#this is the most redundant thing i have ever been forced to read

[seedling-lotus]

i am going to fucking scream. why did they make this application process so fucking annoying???

#ignore me #holy fucking shit #i'm filled with rage #this is the most redundant thing i have ever been forced to read #i'm here to fucking apply #stop upselling the job to me #i get it already #just let me fucking apply #i fucking can't deal with this but i don't have a fucking choice #FUCK

[starqueensthings]

Dork Love: Part Four

chap1 | chap2 | chap3

Pairing: Tech x GN!reader (can be read as ND!Tech x ND!GN!reader if you squint)

Summary: never thought I'd see the day, but here is the final part of Dork Love! Things happen, questions are answered. I won’t say any more for fear of spoiling things. Make sure you’ve read the previous three parts before proceeding.

Rating/WC/POV: Teen+ readers, but no real warnings. 7847 words (I hate myself too, don’t worry). 2nd POV but from Tech’s perspective.

A/N: thank you to the always lovely @staycalmandhugaclone for proofreading, and for reminding me that unstiflable, as much as I’d like it to be a word, is not LOL like “so fetch” it just ain’t gonna happen!

That autonomic demand to narrow his eyes was irrepressible, and the onslaught of light pouring in through the open door dazzled him to near paralysis as he stood in the shadows, pistol raised and poised to fire blindly if or when the situation required. But even through long lashes near-opacifying his vision, Tech’s astute mind instantly noted the familiar, swaying cadence of the figure stepping through the threshold, its movements much less hurried and frenetic than his sergeant’s broad-shouldered, deliberate strides would have been as he hastened to provide backup. In that subsequent second, as Tech’s eyes screamed in protest and the alleged assailant stepped delicately atop that worn wood floor, a cresting wave of unadulterated relief and realization crashed into his heaving chest and forced the bated breath from his lungs.  

“Thank the Maker,” he exclaimed as he attempted to swallow the panic that had taken up residence in the back of his throat. 

His feet took him urgently toward you, stowing his pistol in it’s holster with a deftness that his trembling hands should not have possessed, and the now-redundant flashlight fell with a thud to the floor, spinning away to uselessly brighten a forgotten corner as he closed the space between you and flung his arms around your shoulders.  

The startled gasp that escaped your lips at the unexpected movement went ignored. He spared no consideration for the way your arms balked against the restriction of his unexpected embrace; your choked and stuttered demands for distance and clarification registered even less in his mind than your obvious sense of alarm. He would explain after… He’d offer a million apologies in just a minute… What mattered most to him in this second was that you were safe— you were there in front of him unailed, injury free and not bludgeoned to death by the bloodied hammer still imprinted in his mind's eye. 

“T— Tech?!” you stammered, the futile attempts at tugging your arms free creating barely enough leverage to tip your head back and peer upward at your captor. “Is that you? What— what are you doing here?” 

“You are alive,” he spoke, seizing the brief opportunity that your acknowledgement presented and retightening his grip around your shoulders.

“Of— of course I am?” you answered, the snort of incredulity almost completely muffled by the power of his embrace as you slowly reciprocated his affection by encircling his narrow waist. “How did you get in here?”

But your behest for an explanation once again failed to pull even a fragment of reasoning from his lips, that brilliant mind utterly failing in its feat to process the emotional undulation of your perceived murder, and he hung his head silently into the gap above your shoulder, greedily breathing in the same scent he’d spent countless mornings trying to imagine were in the bunk next to him.

“This doesn’t look like any ‘perilous and life-threatening event’ that I’ve ever been a part of.”

Hunter’s amusement, while somewhat muffled by the modulator in his helmet, was entirely apparent in the small chuckle that followed his quip. Tech snapped his head toward the door, the intrusion he’d utterly forgotten was on its way taking quick advantage of the adrenaline still doping his blood and setting every inch of his akin aprickle. Yet… having your form pressed against his in that quiet moment of long-anticipated reacquaintance had embedded him with a need for you equally as powerful, and releasing you from his clutches felt oddly like he was willingly permitting a limb to depart his body.

“Who— who are you?” you voiced as you turned toward the door, shielding your eyes with the same hand that had last been the recipient of Tech’s converged affection.  

“Hunter,” the sergeant chirruped, boots treading thoughtlessly atop that trail of morbid, red breadcrumbs as he crossed the room and extended a hand. “Glad to see you’re not dead.” 

“Why would I be dead?” you asked as you shook his hand, a very potent confusion still swaddling every word that left those lips.

“Good question,” Hunter chuckled, tipping his head forward slightly to pull that painted plastoid bucket from his head. “Can’t say I have an answer. Tech was losing his marbles about a limp fickle tree or someth—?” 

“Ficus,” Tech interrupted, feeling a fresh surge of embarrassment rise to his already heated cheeks. Those frenzied emotions… the atypical and unbridled panic from mere minutes ago was being quickly usurped by a coursing regret for the composure he’d altogether abandoned the minute your safety was in question. 

He cleared his throat and shifted his goggles on his nose, shying away from your inquiring gaze as it returned to him. “My apologies for the infiltration,” he continued, readjusting his helmet needlessly under his arm. “My brother and I returned with every intention of completing the required electrical repairs, only to find the premises looking uncharacteristically derelict. Regrettably, I had no means of contacting you, so I permitted myself entry hoping to affirm your safety, or collect clues to identify the assailant.”

He chanced a glance in your direction; the way your wide eyes darted intently yet curiously back and forth between his instantly threatened to steal the justification still poised on his tongue, and watching your lip disappear between your teeth saw the battle against that  implacable itch to reach for your hand vigorously resurrected. 

“There was undeniable evidence that harm may have come to you,” he offered, reaching instead for his datapad and tipping the screen toward you. “My scanners indicated blood of a human origin splattered in several places, with a significant percentage of it congealing atop the handle of a hammer still perched in the sink. Objectively, all access points to the establishment appeared to have been boarded to prevent any external supposition, eliminating any obvious need for an investigation. Your beloved flora was presenting with several signs of neglect, and I noted a discarded caf beside the computer that my scanners confirm has been sitting undisturbed for nearly two dozen rotations.”

“Ew, what?!” you exclaimed as your expression shifted abruptly from concern to disgust, nose scrunching as you peered over your shoulder toward the counter.

“Is that what that smell is?” Hunter queried under his breath, his throat bobbing heavily as if trying to steel himself against the cresting heave in his stomach.  

But the notion of the abandoned dish and its putrid contents didn’t befuddle you as it had Tech, instead he watched your eyes soften and roll before an incredulous scoff huffed from your nose. 

“Figures,” you groused with a small shake of the head. “He has the wherewithal to put a bloody hammer in the sink but not the dirty mug.” 

Tech paused, your grumbled words failing to establish even a scrap of sound reasoning in his already overladen mind, and the slight cock in Hunter’s brow as he turned to glance inquisitively at his brother clearly indicated he was equally as confused by your insufficiently explanatory grievance.  

“Who’s ‘he’?” the sergeant asked on their behalf.   

“My father,” you answered with another disgruntled roll of the eyes. “I asked him to come here and seal the place up for me.” 

“Your father left this carnage?” Tech posed, unable to keep the bewilderment from his voice. “How peculiar.” 

“But… why?” Hunter added.   

“It’s a long story,” you replied, failing to conceal a large yawn with the back of one hand as the other stretched high above your head. “And I’ll happily tell you the whole thing once I get some caf in me. Give me a few minutes to turn the power back on and then we can catch up.” 

The first twinge of an adoring smile tugged at Tech’s lips as he watched you first heave a preparatory sigh before squaring your shoulders and reaching for the handle of that soiled mug. With your nose pinched tightly between your fingers, and your cheeks  expanded to their full capacity under the strain of a held breath, you carried the dish at arms length and retreated to the back door. Tech watched you go without even really seeing you… eyes unfocussed, mind spinning tirelessly. It seemed wholly impossible that attempting to ascertain his feelings for you during their trek along that sunlit pathway had rendered him so uneasy that he nearly faceplanted; then mere seconds later, he’d hurled headfirst into a panic so foreign and inexplicable that even Hunter, his most astute brother and the person who likely understood him most in this galaxy, had difficulty navigating Tech’s discombobulated fears. Now here he stood, the ravaging tornado of emotions spanning the last half an hour, only a thing of the past. His mind, instead, brimming with nothing but absolute certainty of his affection for you, and it wasn’t until (“...oof!”) you tripped over the long-abandoned spools of wire and nearly slooped that rancid liquid all over the floor, that a distant glimmer of reality returned to him, and he hastened to retrieve the discarded flashlight and hand it over to you. 

“Was that a hug I just saw?” Hunter jeered, knocking his fist against the dome of Tech’s shoulder the second your figure vanished into the enshadowed hallway.   

The genius soldier did not answer, offering his brother a mildly embarrassed, reproachful glance before shifting his attention to the device in his hands. 

“You know Tech,” the sergeant persisted, keeping his voice tactfully low. “You’ve pulled some really impressive tricks out of your arsenal over the years, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more impressed by you than I am now.”  

Tech let his brother's indirect praise wash over him, turning his response over in his mind several times. “It is most peculiar,” he uttered quietly to the screen as the lights flickered into life overhead, “That simply the notion of this companionship can trigger such dichotomous sentiments.” 

“What do you mean?” Hunter queried as he stepped toward the front door and pushed it closed. 

“Well… it seems implausible that one individual could initiate both anxiety and comfort in another, as they are contradictory emotional responses that otherwise do not theoretically coincide.” Tech kept his eyes pointedly downward to the illuminated device in his hands as he spoke. “How is it that my fear for the safety of another is rendered so paramount, that the notion of having lost said person clouds the judgement in which I hold in such high regard, particularly so when the person in question is one of whom I hardly know? Yet, the moment I deem their safety established, I am overcome with a protective urge so robust that I would unquestioningly forfeit the use of my limbs if encircling them promised a shield from any potential harm?” 

The momentary silence that ensued post-confession was undoubtedly amplified by the recent extermination of fracas from the outside world, yet nothing reverberated louder amongst the walls of that dusty shop than the proud pause that proceeded Hunter’s answer, the smile doming his inked cheek as he stepped back toward his brother entirely missed by the genius still staring deliberately downward.  

“I don’t know,” the sergeant answered slowly, placing a discerning hand on the top of Tech’s shoulder. “Feelings are powerful things… I guess we don’t give ‘em enough credit.” 

“Indeed,” Tech agreed as he finally lifted his gaze, eyes flashing as he peered at the space where you were due to appear at any moment… 

“Hunter?” he added quietly as a thoughtful silence reemerged.  

“Yeah, ‘vod?” 

“I do not think I will ever tire of this ‘feeling’.”

Hunter’s response was stolen off his tongue by the squeak of old hinges as you pried that back door open with the toe of your shoe,  reappearing moments later in the doorway with a green mug held carefully in one hand and a clear glass of water in the other; the way your lips pursed and hitched to one side as you focussed on maneuvering toward the counter without spilling either liquid, rearousing the tingle under Tech’s skin. 

“What’d’ya say we pull these boards down?” Hunter spoke loudly, clapping his brother on the arm before turning to face the obstructed windows.  

“That would be fantastic,” you said, carefully depositing your steaming mug beside the computer. “I’m handy enough in my own right, but I don’t trust myself not to pull a  ‘Dad’ and take a finger off trying to get them down.” 

“It’s not a problem,” Hunter answered, dismissing your comment with a wave of his hand as he crossed the room and debated which of the wood panels to dismantle first. “Tech, let's start with the one on the right—”

But Tech heard none of his summons, too enraptured with the charming crease between your brows as your concentration shifted toward your drooping plants, hands lovingly tipping that glass of water into the clay pot housing your limp, little tree. 

“—and then we’ll just go along the front and rip 'em down one by one. We can stack them in the corner out of the way for now. Ready? Tech…? Tech.”

“Coming.” Tech wrenched his gaze from you and hurried to meet his brother next to the furthest of the boarded windows.    

“I’m a little alarmed at how easily you broke in,” you admitted with a smirk as the duo trod past the counter moments later, carrying the first the half-dozen bulky boards between them.  

“It was quite simple,” Tech offered, lowering his end of the board to the dusty floor in the corner and keeping it stable while Hunter tipped it against the wall. “With the correct tool and the appropriate leverage, one can deactivate such an unsophisticated deadbolt system with relative ease. If the security of your store is of utmost concern to you, I would recommend installing a mechanical upgrade; one that permits only those who carry an individually coded microchip to ent—”

“What’s with the boards anyway?” Hunter interrupted, leading his rambling brother back toward the windows. 

“I, uh… I was on Ryloth.”    

The soldiers froze, hands stalling in their feat of tugging the next of the boards down while they exchanged fleeting, dark looks. “Ryloth?” Hunter repeated. “In the middle of a war? Hmm… that’s kinda—” 

“Kinda risky. I know,” you agreed, looking somewhat crestfallen as you perched your chin in your palm and gazed listlessly out the now transparent window. “In my defense, the war hadn’t really reached Ryloth when I bought my ticket. Though, admittedly, I would have gone anyway with the situation being so dire. Those poor kids… Maker, I feel for them. And it’s only going to get worse as access to medical supplies gets increasingly challenging…”

Hunter looked back at Tech and raised his eyebrows, confusion etched into every superficial line of that tattooed face as he readjusted his grip around the edge of the wood panel and tugged it free of its shoddy adhesion. 

“Are you being intentionally vague?” Tech voiced innocently while shifting his goggles on his nose. “Or have I simply overlooked a myriad of implied details?”  

“No,” you snorted, glancing at him with an unexpected affection and igniting a blush to his cheeks potent enough to force his gaze away from you again. “Sorry, I’ll backtrack a little…” As you picked your head out of your palm and perched yourself, instead, in the desk chair behind the computer, Tech reached for his end of the nearest board and gave it an assertive tug. “About a month or so ago, an impoverished family came in here looking for some help. There were these three kids– cute as a button, but losing their eyesight pretty rapidly. Their mom has a degenerative visual disease that the kids ended up unknowingly inheriting, and Dad was at-a-loss for what to do. There’s no cure for the condition itself, but I told them I’d make some glasses for them that would help preserve the vision they had left. I tried to expedite the process as much as possible, but they fled the planet before I could finish.”  

“They wouldn’t stick around for free glasses?” Hunter asked incredulously, eyes attuned to the floor below him as he walked carefully backward to the corner where they’d stashed the first panel.

“Their situation was pretty destitute,” you answered sadly. “Anyway… once their glasses were done, the only option left was to hand deliver them, as I don’t particularly trust inter-stellar couriers anymore with all the rampant piracy these days, and… well, part of me has always wanted to do some missionary work. Unfortunately, it was barely an hour after my shoes hit the sand outside of Lessu that the blockade was implemented, and all public transports were barred from entering or leaving the system. So I—”

“You’ve been trapped on Ryloth!” Hunter groaned. “For weeks!” 

“That explains the fetid caf,” Tech chimed. 

“Please don’t take this as a complaint,” you continued quickly. “Being on Ryloth and living with that family was an unforgettable experience, and one of which I would never have been granted the opportunity, but… I was more than a little worried about this place; this level of the Undercity is notorious for petty theft and pickpockets thanks to its proximity to the lifts, and the affluent clientele that trickles in from the surface one level above. A few days after I landed, I managed to get a transmission back to my Dad and asked if he’d come and secure the store until I could figure out how to get back, but… I think I might have drastically overestimated his handyman skills. He admitted to me afterward that a poorly-aimed hammer strike had done some damage to both his left thumb and my floor. He conveniently didn’t mention he was growing a mold farm in my favourite mug.”

“Any substantial trauma to the thumb could prove detrimental,” Tech spoke up, tipping the second board on top of the first. “The thumb houses several primary vascular bodies including the Princeps Pollicis, a major artery branching from the deep palmar arch. If the artery itself has sustained enough significant external force to cause a secondary dermal laceration, it has the potential to elicit substantial blood loss, not to mention warrant a possible surgical repairment.”

“And that explains the mess,” Hunter agreed, pointing toward the puniceous trail still adorning the floor beneath their feet.  

“Mess is an understatement now that I’m looking at it,” you chuckled. “I’m still not sure if I want to thank him for helping me or invoice him for all the cleaning I’m going to have to do before I can reopen this place.” 

***

It took just shy of an hour to remove and rehome the barriers your father had inexpertly installed, and the welcome addition of the dazzling sunlight through the now-unobstructed (albeit dusty) windows had the store feeling nearly exactly as Tech remembered. As he and his brother trod back toward the counter, dabbing droplets of sweat from their brow with the backs of their hands, the Ficus Elastica on the counter stood proudly erect in, what appeared to be, its own personal ray of sunlight. 

“Thank you so much,” you sang as they approached, the grin atop your lips challenging that bright celestial body in the sky for its title as the most radiant entity in the galaxy. 

“Not a problem,” Hunter answered as you hopped out of the chair and walked around the counter to meet them. “If the panels are still here the next time we’re planetside, I’ll get Wrecker to come rip up 'em and throw ‘em out back for you.” 

“That’d be great,” you nodded eagerly. “He’s the only one I haven’t met yet.”  

“Actually speaking of…” he continued, “I should check in and make sure Crosshair hasn’t lost his temper and used him for target practice. Gimme a second and then we can start the wirin–”   

“I can manage.”  

His interjection was abrupt, slipping off his tongue nowhere-near as passively or nonchalant as he’d intended when Tech opened his mouth to reassure his sergeant, and the responding look on Hunter’s face readily confirmed that Tech had also failed to conceal that burgeoning need to be alone with you. But he was fighting a losing battle; the trio stood only inches from where he’d first wrapped his arms around you. Despite continuing to dodge each other’s bashful glances, the near-irresistable urge to grab your hand and wreath you with his arms hadn’t left him since releasing you, and he was more determined than ever to swallow that ever-plaguing apprehension and physically communicate how much you’d been on his mind since your last encounter. 

“I am capable of completing the installation without assistance,” he added politely. “And Crosshair was particularly irascible this morning despite having acceded to his demand that I park the ship in an area of complete shadow, so the need for a supervisory presence is likely heightened.”  

“Shadow?” you interrupted questioningly from Tech’s elbow. “What does he have against daylight?” 

“Hurts his eyes in the morning,” Hunter answered offhandedly. “You sure, Tech? We lost time with the whole ‘possible-murder’ thing. Think you can tackle it alone?” 

“I will not be alone.” He glanced fleetingly in your direction before swallowing. 

Hunter hmph’d quietly, mimicking his brother and glancing your way as his lips twitched against the impish smirk he continued to stifle. “Well alright then,” he conceded, returning his brother's mildly guilty look with a rather knowing one of his own. “I'll leave you two to get… reacquainted. Just don’t abandon your comm again; there are no ‘unscheduled breaks’ from war no matter what you say.” 

“Thank you for the help,” you said, extending a hand toward the retreating sergeant. “And for making sure I’m not dead.” 

Hunter offered you a smile and a respectful nod before his face disappeared behind that painted plastoid again, and he made his way toward the front door. Distant, yet raucous laughter filled the shop as he pulled the door open and stepped over the threshold. 

“Oh… and don’t forget, Tech,” he added, the visor of his helmet poking back around the door unexpectedly. “We’re leaving for Felucia at first light tomorrow. Midnight curfew.” 

***

As you locked the door behind the departing sergeant, Tech stooped and collected the coiled wires from the floor, tossing them over his shoulder before following in your wake toward the sanctity of your workshop. Despite your established safety, he couldn't prevent his eyes darting toward that large aluminum basin as the kitchenette passed on the left, the tool that had so-instantly horrified him now scrubbed clean and leaning benignly against the side of the caf maker to dry. The moldy mug, however, was nowhere to be found, though the peculiar addition of a small, tightly tied garbage bag sitting on the floor by the fire exit had Tech near-certain he’d never see that red ceramic again. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you offered as you veered right into the fabrication lab, the slight chuckle beneath your words recapturing Tech’s attention. “It seems that’s a habit I’ve unintentionally fallen into. First I gave you a heart attack about your goggles… then this. I’m regularly quite the bore, I promise.” 

Tech bit back the retort on his tongue as he stepped through the doorway— you, a bore? Well that seemed even less likely than Crosshair dropping to his knees and begging them to forgive his abhorrent attitude. 

“An apology is not required,” Tech spoke instead. “It would appear that I jumped to an inaccurate conclusion upon arriving here to find you missing. It was a most uncharacteristic overreaction, and one from which I now-suffer a great compunction.”  

“Compunction?” you repeated, brows furrowing at the implications of his confession as you reached gently upward and began to lift those heavy coils from his shoulder. “Why?” 

Tech hesitated for only a breath, watching your nimble fingers blanch under the weight of the wire as you took it from him. “Well… several years of advanced training and exposure therapy have rendered me effectively inured to a multitude of scenarios that others may deem distressing,” he divulged as something near concern wiped the smile from your lips. “Yet, I failed to maintain control of my emotions in the face of your disappearance. I became largely inexorable, making objectively impetuous and questionable decisions.” 

“Tech,” you uttered in little more than a consoling whisper, his stomach lurching as your free hand collected his from somewhere near his hip, those slightly chilled fingers weaving their way in between his before the soft, consoling brush of your thumb nearly weakened his knees.  “There is nothing to regret. Worrying about someone is nothing to be ashamed of, and arguably even less so if that person is someone you care greatly about. In fact, an initial surge of panic followed by attempts to verify their safety is likely the expected psychological response to such concerns. You walked into what looked like a very foreboding situation and had no data to disprove your suspected theory.”

“I suppose that is correct,” Tech shrugged, dropping his gaze to the toe of his oily boot, “Though it has been several years since I last studied the sympathetic subsection of the autonomic nervous system in response to traumatic stimuli.” 

“Sounds like an interesting read,” you mumbled through a sarcastic smile that prompted the return of his gaze. “Tell me– if the same situation presented itself again, would you not react similarly? Would you not do everything within your power to make sure that someone was okay while everything around you was telling you they’re not?” 

“Of course I would.” 

“Then that’s that,” you answered simply. “There’s no reason to regret your actions, just like I don't suffer any contempt for getting myself stuck on Ryloth. Making the trip there was the best and potentially only solution based on the information available to me at the time. Things went awry… and that’s okay, because we should always do what our gut is telling us to do when it comes to things and people that we care greatly about.”   

And there it was: that intemerate benevolence that he wholly adored about you, reemerging to knock him over the head with a validation that he’d never experienced before… and the subsequent moment, as his eyes locked on yours and his grip on your hand tightened, he felt truly seen as himself. Not Tech the highly-skilled soldier… not Tech the ingenious mechanic responsible for keeping the GAR’s most elite squad in the air… not Tech the pilot who loved his datapad above all else and never slept. You saw Tech… accepting and welcoming him as he is; validating his infrequent displays of vulnerability as if humanity was something he could and should experience first hand without fear of persecution or judgement. 

“Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that,” you added, brow shifting into a devious arch as a playful smirk tugged at your lips.  

“Catch what, exactly?” 

“The oxymoron you dropped in there: ‘found you missing’. Someone can’t be found and missing, hun. But keep dropping them– I’ll catch ‘em every time.” 

Was it that teasing smile, or the enamoring, little puffs of air that escaped your nose as you snickered in the wake of your own coy intelligence? Or could it be the way your gaze kept darting from his eyes to his lips, that had him feeling as if he were suddenly hovering? The ground had, at some point, simply disappeared from below those smeared and blackened boots– vanishing into nothingness with everything else that had previously encircled them underneath those dim, humming lights. There was simply nothing but your hand interlaced with his. Nothing but the soft flutter of your eyelashes as they danced with every subtle shift in your gaze, and the unobtrusive quiet of an empty building that promised no foreseeable interruption. Every unhurried second ticked into the past by the chrono on the wall saw him pulled toward you by a force presented to him only once previously– when he’d boldly adorned the back of your hand with the same gesture that he longed to press to your smiling lips. 

But… did you want that? Was your heart also hammering heavily in your chest, threatening to send the room spinning more than it already was? Were you as captivated with his eyes as he was with yours, letting that effulgent twinkle dazzle him like the radiance of hyperspace did? Had the last month also seen you seeking out moments of solitude, keen to forgo the mundanity of the present in favour of vanishing into the memory of him? The memory of an utterly ineffable connection? 

Or were you standing there watching his eyes flutter closed, wondering what in Maker’s name you’d done in your past life to warrant having to endure such an awkward encounter? Was your mind frantically trying to find the words to politely reject his bold advance? Were you desperate to yank your hand from the clutches of his clammy gloves, and assert that he simply complete the required electrical repairs and then vanish indefinitely? 

That sabotaging little flitter of doubt was enough to have Tech leaning backward, eyes opening to their full extent and quickly darting toward his boots while he reached for his goggles and shifted them needly atop his nose. 

“Tech?” you whispered as he pulled his hand from yours, stowing his gauntlet comm in the pouch at his thigh before tugging at his gloves.  

“I should initiate the electrical deconstruction,” he muttered as his face burned, pulling his datapad from its holster and bringing it to mere inches from his nose. “Can you please deposit those coils in the corner underneath the panel?” 

“Sure.”

The sigh that preceded your curt answer was near deafening, circling around that quiet room what seemed to be half a dozen times before it dissipated into the now suffocating quiet. And while that soft huff of exasperation had near-tortured him, it was the unbridled disconcertment wholly engulfing your reply that stole his attention back from his device, and he watched with a sense of suppressed horror as your face fell rapidly into, what looked to him, an expression of dispirited chagrin. 

***

Tech spent the next several hours near-furious at himself. Thoroughly incensed that his body never failed to repeatedly fall into the encompassing urge to physically connect with you whilst his mind remained downright incapable of elucidating the veracity of his perception, and infiltrating every modicum of that surging desire was an equally powerful right-hook of uncertainty. 

Chiefly infuriating was your continued, unwavering kindness; he could barely stomach the ever-gracious way you offered to help him at regular intervals. Truthfully, he’d like nothing more than to have you hovering at his elbow for the entirety of the process, handing him whatever tool was required to progress the installation and witnessing him do what he truly did best while he chattered endlessly about the importance of matching the electrical capacity of the wire to its respective fuse. Yet, every time his eyes met yours, he was harrowingly reminded of his close shave with humiliation; reminded of the sheer confusion he’d seen behind your eyes as he pulled away from you, and your persisting geniality had him nearly-suspicious it was nothing more than a front upheld until the work was complete. 

For the sake of niceties, and as a measly effort to atone for his self-proclaimed embarrassing behaviour, he accepted the glass of water you’d offered him shortly after he began the labour-intensive work, though despite the layer of dust gathering in his throat with every inhale, it sat untouched on the counter beside the lens generator.  

He took his frustration out on the task at hand, snipping wire casings with an unnecessary gusto and scowling anew with each new electrical breaker that he clicked into place, but it seemed no degree of mechanical tinkering could distract him from the resentment coursing through him. Even the addition of a small radio, churning out happy-go-lucky, intraplanetary hits every couple of minutes was no match for his morose mood. 

“Tech?” he heard you probe from the doorway several hours later, as he stooped over the sink in the kitchen and began to scrub the grime from his hands.

“Mmm?” he answered, ignoring the prickle erupting on the back of his neck at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He felt you approach, listening to the muted scrapes of your shoes on the floor as you neared, casually leaning against the counter in his peripheral vision. 

“My brain might still be on Ryloth time but… were– were you about to kiss me?”

His stomach plummeted to his toes, eyes quickly unfocussing on that aged and rusted drain, hands briefly hesitating in their attempts to rid his skin of the encrusted soot and grime that had accumulated over hours of working in the walls. 

“Yes,” he admitted after a poignant swallow, and found himself watching the drain noisily consume the stained suds falling from his fingers, hoping the gurgling sound would be loud enough to drown your surely impending stammered apologies for the uncomfortable misunderstanding and your request that he leave and take his misguided feelings with him. 

“Well why didn’t you?” 

His head jerked somewhat awkwardly; he’d nearly snapped his gaze toward you, only to stop himself part way through as the sound of your stifled chuckle surprised him. Tech stilled upon realizing that laugh had not sounded chastising at all. Nor jeering or humiliating, nor repulsed or repugnant. It sounded almost… frustrated. Indignantly accusatory, as if you were mildly annoyed that he hadn’t kissed you. 

He reached blindly for the towel folded on the counter adjacent the sink, lips pursing as he thoughtlessly ran that cloth between his fingers until his skin began to revolt against the continued abrasure. 

“Tech?” you whispered, the delicate probe successful in only fleetingly drawing his gaze.  

“My affection for you, while subjectively highly enjoyable, is paired with an exponential degree of uncertainty that I have never previously experienced,” Tech divulged to the fabric in his hands. “And there are recurrent moments when, despite all other variables suggesting otherwise, I suffer an inherent doubt that you would ever reciprocate my feelings. You are well educated and even better mannered… meticulous with the quality of your work… exceedingly intelligent… your compassion for others and your willingness to assist them, even where the circumstance would deem reciprocity impossible, is truly unrivaled by any person I have ever met and… and…” He paused to regain control of his words as they spilled uncontrollably from mind to mouth.  

“Tech, hun,” you cooed through the ghost of another exasperated laugh. “You are all of those things too. You have no vested interest in this shop yet here you are, laying on your back in the dust, doing several days worth of electrical work so this place can function at peak productivity and make my life easier. You graciously donated several hours of your time last month to help me plough through the mountain of work that had been looming over me for days. You broke in here ready to hunt down and assault whomever it was that had allegedly harmed me without even a thought for yourself. Despite having malignantly convinced yourself that you lack emotional intelligence, you have a truly exceptional mind. You are uncommonly and refreshingly polite, and you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, which is saying something because I’ve seen a lot of eyes. I– I’m kinda crazy about you, too.”  

A truly exceptional mind? Refreshingly polite? Did you believe all of this to be true? He searched every inch of your face for any signs of insincerity, any fragments of dishonesty, any twitch of the lip that might disenchant the gratification coursing through his veins from your admonishment. 

“Well,” he continued, attempting to keep his tone neutral as the realization that he’d likely blown his chance with you threatened to kick his heart clean out of his chest. “With any luck, another moment shall present itself where I may demonstrate how much you undoubtedly mean to me.” 

He jammed his finger needlessly against the bridge of his goggles, dejected gaze dropping back to boots now dirtier than ever while a quiet, albeit forlorn sigh left his lips and he resumed inattentively fiddling with the little towel. 

“Well,” you mimicked. “Since, the ‘ideaology of luck’ is, apparently, illogical…  allow me.” 

He must have stumbled over his toes in the subsequent second, though the most he’d ever be able to offer was a deduction based on the force you’d used to tug him toward you. In the reality of that moment, your perfect response to the divulgence of his feelings and the unexpected affirmation that you, too, felt similarly, had instantly rendered him euphorically ignorant to anything other than the feeling of finally having your lips against his. 

That damp little towel somehow ended up displaced and draped atop the caf machine, but exactly how and when it had left his hands was a mystery that did not need solving. There was simply nothing else worthy of consideration or acknowledgement in that moment; nothing more important than the small drafts of warm air cascading across his cheek every time you shifted your lips atop his; nothing more prudent than the small yet mighty grip you maintained on the collar of his chest plate keeping him no more than a breath away from you. Somehow, you ended up perched on the counter next to that hammer, its existence now so inconsequential that it wasn’t even spared the courtesy of a glance as it fell over and landed with a thunk behind the caf machine. Tech didn’t even notice you blindly lift his goggles from his nose and rest them on his forehead, though the tender brush of your thumbs along the chronic indents on his cheeks sent shiver after shiver down his spine. 

It wasn’t until your lips separated from his, and he was enveloped almost entirely with that same feeling of permitting a limb to depart his body that he returned to some semblance of awareness. 

“Are you still uncertain?” you asked him with a smile that sat somewhere on the border of devious and playful. 

“Darling,” Tech answered near-breathlessly, “The only notion unclear to me at this point, is how I will survive until I can see you again.” 

“Speaking of…” you sighed, gesturing to the small chrono embedded into the caf machine. “You should probably head out. It’s nearly midnight.” 

Tech glanced at the old clock as it mocked him. 23:44 pm. Just enough time to collect his tools from their scattered displacement around the fabrication lab and depart the store. He’d be climbing the Marauder’s ramp within minutes… silently deposit his pack in the cockpit… settle down at the workstation to tinker with his current modification project and reminisce about his afternoon in your company. But… why? Surely if his squad members were already tucked into their bunks, or quietly preparing their weapons for deployment tomorrow, there would be no harm in staying here a little longer with you? “There are no unscheduled breaks from war, no matter what you say…” The sergeant had been referencing his previous alibi; the off-the-cuff excuse Tech had offered his brother after the previous, irresponsible mistake of letting his comm depart his person had ensured him unavailable and unreliable. 

His jaw tensed under the audacity of what he was about to do. 

“Please excuse me,” he requested of you politely, stealing a chaste peck of a kiss from your lips before stepping backward and extracting his gauntlet comm from the cargo pouch where he’d previously stored it for safekeeping.  

“Hunter,” he spoke after activating that little blue light. “What time are we set to depart for Felucia?”

“0600…” his sergeant answered suspiciously. “But curf—” 

 “I will see you then.”

 “Te—!”

Tech silenced his comm with the blind poke of a button and tossed it carelessly to the countertop where it came to rest next to the hammer, his hands instantly reaching to cradle your waist while he chased your kiss so eagerly that you nearly toppled backwards.

***

An hour. It took an hour to stop kissing long enough to resume talking, and then several hours after that to accept that neither of you were going to achieve any other productive tasks that night. Still wholly invigorated by your union, Tech declined your midnight offer for a caf, though with how the taste lingered on your tongue between sip and kiss, he may as well have drank a cup on his own. 

At quarter-past two, you dragged him by the hand back toward the lens edger and lifted his goggles from his nose. You first giggled about how much he absentmindedly squinted in the void of his regular, average eyesight, before instantly launching into an educational titter about precisely why humans even developed that anatomical squint response, and how effective it can be at temporarily improving visual acuity. And while he longed to query every fact against one of which he’d researched on his own time, he’d found a new use for his lips that he much preferred. 

Shortly after four, as you locked your hands around his waist and groaned into his chest about having to spend the next several days on your hands and knees, scrubbing the floor in preparation for the reopening of your store, Tech accidentally knocked over a bottle of effervescent blue liquid; the same concoction you’d used to disinfect his glasses previously, and a quick glance at the ingredients list while he collected the dripping container had him instantly yammering about how the peroxide additive would be the perfect solution for removing the embedded blood stains.  

A short time later, an unseen gang of bad mouthed adolescents were heard hollering on the other side of the fire exit door, their voices amplified by the stillness of the night and the empowered notion that they were loitering where they were not permitted, and despite their inebriation posing no apparent threat while you remained behind a locked door, Tech still refused to let you leave the backroom until he could confirm their exodus. 

At half-past five, an oversized yawn barely concealed by your hand reminded Tech that, despite wishing Father Time would simply abandon his post and gift him a moment with you free from that nagging and imminent deployment, his squad was waiting for him; his sergeant likely highly perturbed and waiting for the pilot’s next transparent excuse.  

“How do the eyes feel now?” you asked over your shoulder as you walked ahead of him toward the front door, his pride-and-joy helmet bobbing near comically on your head as it concealed the smile that he could hear lay atop your lips. 

“Much improved,” he answered, breathing in what he could before your companionship would be lost to him for another little while. 

“Thought so!” you chuckled proudly, the modulator in his helmet distorting the music of your amusement. “Changing the refractive indices of a lens can sometimes initiate a bit of a hiccup in visual processing, especially when paired with changes in curvature and correct application of coatings, but the foreign sensation typically dissipates within a rotation or so.”  

“May I remind you, you need not have gifted me new lenses.”

“I just supplied the material,” you argued, helmet wiggling again as you casually shrugged away the innocent condemnation in his tone. “You did all the work the last time you were here. They’ve been sitting here waiting for you to come back so I could put them in your goggles. Plus, yours were in… questionable… condition, and if your last set were any indication of Kaminoan knowledge of refraction, you’re much better off with these.  How do you feel about the slight tint after wearing it for a few hours?” 

Tech forced his gaze toward the window where the sky was undoubtedly beginning to lighten under the embrace of the sun's first morning rays. He, truthfully, hadn’t given that slight yellow tint any thought in some hours; what was initially found quite unusual had quickly morphed into something… “Quite calming,” he answered.

“There’s built-in blue light protection, too, for all the quality time you spend with that datapad. Give it a month or so, and your circadian rhythm will thank me.”

You stopped when you reached the front door and turned around to face him. Despite the exhaustion having swollen the tender skin beneath your eyes, there was no denying they were still alight and twinkling as they watched him approach. But Tech stopped shortly after you did, knowing that the nearer he reached the door, the nearer he’d be to leaving, and he wasn’t yet done processing the night's events. The budding sunrise on the other side of the glass was bringing with it an understanding he never knew he’d been deficient. So this… this is what he spent his days fighting for. Feelings like this. Companionships like ours. People like you who spent their time trying to better the lives of others without even a hint of motive. Someone who cared if he returned or not.  

Tech sighed, very aware that finding the correct words to elucidate his feelings for you was simply a task for another time. For now, as the sun continued to betray him by rising ever higher with every lingering breath, he wanted every last second with you to be one completely void of thought. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” you probed suddenly, breaking into his torpor. He refocussed his gaze and found another of those playful smiles crinkling your eyes, palm raised to shoulder height and facing him. 

He let only the ghost of scoff depart his nose as his lips lengthened under their own smile, and he resumed his approach, not stopping until the toes of his boots were nearly touching yours. As he reached upward and gently pulled his helmet from your head, a faint ache erupted in his chest, amplified by the quiet snicker that left you and the regretful reality of that sound being one he would not hear for the foreseeable future. 

“Five,” he whispered after tucking his helmet under his arm, interlacing his gloved fingers with yours and holding tightly to your hand. 

“Correct,” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed as he rested his forehead against yours. “If your next mission is counting fingers, you’ve got that in the bag.” 

“Considering Felucia is widely known as the Planet of Fungal Forestry, I would deem that largely improbable. However–” he added, identifying the first flickers of fear behind your eyes, “–it is highly probable that I shall return by month’s-end.” 

“If Cranky Crosshair doesn’t use you for target practice first?” 

“Cranky Crosshair compares naught to Hunter when he’s truly angry. Hence why I must not be any later than I already am. Goodbye for now, darling.” 

He stole one last, lingering kiss from your lips before reaching for the handle on that vibrant yellow door.  

***

ragu list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @starrylothcat @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @echoqk @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @rabbitstu99 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mythical-illustrator

#bad batch fan fic #bad batch fanfic #bad batch Tech fanfic #tech x reader #tech x gn!reader #x reader #starqueenswrittenworks #starqueensedits #tech Tuesday

[galactic-glamour-girl-posts]

I hope Princess Peach Showtime sells well.

Not only because it could lead to Peach getting her own spin-off series of games rather than just a one-off (something that I think is long overdue), but it could also lead to Nintendo having more faith that Mario's female leads can carry games by themselves, which in that case...

Here's my idea for a Rosalina game.

Feel free to steal this random Nintendo employee who might be reading this:

1 - The Genre

If this game were to ever happen, I'd want it to stand out from Super Mario games so it wouldn't seem redundant, so it would not be a platformer. It wouldn't be a sports game, minigame collection, or puzzle game either. It would be a subgenre that the Mario franchise has yet to dip its toes into.

I want Rosalina's solo game to be a Space Action RPG that emphasizes real time combat.

Not turn-based, like Paper Mario or Mario and Luigi, etc. I imagine it would play a lot like Kingdom Hearts, just swap out a keyblade for Rosalina's wand:

She could shoot beams of light at enemies for long range attacks, levitate them with her wand only to slam them on the ground, create a comet shower to rain down on enemies, manipulate gravity to deflect their attacks or slow their attacks down, briefly create a force field around herself to shield herself from an attack, emit extremely bright light from her wand to temporarily blind enemies to stun them, use her Grand Star final smash as a spell, maybe for some attacks she just outright uses her wand like a sword, etc. There are so many spells they could either make up or take from her previous appearances that she could use for her moveset. She wouldn't even have to be limited to using her wand! She could do the spin from Galaxy/her spin from 3D World as an close range attack, teleport to short distances away to dodge an enemy, fly, briefly become intangible, etc. Reminder, she has already been shown to be able to do most this stuff anyway!

Of course she wouldn't have all these abilities at the start, she'd unlock different spells and abilities throughout the game as you gain more exp by defeating enemies.

The main collectible and currency of the game would, of course, be Star Bits. The can be used to buy items (healing items, alternate costumes, etc) or to...actually I'll mention the other function later. Star Bits can be found lying around on every planet (as can other various items that can help you during gameplay) and be gained by defeating enemies.

Each level would be a different planet, and the Comet Observatory would act as the hub world as it did in Super Mario Galaxy, and would be used to travel to each planet. Perhaps there could be minigames between each planet where you fly through space controlling the Comet Observatory whilst collecting Star Bits along the way? Eh, I'm not sure. It sounds fun but maybe it'd be simpler to just travel to planets like how Mario did in Galaxy.

I imagine each planet would have a certain number of missions to complete on it before you can move to the next planet. Maybe their could be side-missions too, but they wouldn't be compulsory unless you want to 100% the game. At the end of each mission, you have the choice to return to the hub world (for a reason I'll explain later) or to just move on to the next mission. If you do choose to return to the hub world before you completed every mission on that planet, you can continue from where you left off later and would not have to re-do any missions you had completed on that particular planet so far. What would each mission involve? Well...

2 - The Premise

I think Ubisoft owns Cursa but they would be the perfect antagonist for Rosalina. Mario has Bowser, Luigi has King Boo, Wario has Captain Syrup, Peach now has Grape, so why not let Rosalina have her own nemesis? I know Cursa seemingly died at the end of Sparks of Hope but Cursa is literally made of a fragment The MegaBug so perhaps the same thing has happened again, a fragment of Cursa survived and mutates into a new form. I'm also aware Sparks of Hope isn't canon and likely takes place in a different universe than the one the mainline Mario games take place, but Cursa is a mutant cosmic entity, it wouldn't be so hard to believe it could travel to different universes. Cursa would still remember the events of Sparks of Hope, and seek revenge on Rosalina and rid the universe of all lumas. She would create a new army (of both her own creation and possessed aliens) she would send to capture all lumas.

If Cursa is the villain, the game starts with her making a direct attack on the Comet Observatory. Cursa attempts to possess Rosalina again, but Rosalina reacts quickly and creates a force field to protect herself. Cursa then orders her army to go after the lumas. Realising there's no time to fight each army member one-on-one, Rosalina gets in front of the lumas, briefly puts down her shield, and readies her wand to unleash a huge blast of light and energy to blast most of the army off into space. But Cursa strikes her just as she does so, and the clash causes a bigger, more unstable blast, that sends both Cursa, her army and the lumas away. Rosalina is left injured and soon passes out.

Cursa and her army would survive the blast and still be out there, in search of lumas.

Either do that or just have some new bad guy (preferably one who uses dark magic/symbolises dark matter to contrast Rosalina's star/light aesthetic) kidnap lumas. I don't really care what their name would be, but for the sake of this post let's call them...Void (placeholders don't have to be creative, shush). I'm gonna refer to Void with he/him pronouns but I don't have any specific gender in mind for Void. Void could be female, or genderless, etc.

As for Void's plan, maybe he could plan to absorb half of the lumas for energy so he'd become powerful enough to destroy the universe (except for the rest of the captured lumas), and then would force the other half to transform into whatever he wants (essentially, his plan is to remake the universe so he can rule it). He too would have an army, but of his own creation. Rosalina, naturally, would be the one to stop him given that it's basically her duty, not only because she's the mother of the lumas but also because she's the protector of the cosmos.

If Void is the villain, he (along with his army) would attack the Comet Observatory in the beginning instead. Void would not have to power to possess people, but he can absorb the energy of others. Void would go for the lumas first but Rosalina, in an attempt to protect the lumas, gets in the way and creates a force field around both her and the lumas. Void relentlessly attacks the force field in an attempt to break it, but it's no use. Despite this, Rosalina can tell Void won't give up, so she teleports outside the force field and the two battle, meanwhile Void's army attempt to break down the force field. It doesn't break but as the battle continues it does start to weaken. An unstable blast is caused in a similar way it's caused with Cursa; Rosalina readies a blast of light and energy (since it's one-on-one this one isn't as big), Void also tries to hit her but with a blast of darkness instead of light (something like a shadow blast), and when the attacks clash it sends the lumas and the army flying.

Rosalina and Void are left alone. Rosalina's tired but not severely injured. She's concerned about the lumas but Void, enraged by what has just occurred, manages to catch her off guard due to her fatigue and grabs hold of her to absorb her energy. This leaves Rosalina weakened and she passes out. Void leaves to search for his army and lumas.

The opening would be the in-universe justification as to why she lacks certain abilities (like the spin, teleportation, etc) at the start of the game (I imagine she'd be able to levitate herself and other people or objects, but that's it).

I don't have an entire story planned out, but basically Rosalina will eventually regain consciousness, manage to track down whoever the villain is (it's her job to watch over the cosmos, and with the Comet Observatory this is not a difficult task) and follows them in their search for lumas. She'll regain her energy (and hence the rest of her powers) as the game progresses. She loves the lumas dearly, and won't give up until she's saved every single one!

On each planet, some lumas are on the run from the army, and some have already been captured are guarded by the army, waiting for Cursa/Void to arrive so they can hand them over. Captured lumas are kept frozen in ice crystals found all over each planet in the game.

This is where those missions come in. For most missions, the objective is to save a specified amount of captured lumas, but some missions might be "Defeat [X] amount of enemies" or "Collect [X] Star Bits" or "Find/Go to [X]", etc. Side-missions could be escort missions where you help escort a citizen of that planet get to where they want to go safely whilst protecting them from enemies, or finding a stolen item and returning it to an NPC you've interacted with.

3 - The Hero(es)

The only playable character is Rosalina BUT you can have two lumas in your party as partner characters at a time (they're kind of like Rosalina's Donald and Goofy), and they'd work similarly to how Sparks of Hope handles the Sparks. The lumas would float beside Rosalina at all times during gameplay like the one in Mario Kart Wii.

After completing each world (or at least the first 10), one luma can be added to your party once you've saved them.

Polari is the first saved luma that can join your party, then a Yellow Luma, Red Luma, Green Luma, Blue Luma, Pink Luma, Hungry Luma, Lumalee, Comet Tico, and finally Lubba.

Some lumas have abilities they perform themselves , and some simply have effects on gameplay but don't do anything during battle. So for example:

(Abilities)

Polari can periodically turn into a small black hole that sucks in enemies.

Yellow Luma transforms into a Launch Star that Rosalina can use to launch herself further away than teleporting would, and can be used as a method of attack to dash through enemies with.

Blue Luma can transform into a small ice comet that will freeze enemies temporarily if they make contact with it.

Lumalee can grab items (except for star bits) from afar without Rosalina having to do it.

Hungry Luma can collect star bits from afar without Rosalina having to do it.

(Effects)

If Red Luma is in your party Rosalina will take less damage from attacks.

If Green Luma is in your party the duration of time Rosalina's force field can stay up during gameplay is extended.

If Pink Luma is in your party Rosalina will regain some of her HP when her health falls below 20% her total HP (but only 3 times per mission).

If Comet Tico is in your party the Cosmic Spirit, a clone that can help Rosalina in battle, will appear when her health falls below 20%.

If Lubba is in your party, the power of Rosalina's attacks is increased.

All lumas can be flung at enemies like Rosalina does with Luma in Smash, although here the power of this move depends on each individual luma's size.

You would only be able to swap out party members in the hub world, which is why there's an option to go back there at the end of each mission. Lumas can level up either by gaining exp whilst accompanying Rosalina in battle or by being fed star bits (see? I didn't forget about the other function!)

(Bonus) - Alternate Costumes?

I mentioned earlier that perhaps star bits could be used to buy alternate costumes. They could just be for aesthetic purposes, but I think it would be cool if each costume altered Rosalina's moveset.

Some costumes I have in mind are:

Cosmic Spirit

In this form, in addition to her usual moveset Rosalina can possess enemies, and maybe even the lumas so you can play as them. However, she is slower and cannot teleport.

Guitarist Rosalina

In this costume, in addition to her usual moveset, she can produce shockwaves when she strums her guitar as an attack, swing her guitar at enemies (like an axe), and moves at a faster speed, but she takes more damage than usual from attacks and cannot do her spin. Although I'd replace the guitar in the picture with the one she has in artwork for 3D World's soundtrack.

Young Rosalina

This costume would majorly alter Rosalina's moveset, so no using her wand, no teleporting, no flying, and her spin is weaker. It would essentially be a hard mode. I imagine her moveset in this costume would be more hand-to-hand combat focused. Perhaps she'd jump on some enemies as a nod to Super Mario games, maybe she could throw starbits as an attack, etc.

I'd rather Rosalina not use power-ups on this adventure (to keep this game distinct from other games in the Mario franchise), so no Fire Rosalina, Cat Rosalina, etc.

Some other costumes could be Rosalina Halloween, Rosalina Aurora...basically her Mario Kart Tour costumes other than the power-ups. They'd definitely just be for aesthetic purposes though, no affects on gameplay.

.

.

.

And that's all I got!

TLDR, Nintendo should make "Kingdom Hearts but it stars (ha) Rosalina".

#rosalina #nintendo #princess peach showtime #rosalina and luma #lumas #kingdom hearts #rosalina solo game #super mario #potential spin-off #please just make this or something like this I know it'll probably never happen but please it would be so cool

[adobe-outdesign]

Your thoughts on Tauros (both Kantonian and Paldean)?

From the beginning, Tauros has primarily just been one of those Pokemon that Exist. There's nothing objectively wrong with it, but there's not a whole lot to make it stand out; it's mostly just a bull. Being a non-evolving normal type doesn't help with this, as it's not really gimmick-y enough to stand out as a single-stager. The closest thing to a concept it has is the three tails, which it whips itself with while running:

Even then, though, the three tails aren't really emphasized visually in a way that makes them particularly stand out. It also has metallic-looking horns and three dots down its forehead, which I guess are meant to parallel the three tails. (Side note: missed opportunity to not give us a normal/steel-type Tauros.)

All that said, there's nothing really wrong with Tauros, other than the mane looking weirdly flat and the tails and hooves being a blueish-grey instead of just using the grey from the horns. It just doesn't stand out a whole lot.

The artists working on the new Paldean 'mons must have agreed, because SV gives us not one, but three (3) new regional forms for it. I'm not sure what the rational was beyond maybe wanting to give it a form for each tail, but either way, Tauros definitely needed the love.

That said, Combat Breed Tauros here is pointless and I really don't know why it exists. As a regional, it's just a black Tauros; the mane has been improved and the head and horn shape are ever-so-slightly different, but those changes are barely noticeable. And in the context of the other two forms, it's redundant; the combat form is literally just a watered-down version of its other two much better forms. What's the point of having a form that's the same as the other forms, but less?

I will say, though, that I do at least appreciate that there's not really any bullfighting references in this or the other two designs, beyond them just being fighting-type black bulls. Considering bullfighting is more than slightly controversial in Spain and is general animal abuse (that kills a fair amount of people as well), trying to base anything directly on it would be tasteless. This may be boring, but at least it's a harmless boring.

Aqua Breed Tauros is significantly better than both original and Combat Breed Tauros. It still sports the black coloration (which, as a side note, does look a lot nicer than original Tauros' plain browns and grays), but it actually plays around with the design in a meaningful way.

The most obvious change is the blue water drop-shaped markings in its mane, which indicate its fighting/water typing. These add a little pop of color, and frankly, I wouldn't have minded more of it in the design; the horns, head dots, or hooves all easily could have been blue as well.

It also changes Tauros body type a bit, more closely resembling a water buffalo than a bull. According to the 'dex, this is a result of high body fat that allows it to float on water. The mane also sports a different shape, as do the horns (which can light up blue along with the head dots).

Finally, the tails are different. For some reason it's not shown in the official art, but they tend to hold them twisted up, like rudders:

While I personally prefer Blaze Bleed Tauros for reasons I'll get into in a second, the Aqua Breed is a very nice regional that looks substantially different from the original design, and adds more of a theme to it as well.

Blaze Breed Tauros is similar to Aqua Breed Tauros, though with a less distinct body shape and horns. Arguably this makes it a little blander than the Aqua Breed, but what it lacks in body shape it makes up for in concept.

Blaze Breed Tauros is, unsurprisingly, part fire-type; so in order to represent that, they just took Tauros' three tails and twisted them together to form a dynamite fuse. Boom. Simple, effective, and fun. The Aqua Breed's tails weren't bad, but they felt a bit more forced and didn't read as immediately.

In addition, the mane on this breed goes upward, and contains fiery streaks. The horns go outward instead of upward, and just like the Aqua Breed, they light up along with the head dots:

I feel like the light-up idea makes more sense with the Blaze Breed, as it's akin to hot metal flaring up and becoming red with head. The Aqua Breed just kind of lights up Because. Though just like the Aqua Breed, I find myself wanting more color in the design by default. The tails in particular would've been great if they had red tips for this breed, as if the dynamite had been lit already.

Basically, in short: original Tauros is fine, but bland and fairly forgettable; likewise, the Combat Breed is just a recolor and didn't need to exist. The Aqua and Blaze Breeds, however, are both very good regionals; both change up Tauros' original design while adding something thematically to spice up the concepts. Whichever breed you personally prefer, both are significant improvements over the original.

#tauros #paldean tauros #pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon reviews

[donnerpartyofone]

I feel like there's an epidemic of businesses trying to make customers and applicants do free data entry for them and it's driving me crazy.

I have complained many times about how seeing a doctor now involves checking in online, and then entering duplicate information into something else when you check in physically, and then answering duplicate questions once you're actually inside the exam room. Sometimes somebody addresses this in a humane way: "Sorry, we're using a new CMS and we have to do all this stuff from scratch," or "Sorry, we have to use these three different systems and they don't communicate with each other." Last time I went I did all this like research into my past appointments because I never ever remember off the cuff exactly what day I had this or that procedure, and I had every impression that the clinic was dependent on me to have all my medical records memorized...so I got in there and started rattling off information, and the nurse asked "When was your last mammogram?", and I gave her the date, and she looked at her monitor and said, "...yup, there it is!" Like WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, IF IT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU WHY ARE YOU QUIZZING ME ABOUT THIS, WHY IS THIS A TEST???

I actually asked about redundant check-in procedures on Quora of all places, figuring there had to be a few cantankerous cranks on there who could at least try to explain this to me, but there were absolutely no takers at all. As far as I can see, literally no one knows why this is happening, it's just The Way It Is.

But anyway. Now I'm having this experience with job applications where they request that you upload files for your resume and cover letter in specific formats...and then they direct you to this interface where you are made to transcribe every detail from the resume you just provided by hand, one field at a time. I've been confronted with this insanity when applying for jobs whose wages weren't even worth the mind-numbing exercise of the application process. And actually this is part of my point: Data entry is a JOB. I have had this job. I was paid to examine, reformat, and transcribe data, and upload it to a database for my company to search and cross-reference in the future. If you are an employer and you absolutely require BOTH a pdf of my resume and cover letter that a human being can read and evaluate, AND each piece of data from those documents individually entered into your database for some other form of storage and review, then it is seriously fucking Up to You to pay some wage slave to enter the data. I'm looking for a job. I'm not going to do a job for you for fucking free, in order to become eligible for a job that you might consider paying me for later. Like please don't call me a fucking idiot to my face--or at least, if it's the database part that's the most important thing to you, do not also require me to create a nicely-formatted document containing my history and intentions. Let's just get right to the forced data entry part, let's start this awful relationship from a place of honesty at the very fucking least.

N.B. I realize that there are multiple reasons an employer would do this to a person, ranging from algorithmic candidate-sorting to just having outdated-ass job site shit in place that they don't feel like reviewing or revising. I don't really care why it's happening, I just hate that it is. Recently I tried to apply for some $15/hr part-time job at a local museum that a caveman could do, and I stopped cold when I realized I had to transcribe every detail of the documents I just gave them into this bullshit backend website that looked like it was about a thousand years old. No Thank You. Currently I'm all worked up because I just applied to work at a hip, culty, local theater, and I was shocked that after completing the totally normal application routine, I received an automated email directing me to "complete your profile" as "an important part of the hiring process" on the website of the company they're outsourcing all their HR and billing stuff to. And I go look at the profile thingy, and of course it's just this needlessly complicated interface where I can individually enter each and every piece of information that I just provided in my resume--no more, no less. The theater has exactly two locations and is kind of a niche operation and it is absolutely crazy to me that they think they need to pay for this extra layer of stupidly bloated and redundant "talent acquisition" processing when they're hiring for like two or three basic ass hourly roles where half the question is going to be "have you done this normal shit before" and half will be "can we stand your personality". Nobody needs this garbage at all, least of all ME.

#there is some stuff out there that doesn't directly hurt anybody but that should be illegal anyway

[willshipanything-blog]

Rules of the Game- Epilogue

Here it is. The final FINAL chapter. And I mean it this time! 😅

Thanks to everyone who's shown this fic some love, it's been so so appreciated! ♥

Short and Sweet epilogue, but tags still apply to the whole fic- detailed tags on AO3.

Full Chapter Index here

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 26- A Sense of Direction

The basement room had long since been abandoned. You imagined it decaying from disuse; mildew seeping in from the cracks in the walls, damp forcing its way through the cold stone via the thin glass plating of the small, grimy window. The old fashioned black rotary phone affixed to the wall concealed by layers of dust, obscuring the numbered dial. Mold speckling the damp mattress, housing only mites and fleas now. And in a dim corner, the knife lying untouched since being flung away in disgust, oxidizing in the damp air, rusted and forgotten. But these things were not seen; Al had sealed shut the metal door to that awful place, closing it one last time with a final thud and click. You could only imagine that room below you, though most days it was not a place that occupied your mind. 

Up the narrow staircase, the kitchen still hosted Naughty Girl on certain nights, when you gave the signal you were eager to play. You would commit a purposeful transgression, and would be duly punished. Normally, Al would take position in his chair and you retrieved the frowning mask, affixing it for him before giving yourself over to his sinful, wicked, gratifying whims. Submitting to his punishments and receiving pleasures alongside them. But currently, it was just the kitchen, dinner finished and dishes cleaned and drying out on the rack. A grocery list, in your handwriting, stuck to the refrigerator for Al; ingredients you’d need to cook tomorrow night’s dinner. 

Through to the lounge, where so little seemed to have changed since your arrival, but on closer inspection, almost everything had. No bicycle lock latched the door closed; it was redundant now, and only likely to cause suspicion for anyone who might knock. Plus, Max had mentioned he might be swinging by at some point, excited to hear about Al's new squeeze (Max's words, not his, according to Al). Books were littered across the room: a few on the sideboard next to the phone, a couple stuffed in the magazine rack, a small, ever-growing pile stashed under the coffee table. You’d seen to it that Al’s record collection had an update too, more vinyls from this decade sporadically placed between his 50s and 60s albums. And of course, the side table, which was more densely populated in recent weeks, a cluster of photographs instead of one lonely frame. The monochrome picture of Al and Max still stood there, but joined by two others now. An even older, sepia-toned photo of a young woman holding a young child- Al and his mother. You’d encouraged him to remember the good parts of his past. And, in a small square frame- just the right size to fit a polaroid print taken at home- a saturated picture of you and Al together. You wore a wide grin on your face, rivaling that of Max’s elated, buck toothed smile in the adjacent photo. Behind you, holding you from behind and pressing his face into your hair, obviously camera-shy, was Al. It was an odd angle (you hadn’t quite got the hang of holding the camera and taking a photo at the same time), but it was the best one you took after using the whole sleeve of instant films.

Down the hallway, at the end of the corridor, lay Al’s bedroom, your bedroom too, now. Your shared domain. It had become your favorite place to spend most evenings recently; the window to the back of the house was west-facing, you discovered, affording a perfect view of the distant Rockies just before dusk. Spring was gradually seeping into summer, and the view behind the mountains was getting more beautiful each evening. Heavy, rolling clouds gave way to the developing colors of sunset; lavender to lilac to mauve, before the sun gradually receded behind the Rocky Mountains. Although, by the time twilight arrived and the sky was painted an inky blue, you and Al had long since closed the curtains and found other things to focus your attentions on, better things to admire.

————————

You were reading by the late afternoon glow of another Denver sunset. It was Jane Eyre (the beautifully bound copy Al had gifted you for your birthday), and you were trying to finish your chapter before the last of the sun’s rays meandered away. Al was with you, of course; you were nestled snugly against him on the silky sheets of your shared bed. You had the book propped on your knees and were wrapped cozily in his blue cardigan that still smelled of cologne and smoke. The comforting smell hadn’t dissipated since he’d given you the jacket; you had a sneaking suspicion that he sprayed it every now and then, so you’d always have his scent near to you, even when he was away at work during most weekdays. 

Al stayed quiet so you could read in peace. You knew he enjoyed these tranquil moments just as you did; casually brushing his fingers through your hair, squeezing you gently (perhaps to check this was actually real, that you were really there with him). Enjoying the quiet, shared serenity of the late afternoon. The only sounds to be heard were rustling paper as you leafed through the pages of your book and low, intermittent hums that Al exhaled as he held you close to him.

You wondered if Al wasn't half snoozing, his breaths slow and deep. One hand entwined loosely in a lock of your hair; the other had found its way to your waist, where it rubbed rhythmic circles in your skin. 

“Something funny, dove?”

“Hmm?” you asked, having been lost in the words on the page. You closed the book and tilted your head to half-face him, a little tricky when you were leaning on his chest. Al placed a soft kiss on your temple as you turned before speaking again.

“I thought you laughed at something.”

“Oh. Um-” you stumbled a little “No- I wasn’t laughing. Just one of my favorite parts of the book.” You hadn’t realized, but you must have let out a soft exhale at the section you had just read. You thumbed back through the book to find where you were, blushing slightly before reading it aloud at Al’s suggestion.

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.”

You sat for a moment in the stillness of the room, doused now in the last few minutes of sunlight. The book sat in your limp hands, those words seeming to burn a hole in the paper. Al was quiet too, as if both of you were sadly contemplating the quote. It seemed a stark contrast to your own story, diverging down a different road completely. You weren’t some brave heroine who always did the right thing, the conscionable thing. 

Unlike Jane, you were a bird, you were Al’s little dove. All his. And you had been ensnared in his net. By force at first, but now through your own choices, your own independent will. You were unsure how to feel about the passage. It was one of those unfortunate triggers, like when you’d read Griffin’s name on that card, or had seen that flash of rage in Al’s eyes, that reminded you of all the reasons you shouldn’t have stayed. But it was getting easier to forget the past, when the present (and the thought of the future) seemed so perfect. Each sunset marked the close of another day with Al, a beautiful marker that signified another day of being his. Of him being yours. Each other’s entirety. 

As if sensing your disquiet, Al grabbed you from behind, pulling you in closer to the heat of his body. His arms felt protective and you closed your eyes, sinking into the embrace. A comfort for the both of you; him, savoring you in his arms, his little bird. And you- safe and happy in the cage you had chosen to stay in. 

“Did she leave him? In the book?” Al questioned, whispering in your ear. He already knew the answer, but you obliged.

“No. She left for a while, but she knew she’d made a mistake. She knew she loved him. She went back.”

“A happy ending, then.” Al said. 

“Yes, a happy ending.” 

You thought a little more, still held tightly in his grip, and you smiled to yourself in the dimming light of the room. You had made a choice, had been given the opportunity to leave everything behind. To leave him. And you had chosen to stay. It wasn’t an easy choice, but you didn’t regret the decision you made all those weeks ago. It felt like the right choice after all. That burden, the guilt of the choices you’d made, you knew you’d carry with you forever. An inevitable consequence to your actions. But you hoped it was worth the cost. You had to believe it. 

Al rose from his position, and you shuffled to allow him to get up. He switched on the bedroom lamp before moving to draw the curtains. Dusk had come, ending another day together. But the night was only just beginning. Those heavy thoughts, those guilty feelings and questions you asked yourself- they were lost in the darkness. As if the setting sun, the closed curtains, kept them at bay, at least for a little while. 

“Did he punish her for leaving?” Al asked, his rumbling voice laced with an impish tone. He’d chosen his words carefully, and stalked back to the bed with a beautifully dangerous glint in his eyes. Just as the day had given way to night, his eyes too had darkened to that glistening onyx color. 

“No, he didn’t.” you said knowingly, placing the book on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like much fun now, does it, dove?”

A playful titter escaped your lips. He climbed back onto the bed as you began to undress- his scent would be on you again soon enough. The game was resuming, and you both knew the rules by now. 

“My good girl. My precious dove. You’re not leaving, hm?”

“I’m right here, Al. I’m yours.”

#the black phone #the black phone fanfic #the grabber #the grabber x you #the grabber x reader #albert shaw #albert shaw x you #albert shaw x reader

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hello!!! Your writing is so beautiful and moving!! As an author, do you ever feel like the stuff you write is not good enough? Or your ideas have already been done 1,000 times? I can’t imagine you do, because your stories are pure gold. But if so, how do you move past it and keep writing?? Do you have trouble coming up with original content? I find when I’m writing fics that I sort of stop myself mid story with doubt. Hopefully I worded that correctly. I just admire your fics so much! Thank you!!!

Hey there 🩷✨️😘 And thank you so much for your kind words, I was honestly so, so moved by your message! I'll try my best to offer some advice and thoughts on this, hopefully some of it is helpful 💕

First of all, I sure struggle with this! I have days when I feel like deleting everything I've ever written because I think it's garbage. Those thoughts usually occur when I'm comparing myself to other writers and their work (which generally differs a lot in style, tone and voice, so it's kind of redundant to compare in the first place). Also, I'm not a native English speaker, so there will always be a gap I can't cross. I will always be one, two, three steps behind in expressing myself. Still, I haven't allowed it to stop me from writing and sharing my work. (Well I have, up until this year... But better late than never, right?)

That being said, we need each other for joy and inspiration, which also means that nothing we create is 100% original in the end… and at the same time, everything is original! You write in your own voice, and only you can have a new perspective or offer a unique take on an existing idea. But tropes are tropes for a reason; they're popular for a reason, so I wouldn't shy away from using cliche pairings or recurring tropes as key concepts. Besides, they're so much fun to write!

It's only natural to compare yourself and your fics to other writers and their work, but there's a thin line between getting inspired and feeling like you're not good enough as a writer. It's so easy to feel unworthy when you see loads of new, amazing content (= other people's souls and lifeblood, condensed into a brief flicker on top of our dashboards) every day. But when you start to think about it, there's actually no point in comparing yourself and your creative input to the stream of literally thousands of works.

Even if the idea is not the most original, I keep writing until something "original" pushes through. Sometimes it's a piece of dialogue, and that's when I get interested as an author. Why did the character say that? What do they mean? Why did I write this? What's lying underneath?

I don't know if you catch my drift here or if this sounds like nonsense, but when you get curious about your writing, it starts to gain new levels, you gain new ideas, and even the most "unoriginal" idea may get a fresh new twist. And if it doesn't… who cares 💃 If you write with passion, it shows, and I think that's what matters in the end! Plot holes, or lack of plot altogether, don't matter if you and your readers can indulge in your writing.

If and when I hit a wall, I have to check who I'm writing for. I may have a hidden feeling that I'm not good enough as a creator, or that readers expect this or that and the next thing I know, I'm standing in the middle of a desert when it comes to creativity. Writing to self-indulge (in the most filthiest way if you have to) will almost always fix this issue. It's a simple gospel truth that writing what you'd like to read, works.

I'm repeating myself here, but writing should be fun; the minute it's not, I usually stop and take a break. Professional writers probably say it can't always be fun, and they may have methods to work past that slump, but because this is fanfiction and we are doing this as a pastime hobby, I'd say better keep a light approach to it and cut yourself some slack. There's no need to push it or force it.

'Good enough' is an admirable (and understandable!) aspiration when you wish to be the best version of yourself and offer your readers something fresh and unique. I say the following with all the love: good enough is also the main idea behind a violent worldview where nothing is ever enough. It's the origin of self-doubt and the feeling that we're somehow always unworthy.

To a system that always wants more, and wants it better and faster, we as imperfect creatures and emotional human beings can never be enough. Didn't mean to get deep into environmental philosophy in a tumblr ask, but this worldview is currently destroying people's sanity (not to talk of destroying the planet and its myriad inhabitants). It's not easy, but I encourage everyone to rebel against 'good enough' as much as possible! ❤️‍🔥

So you don't have to strive for good enough, you only need to strive for what moves you, what makes you laugh or cry or simply makes you feel something. That way you'll know it will move others too 💋💞💃

#answered #writer stuff

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

I personally use "creepy/intimate whumper" like "ATM machine": a single full phrase that may be a little redundant but catches people who don't know the M already means Machine, so to speak (though I think "intimate" is the more useful of the two words since a lot of horror is "creepy" in a lot of ways that Aren't That, and some whump at the intersection of the venn diagram with horror can be those too).

Or maybe it's more like "naan bread"? Some people just use creepy, some other people they've never met just say intimate, someone reads both their works by chance and figures whatever *they* go on to write is something both those (seemingly, but probably not really) separate audiences would like. Bread a la India, creepy a la intimate.

"Yandere", however, I think very much has romantic connotations. I'm sure it's occasionally used elsewhere, but I wouldn't personally unless that's the precedent I want to promise I'm following (I don't...want people to read my distinctly parental/teacher-flavored whumper as romantic, for example. you can say "it's already fucked up, what's the harm, we're all freaks here" all you like, but it's less that and more wanting my boundaries to be respected - which seems to be the case with many people who harp on their work not being viewed as A Sex Thing even if you the reader are turned on by it - it's projecting an *intention* they *do not have*, and then often subsequently insisting that they're "just in denial" or "lying" when they clarify that intention, which is ABSOLUTELY crossing a boundary).

Vibes-wise also I feel there's a sense of scope to it? Like when I hear "yandere" I imagine a focus on the initial meeting and/or "falling in love" (whether or not it's romantic), the stalking/obsession before you get to Kidnapping Classic or full-scale murder (if ever), the victim/"love interest" having time or at least a chance to interact with people the yandere sees as rivals for their affection before (again, if) they decide that can't be allowed to continue...like if the story starts and they're already in captivity I wouldn't call it yandere unless it's romantic.

TLDR I think creepy vs intimate is somewhere between convergent game of telephone and concentric circles on a venn diagram (with "intimate" encompassing well enough what people tend to mean), but "yandere" is at least arguably its own circle. Probably nested inside both "creepy" and "intimate", but not including all of what either of those means.

See, I dunno, in my beautiful smooth brain I still just can't grasp the difference between yandere and intimate whumper (since we all seem to be in agreement that creepy/intimate whumper are close enough to the same thing). To me, they're both the same vibe of "some kind of attraction being forced onto whumpee that also causes physical/emotional distress", which is then a catchall for romantic, platonic, and/or sexual interest that a whumper might have. Yandere I would say has the broader scope of what type of attraction it could be, whereas intimate whumper is romantic/sexual (not platonic).

But I've also been into yandere for years so I'm used to all the flavors it comes in, like familial love or romantic love or protective/obsessive love or best friend love -- it's just any kind of love sickness, not necessarily romantic 100% of the time (although that's typically the majority). People who aren't into the yandere scene probably assume that's the only vibe it comes in though, so I can see why they would think that's exclusively where it falls and don't consider it to align with other tags. Similar to how some yanderes can be soft and sweet with their darling, while others can still be just as cruel and painful, which is where the "intimate whumper" falls into place.

Anyways for the most part I'm pretty sure we're in agreement that there's a good amount of overlap between the three tags (:

#ask #anon

[tseneipgam]

“one tenth of the earth's surface has been constantly on fire, through no fault of human beings, for more than two hundred years. A look at a dynamic map of all the fires currently raging on the planet would reveal a multitude of these expanding red zones being carried forth by surface winds, in Africa es- pecially, the continent referred to by experts in the field as the Heart of the Inferno. I found it startling to consid- er that our human modernity had developed side by side with this incandescent presence. Some years ago, a musician friend told me about a long stint he'd once spent in an African jungle. Wanting to make recordings of instances of silence in nature, he had travelled to Lake Tanganyika in Tanzania, the second largest and second deepest lake on the planet. 'So deep, he said, 'that there's no oxygen in the waters at the very bottom. They're fossil waters: A helicopter had dropped him off in a clearing in the surrounding jungle with nothing but a tent, a change of clothes and some survival snacks, plus the necessary gamut of recording equip- ment, all manner of tapes and ambient microphones. He saw no fires burning, or if he did, he didn't mention them to me, but he did say that, after a month and more of wandering those jungles, what struck him most was the utter absence of silence.”

“historically, we only ever keep a record of evil deeds. In fact, we only legislate for that which we consider to be pernicious; it never occurs to anyone to legislate for good or happi- ness. It was as though evil was actually held in higher regard than what's good. By this same logic, what's good, with no one keeping an account of it or checking it in any way, is a kind of echo that resounds to the ends of what is known, and its expansion, like that of the uni- verse, will know no limits. And another consequence to this: it makes it pointless, utterly redundant, to ever dis- cuss good, and that has the effect of making it even more invisible. Hence why, contrary to popular belief, it’s revo lutionary to speak of good things.”

“I picked up the book, Physics at the Residencia de Estudiantes. I tried to read the rest of the 'Stellar Universe' chapter, the talk by Sir Arthur Eddington on the Belgian priest Lemaitre who, as I've said, discovered the fact of the universe's expansion, but I found I couldn't get beyond the phrase, 'There are some stars so dense that a tonne of their mat- ter would fit inside a matchbox.”

“Back in bed again, I watched the snowflakes falling on the palm tree, and thought how no two snowflakes are the same, but all, without exception, have six points distributed symmetrically around a single centre point. I know that in any place where symmetry is lacking, it's because, in that portion of planet Earth, the forces of nature are in conflict; eddying river water and human migration flows are such sites of conflict. Thus a snow- flake can be called an isolated point, a place in which the forces keeping the crystals from flying apart are not in competition with anything. Snowflakes are bunkers, isolation chambers, unreachable bubbles; these were my thoughts as I lay in the bed, staring blankly out at the precipitate of each and every one of those snowflakes. And this thought concerning bunkers and points of isolation brought with it another in turn: the possibil- ily of the existence of a place where, densely packed together, all the memories of a person are contained: a neighbourhood, a city, a room or street bevond which a person would relinquish their memories, and thereby all awareness, of what had gone before; they'd only need to go back across the threshold of that street for all the instability and turbulence that is memory to be activat ed once more.”

“It's like when you gather a group together, saying you want a photo, but then press the button to record video instead - they're expecting a photo, but you press record. Then you watch it back and you fall over laughing, and the people you tricked also find it the funniest thing. An unimaginable number of strange contortions pass over a person's face in the moments before thev're frozen in a photo. I thought I'd have liked to perform that same trick with the photos in Aillados, to have witnessed what the people in them were saying immediately prior to the capture of those images, the looks they gave one another and the tiny fluctuations of expression just before their portrais were taken; that surely wouldn't have been funny.”

“it all boils down to trash, blessed trash. He was a man of about seventy, dressed in an ash-grey suit pinstriped like a diplomat's, with a white shirt and cuff links, brogues, blue eyes, hair to match the suit and a moustache with tips waxed to point straight upwards, a detail that made him look astonishingly like Salvador Dali. He sat down on the bench beside us. I was about to say something, but he started talking before I could: My good men, trash is not a thing that should be re- cycled, the best thing is to leave it where it falls, one day we'll be buried by all the trash, it'll be the end of us, but not because of an excess of it, rather by default, and if we recycle it all, what will become of memory? How will we recognize our past selves if everything's already been radically transformed? Future archaeologists wont have any objects to work with, only files, computer files; oh, you'll have objects, yes, but only the ones we place in museums and other sites intended to transmit the most curated samples of our world to generations to come, and all of this, my good men, will be completely worth- less; bear in mind that everything useful we know about former civilizations is that which they left behind unin- tentionally, that which was accidentally dropped and forgotten about, the things they threw away and never bothered to gather or recycle, that's to say, their trash, it's this kind of random thing that truly tells us what past civilizations were like, and these things, the constants of the universe, are what join us to our forebears, because in the time to come there will be objects that neither change nor are capable of change, or, more precisely, and as paradoxical as it might seem, for a transformation to take place something has to remain the same, for example, in a chemical reaction everything changes, but the overall mass remains constant, and if it doesn't, the change can't take place, or, for example, consider the well-known story of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, where the main character's personality changes, but his social en- vironment, his home and the city he lives in go virtually unaltered, because if that weren't so, if in that story ev- erything changed completely, there couldn't be a story, the narration would simply fizzle out, do you under- stand? Well, the same goes for trash, if we eliminate it or transform it into another thing altogether, recycle it in a Wholesale way, we'll be disconnecting ourselves from history, our history, and that would mean ending up in a kind of reality parallel to the civilizations that went before us, while, paradoxically, remaining linked to them, and I really mean this, my good men, this isn't sci-fi l'm talking about, this is real life”

“Neil Armstrong goes to the moon and takes twenty photographs, the most import- ant event of the twentieth century and there's only twenty photographs of it, but any teenage birthday party in this city, or any other city on the planet, will generate two hundred photographs-plus, is that not grotesque? Where's the sense in it? Where are we going to put all these images? In fact, by transforming them into digital files, files nobody will be able to read in a few years' time, since the programs needed to open them won't exist any more, what we'll actually be doing is obliterat- ing those moments, they'll disappear and never come back, and what this amounts to is a slow but certain ne- gation of material itself, nothing short of a disaster, but that's not even the worst of it, my good men, now we get to the nub, by which I mean the recycling of bodies, how we hate the body, with what furious intensity do we seek to do away with it”

“Come night. I'd get up from my desk and see a man in the building across from mine who, standing there in his underpants, would heat up frozen beans in a pan. America is a very sad place. All there is there is sadness.” “Cities that experience very hot summers and very cold winters seem to me like bags of frozen food, frozen and defrosted over and over again: you need only tear open the plastic to see how inedible the contents have become. And that's precisely what I think my walks amounted to: a way of wearing down the outermost layer of the pave- ments, the skin, eventually to have it rip open of its own accord, so that I could then take a look inside.”

“have you noticed the way people always talk about large numbers of people migrating in terms of migration "flows", them "flooding" an area, "stream" of immigrants, that kind of thing?' 'Pardon?' just mean, the language always tends to be liquit-t lated - "Flows", "streams", "floods" - like it was water light or wind being talked about. I sometimes woris What would happen if we referred to movements of par Ble in terms of what they are, which is to say a sucesil aireal, solid bodies, the sum of a whole lot of parild all independent of one another 'don't you think that would change everything?”

“a few days earlier on the plane from New York City to Montevideo, when I'd sat looking at the emergency instructions they put in the seatbacks. These had a picture of a woman looking out at you from the sea with a flotation device in her hands after an apparent crash-landing. She reminded me of Venus in Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the way the wind tossed her hair, or her facial features, which were surprisingly similar, or her unsettling calm. As though, instead of having just been in plane crash, she'd that very moment been born out of the waters.”

“January 1889, Nietzsche is known to have left his Turin residence on Via Carlo Alberto, intending to walk into the city centre. He'd gone barely two hundred metres when, coming onto the Piazza Carignano, he pulled up at the sight of a recalcitrant horse being flogged by its driver. Nietzsche approached and, throwing his arms around the beast's neck, whispered something in its ear that to this day remains a conundrum: 'Mother, I am stu- pid.' He immediately went back home, where he lost the power of speech and soon passed out, not coming round until a decade later, a few days before his death in 1900. A period Nietzsche would have no memory of whatsoever.”

“The darkness in that moment was total, the car headlights sweeping across expanses of yellow grass which, with the wind blowing through it, looked like liquid gold. We passed a cowshed, one wall of which was covered in a confused mass of graffiti; I just had time to read a part that said: 'God doesn't fear the news. God is the News. We saw a chapel a little further on with a cemetery: didn't know if the creature lying outside the entrance was a dog or coyote. Driving at night is a question of try- ing to see things before you reach them; by the time you do, the headlights have moved on to something else. This same anticipation, I said to myself, applies in life gener- ally given that life is a journey through darkness at the end of which, in dying, you emerge into the light of day.”

“some years later the city would be filled with the mixed smell of burnt plastic and roast chicken, a smell that lingered for a couple of years in the south of the island. 200,000 tonnes of steel, 325,000 m2 of concrete, 55,000 m2 of glass from 43,600 blown-out windows, 198 elevators, each of which had an average capacity of 55 people, 71 escalators, 930,000 m2 of office interiors, 3,000 hu- mans, all reduced to dust. I was installed in the Home by then, but people say that particles, both organic and inorganic, got into every single corner of the city, into people's lungs and homes, into their food and their mat- tresses. It must be pretty strange knowing you've got particles of people's spleens inside you, particles of pens and hair, of Turkish rugs and asbestos, of the glasses for merly worn by young graduates, of silicon from people's breast implants, of adipose tissue, cockroaches, mosqui los, rats, sirloin steaks and trout from the Great Lakes. Preity strange, truly, to go around in the knowledge that This entire superstore of destruction is inside you, and always will be.”

“To clarify: it's tradition in my father's family for the oldest son in each genera- tion, in the presence of all available adults on the day, to extract a portion of wood from his father's coffin, only a small portion so as not to break the coffin, and then to carve it into a fob, in any shape or motif that should oc- cur to him. The keys to all the houses and properties he went on to own were supposed to be attached to it for the rest of his days. The tradition dates back farther than l know for certain, but I do know it started before the days of political parties as we now think of them. We are our dead past, all the coffins that go before us: so my father said to me one spring afternoon when I was nine years old, as we stood in the kitchen at the ranch, him jangling the keys on his familial fob - a pinewood rectangle the same size and shape as a dollar bill. I remember a cow outside the window stooping to drink from a meltwater stream - the winter ice was melting - and how it licked its lips and lowed as if to make light of my father's words.”

“he sat flicking his cell phone on and off. He wanted, he said, to try to get one over on the phone makers by turn- ing it on and off, and on and off, quicker than the light from the screen could keep up. I told him to quit it, he was going break the thing. 'Did you know that as foetuses we're 72 per cent heart,' Semicolon said, 'and at that point the heart's out- side the actual body?' To which I said: 'Did you know that the brain itself doesn't experience pain, so if someone shoots a bullet into your brain, you feel nothing? You just wind up a dumbass, like you. Know the only creature on earth that never gets can- cer is a shark?' *Know some planets have two suns, meaning it never gets dark there?'”

“I saw the vast and endemic tiredness of a mother”

“we saw some men in uniform pulling a dead body out of the water, somebody said it was an illegal immi- grant, we looked at the body and said nothing, made no comment except to say 'Time to go', and the next day she told me that the thought had occurred to her that the clothes of people who drown are more durable than the flesh of people who drown, this seemed an incredible thought to me, but it left her feeling extremely low, she said, because she was studying textile design, or possi- bly it was dressmaking, I never did get my head around the name of the course, and from that day on every time she went to cut the shoulder section of a jacket or part of a trouser leg the thought would come to her that she was really making a fabric coffin for someone who had drowned, isn't this an incredible thought?”

“we're so proud and arrogant, nothing's ever good enough, and now the cruise ship is so far out I can only just see it, those on board will be sipping martinis on the loungers by the covered pool, gazing up at the sky through the transparent roof cover, fixing their sight on the night clouds in an attempt to find answers to the questions they've been pondering their entire lives, questions they hope to solve in this voyage, and here I am, taking it all in with a single sweeping glance, I am a lasso, I snare objects and then bring them inside myself in miniature, the human gaze is capable of such things, shrinking the entire world so that it fits onto your retina, the sparks flying, pouring now from the let- ter'e, if somebody doesn't unplug that neon sign, I'll say it again, we're going to have us one chargrilled man, maybe even a building fire, but all of this is yet to hap- pen, sometimes nothing happens at all, we always want something to happen, we wait and hope, we don't know what for, only that we've waited in vain. The cruise ship is nothing but a speck in the far distance now, a boat for- merly moored on land, it was built on land and will never reach land again, isn't this the most terrible thing? Like a bird that took to the air and had to stay up there forever, forever beating its wings, never allowed to land. I shut my eyes.”

“Cigarette #18 There's a moment in the day when he's lying in bed and the clocks on display in the homeware section synchro- nize for a second - all the second hands align - and the entire mall shakes, as though the nervous system of the world were making its presence known. And there are moments when he and the birds are awoken by the sound of food cans expanding in the heat, bulging like footballs, or by the bicycles suddenly falling from their complex system of wall mounts, or a huge bang made by a box of snacks, all having rotted and fermented inside their bags and all passing their expiration date and ex- ploding at once. A feeling comes over him as though he's the guardian of a kind of Noah's Ark, like this is a spiritual reservation. a museum for an extinct mode of being. Previously, he thinks, the frenetic consumption of products meant they had to re-fill the shelves constant- ly. Nobody ever got to see what would happen in a mall if you just left it to evolve with no human intervention, like a nervous system unto itself. This is a kind of destruction nobody was ever taught about.”

“it's no coincidence that a mentally deranged animal is inconceivable, as is the idea of the planet ever malfunctioning. Any time we refer to a certain stone as beautiful or ugly, or see a bee buzzing around a flower and say it's working to make honey for our consumption, and even when we speak tenderly to a domestic pet, we're being completely ignorant, given that these flowers and rivers, these auto- mobiles and bees, these books and animals have never needed us and never will; they have their own social structures, so infinitely separate from our own as to be forever invisible to us. Which means there's no way for us to converse with an ant or an automobile, a book or a nation, a river or a pet, and not because they don't un derstand us, but because we don't understand them. All of this I thought on arriving in Honfleur and seeing thal woman petting her small dog. I wished he were with me to share this discovery. He, who was not a bee, or river. automobile, nation or pet, but a man - a male of the spe cies, I mean.”

“it was dawn and the summer's day already warm, but a layer of dew, dazzling white, still covered the grass. Taking two glass jars out of his rucksack and handing me a pipette, he asked me to help him collect drops of the dew one by one, Not that it's medicinal or anything like that.' he said, 'rather it's that our immediate future is concentrated in these drops, each and every one is something akin to the essence of the day to come. And we gathered the dewdrops from the blades of at least a metre-square of grass, which as I found out for myself is a lot of dewdrops. I spent the rest of the day peering into my jar to see if I could discern something in the crystal- line dew, though in reality I didn't even know what I was looking at, whereas he, sitting down to breakfast at the hotel when we got back, took his and simply drank it in one, before closing his eyes and spending the duration of the morning as if asleep - 'as if because, though he kept his eyes shut, he'd still answer when spoken to.”

“as we continued along the Normandy coast, convinced as we were that it's only from the peri- pheries of things, only from their farthest shores, that we have any chance of comprehending their true nature. And this is a universal principle for each and every one of us, such that we have to distance ourselves from our own lives if we want to get a view of its contours and its outline, to work out what kind of beast this life of ours really is, and then, only then, is it possible to call a life 'entire’ “

“The thought I finally fell asleep with was how little interest I had in what the D-Day landings sur- vivors saw, compared to what the dead saw; this, the story of the dead, would be the True Story of the D-Day landings, information we have no access to and that must nonetheless be somewhere, hidden information, the unknown B-side to the fabric of our reality, so un- known that we spend our time creating substitutes for it: the story of the dead is substituted by the story we the living make up about them, and the unfolding of civil- izations is that of an infinite chain of substitutions. Indeed, a painting of a landscape makes no attempt to know what might be hidden in that landscape, rather it seeks to substitute it, and a fire doesn't seek to know what is hidden in a forest fire, it just wants substitute it, and the lift has no interest in trying to understand what the hell these things we call stairs are, it just tries to sub- stitute them, and saccharin doesn't try to find what's hidden in sugar, only to substitute it, and sugar in turn doesn't try to uncover whatever's hidden in other food- stuffs, it just substitutes their calorific potential with a single teaspoon, and, in turn, sugar was invented during the industrial revolution to get more out of the workers, the children who worked in mines especially, a dessert spoon of sugar was as good as two plates heaped full of beans and bacon, which means that the white of sugar is littered with the corpses of children. Yes, coal - not by coincidence black like coffee - and the industrial revo- lution it fired cannot be understood without its opposite, sugar so white.”

“the tide was out, it had left an assortment of different seaweeds, oyster and clam shells on display, as well as these objects that, after you throw them away, you don't know how or why they come back, bottle tops, for instance, bleached and slightly malformed, they seemed almost like pebbles, almost, I would say, no longer arti- licial. Why was it, I wondered, that nature caused things we call 'artificial' to bleach to such an extent, to the point that a bottle top becomes indistinguishable from a peb- ble, and at the same time creates things as colourful and dearly distinguished as flowers, insects and rocks; I couldn't come up with an answer, but I did suppose that it was because of this that houses periodically need re- painting but cliffs and flowers don't.”

“I remember a set of footprints across a snow-covered ath- letics track, a single set of footsteps but, like everything in Switzerland, not in the slightest bit dramatic, and ac- companied by the tyre tracks from a bicycle; it could legitimately have passed for a musical score.”

“I thought of a very black Earth, the planet burned to a crisp, and though it obviously meant losing some time I decided to go down the recently asphalted section of road that led to it, which gave off that smell of fossils brought back to life common in all petrol derivatives, always particularly strong at petrol stations - any time I stop to fill up, I pause and breathe it in, this being the yearning for fire we all of have inside ourselves: a match in my mouth at that moment and the whole place would have gone up in flames.”

“A little while earlier, other, more commonplace layers of geology had started to emerge: granite mainly, seamed with quartz, which would have made life hard for the German sappers tasked with cre- ating bunkers like the ones I soon started to see. These had the air of half-finished Easter Island effigies. The buildings in our cities are supported by a skeleton of pil- lars, vectors plunging vertically into the ground, reaching towards the centre of the earth, while bunkers are a compact, unitary mass, like a loaf of concrete bread baked just once and in a single mould, and, more signif- icant than that, they go in no particular direction, and are apparently unaffected by the earth's movements, if an earthquake hit they'd simply roll over on themselves until they came into a new stability, a new equilibrium: they could soon be re-inhabited again. Bunkers are more like a cork bobbing around on water than some- thing actually built on the ground.”

“I thought how unnecessary we are to flies, rats, scrub and stones, and to the dead as well - none of these things need us, we simply invent connections to them. like or dislike, where no connections in fact exist. Thad seen a few months earlier that 2016 was the year of Aristotle, since it was the 2,400th anniversary of his birth, but is it really possible to talk about the anniversa- ry of a birth that happened so archaeologically long ago? How can the exact year of Aristotle's birth be known? It can't. We make it up. That birth happened so long ago that it now exists outside of time. We're forever anthropologizing. It's a little like the quotations attribut- ed to famous people on the internet: ninety-eight per cent of these are incorrect, and it makes as much sense to attribute them to those women and men as it does to the corpses populating these bunkers or the flies that come buzzing off them and land next to our feet, made-up quotations that only succeed in creating a somewhat co- herent representation of the past, which is the same as saying they project a convincing hologram of the future; we look for certainty, we die in fear, that's all there is. It then seemed very clear to me that war filters through ev- erything, not just through geological layers but botanical, biological and even informational layers; a veritable network of war is spread out below the ground on which we stand.”

“Mount Ararat, the highest peak in Turkev, lies near the borders with Iran and Armenia, and is a dormant volcano whose perpetually snow- capped peaks stand more than 5,000 metres above sea level. It is the symbol of the Armenian people. As Wikipedia puts it: 'It is claimed that a large "anomalous" shape at the summit could be Noah's Ark, according to research carried out by Porcher Taylor on satellite im- ages taken in 1955. The "anomaly" (a structural abnormality not common to a mountain) shown in these images is 309 metres long, which would tally with the 300 x50 cubits the Ark is described as measuring in the Book of Genesis.' Astronauts also claim to have seen these shapes. This kind of thing may be satellites' and astronauts' best-kept secrets, and by this I mean not what they see when they are up in space and look into outer space - the contents of which has no importance except for in novels, films and comics - but what they see when they look down at Earth, at our home, the only thing that actually has any impact on us. The day they feel compelled to say what the Earth is truly like from so far away, we won't even be able to believe it, we'll go higher and higher but only in order to look back down. down into the centre of ourselves.”

“After an update on the Brexit referendum, which was due to take place immi- nently, a live football match came on, one being played on the other side of the planet. The ball went from one end of the pitch to the other and I thought what a terrify- ing and at the same time irremediably magical thing it is for 300 million people to be turning their heads to the left in unison; this perhaps is the last truly communal action left on the face of the Earth.”

“One of those boats was shipwrecked off the coast, it quickly became legend not because of what it was transporting, which in the end was just ground-up bones, bone-dust that's sunk to the bottom of the estuaries around here and nobody's ever going to get out, but because people said the boat was made from these Asian trees inside which diamonds grow; bizarre as it sounds, you get dia- monds spontaneously appearing inside one in ten thousand of that kind of tree; it's generated by an imper- fection in the carbon inside the trunk itself, a little bit like the way pearls are generated inside oysters. People around here have burned every single plank or scrap of wood that's washed up on the shores ever since, hoping to come up with one of those diamonds.”

#book

[emjiroki]

Anonymously message me (3) things you want to know about me.

1. What's your favorite breakfast meal and drinks?

2. What's your favourite book genres?

3. Your top choice/s for a new tattoo and which part/s of your body?

Hi emi!! So sorry to ask this but did tumblr ate my ask again? :(( I sent you an ask in the past (when you gave me a compliment, I replied and once again thank you so much it made my day <3) and well it's okay! I understand!! and you were not feeling good that time so I was hoping it made your day somehow!! I had also sent an ask earlier, just a small enji thirst!! I'm not forcing you to answer my asks!! I'm okay with you reading my asks and hoping they made your day! Just double checking if you had gotten them! Please know you're not obliged to always reply to my asks!! I'm very thankful for your time reading them!! I'm sorry for being redundant, I just don't want to seem rude! >< (im too shy and awkward to send you a private message 🙈)

Hope you have a wonderful day ahead <3

-☁

Dont be sorry about anything lovely! I have gotten your asks! (I just answered one actually hehe) but thank you for checking in because my ask box does get wonky sometimes and asks get eaten by the tumblr demon! Ive also just been super duper busy lately and havent gotten on as much 😅

Also im one of the most cringe people i know so nothing to be shy about lol if you ever want to send me a message please do!

Onto the game questions!

I really like french toast or waffles! I really need a waffle maker OH and greek yogurt and berries 🤤 Orange juice or Lemonade is what I usually have to drink in the morning, Im really not a huge coffee/tea person

HORROR! I live for a good horror book. I've read some pretty intense dark reads over the last couple of years and I have a whole To Be Read list (I need to get a new bookshelf first thought lol) but im also really into dystopian/sci-fi! I havent found very many fantasy genre books that have kept my attention though

I already have a tiger tattoo on my upper left arm that ive had since middle school (Yes my mom let me get a tattoo at 14, thankfully I didn't pick something stupid) but I really want some sort of minimalist anime tattoo, Ive got like a whole pintrest board of tattoo ideas! I think I'd stay on my arms and maybe upper back/shoulders (only because i've got scars all over my legs and it would hurt super bad to tattoo)

thank you for the ask lovely! this was fun! 💕

#cloudy anon ☁️ #ask games 🎮 #em talks 👄

[superborb]

Media Diet, May

I realize that I mostly pull 'from x's rec!' links from DW search, but this doesn't work for if the post was flocked / recs I got off DW. HMMM, but I'm so bad at remembering where I got a rec from! The Empress of Salt and Fortune, by Nghi Vo: The story of the former empress is recounted to a cleric from an order dedicated to faithfully recording history. I enjoyed the slow reveal and the pacing was quite good, but the last chapter that explicated what had been strongly hinted at earlier was a little redundant; generally not as subtle as I expected going in? A short, interesting read. The Thursday Murder Club: a Novel, by Richard Osman: Four people living in an upmarket retirement community come together every Thursday to solve cold murders, and when an actual murder occurs, set up to solve it themselves. Very ...witty is probably the right word for the type of humor. Funny in one-off sentences, but I found it somewhat difficult to read in one go as a result, and had to keep putting it down when it got repetitive. A fluffy sometimes amusing novel, with what reads to my USian eyes as rather conservative politics. The Forgotten Beasts of Eld, by Patricia A. McKillip: A fantasy novel with the window dressing of fantastical beasts, but really about consent, power, and fear. From dolorosa_12's rec! I thought the ending, though foreshadowed, was a little bit too deus ex machina to be fully satisfying? Beautiful prose without being self-conscious about it, such that the prose read in an effortless way. (Difficult to pull off!) I kept feeling like this was rather dark YA -- midway through, I decided I must be getting the wrong impression and this must be adult fantasy, but wiki seems to have it under YA? Anyway, short and packs a punch. CW: sexual assault, child marriage The Disordered Cosmos, by Chanda Prescod-Weinstein: Discussion of racism in science, with dashes of popsci particle physics and autobiography. From chestnut_pod's rec. Could have used a stronger editor with an eye towards continuity between the chapters, especially what had been introduced already and what needed to be defined. The popsci explanations were a bit confusing IMO, but I did know most of the general ideas already, so I can't totally judge accurately. The meatiest chapters were the ones in the latter half, which centered around particular faces of racism in science, but unfortunately I did not find them particularly novel. Once, It Was Love: Very short manga about a woman whose husband suddenly stops being able to see her. From x_los's review. I guess like a good thriller, I really wanted to know what would happen next. We get to understand the motivation of the female characters explicitly, but only ever the male ones through their actions; the stalker's motivations are clear, but the husband's never become so. Under the Skin (猎罪图鉴) (2022): Mostly episodic cases as a forensic artist joins the police force and works with a captain who initially hates him for his role in the death of his mentor years ago. I think the problem is the best parts of this show were things like... extended art scenes and their bromance relationship once they get to know each other, neither of which was enough to compensate for what I disliked. Some of the characters were compelling and the pacing was pretty good too. I had a longer rant here, but I've cut for length: the gist was too much 'TV logic' leading to thin/unrealistic plots, asshole cop behavior, and weird cuts / cases not resolving satisfactorily. Although they tried to be sympathetic to the circumstances of female victims and perpetrators, it went too far into 'reveling in their pain' territory for me; additionally, having two male leads and a few stereotypical male and female cop roles meant the show overall landed more sexist than I think they intended. Episodes 17-18 were probably the strongest, doing a great job with tension and bringing in threads from earlier in the series; I especially liked how it recontextualized how surveillance was treated during the show. Also, the captain introduced in those episodes did an exceptional acting job. Overall, I think I should perhaps stop watching Chinese cop shows and the very constrained stories they can tell. CW: gratuitous extended on screen domestic violence, tragic lesbians Dream Boys 2006 Kanjani8 v KAT-TUN (DNF): I watch partied the first hour of this, and the juniors tap dancing was my favorite number. So much inexplicable plot happened in the first hour that I am scared what happens in the remaining 1.5. Cyphstress: Online group puzzle in the vein of an escape room. The first half was too straightforward and tedious at points; the second half was occasionally frustrating. I think the problem was that (for me) there wasn't much of a feeling of satisfaction at solving the puzzles; just an 'I guess that's the solution...'? Still, it was fun to do as a group activity!

[britneyshakespeare]

Hello! How about #10 & 40 for the weird questions for writers?

Thank you!

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

Hm. I suppose so. But it's been several different types of hauntings that have occurred, from my own work and other people's.

I used to feel very drawn to "I Have a Rendezvous with Death" by Alan Seeger, for instance, when I was in high school, because I discovered the poem when I read somewhere that that was John F. Kennedy's favorite poem and he would have Jackie read it to him. I was a big literature AND U.S. history nerd then and that felt incredibly ominous to me, and as someone with a lot of health issues and a constant death wish it resonated with me on a personal level too. It's still one of my favorite poems of all time. (It was one of the first poems I didn't write that I posted to my poetry blog.) I've imitated that form many times. The relentless iambic tetrameter and the unpredictable rhyme scheme really work to make it feel like fate is running at you, especially with that inimitable refrain. As much as I can mimic the form, I don't think I've ever had one of my own refrains hit me like the image of rushing to a rendezvous with Death. Of course, it's hard for me to ever really shock myself.

But sometimes I do, and I guess that's when I feel haunted by my own writing. I almost never feel like I'm writing something significant in the moment I'm writing it. Far more frequently, whether I think I have a decent idea or not, I'm just writing to pass the time while keeping busy. When I reread something after I've forgotten it, it sometimes does surprise me like "wow, I actually had something really good going on here." I can think of one poem I wrote on April Fools Day 2019, the month I was going to turn 20, that I've never actually posted on Tumblr. It was a free verse about the relationship male influence has had on my development of self-efficacy. That one only took a few weeks for me to be like, "Damn, this is one of my best."

But there are also things I notice in retrospect that I wrote into poems before I understood myself consciously. A big example of that is before I realized I was aromantic, I would write about the loneliness of trying to force myself to feel love. Teenage Diana never thought she just wasn't made that way. It didn't occur to me at all. I liked romance sooooo much in theory but it was so fleeting and futile in execution. Yeah fuck that.

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

Hmmm, okay. I'll do one of mine, and then one from someone else.

First one that came to mind of my own work was this little ditty I wrote on Halloween of 2018. I was well into my self-described "Ghostfucker" era, in which I was knowingly (but sometimes still self-doubting) aroace, but I would still get a lot of comphet I didn't know how to sort out, most passionately though, for dead men I could romanticize without a threat of them harming me or the love ever being unsatisfyingly "consummated." I had been writing these elaborate, self-deprecating poems about being in love with spirits and throwing all my hopes into the high heavens for like a full year at that point, and would continue those redundant themes for about another year from then on. And around this time I started exploring the split I felt between fantasy and reality, mind and body, so on. Lots of metaphors pertained to duality and contradictory ideas. A very strange time for my writing. This is my favorite one of those poems I can think of that I posted, and it still has a special place in my heart.

As for something by another writer, I think I'll go with "Íntima (Intimate)" by Julia de Burgos. Last year I checked out her Complete Poems translated by Jack Agüeros from my library, and read the whole damn thing, only renewing it once. I've never gobbled up a poet's entire body of work so fast. I was just skimming the shelves and found her in the Latin American section, had a little look-see, and I immediately fell into it. I have at this point in my life read so many many poets and it's such a rare and magnificent thing when, especially at my current knowledge and familiarity with the medium, I am instantly hit with the realization that I have found a new favorite. Not just something good, or great. Those I find all the time. I can name hundreds of good or great poets whose works are worth reading. But FAVORITE. Something that blows my mind and sucks me in. And Julia de Burgos is that, a fascinating woman with an incredible mind and a list of accomplishments worth reading about. Her gift for natural imagery is something I envy deeply. I think she's far, far too underappreciated in the Anglophone world. She's just the best.

Send me weird writing asks :D

#once again thank you for asking #i probably went on longer than u expected lol but i had a lot of thoughts #had i decided to be Worse i could've kept going but i knew i had to stop myself at some point #before id choke on my own air #stinastar #dianswered

[kodzumie-archived]

First kiss headcannons with Nagito, Kokichi, and Keebo (my 3 favorite boys) please?

❝FIRST KISS❞

Synopsis; What their first kiss looks like.

Featuring; Kokichi Oma and Nagito Komaeda x GN! Reader

Warning(s); Kissing, established relationship, and Nagito’s self-degradation, but that’s all, I assume!

Kodzumie’s Note; I apologize, but I don’t accept requests for K1-B0/Keebo/Kiibo(?) yet! (Woah, so many ways to spell his name, haha.) I, hopefully, one day will, but I’ll gladly do the other two characters for you! Thank you for this request, it was adorable. I hope you’ve had a lovely day! Muah! <3

➤ KOKICHI OMA

⤷ Ever the jokester, he’ll likely play off his advances as nothing more than a quip; yet another jest of his. Every brush of his lips against yours, so close yet too far to be considered a proper kiss. He tests the waters, instinctual caution before truly diving within.

⤷ He’s analytical; inspecting your visage in order to determine whether or not he should follow through with the underlying verity of his intentions. Every pinch of your brows; the twitch of your lips in which form spherical as you gasp; the tops of your fingers brushing atop his chest in either an attempt to push him away or draw him in.

⤷ It’s an insatiable desire; a thirst he’s rendered unable to quench. For as long as he’s been with you, he expected the anticipated kiss. Though he’d began to dread the unpredictable ticking of time.

⤷ A timer held above his head, tantalizingly searing through his mind as a reminder of what’s to come; what he must prepare himself for. He questions whether he should leap, plunging forth and subduing his inhibitions.

⤷ But—albeit he’d never vocally admit such—he’s anxious. Even as he snickers, pulling his face away from yours to admire your flustered countenance, his leg bounces in response to the flurry of butterflies encapsulated within his gut.

⤷ If he was being honest with himself, he truly wanted to share this with you; to share his firsts of such sensual innocence. But where he faltered fell upon you; did you want to share something so intimate with him?

⤷ It was a matter of your approval. After all, the last thing he wanted was to royally embarrass himself at the ontological possibility that you simply didn’t want to engage in such a thing with him. Truly, he’d bury himself alive if your rejection were to occur after he’d already committed to the kiss.

⤷ So—with due diligence—he preserves his temptations and treads upon steady waters. His eyes keen on pinpointing your reposte to his jests; he’d always been skilled in the art of reading others. In due time, he’ll deduce your answer.

⤷ Thus was the beginnings of what Kokichi dubbed as The Chamber of Paradox. Well, for such a theatrical title the notion itself was rather burlesque.

⤷ Amidst this time, Kokichi’s tongue was laced in the plaguing of fallacy; a lie of self-contradictory. Poignant brushing of lips against the plush skin of your cheek as he draws away with a cheeky grin, and an all-too-knowing sheen within his violet orbs.

⤷ He’s aware of your perplexion. He’s tauntingly aware of the dissatisfaction veiled within your pout. And, within that very moment, he instilled that the tendrils of bitter reluctance were merely a kind lie. That feeling—the suffocating fear of rejection—was a falsity born from within the clutches of kindness.

⤷ But there’s a glory within masking his intentions. Tugging himself back, he departs his lips from your cheek and sports his infamous, mischevious grin as you raise a brow at his antics. When questioned for hos reasonings behind the fleeting peck, it’s as though he’s rehearsed it all before.

⤷ “Do I have to have a reason to kiss you?” He jabs. To the surface, he’s composed; delighted, even. Though that’s the beauty of masquerade, isn’t it?

⤷ He was poigantly forced to bare the weight of your underlying conviction; an impression he wished to have been blinded of. Your displeasure to his initiation upon your cheek; a destination far from his true intent.

⤷ Underneath the grin and boisterous laughter, his heart ached. A prick of a thorn dipped in venom, gradually spreading to the entirety of his heart and enveloping him in a state of melancholy.

⤷ He shouldn’t be feeling this way; he knows this. After all, a mutual desire was needed for him to begin to culminate the possibilities of initiating such shared moments. If you weren’t willing to engage then he would respect your wishes. Your comfort a priority far above his own impulses.

⤷ He respected your innermost discontentment. Thus, he strayed from initiating anything he deemed to reflect such a negative swirl of emotions within you. Even managing to restrict himself from pressing his lips against your cheeks; what he once considered a secondary form of jesting.

⤷ Yet it unnerved him that—despite his restrictions of physical intimacy—you still seemed dissatisfied. In fact, you seemed further displeased. He began to question whether or not he’d done something entirely unrelated to upset you.

⤷ Abiding by the tactic he’d come to know best, he pesters you. Picking at your patience to pry apart the genuine root of your vexation.

⤷ Through the ever-so playful baritone of his, he prods. “Are you mad at me?” A chuckle following soon after as he meets your eyes, hands poised behind his hands, casually.

⤷ To the ears of bystanders, his words hold no truth; a mere travesty of fallacious hurt. But you were not a bystander, and you were not heedless to his innermost concerns. And thus, with a sigh, you caved.

⤷ Truly, Kokichi wondered if he’d began hallucinating in that instance. He questioned if the words he’d interpreted you to utter were a mere figment of his mind; that you hadn’t rethought such a thing. A resonant question; why don’t you want to kiss me?

⤷ Well this was certainly a turn of events. You—of all people; of the two of you—were inquiring whether or not he was opposed to kissing you. In another instance, he’d have dubbed it comical. But the redundant suppression of his impulsivity induced his jaw to slack open, surprise evident within his visage.

⤷ “Say, what now?” Though the words passed through his lips as a question, you both were fully aware of the rhetoric implication. His eyes trained on yours as he attempts to decipher your thoughts within the encompass of your thoughts. But Kokichi isn’t a mind reader, and neither are you; the two of you needed to communicate verbally, desperately.

⤷ You’re hesitant. Your reluctance seeling into the quiver of your lips as your fists clench ever-so slightly. You needed to talk it out. No matter how abnormally in sync and tune, internally, with one another, you still needed to vocalize your true feelings.

⤷ So you swallow back the last traces of reticence, and utter your concerns. The avoidance of pecking your lips, the gradual decline of the kisses he’d brush up on your cheeks as a playful greeting, and his general reduction of previous normalcy of physical affection. Everything he’d done, you’d noticed. And it—albeit unintentionally—was swallowing you in grief and self-consciousness. How ironic.

⤷ Kokichi nearly allowed a laugh to slip at the irony of it all; the comical contradiction of both your perceptions. He was wallowing in dejection at your interlaced satisfaction of, presumably, his advancements whilst you were despondent of his withdrawal of the aforementioned advancements. Oh, how key communication was to the engagement of intimacy.

⤷ “Ah, man! And here I thought you didn’t want me to kiss you.” He admitted, jovial swirling within his remark. Your eyes widened instantaneously at his admission. Why on Earth would he assume that?

⤷ Though you don’t verbally voice your dumbfounding, finding it far within your mind as you eye Kokichi. He paces towards you, violet orbs masquerading with flickers of zeal as he nears you, craning his neck to leans closer towards you.

⤷ You rapidly discern his intentions as you, too, begin to tilt your head; allowing passage for him to—after long last—press his lips against yours.

⤷ Even as his lips hover over yours, a mere few centimeters away from yous, he falters. His eyes flickering to yours for some sort of confirmation; assurance that you truly wanted this just as much as he did.

⤷ Yet rather than the nodding of your head to ease his worries upon your potential second thoughts, he’s greeted with the weight of another’s lips atop his own. A reciprocated desire; swallowing his gasp as your hand finds its way through his hair, cradling his head to draw him closer.

⤷ Time seemed to slow, yet paradoxically begin to race as your lips overlapped his, suckling on his bottom lip in which quivered ever-so-slightly in stimulated fervor.

⤷ You pulled away far too soon for his liking, but the lingering taste of you kept him at bay. He could still feel your lips; the vivid, dream-like sensation of pure eloquence.

⤷ In that instance, he’s breathless. Cheeks lit aflame with roseate sincerity, he allows his lips to curl into a smile. One that you, yourself, find to be taken aback by as he steadies his breathing. Of all the smiles you’ve seen from your lover, Kokichi, this was his most solemn one.

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ The initial kiss was long anticipated, yet perpetually prolonged. It’s a dream―akin to a mind-fogged daze―to share something so daringly intimate with you. Especially it being his first kiss, of all things.

⤷ He’s aware of how his inexperience will cater towards a sloppy attempt, and it petrified him; the haunting, ontological realization that he’s bound to disappoint you. He’s tantalizingly conscious of the relentless ways his miserable self could potentially offend you with how out of tune he is.

⤷ Thus, he avoids initiating anything in fear of a countenance of disappointment from you. He wouldn’t be able to handle such an expression from you; the one who believed in him, and assured him he had value.

⤷ It’s tormenting; yearning for something yet persisting to push it beyond his own reach. At times, he claims himself to be a masochist. Relinquishing his desires in favor of uncertainty.

⤷ He’s already milked his luck; being in a relationship with you was enough to be considered a lifetime worth of luck. As much as he yearns for the feeling of his lips upon yours, he musn’t. He’s already been selfish enough, claiming you as solely his lover.

⤷ Yet the humanistic temptation seemed to encapsulate him within its clutches, easing his mind into a fantastical realm of the ever-so ontological sentience of how your lips would feel.

⤷ Nagito, much to his dismay, was reluctantly selfish. His desires to bask within the essence and encompass of you, you, you overriding his belittling mindset of his absent worth. He wants to smother himself in shame at the thought of taking more of you, but the urge is increasingly suffocating.

⤷ He wants you. He wants you in your entirety. A selfish yearning that he undeniably loathes himself for and insists that he never act upon. Subduing to a misery of helpless longing in which he’ll never allow himself to be satisfied with relief. Nagito, really and truly, was a masochist.

⤷ Even as the inklings of inclinations plagued his every thought, seeping into his casual behavior, he resisted.

⤷ For every moment in which he’s seated beside you, his eyes flickering downwards to admire what he truly craved to graze his own lips upon, he resisted. Biting back his urges and swallowing the remnants of greed.

⤷ He knows it’s become unfair to you. A cage of degrading thoughts compiling over him and staining his heart with the perpetual ink of self-loathing has managed to poison your hope amongst him. With every time you steer your face to meet his, gazing into his eyes for any hintings of unwanted touches, he reels himself away; your lips meeting the skin of his cheek instead.

⤷ It devastates him to be poignantly aware of the doubt he’s inflicting upon you; the despair he has induced within you.

⤷ He’s riddled his professions into a mangled cobweb of mutual desire. Each seam a confession of his absolute, undeniable yearning for you; for the entirety of you. A selfish feat, but one you’ve astonished him with how complying you seemed. Would you truly want someone like him to take this much of you?

⤷ Truthfully, he attempted to gauge himself into believing you wouldn’t want him to. That every instance you attempt to initiate a kiss, it was merely a coincidence; a mistake.

⤷ But he knows better. Nagito is as self-loathing as he was clever. He knew how to read people and decipher situations expertly. He was aware of your genuine intentions, and yet he continued to bury himself beneath fallacy; excuses.

⤷ It’s selfish, selfish, selfish! He knows better than to continuously withdraw from you, when he swore his mere purpose was to provide for you. He’s your devoted lover; the one who gives you all that you ask under no condition nor reciprocal.

⤷ And yet you’ve provided him with much more than he could have ever imagined; much more than he was aware he could be seen as worthy of.

⤷ Time and time again, you’ve wagered yourself in order to reel in his temptations; allowing him to succumb to the piercing tendrils of greed. Hook, line, and sinker.

⤷ One can only dwindle in denial for so long before they’re subdued. The ontological realization that you, in fact, share his desire. That the yearning to press his lips atop yours, smothering you in a newfound world of intimacy, was mutual.

⤷ It’s gradual; a build up of overwhelming tempation as well as the underlying guilt of daring to reject your request. Yet, as ticks of time pass on, he finds himself surrendering to the pith of his long-lastingly suppressed infatuation.

⤷ Fingers curling beneath your chin, he secures a hold your face, cradling it to tilt ever-so gently. His grip just barely burrowing itself into the supple skin of your plush cheeks, inducing a slight pucker of your lips.

⤷ Nagito—with hesitancy painting the canvas of his visage—smiles upon your startled yet covetous expression. A glimmer within your eyes that rivals even the stars as you begin to flutter them to a delicate close; anticipation seeping through your lidded eyes.

⤷ He falters momentarily, pondering of what scum like him has the audacity to hold you this way. He knew he had no right to be cradling your face, pulling you in to just barely graze his lips atop your own pair. Your breaths fanning in synchronized gasps.

⤷ But he pushed forth, leaning in to close the prolonged gap between you two, sinking into the kiss.

⤷ A moan is muffled admist your joint lips as he parts his lips to envelope yours once more. He savored the sensation; the warmth of your lips atop his, the brush of your lashes against his cheek, and the engulfed mewls that you’d unintentionally released.

⤷ He treasured the entirety of that moment, smothering himself in the aftershock as each breath he took that melted with yours was electrifying.

⤷ Even as the two of you pulled away—taking the opportunity to relieve yourselves of the tension and regain steady breathing—he realized the true intensity of his passions; his craving that seemed to be perpetual.

⤷ He realized that he, Nagito Komaeda, was a selfish man. Claiming your lips under the engulfing of his virgin pair. He realized his greed as he took a deep breath, and leaned in for another taste.

#i.. i finally got it done!! #just in time- #i didn’t break my daily upload streak!! 😭 #sdr2 x reader #dr2 x reader #ndrv3 x reader #drv3 x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #kokichi x reader #kokichi oma x reader #kokichi ouma x reader #danganronpa x reader #nagito headcanons #nagito imagines #kokichi imagines #kokichi headcanons #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa hcs #danganronpa scenarios

[ac-liveblogs]

Lostbelt 5.2 post-post wodime stress disorder-disorder

I didn’t enjoy 5.2 as much as 5.1 because, to put it bluntly, we traded in the best party dynamics in the game for cardboard salvaged only by the goddamn unplayable NPCs and an actual croissant. 

Also, I simply do not care for Miyamoto Musashi. 

BUT I do care for Castor! Because I hate him. 

You know, given that Atlantis ruled, I was really let down by Olympus. None of the new Gods were particularly charismatic (well, besides the Dioscuri, by accident), and the new party did absolutely nothing for me. I think I liked Macarios best? Concerning. 

Caenis reads as “Mordred, with fish puns” - trade ‘father’ for ‘Poseidon’ and you’re good. Also, I think the translators. Like. Had a stroke when trying to work out what pronouns to give him? Because they vacillate between she, he, they and at one point she/he?? I don’t know if they were trying to be inclusive, trying to avoid controversy or just had a gender identity comprehension malfunction, but any emotional impact I could’ve gleaned from him trying to avenge Kirschtaria was immediately punched out of me by them screwing up their screwed up pronouns even more. Goddamn, just pick one!!

Musashi is theoretically my kind of character, but I hate the way she’s written. Her dialogue reads as clunky and forced to me, and the number of times the story cut away to focus on her mostly redundant internal monologue did nothing to help. She mostly just speculated on how amazingly strong the enemy was, whooaaaaaaa, and then conveniently she was able to hold them off isn’t she so amazing sasuga Musashi she’s so strong!!!

I would’ve respected this more if it wasn’t so blindingly transparent.

Musashi gets a lot more words than she needs and drags scenes down as a result. Musashi’s sacrificial speech and the prose surrounding it, to say nothing of the scene itself, took so goddamn long that I was hoping it was over by like. The quarter way mark. I don’t even think anything of value would’ve been lost if it had ended there. Give some of those damn words to hyping up Chaos, he literally just showed up and then got punted off screen three sections later. Musashi got two CGs dedicated to this shit, and a dying Kirschtaria fending off the damn final boss didn’t??? Screw you.

I think the one time Musashi brought any emotion out of me was after she’d died, and we watched Macarios’ (...Makalios?) recording in the base. That’s another thing; LB6 made a great call by making your non-Servant party members AU versions of playable servants. The playable NPCs can’t afford to be too interesting or have too much personality lest they draw away from the main cast; Macarios is probably the NPC with the most personality besides Patxi in the LB arc, but I’ll be glad once we switch to more dynamic characters like Lostbelt Gareth and Percival.

I was like. Genuinely overjoyed every time we switched POV to actual human disaster Kadoc. Probably the only time I have ever been glad to see Kadoc.

Theeen there’s the villains. Zeus and Demeter are about as interesting as dirt, and while Aphrodite was amusing enough in some scenes, she wasn’t great overall. Chaos is. Fuck. I don’t even know. And the twins... 

Don’t be fooled by the girl in the bikini - the main Dioscuri is Castor, not Pollux, because Pollux’ contribution to their dynamic is either yass-ing her brother screeching like a genocidal banshee OR staring at him disapprovingly whenever he Does A Bad. This results in the most unintentionally hilarious part of the Lostbelt - legendary comedy duo Castor and Sakurai team up to demonstrate that Castor is an absolute slug of a person, then have Wodime stare meaningfully through the screen at the player like “oh no.... oh no.... I couldn’t Fix Him.... perhaps you can....” like bitch yes I could but do you REALLY think I want to???

One of these days, I’m going to slam that boy’s fingers in a car door (affectionate). Apparently his Valentines’ scene is more romantic than Pollux’s which is like. Okay, that “shut up [x], I’m going to fuck your twin” joke is definitely in play here, but I don’t think Pollux is the one that’s gonna end up swooning. “Oh yeah babe, you hate humans??? We’ll I’ve been genociding them en masse” he’s in my fucking arms before I finish the sentence. I quite like the Dioscuri, I think they’re funny, but a saner person will probably find them unengaging as they add little more than a pair of angry murderous mini-bosses. Castor calls Zeus dumb a few times I guess. That’s cool. 

On the Crypter side... 

Kirschtaria: You are my friend and I care about you. I want you to live a long and happy life, no strings attached :) Kadoc, panicked: what does he mean by that????

This guy is an absolute disaster. I quite enjoyed the Kadoc segments; he’s a fun POV character and unlike Musashi his internal monologue is pretty amusing. I’m extremely curious where his story is going - at this point I think I’ll be upset if he dies. Pepe remains flawless, no notes. This guy never misses. 

Beryl.... I’m going to slam that man’s fingers in a car door (aggressive). I remember the leaks coming out of LB5.2 from two years ago, and the fact that anyone took this man at his word about anything absolutely floors me. Two years worth of lore speculation built on the back of a man that is so disingenuous his glasses turn opaque 30% of the time he’s talking. Un-fucking-believable. 

Which brings us to the main event; Kirschtaria Wodime. The man’s an idiot, but like. In a good way? I knew Kirsch had some Shit Goin’ On, but I was surprised how much I enjoyed him in this Lostbelt. Setting aside the humour value (high), he’s a genuinely engaging well-intentioned antagonist that, arguably, has far nobler goals than Chaldea. 

You really can’t help respecting the guy by the end of it - in a lot of ways, I found the showdowns with Zeus and Chaos quite dull, but as soon as they’re out of the way and the human characters step into focus the story picks up quite considerably. Wodime saved the endgame in a big way. I miss the guy already, I’d like to see more of him. His relationship with Caenis and Kadoc were bright spots in this LB’s endgame, too, and the flashback segments were all absolute gold. I like this emerging trend of humanising your bosses by showing them being silly or making fun of them. 

I’m excited to finally have met the Foreign God, and I’m very interested in what her deal is rn. Speculation mood hitting overdrive. I’m also looking forward to piledriving Douman and making him cry. 

Olympus is a solid 7/10 but bear in mind that’s because it’s a 6/10 right up until Musashi dies and then it jumps to a solid 8. 

also i didn’t do as bad against the bosses as i thought. i was too cautious with wodime and got trapped in a Mould Camelot-Eightfold Blessing-Garden of Avalon loop, wondering why I wasn’t doing any damage while I fired off non-dmging NPs one after the other.

Thank fucking god for Bunker Bolt, or I’d probably still be there. 

#ac plays fgo #olympus spoilers

[writing2live]

crazy, crazier, craziest

pairing: pro hero! kaminari denki x reader

genre: sunny's fairy fluffy book

word count: 1.2k

warning: none, just a possibility of incorrect grammar, typos, and redundant use of the word "crazy"

author's note: okay *inhales deeply* this is the very first fluff that i wrote and posted here because i crave the readers' validation heh. denki's my comfort character and the idea of goofing around with him wearing pikachu onesie seems so cute and sweet, ya know? also, don't come at me when you find this cringe idc. your fairy god never have a bf. happy reading, bestie wanderer :))

ps. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. i really want to interact with ya'll

"pika, pika-" he looked at your curling form, hands tugging at your stomach as fits of laughter escapes your mouth.

"hey, babe, come on." head turning to your direction, the supposed yellow ears and black at the tip falling off. you cooed at the sight of your blond boyfriend as he stares at you.

you just come across the matching Pikachu onesie pajama online at a really cheap price and, without any hesitation, the package arrived at your shared apartment. being denki, he's always game with your antics and supports the craziest ideas that pops up your mind even in the middle of the night

and so, here you are at the mc donald's while you're boyfriend is trying to order your favorite with the pokemon's famous "pika pika". people are drilling weird stares at the two of you. some are swooning as they recognized the two pro heroes in a matching onesie at 3 am ordering fast food.

you can hear the "aww's" and the "such a cute couple" from the crowd and these positive response makes your the electric hero grinning from ear to ear.

"ya hear that babe? we're the cute pro hero couple." he said as the both of you exit the establishment, chest heaving proudly and smile never leaving his face while swaying your conjoined hands in the air.

you softly yanked his arm signaling him to stop in the middle of the deserted parking lot as another silliness blossoming in your head.

why?" he chuckles when he saw a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips while your brows wiggling up and down, almost egging him to find out what you're up to.

as the best boyfriend that he claims to be, he already memorized the meanings behind every expression that pulls off your face and this one, at the moment, is the one where excitement always course through his body every time you have it on. this just means that another smiling, laughing, and fun moments with you that he cherishes with his entire being.

"hurry, hurry!" you shouts at him as he ran towards you. the timer sets down to 1 and another silly pose of you was captured. your phone was propped against the windshield of his car as you suggested having a photo shoot at the parking lot.

it's just not enough to parade the cute onesie that only took a quick exposure with a small crowd. so, why not make this chance to etch this crazy antic of yours with a photograph. "oh my god, babe! that's the cutest and not-so crazy idea you have come up so far," says your boyfriend with a squish of your cheeks and peck on your lips.

half an hour with the impromptu photo shoot, the both of you tried different couple poses which most of the crazy ones was suggested by denki. there was one where the both of you nearly got injured when he put you on his shoulder, both of your arms spreading wide as he balanced with only one foot. luckily, you managed successfully with the pose.

he managed to convince you to piggy back him, carry him in a bridal style, and even tried the fireman's carry with you. the whole shoot, both of your laughs reverberates through the empty space when he fail to pose on time or when he pull off the wackiest face. of course, there were also cute and intimate basic couple pictures.

"pro hero Chargebolt? i think you still have a deal with me to accomplish." you grin at him, waving your phone to remind him something. he sighs when he remembered what you were trying to say.

"oh, babe. do i have to?" he pouts at you, flashing the puppy eyes.

"but you made a promise with me?" now, it's your turn to pout. "well, if that made you feel uncomfortable, i would not force you. i'll respect that-"

"hey, hey, hey. it's just a joke, y/n. i just wanna practice if you're going to give in to my adorable puppy eyes, yeah?" a chuckle left your mouth. really, he's so cute.

"okay, you ready?"

"yep, rolling in 3...2...1, go!"

"pikachu, u-use thunderbolt!"

"pika...pika...chuu!" he exclaimed loudly enough for the customers to be disturbed.

you tried so hard, for the love of all might, to stifle your laughter but you just can't help it when you're boyfriend doing his best to imitate the pokemon's actions and using it's catchphrase while emitting his lighting quirk. he's surely an off brand pikachu.

"oh god, y/n. you're ruining the vid."

"i'm sorry, denki. i just can't help it. you really look so cute!" emphasizing every syllables so that he can really feel your admiration straight to his heart while your hands squishing his cheeks again.

the two of you decided to rest your limbs and eat the take out that's already been cold. with a small banter and jokes thrown either ways and denki doing the cheesiest things like kissing you out of the blue to clean the stray ketchup on the corner of your lips.

"i think there's a bit of mess right here." you told him, smirking at the dripping soda, he saw where you are pointing—your cleavage. he whines, "babe, come on. unless, do you want me to?"

"dance with me, yeah?" he blurts out as you're scrolling down your phone, checking the results of your photo shoot. he's already pulling your hand as he placed your phone at the hood of the car.

"no music?"

"nope" he replies, popping the p, while snaking his hands around your waist. you comfortably pressed your face at his chest as he draws you closer to his body, leaving no space between the two of you, his read resting atop of yours. "i can sing, you know."

you can't refute as it is true that the pro hero Chargebolt can in fact sing which made you really wonder why he didn't disclose it to the public to garner more female fans.

"i only want you to hear my sacred voice, y/n. only you." he once said with his serious tone which made you combust right then and there. because, holy shit, that's so heart flattering, blush-inducing, and makes you feel even more special.

"fuck, you're so beautiful." your eyes met his and you can feel his finger caressing the visible scar on your forehead before kissing it. and this moment feels like your back at your UA days when you both realize that you fell in love with each other.

"aww thank you, denki." heart swelling, you cupped his cheeks and tiptoed to place a kiss on his lips. this night adds to the list of the longest and genuine smile he ever had in his life time. "and you're the cutest, most handsome pro hero i ever love."

for a second, he can't articulate a sentence as electricity is going hay wire in his body at your declaration of love. he only regain his composure when you nuzzle your head at his chest. he continue to hum the familiar song as you gently sway with his body.

under the moonlight, two lovers slow dancing with the beat of their hearts synchronizing with the slow hum of the pro hero. they say that people become fools when it comes to love. indeed, they are. the proof is right at the middle of the parking lot of mc donald's with two fools in love swaying to the rhythm of their hearts.

#sunny's collection #tey writes #kaminari fluff #denki x y/n #bnha fanfiction #bnha fluff #denki kaminari #kaminari x reader #denki x reader #chargebolt #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #pro hero x reader

[blu-joons]

DATING NCT A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Yuta Nakamoto

A ⇴ AFFECTION

If there is one member you can count on being affectionate, it is most definitely Yuta. He loves to cuddle you and hold you as tightly as possible, at any point in the day, he doesn’t care where either, he just wants to be close to you.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

The two of you were sat together on a flight from Seoul to Tokyo. For most of the journey, you were silent, but then when you needed to move past him to use the toilet, the two of you finally struck up a conversation. After that, the two of you talked for the rest of the journey, exchanging numbers as you picked up your baggage.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

Yuta spent a lot of time getting to know you before confessing, he wanted to make sure that being in a relationship with an idol was really something he wanted before he asked you to be yours. He didn’t want to pressurise you or anything, but when you told him that it was what you wanted, then he finally asked you the all-important question. To begin with, you stayed quiet, until you noticed the panic in his eyes from your joke, easing his mind.

D ⇴ DATES

The two of you usually ended up doing something physical on your dates, Yuta loved to take you to different places and get competitive with you. You knew that he was sporty, so when he’d tell you that you were going skating or rollerblading, you’d never be surprised. The one thing you hated was how good Yuta was at everything, he loved to show off in front of you, but every time that you fell, he’d be right there to pick you up and encourage you to give it another go, this time holding his hand tightly.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

You were his first anything, first kiss, first love, he knew nothing, and experienced nothing about a relationship before he met you. To begin with, it was definitely a little overwhelming for him, he wanted to make sure that he treated you right, but he also wanted to make sure that all the other member supported the two of you as well. If he was only going to date once in his life, then he wanted to make sure he did it right, not just for him, but for you too, Yuta really wanted to make sure that he was the perfect boyfriend.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

Life was too short for arguing as far as Yuta was concerned, he never argued with you, but he’d definitely out sass you in a heartbeat. He’d often use that to try and stop an argument between the two of you, if he felt you getting worked up, then he’d come out with a savage comment that would stop you in your tracks. Before you had the chance to speak, Yuta would try and convince you that whatever you were arguing about was stupid and redundant, and that your time was much better spent laughing and smiling with each other. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t argue with his logic nor the smile on his face.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

His family loved you before they met you, it was a huge relief for all of them to know that Yuta had someone in Korea who would look after him and love him just like all of them did. Knowing he had you was a comfort to them, and the first time they met you, they made sure to express their gratitude to you.

H ⇴ HOME

Your home tended to be the place for the two of you, as you were able to get a bit more privacy than you would at the dorm. You knew Yuta was very happy at the dorm, so you’d never force him to be at yours, but if he wanted to come over, then you’d never say no, until eventually he ended up staying with you permanently.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

After meeting his family for the first time was when Yuta was the first to say, ‘I love you.’ He knew they loved you anyway but seeing how well you connected with them all in person was the icing on top of the cake for Yuta, confirming all of the feelings that he had for you, and making him realise that he really did love you.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

Yuta loved to be social and enjoyed being around other people, but the second he felt that someone was getting a little too close to you, he wouldn’t be afraid to say anything. His ultimate goal was to keep you safe, and if he felt like that wasn’t happening, then he wouldn’t be afraid to push a guy aside and let him know that he was out of line. You loved seeing how protective Yuta became when he was jealous, you’d try and assure him that you were alright, but he’d refuse to listen and bring you back next to him.

K ⇴ KIDS

There was no secret made from Yuta that he wanted to have children in the future, but he was also very aware that there were a few years yet before he could really think about fatherhood. Seeing him around your friend’s children always put a smile on your face, at times he was still a big kid himself, and so he always got on well with little ones. He just hoped that your little ones would be just as amazing as your friends’.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

Yuta loved to make you laugh, usually with a lot of tickle attacks or chasing you around the apartment to try and get a cuddle out of you. You love the way that he teases the other members and makes incredibly blunt comments towards them and knowing that it gets a reaction out of you gives him the encouragement to do it even more. If you’ve had a bad day, it would kill Yuta on the inside, he’d do whatever it would take to put a smile back on your face, refusing to let you go until he managed to cheer you back up.

M ⇴ MISSING

He’d been away from his family for many years now, so when he went away on tour for the first time leaving you, Yuta was sure that he’d be alright. But in fact, he was anything but. It was agonising for him to be so far away from you, to not be able to be by your side to ring him and tell him that you’d had a bad day or that you were missing him. It would take a lot of persuading from the other members to stop him jumping on a plane sometimes and heading back to Seoul so that he could be back by your side. He always hoped that things would get easier, but it never really felt like they would when he was on the road.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

Yuta loved nicknames with you, he would never settle on one. ‘Cutie,’ ‘darling,’ ‘petal,’ anything that sprung to mind, Yuta would try with you, but each one would always end up putting a smile on your face.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

He was obsessed with your hair, he loved to play with it and brush his hands through it, often twirling it around his fingers when he slept to relax himself.

P ⇴ PDA

Yuta wasn’t afraid to be affectionate with you in public, he loved to mess around with you, and often push the boundaries. You were a little more reserved than him, so whilst you’d often worry about doing something wrong, he’d be there to make you smile, and above all else, make sure that you felt comfortable.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

He loved to know every single thing about you, even after years of dating, he’d always feel like there was something else to explore about you. He was desperate to find out every last detail about you so he could really know you to a tee.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

A lot of his free time was spent reading fan comments, and more so when he started dating you. He loved to show you all the positive comments that the fans uploaded about the two of you, to reassure your mind. Knowing that the fans were so supportive of the two of you was incredibly comforting for Yuta, as much as he loved to read what the fans said about him, seeing what they said about you too was much more important to him.

S ⇴ SEX

Yuta is incredibly loving, and that definitely reflects during intimacy. He loves to have you as close to him as possible so he can play with your hair and be able to look into your eyes. He’ll keep the distance short between the two of you and bundle you up in his arms so that you can feel loved by him. His athletic build also very much came in handy when the two of you were intimate, which you were completely obsessed with.

T ⇴ TEXTS

The two of you text quite a lot throughout your day, the two of you are always communicating, so as soon as either one of you gets a break, you’ll send the other a text and wait for the other to get a break to reply.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

Yuta loved having a partner in crime with you, the two of you were mischievous together, which whilst the other members hated, you loved having them all under your control and being able to wind them all up.

V ⇴ VACATION

Before he even had the chance to argue, the first holiday that presented itself to the two of you was spent on the way to Japan. You wanted him to use the time to reunite with his family rather than worry about you. A gesture that both Yuta, and his family, were incredibly grateful towards you for doing for them.

W ⇴ WHINING

Yuta will definitely whine if he wants something, he’ll be sure to know that he needs you by kicking up plenty of fuss until you notice him.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Any chance that Yuta had to kiss you; he would snap up instantly. He loved to cup your cheeks and pull you nice and close, kissing you in between words as he spoke to you. If you ever began to get worked up or nervous, he would always kiss you to stop any panic from setting within you. He knows that his kisses bring you a lot of comfort, and with that, will always make sure to kiss you whenever he senses that you need it.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were the love of his life, the only one there ever would be.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

He’ll often end up using you as a pillow at night as he usually sleeps without one. His head will usually rest against your shoulder or your chest to prop himself up, still making sure that his arms are securely wrapped around you.

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Masterlist

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