquette to Know:

Never say: Do not bring up the Nazi’s or the Holocaust. Interrupting in a conversation is also considered greatly disrespectful.

Inappropriate gesture: Do not point your index finger to your head, it is considered rude.

Never do: Do not eat with your fingers, put your elbows on the table, be late, or drink too much.

German Custom: Every year for 16-18 days from the end of September to the beginning of October, Germans celebrate Oktoberfest. Oktoberfest is the largest fair in the world with more than 5 million people attending every year. While the first Oktoberfest was a celebration of Bavarian Prince Louis’ wedding, it has grown into a festival of beer and food that is well-known and replicated all over the world.

  DUTCH

The Basics:

Hello: Hello  (a-low)

Thank you: dank u  (dang-u)

Goodbye: tot ziens (tot-zines)

Where is the bathroom? Waar is het toilet (warr is het toilet)

 Do you have a menu in English? Hebt u een menu in het Engels? (Hept-you-ine-menu-en-ha-t-on-g-lace)

How much does this cost? hoeveel kost dit? (Ho-veel kost de-it)

I’m lost can you help me find ____? Ik ben verwaald, kunt U mij helpen____ te vinden?

Is there a phone I can use? is er een telefoon die ik kan grbruiken?

I am sorry I don’t speak Dutch: Mijn excuses, ik spreek geen Nederlands

Drinking Toast: Proost! (Cheers!) (Pru-st)

  Some Phrases Just for Fun:

I drank too much, can you call me a cab? Ik heb teveel,gedronken, kunt U voor mij een taxi bestellen?

Where can I find the best Pannenkoeken? waar kan ik de beste pannenkoeken vinden?

The tulips are beautiful! de tulpen zijn mooi! (Die-tool-pen-zin-moo-ey)

  Some Dutch Etiquette to Know:

Never say: Do not talk about your income and possessions, criticize the Dutch Royal Family, or religion.

Inappropriate gesture: Do not tap the center of your forehead with your index finger. This is a sign for “crazy” and is impolite.

Never do: Loud, outspoken, and provocative behavior is not appreciated or well-received. Try to blend in with others.

Dutch Custom: Wooden clogs worn by Dutch people of the Netherlands are an iconic symbol of their culture. These clogs are used for Dutch dancing or worn by farmers. Although they may look purely decorative they are very useful. They keep feet warm in the winter, cool in the summer, have good support, and absorb perspiration. Now days most wooden clogs are made by machine but there are still a few of the shoe makers left in Holland’s tourist areas.

If you really want to learn one of the languages, the online language learning tool from Babbel is a great program.

  Related phrase books

Europe Phrasebook, Lonely Planet

This phrasebook covers: 15 languages with mini-dictionaries // Handy pronunciation guide throughout // Easy coloured-tab navigation // Useful phrases. Languages: Bulgarian, Croatian, Czech, French, German, Greek, Hungarian, Italian, Polish, Portuguese, Romanian, Russian, Spanish Swedish and Turkish.  

buy it on Amazon >>

French, Italian & German Phrase Book, Rick Steves

Rick Steves, bestselling author of travel guides to Europe, offers well-tested phrases and key words to cover every situation a traveler is likely to encounter. This handy guide provides key phrases for use in everyday circumstances!  

buy it on Amazon >>

 Good luck and happy travels!

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