#its unavoidable at this point. inevitable even

[wackywheel]

ok . hey followers what do i need to know about whats been going on on sdmp? in the event that my crafter may be confirmed to be getting airdropped into there within the next few days. maybe possibly. .?

[mariasont]

i loved lipgloss!!! i was wondering if i could pls request smth where spencer walks in the BAU unaware of the lipgloss on his lips from kissing bimbo!receptionist or on his cheeks from being kissed then everyone's like "👀☝️🤨" (english isnt my first language im sorry😭)

STICKY SITUATIONS - S.R

a/n: back with the lipstick trope yeehaw, can't tell you all how much i appreicate u all and how patient u guys are with me when i ghost for like 5 months at a time. thank you so much for the request sug <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: spencer daydreaming about inappropriate things! PDA!

wc: 1.1k

Spencer woke up feeling untouchable, like nothing in the world could shake him. The kind of invincible where even the sky didn't seem like a limit. You had stayed the night, as you often did, and yet every time he woke up with you beside him, it felt like walking on air. Today was no exception.

You made sure he was late today — both of you were. He blamed you entirely, though he didn't mind. You pinned him down with a thousand little kisses, laughing as you insisted that it's essential for a day filled with good luck, and how else was he going to catch all the bad guys without a little charm from you?

Spencer's body vibrated like it was attuned to some invisible, higher frequency, one you alone could set. The smile threatening to break free felt inevitable, like a law of nature, as his mind drifted to thoughts of you — so unavoidable it was as if trying to pinpoint an electron's exact position and momentum in time. 

He had half a mind to swing by the reception desk just to see you. Just for a second. He'd convince himself it was enough, even though it never really was. Today, however, there was no chance he'd make it to his meeting. Not when you were wearing that skirt — his favorite. The one that fit you like it had been hand-stitched by hand for you alone, showing off your thighs in a way that made him picture them around his —

“Reid, you're —,” Hotch's voice snapped him back into reality, his brows down turning as he regarded Spencer with a curious frown before shaking his head. “Late. C'mon.”

Spencer followed Hotch into the conference room, their entrance as routine as ever, or so he assumed. But the moment they stepped inside, something shifted. The room crackled with stifled laughter, a ripple of poorly contained snickers breaking out across the team.

He froze mid-step, confusion knitting his brow as he scanned the room. His gaze flitted from face to face, trying to uncover the source of their amusement. The laughter, he realized with growing bewilderment, was somehow aimed squarely at him.

His pulse quickened as self-awareness kicked in, and his eyes darted downward, trying to detect the anomaly that had captured everyone's damn attention. A loose thread? A stain? Panic bloomed in his chest as he mentally ticked through a list of possibilities. His sweater seemed intact, no wayward strings. His pants were fine, no errant coffee stains or wrinkles. And his hair — well, his hair always had a mind of its own, but it wasn't that unruly today. Right?

Bastards.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, what did I miss?”

Emily tried, and failed, to smother her laughter behind a closed hand, shaking her head. “I think you might need to go to look in the mirror, lover boy.”

Spencer didn't bother questioning her. No explanation would be offered, at least not freely. He knew he'd get no real answers from this group, and honestly, he wasn't even sure he wanted them at this point. Instead, he slipped out of the conference room and headed down the hall, his mind a muddled tangle of confusion.

He was so distracted, so consumed with trying to figure out what he'd missed, that he nearly missed the sound of quick, approaching footsteps. It was only at the last second that he looked up, just in time for you to collide with him.

His hands moved instinctively, catching your waist as you stumbled forward, stopping you from toppling over.

Spencer's breath caught. Gods know if you'd fallen in those heels, you'd be lucky to escape with just a sprained ankle. But you didn't fall. Instead, you let out a startled giggle as you looked up at him wide-eyed.

“Whoopsie,” you said with a smile. “Hi there, handsome.”

The instant the words left your lips, you clamped a hand over your mouth, fighting back a high-pitched squeal of laughter.

Spencer, even more bewildered, furrowed his brows in confusion. “Okay, what?”

“Hold still,” you instructed, though your voice wavered between stifled giggles. You reached up for him, your fingertips hovering near his face.

He followed your hand with his eyes, still clueless, until you gently cupped his cheek. Whatever it was on his skin drew another wave of laughter from you, and in response, he prodded at your sides, each poke sending you into another fit of delighted squeals.

“Hey, that's not holding still, Dr.!” you gasped, halfheartedly swatting at his hands while you finished wiping away the last bit of whatever had clung to his face.

“Whoopsie daisy,” you said again, still brushing invisible flecks from his cheek, your voice reminding him of what he envisioned sunshine poured into a teacup would manifest as. “Aw, Spence, looks like I kinda-sorta-maybe left a tiny little lipstick stain behind.”

Your tone was drenched in honeyed innocence, as if this kind of thing just happened and you had no earthly clue how.

Spencer's eyes narrowed. “Is that why I've been subjected to my team's thinly veiled harassment?”

Your eyes went wide, and you gasped as if you'd just witnessed a high crime. “They were giving you trouble? Oh my gosh!”You pressed your fingertips to your lips. “Do I need to have a word with them?”

The determination in your voice sounded all too serious, and he was a little scared that you were actually prepared to march back to that conference room in your pretty heels and give the entire BAU a piece of your mind.

Spencer nearly chocked on a laugh. Of all possible reactions, yours was the sweetest, most fiercely protective, and downright hilarious. He held up a hand in a placating gesture, lips curving into a boyish grin. 

“Hmm, I appreciate the offer,” he murmured, gently tapping his chin with a finger as if considering it. “However, I think you might need to have a word with the real culprit who decided my face should double as her personal canvas this morning.”

“Me?” You pressed a hand dramatically to your heart. “I would never! I mean, sure, I might've given you a million good-luck kisses before you left, and maybe one or two... or three of my lip gloss stains decided to stick around, but that's hardly my fault!”

You shifted your weight to the balls of your feet and wiggled your fingers in a helpless sort of gesture. “That's just how good my gloss is, y'know?”

“Right,” he replied, voice quieter now, eyes warm as they traced your face. “Clearly the lip gloss is at fault. We'll have to issue it a stern warning later.”

“Exactly! Don't blame poor, innocent me.”You paused, lowering your voice conspiratorially, leaning close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume. “And if any of the team give you grief again, you know where to find me!”

Spencer hummed, placing a light hand on the small of your back, steering you gently away from the corridor.

“I'll keep that in mind,” he murmured, smiling as if the world had just aligned perfectly in that very hallway. “But for now, maybe we should try to make sure I get back to my meeting... gloss-free.”

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[catsoupki]

bakugou doesn’t like you. not only had you two gotten off on the wrong foot (‘watch where you’re going, extra!’, ‘you blind, asshole?’) you’re also aggressive. he knows how hypocritical he’s being, but you’re a different kind of aggressive. you’re the type to smile and make him squint, you’ll laugh in the common room and burn him. you don’t just go head to head, toe to toe with him, you’ll match him punch by punch and kick with kick— it hurts just to exist in your presence.

but you’re everywhere, your company is unavoidable and inevitable at some point of the day— in the gym at dawn, next to his desk in school through the window, three tables reflected behind him during lunch, and the dorm next door after hours; your traces are blinding, and inescapable too, the warmth that trails after you, the scent that is particularly suffocating when he uses the bathroom after you, residues of your belongings will scatter the places he hangs around, he knows your headphones are littered with stickers and your notebooks are from muji, he can’t get away from you even when he tries.

and oh believe him, he’s tried. he’s tried so hard, he’s ushered shitty hair to sit at another table so he doesn’t have to hear your obnoxious chatter when he’s eating, he’s tried noise-cancelling earphones to not hear you talking to yourself in your room, but you’re fervent, in sparring and in everything else. in the cookies you gift him and in the protein shakes you leave for him in the fridge, within everything you do and touch and shine on, evidence is left behind, ash blond turns into orange and beige taints pink.

it’s annoying, bakugou doesn’t like it.

he thought that all he wanted was victory, and that when he comes home to an empty apartment, he won’t be fathomed by its coldness when he’s still triumphed. yet, when he learns your colours and the way you glimmer, his scale is thrown off balance and his world is tossed upside down. so he doesn’t know what to do when you dim into a soft and weak timber, when you can’t even hold a candle to itself, all that he can offer you is his nitroglycerin.

the sun works on an eleven year cycle, it’ll go through its troughs and crests regularly while its hydrogen burns and burns and everything else will be susceptible to your deviations. when you bounce back from your lows though, the nitroglycerin that gathers at his palms is once again lit up by your vehemence.

‘your cheeks are so red, are you sunburnt? are you okay, katsuki?’

[claudiablogger]

god truly the framing of claudia's death as this unavoidable tragedy boils my blood. it's in the episode title how the appearance of futility in resistance was carefully orchestrated and claudia herself says it's a stoning but I guess the narrative of the Black woman always meant to have been dead is better. my god. the horror is she never shouldve been dead she was murdered !!!! the horror is they conspired and plotted against her in a fury of bigotry on behalf of a white frenchman (their own) and the person who was supposed to protect her facilitated her downfall and death because she posed a threat to him. again, as the episode title spells out for us, armand could have prevented it !!!!! we see such and greater displays of power from him time and time again the whole point of the title is hes gaslighted louis into believing it so the reason he did it is preserved (he has louis all to himself). not a fan of the term media literacy but this is a didactic show. come on

besides that's not even what "dead from the beginning" means we need to start putting it on the high shelf until people can use it properly. it refers to a character whose very introduction or birth in the narrative is emblematic of their inevitable, eventual, cruel, and tragic death. claudia's death is predicted over and over again BY PPL WHO WISH FOR IT ! the same people who, when it suits them, comment on how well she's taken to vampiric life and how she transcends the tragedy of how she was made. (shes a prodigious killer; why you'd want to limit her is beyond comprehension. / imagine her in a body equal to her mind. etc etc) but her actions and outlook always contradict this declaration of doom. time and time again she's proven herself better suited for vampire life than louis, even--often what's said about her inability to take to it is to keep him doubting and dependent. undoubtedly claudia's story is a tragedy, but not because she was always going to fail as a vampire. it's the opposite; it's because she would have and did thrive. we're conflating her struggles with louis' here, the way the men in louis' life do on purpose

the way it's all misogynoir too: ppl cant see her as the multifaceted character she is or reconcile her victimhood with her agency and strength. its there w louis too but worse with her because shes always a pawn in men w more structural power than her abusing her and abusing that power when she outwits them to get to louis. so to act like this was always meant to happen to her. when an calculated intentional series of events maneuvered her to her death left her with only her love........not the oresteian tragedy ppl think it is. save it for daniel being significant due to armands self fulfilling prophetic jealousy. not claudia

[roguishcat]

What happens at Sharess', stays at Sharess'

Excerpt: “Cora, sweetheart,” Astarion leaned closer to her, brushing a strand of inky black hair behind her ear, delighting in the fact that she leaned into his touch. “Can you tell me what you did last night to that nice drow man to have him in hysterics, hm?”

Pairing: Astarion x my OC, Astarion x female Tav

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: Fluff, Act III, Spoilers for Act III, named female Tav, OC

Set in Act III

A/N: I feel a bit nervous about posting this, and hope you like Cora, she is so cunning and chaotic, quite different from how I usually portray Tav in my other stories. Enjoy! ❤️

Art by @floadwarf1

Astarion prided himself on being able to read people. But then along came Cora. The seemingly dimwitted and charming high-born half-elf who was a magnet for trouble.

Yet, once you got to know her more, you realised that it was all a front and Cora was, in fact, so much more than just a conceited rich girl. Just like the rest of them, Cora kept her secrets close to her chest initially, but ended up confessing everything, overwhelmed by guilt, feeling that she was letting her friends down by not being entirely honest. Seeing as all of them were either keeping secrets or straight up lying to each other from the word go, the revelation was received well enough. And it was after Cora finally told them the truth about her shadowcaster heritage and dysfunctional, borderline psychotic patriar family that Astarion really saw her in a new light.

She was intelligent and ruthlessly vicious when dealing with enemies, making them end themselves by using their madness to quicken their demise. Her sharp tongue and the way she twisted words were rather useful when they were directed at someone else. He was especially impressed by the way she handled Yurgir. Large doe eyes and deceptively frail frame aside, Cora could be trusted to be cruel when the situation called for it.

Yet, Cora was fiercely loyal and protective to the group, to the point that it was near suicidal, which drove Astarion up the wall.

When Astarion first decided to sleep with her to get their unanimously appointed leader under his thumb, he did not realise that he bit off more than he could chew, figuratively speaking. Initially, Cora did not reveal her ancestry, she was ashamed of its corruptive power. But as they progressed on their journey, she managed to harness the shadows without succumbing to the corruption.

A tenday ago, as their band of misfits finally made it to the city, Cora grew quiet and withdrawn, quite a contrast to her usual chatterbox ways. Astarion guessed that it had everything to do with being reunited with her family, an unavoidable, worrying inevitability that frightened her to the point of making Cora distracted and even careless. Granted, she wasn’t the only one with an unpleasant family reunion, but it made her worries no less valid. But after Gortash’s coronation and Wyll’s subsequent decision to be free of Mizora at the cost of his father’s freedom, Astarion saw a familiar stubborn look in her eyes as she fell into her problem-solving mode.

She had a plan.

Cora squared her shoulders and thrust her chin up stubbornly, bulldozing her way through the city, swindling the innkeeper into giving them rooms at the Elfsong for free, fighting tooth and nail to make sure that they obtained all the information that could aid them on their personal quests. They defeated Cazador, which, surprisingly, was far less troublesome than he thought it would be, although it didn’t make it any less traumatic, were confronted by the Sharrans, and ambushed by Orin. Cora dealt with each crisis to the best of her ability. But it was not enough.

It felt as if for every step they took forward, they were thrust back two paces. They needed information and they needed it now.

When the sky dusked, Astarion saw Cora getting dressed with a glint in her eyes that he knew meant that she had come to a decision.

“Cora? Dearest? Where are you headed this fine evening?”

“Sharess’.”

He raised an eyebrow at that.

“Would you like me to come with you?” he asked tentatively. Being all but abandoned by her family to grow up at Sharess’ meant that if circumstances were different, Cora would avoid the place like the Bubonic plague. Several days back they helped the Mamzell find out who was behind the murder of one of the prostitutes. A favor which she wanted to repay by offering a free ride. Cora refused politely yet firmly.

“No need. Though I would appreciate it if you came to get me tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you planning to,” he swallowed around a lump in his throat, “stay the night?”

“Yes,” she said simply, grabbing her brocade bag and making sure she had everything she needed.

“I see,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. As if she told him what the weather was going to be like rather than telling him that he would have to sleep alone that night.

“Oh Star, it’s not like that!” Cora wound her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss under his jaw. “I’ve got an idea, but it might not work. So, not telling for now, okay? But I promise, I’m not going to lay a finger on anyone there. And no one sure as hells is touching me,” she said almost ominously.

Then her expression changed, she smooched his cheek and with that, she was gone.

Astarion followed her, of course. Because, as he kept telling himself, she was going to get mugged twice before she even made it to the brothel. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. He knew that she was powerful and very dangerous, but he couldn’t help but still think of her as the inept girl that she was when they first crashed on the beach. Now she was mistress of the shadows, one of the creatures that went bump in the night.

And of course she made it completely fine, walking into Sharess’ with confidence and levelling Mamzell with a hard look that that came from years of ordering people about. Astarion turned himself invisible and snuck after her, noting that Cora almost immediately ducked through the curtain and made a beeline for the drow twins.

Astarion scowled as it all clicked in his mind. So, this was it then. She just didn’t want him to be upset that she went back to taste whatever was on offer. It was understandable, really. With how much there was at stake, with all her responsibilities, it was no surprise that Cora needed to let herself forget, if only for a moment. Lose herself in someone willing, someone capable.

With the music being loud and the patrons getting rowdier and handsier as they got drunker, he could not hear exactly what she said to the twins. After a brief exchange, the brother, Sorn, if Astarion remembered correctly, motioned for Cora to follow him.

Astarion did not want to see anymore. He knew that technically he insisted that Cora indulge with the drow when they were here last time. Astarion was nowhere near ready to resume the sexual part of their relationship, but he still felt… he was not sure how he felt.

As they walked up the stairs, Astarion caught some of their conversation.

“Don’t you worry, I pride myself on delivering absolute satisfaction to every guest.”

“Let’s hope that you live up to your reputation. I am very particular when it comes to what gets me… excited.”

“Is that so? Well, whatever the fantasy, we always guarantee discretion. No one will ever find out.”

“I would like to think that. It would be shame if your establishment-.”

As they rounded the corner, Astarion could not catch the rest of what Cora was saying. He was sure that if his heart could beat it would be hammering loudly. He heard enough to make his insecurity rear its ugly head.

Of course he was not enough. How could he ever be? And Cora, the sweet, kind creature that she was when it came to him, did not want him to know of his inadequacy. The one thing that he was ever good for. And even that he could not provide. She did not take Halsin up on his offer, perhaps because she did not want him to witness whatever they would get up to. So, she had to take care of her needs in a different way.

Woodenly, Astarion made it to the bar and ordered wine. Might as well wait for her here. He didn’t want to go back to Elfsong and answer questions about Cora’s whereabouts. And it didn’t really matter if he drove himself mad thinking about what the drow was doing to her here at the bar or back in Elfsong.

As hours ticked by, he was approached several times by the men and women who worked there until they finally got the hint and left him be. Gods, he wished that he could get drunk. But apparently, he was not even allowed such small mercies. He rubbed his hand across his face. Picking up his glass, Astarion decided to relocate to a corner table near the window, to be left alone with his thoughts.

When morning finally came and the first slither of light warmed his cheek, Astarion heard a door slam open and shut somewhere. Someone, possibly one of the workers, ran past him and darted up the stairs with impressive speed. Then another and another. Just what in the hells was going on there?

The answer to his question came in a form of sniffling drow who was half-pulled, half-coaxed down the stairs by two servants, his bewildered and confused sibling waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.

“Sister! My head, my eyes, my hand, oh it hurts!” he wailed quite pathetically, making Astarion’s ears perk up in curiosity, “I have never been subjected to something like this in my life!”

“Brother? Are you well? Shall I call for a healer?”

“No, I don’t need a healer. What I need is rest!” he threw his arms up and pushed past her, confusing whatever guests were still milling about with his theatrics. “Do not expect me to entertain for at least a tenday! In the very least, I earned this respite!”

Now that was interesting. Astarion was curious to know what exactly was it that Cora had the drow do. Because surely… surely it could not be that bad and depraved, right? Had she been going easy on him all this time? He swallowed, not sure if he was concerned or impressed.

As he snuck past the workers and walked into the drow’s room, Astarion watched Cora stuff her face with the delicate little breakfast pastries, finely cut meat and whatever else was on the table. Quite a spread for a simple breakfast. But then again, she was quite the guest, apparently. And here at Sharess’ they knew how to cater to every whim.

“Astarion! You’re here already? Didn’t expect you to be so early,” she smiled from across the room, waving him over.

A quick glance told him that whatever happened last night did not involve the bed, as it was clearly untouched. He felt his shoulders relax a little as he got a better look at Cora. She looked tired out. But Astarion knew what a well-fucked Cora looked like, and this was not it. Which begged the question, what exactly did she get up to?

“Cora, sweetheart,” Astarion leaned closer to her, brushing a strand of inky black hair behind her ear, delighting in the fact that she leaned into his touch. “Can you tell me what you did last night to that nice drow man to have him in hysterics, hm?”

She blinked and swallowed her food, feigning ignorance. “But my love, I have no idea! I kept my promise to you, I didn’t even touch him! Well, once. But that was more of a slap than a touch, so nothing down south.”

“He seems to be of the opinion that after one night with you, he will have to take a tenday off work. ‘To heal physically and emotionally’ if I were to quote him.”

Cora snorted in amusement. It was quite perplexing how she could be a fine, noble-born lady one moment, a little rascal the next, and also a murder-happy villain when the situation called for it. Naturally, Astarion rather liked all of the above.

“Well, my Star,” she purred, pulling his face closer to her own, lips close to the shell of his ear as she whispered softly, only for him to hear, “it seems that only your magic touch is enough when it comes to me.”

Then she gave him a peck just below his ear, grabbed her bag and grinned mischievously.

“Let’s head back to Elfsong. I’ve got something in this bag that will make you very, very happy.”

Astarion felt a tingle run down his spine and swallowed nervously.

An hour later, they were back in their room. The separate room that Gale insisted they should take. Astarion did not know what in the world the wizard’s problem was. He was practically a saint with how well-behaved he’s been lately!

“So… spill dearest. What have you been up to?”.                         

“Help me with this dress,” she smiled over her shoulder.

She was stalling. He could see that suddenly she felt nervous, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her bag.

“I wonder however you managed to put it on yourself without any help,” he clicked his tongue, trailing gentle fingers up her sides until they rested on her shoulders.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. But I’d rather you were the one to do it.”

He smirked and pressed a kiss to her neck, spinning her around to face him.

“And no funny business Ancunín,” she swatted at his hand when he tried to cop a feel. “Not until I show you what I got.”

“Yes, dearest. I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

“You are not a gentleman. That’s part of your appeal. But you are perfect, my love.”

Astarion felt a lump in throat at how earnest she looked when she said that. Trust Cora to be the one person to look at him, a vampire who had been a slave for 200 and did unspeakable things, some of which she witnessed firsthand, and still call him perfect and mean it. Her fingers felt so warm against his skin as she cradled his cheek. He wanted to lean into her touch, kiss the underside of her wrist and draw her in, pulling her close and swallowing her gasp as he desperately ravaged her.

But his twice-cursed mind would not let him succumb to his own desires, or at least not let him enjoy it. And he wanted to. By gods he wanted to. Cora deserved to have the entirety of his attentions, for her lover to be present, to be there in the moment.

And that was why, with a crooked smile and a chaste peck, Astarion quickly helped her out of her dress and withdrew. Cora was a saint for pretending that she did not notice his inner turmoil.

“Lady Coraline Ravenshade, you will tell me what you got for your efforts this minute or so help me I’m leaving,” he crossed his arms and tapped his foot in a mock display of impatience.

“Fine,” Cora changed into her sleepwear and opened her bag, rummaging around and pulling out papers and parchments.

“We needed information and I thought, when does one let their guard down? When do we reveal our secrets? Whisper them into others’ ears, hushed tones, candlelight soft and intimate?”

“Are you talking about pillow talk?” Astarion said slowly, not quite sure where she was going with this.

“And then I thought, where do the richest and most influential Baldurians go?”

“Sharess’.” Astarion’s eyes widened as it all clicked.

“And of course they would choose to spend an evening with the best that coin could buy,” she nodded, spreading the papers on their shared bed with a triumphant look in her eyes.

“But why Sorn? Why not the sister?”

“Well, that was a bit of a gamble,” she admitted with a shrug. “But I figured sweet and soft would not cut it in this case. And I was right.”

Astarion picked up the papers scattered on their shared bed. Confessions, secrets revealed, plans uncovered. It was all theirs.

“You brilliant terror!” Astarion’s grin was all fangs as he quickly skimmed through the confessions the journalists at the Baldur's Mouth would pay a mountain of gold for. “But how did you convince the drow to tell you these?”

“Ah, well that took a bit of creativity. He didn’t realise that there was a kink quite like mine until last night. Because what makes me really, really hot,” she brought her lips to the shell of Astarion’s ear, “is when my lover writes.”

“We spent the whole night writing down all the gossip that the drow could think of. Quills gliding against parchment, ink stains on fingers, lips being bitten as concentration wavers and then” she said breathily, “with a thrust of the tip into the pot, back to writing we went.”

Astarion eyed her incredulously. Cora could not take it anymore and giggled.

“Was it a deeply satisfying experience, love?”

“Oh, yes. Very much. I’m afraid I tired him and myself out completely. My hand definitely cramped once or twice, but I kept at it. You know how thorough I am in everything I do,” she yawned loudly and wiped her bleary eyes.

“But the best part, my love, is that they guarantee discretion when it comes to kinks. Not when it comes to what is said after the deed is done. Sorn didn’t do anything wrong by telling me everything that he knows. But he cannot tell of anything that transpired between him and I, because that goes against everything that they stand for.”

Astarion just looked at all that she had accomplished in one night. It was so simple yet so brilliant.

“It is all here, Star,” she took his hands into her own, giving his knuckles a kiss. “The underwater prison where Gortash is probably keeping Wyll’s father. The rumours about Bhaalists, sightings in the sewers. And so much more! We can blackmail tons of people into giving us even more information!”

Astarion pulled her towards him with a chuckle and snaked his arms around her middle.

“You villain! I love how your mind works!”

“I told you, I never want to be with anyone but you. I love you. And I want to be with you for as long as you allow it.”

Astarion cradled her body against his tightly, burying his face in Cora’s unbound hair.

“This was all I could think of,” she said softly, running her fingers through his curls with a sigh. “Coming back to you and you holding me.”

It was a moment so tender that he felt like his heart couldn’t take it. It was simply too much. So Astarion threw the covers aside, the papers flying off the bed like startled birds to scatter in all directions, pushed Cora onto the bed and lay down next to her.

“Oh, be quiet and sleep! You frail half-elves need your rest,” he grumbled and pulled the covers back up to cover Cora up to her chin.

“You knew I was a yapper all along. So you have no choice but to grin and bear it.”

“Tsk, shush. Don’t make me silence you.”

“Promises, promises,” she yawned, closing her eyes with a happy sigh.

And for a moment, all was perfect. He knew that this would not last. Tomorrow would bring some new horrors and new battles. But somehow, for the first time in centuries, he found himself feeling hopeful about his future. About their future.

Because whatever happened, they would face it together. And have a lot of fun doing it.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong,

@ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

[ladykakata]

i love your shameless thoughts so much! i think a lot of shameless fans do a lot of projecting when it comes to mickey and seem to think he’s ian’s doormat when he clearly isn’t, he just a well informed partner who understands and accepts how his bf/husband’s mental illness unavoidably affects his behavior sometimes. it’s just like how ian can see that, what might look like a tantrum to most, is mickey being overwhelmed and unable to process certain things and lashing out in the process. getting hurt by each other is sometimes inevitable, but for the most part throughout the series they don’t fully take it to heart because they’re accepting of one another. its sad that some fans will ignore the complexity of that in favour of villainising/victimising and defaulting to ableism.

PRECISELY. You've hit the bullseye there; Mickey comes to learn that certain actions might be Ian's brain lashing out, but Ian does precisely the same with Mickey. Mickey is pretty notoriously (and hilariously, let's be honest) short-tempered and hyper-defensive, to the point where pretty much anything will result in a machine-gun torrent of abuse aimed at someone. There's a known tell with him rubbing his eyebrow if he's SEVERELY tested and ready to lash out physically, and that's true as well.

A good example of this is when Ian was mystified by Mickey's behaviour with regards to the West Side. Mickey is clearly struggling, again he verbally lashes out and he did the same at the party when asked what his drink of choice was. Ian in that scene just smiles and shakes his head, knowing Mickey is rough around the edges and awkward, but he certainly doesn't upbraid him for his lack of etiquette. Trying to get Mickey to admit to anything emotional is difficult, and Ian knows he has to carefully tease that information out without setting Mickey off on a rant or him shutting down (the latter more likely). He did so beautifully when trying to figure out why Mickey didn't want the nice apartment on the West side, and Mickey finally admitted that it makes him deeply uncomfortable. Having gotten the answer, Ian accepts that, and de-escalates the situation by calmly agreeing, despite Mickey being suspicious about him not arguing. Eventually, after some back and forth, Mickey agrees to move and Ian lets him have his caveats, ending the exchange by reaffirming that Ian loves Mickey's rough side ("You're such a fucking barbarian" "Thank you <3"). Mickey is so socially awkward for someone full of bluff and bluster and I REALLY want to cover that in a post.

I'm on anti-depressants, and a side effect of making my emotions even and focusing my brain without it having a meltdown every two minutes with emotions, it also makes you a little emotionally numb. It can make you look very calm and collected, which is also a bonus in certain circumstances, but also can come across as cold or uncaring in the wrong circumstances. When Mickey was trying to process his father's death, Ian was borderline confused about his upset, which again can come across as very cold, but being someone under the influence of anti-depressants, I do wonder if the writers were taking that into consideration, as well as Ian's deep loathing for Terry and not quite getting how upset Mickey would be over the death. I think he eventually will realise it's not so much the fact he's died, it's the lost potential for them to reconcile and be a proper father-and-son. Mickey had a glimpse of it, and it's heartbreaking to see.

In my opinion, the deleted scene where Mickey questions Ian's mood and expresses concern should have been kept in. Ian has done it for Mickey, and it's so soft and gentle the way he probes into how Ian is feeling without, again, making Ian shut down or push him away. Plus, it had Mickey referring to Ian out loud as his husband, and we all need more of that <3

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Day 5: One Final Night ↠ Hancock

➼ Word Count » 1.0k ➼ Warnings » Suggestive ➼ Genre » Romantic, Slight Angst?, Pinning

Magnolia's voice rang sweetly over the light chatter of the bar, never overpowering it but not being drowned out either. She always had a way of matching her volume to her environment, and you adored her for it.

There was a time when you'd entered the Third Rail and could still hear the singer's voice clearly, even if you couldn't hear your own. Her pitch was something to marvel at, and you applauded the talent it takes.

Tonight was no different as you once again sat at the bar, drink in hand, as you watched the woman perform.

"It's quite the number, isn't it?" Hancock's voice intruded, shattering that once tranquil feeling you were feeling.

You sighed in response, turning to face your glass again, "She never has a bad one." You said, twirling your drink in a sorrowfully dramatic way.

"Why I like her so much." He grinned, tapping his rugged fingers against the countertop, "What is that? Rum? Let me buy you one." He offered, gesturing to the dark liquor you cradled in front of you.

"I'm not here for you, Hancock." You stated firmly.

"I get it, you're here for the merc, don't mean I can't buy you a drink."

You sighed. If there was one thing you hated about Goodneighbor, it was how weak you were for the town's mayor. One look was all it ever took for you to fall back into his arms. It was pathetic, really.

"Just don't get ahead of yourself." You muttered, and before you knew it, he had waved Charlie over and was sliding you yet another glass.

You did this every time you visited. Relapsed back into his embrace - back into his bed, just as you promised yourself you wouldn't.

There was a period when you had done everything in your power to avoid the place, but your life always seemed to lead you back to those neon lights hanging just outside the old beaten door. There was always something that forced you to come back.

It was unavoidable at this point. Even when you told yourself you were only going to stay long enough to hire MacCready for a job you had down at Parson's Asylum, you still ended up sitting down at the bar and ordering a drink. And it was all for the inevitable appearance of the mayor. Your one, unbeatable addiction.

You should've left. You couldn't keep sleeping around with the Mayor. You had a kid somewhere out in the Commonwealth. This wasn't the time to be making out with a corpse any time you happened to be in the area. But there had always been something about Hancock that made you break. No matter how much you hated the way he made you feel, or how you hated to lead him on, everything you built up within yourself shattered the moment your eyes met his own.

So, it didn't surprise you when you found yourself pressed up against the outside brick of the Old State House. Your legs wrapped tightly around Hancock's torso as he deepened the kiss.

"Mmm, Sunshine..." He groaned, "I'd do this with you every day if I could."

You snickered at his words before putting your finger to his lips, stopping him from trailing kisses all along your neck. "I bet you say that to everyone." You teased, slowly moving your finger down from its place in his mouth.

"Just you, sweetheart," He grinned, going to nip at the lobe of your ear. After a slight pause, he whispered, "...I love you." Then continued right back to what he was doing before.

You placed your hand down quickly onto his chest, stopping him briefly, "You can't say that." You muttered.

It was only loud enough for him to hear, and your heart broke a bit at the sight of his face dropping because of it, but whatever it was he felt was quickly pushed away as he regained himself once again.

"Sorry, honey..." He spoke, "Got… carried away."

You shot him an apologetic smile at the sound of the slight pang in his voice. You felt horrible, but your guilt was quickly diminished as his rough lips found their way back down to the spot under your jaw.

His motions were still filled with passion, but a different kind. It felt slower - more sincere. Like he was really trying to prove something to you. That this wasn't just another night for him. That you were more than just a one-night stand. That he truly did love you.

"Take it upstairs, Hancock!" One of the triggermen shouted after turning the corner and witnessing the lude display.

"Heh, I'm going, I'm going!" He called back, hooking his arm around the bottom of your legs and shouldering the doors open roughly.

The dusty atmosphere of the Old State House was.. something, you supposed. It definitely carried that historical weight the ghoul seemed to like so much. You, however, couldn't help but cough a little at the fast change in air quality. The place smelt like a college dorm party was held in Washington's basement. It was unique in its own right, but the cigarette smoke that drenched parts of the place definitely wasn't the healthiest to breathe in.

Despite your gripes, you giggled drunkenly the whole time you were being carried, clinging around his neck as he stumbled up the winding stairs. A small smile flashed across his own face at the sight of you so giddy in his arms and that previous pang of guilt returned to haunt you.

You held onto him tighter for support as he roughly kicked open the doors to his room. It didn't take him long before he was tossing you onto one of his velvet couches, bouncing a bit from the impact.

You grinned up at him excitedly as you watched him shoulder off his coat and undo a few of his buttons. You had to admit, you'd miss the sight of him like this. Even if this was the last time you ever planned on doing this, you couldn't help but adore the firm and gentle ways he touched you. And, as the rustic doors finally swung shut behind the both of you, you felt a certain sadness start to grow at this being your last night with him.

[higharollakockamamie]

One bad game I'm fascinated with is Twelve Minutes.

It's got a dynamite premise: you're at home with your wife, and after 12 minutes, a cop bursts in, ties you both up, and kills you. The goal of the timeloop is to figure out why and how to stop him. (It turns out the answer to both is stupid, but that's another story.)

Screenshot from EuroGamer's LP.

What's interesting to me is a certain feeling the death scenes evoke. The first one is shocking, but after that, the game successfully makes you feel bad, but also makes you resentful at it for making you feel that way. And that's actually a pretty rare feeling for fiction to evoke!

What's much easier to think of examples of is good tragedy.

From Chip and Ironicus's MGS3 LP

You know, the thing that's the satisfying culmination of an effective setup with believable inevitability, which evokes a negative emotion, maybe a powerful enough negative emotion that you sob in your dorm room and are extremely relieved your roommate isn't around that night, but you love and appreciate it because you care about the characters and it's well done.

Even things that can't be necessarily called "good" overall can have effective moments, where suddenly there's a moment of shock that works.

From Full Playthroughs' Haze LP

Even the failure state of shock and tragedy, when it's done badly, usually just falls on its face in a way that makes you laugh.

From Kai's FFXIV LP

So what makes Twelve Minutes uniquely unpleasant?

I think the key factor is boredom.

When you get to the point that the cop zipties you, the loop is essentially done. There's nothing more to discover, nothing new you can do. It's essentially a long game over. All you're doing is watching an unskippable cutscene until you die, it resets, and you can do stuff again. So the stuff where you watch a woman on the floor begging a man to go away and leave them alone isn't just stomach-turning, it's also inconsequential. The loop's just gonna start over, so it doesn't actually matter. You're not shocked anymore. You're just sitting and waiting for it to finish. So you're feeling bad because what's onscreen is unpleasant, but also bored, which ends up in making you feel more resentful towards the devs than sympathetic towards the characters.

But if you're doing a timeloop where failure ends in a character's death, is this queasiness unavoidable? Not necessarily!

A game that does something narratively very similar but, through a few smart choices, emotionally completely different is Ghost Trick.

From ShortOneGaming's Ghost Trick LP

One clever choice is to focus on the dog. Sure, a dead dog is sad, but he's not dead permanently, and we can talk to his ghost, which is full of doggish optimism and determination, which keeps your attention on your mission of saving the little girl.

Another extremely smart gameplay mechanic is, if you screw up the puzzle, all you have to do is press a couple buttons to immediately start over or go back to a checkpoint. This means you don't have to sit there and watch the clock run out on your failure, and is a feature that would have been a great thing for Twelve Minutes.

Would it have saved the game? No. You'd have to change the extremely dumb answer to the mystery for that. But it would have made it less of an annoying and unpleasant experience.

[arcreactordreams]

hii! dunno if you accept 2 prompts at a time but i'll shoot my shot!

can i request friends to lovers (from first link) and prompt 4 and 7 with sunny from omori? thank youu!!

' Promise you'll remember that you're mine '

Starring: Sunny | OMORI.

Sypnosis: Sunny had been realizing that real life can become a daydram simply by your presence, how is that possible?

Prompts: "The realization that the hugs they share will never be something that they can reciprocate with someone else" & "Anytime they sit next to one another, they find themselves touching. Shoulders, thighs, knees, their honestly never entirely sure how it happens but have accepted it’s unavoidable."

A/N: I do not take request anymore, yet i would find intresting if you have an idea and you can share it with me. Im sorry this took so long, i have been working a lot. Im also sorry if this turns out to be kind of depressive in some parts, have in mind you will be seeing this mostly from sunny's point of view and i think it would be kind of normal that he would have this kind of thoughts, by the way this is too short and i know, sorry.

Warnings: kind of angst in some parts, very light.

Whenever they sit next to one another, the inevitable brush of their fingertips, the undeniable caress of their shoulders, that feeling of comfort when their thighs touch, and the subtle heat that spreads through their bodies when all contact becomes inevitable, are all as familiar to them as breathing - familiar, and yet unrequited, as a soul tie - Despite the familiarity of these sensations, they remain unrequited due to fear. However, ¿what exactly is fear? ¿How do you explain the feeling that prevents you two from reciprocating each other's embrace?

¿Is it his fault? ¿Is there another factor that becomes a burden when he wants to hold you? He is at the very epitome of human feeling in this moment, he didn't feel that before; Despair and hope at the same time by the same person, yet all you make him feel is hope, in everything. Yet Omori still holds his darkest feelings, desires and thoughts.

Even if he knows that he craves a human tie he finds himself retracting in any way he can from you. ¿what if he does it again? he can't stop thinking about it, but you are just so ethereal that he can't help but be drawn towards you. He is a monster, an assassin, ¿what would you like about him? He loves you, and he hates himself for that. He will corrupt you one way or another, but being with you, oh what a dream when he's with you he finds himself in a fairytale, it's better than the headspace, he can breathe.

Sunny was zoned out, but then he realizes that you were talking, he quickly apologized and asked you nicely to repeat youself as he tilted his head to the side. He was genuelly intrested in what you were saying.

"Im sorry, could you repeat that please?"

He was shaking slightly, ¿what could he do now? He doesnt even know how it really began, he can't tell anything about it else than the burning feeling on his chest and the suddent need to hold you in his arms for days, than the suddent need to protect you, for Omori is a waste of time, for Sunny love is something natual and real, something you make him feel.

He loves your voice, he loves it when its dedicated to him, he loves when he is the person you are looking at, Omori said it was egoistical yet Sunny only finds comfort on the sun that reflects on your eyes, its the only way he doesnt feel the soild falling on his feet, the only way he doesn't feel lost.

Sunny loves you, nobody is going to ever deny that, but oh how wonderfull it would be to tell you just how he loved you, if you only knew what he would do for you. He would do near everything, he just needs a chance, he doesn't ask for much, ¿does he?

He is desperated, clinging to his only ray of hope: You, if you knew you would stay or you would leave? What if you leaved him, what would he do after?... No, you won't leave, he will do whatever you want if you dont leave, he will beg on his knees for you to stay if it is necessary, he won't lose you.

© ArcReactorDreams - 2024 all rights reserved

[donnerpartyofone]

This has been a really hard one to talk about. I'm always very ambivalent about mourning celebrities. I try to remember that I don't know these people, that what is really mourned by most of us is the person's ongoing work, which in the best cases has helped us understand ourselves and the world in which we live. Unavoidably, though, you can start to develop the sense that you know these people personally, which isn't true or even appropriate necessarily, I mean you have no idea whether you would even like someone you've only seen on a screen or received an autograph from; but at the same time, I don't know if you can really force yourself not to feel like the deceased celebrity is a dear friend you will never get to talk to again (the last time I tried and failed was the passing of Lux Interior). Maybe this is more forgivable, and also more inevitable, if you feel like you grew up with the person.

Of course this is all about ME now, but my mother (who also died from cancer) was an extremely hip, brilliant, funny individual who for whatever reason refused to form a relationship with me. This was pretty strange, because we liked a lot of the same things--B movies, old comics, all types of camp and kitsch--but when I liked those things, it was in poor taste and punishable by exile, whereas when she liked those things, it was evidence of her cultural genius. Before I make anybody too mad I should say that I'm being a little bit unfairly reductive just so I can get to the point, which is that one of the few things we could share was Pee-Wee's Playhouse. I didn't know anything about the show's more adult origins or the fact that Paul Reubens was sort of a performance artist, but I didn't have to. Pee-Wee's Playhouse was a feast for any child's senses: stylish, hilarious, and on some subliminal level, really sophisticated. I was clued into some of what was going on just because I watched it with my mom, who always laughed at Pee-Wee's winks and nudges to the hep parents in the audience. The show might have been my first encounter with the kind of anthropological humor favored by people like David Byrne and Laurie Anderson, artists who engage subversively with cliches, stereotypes, and other memetic parts of popular culture. In Pee-Wee's Playhouse, with its sharp, edgy cast and crew, kids like me were getting into fine art without even knowing it--which is possibly the best way to learn about art anyway.

In fact, on the other side of our house, I became obsessed with Gary Panter's incredible punk opus Jimbo In Paradise, a Dantesque comic book about an innocent young guy living in a dystopian future, where he is occasionally joined by guest stars such as Nancy and Hedorah. I was about 7 when I started reading Jimbo over and over again even though I could barely understand it, and I had no idea that Gary had pretty much designed Pee-Wee's Playhouse. I'm speaking about him so familiarly because I got to know him a little bit as a grownup. I remember Gary talking about how private Paul Reubens could be. He used to do this thing where he would accept a dinner invitation from anybody who asked, as sort of a stunt, but he had to stop doing it because people became so intrusive and entitled with him. Gary said that they'd be walking around in New York and when they saw an obvious Pee-Wee fan gearing up for an offensive, Paul Reubens would sort of transform into this totally different person, putting out an aura that let you know not to fuck with him. It's crazy-making to think that someone who was so protective of the boundary between his private and public selves had to suffer that ridiculous arrest, but it's heartening that most of society eventually grew the fuck up and forgot about it. It's also helpful to remember when he turned up later on the MTV Music Video Awards and started off by asking the audience, "HEARD ANY GOOD JOKES LATELY??"

I'm glad we got one more Pee-Wee special in the past several years, but I always wished that we would see Paul Reubens in more movies. He was such a cool actor, funny, convincing, and naturally charismatic. While people are cycling through their favorite roles of his, I want to point out that he had a great role on a recent HBO miniseries called Mosaic, an intense, engrossing crime drama that I definitely recommend if you have access. Maybe I'll rewatch it, too. In closing, here's a great story that I grabbed from Facebook that should warm everybody's heart, along with the heartbreaking statement (inappropriately cropped by Instagram of course) released upon the death of the very private Pee-Wee Herman. It makes you wish you could thank him in person, for everything. The best we can do is just remember him.

[felassan]

BioWare Blog post: An Update on the State of BioWare

by BioWare - August 23, 2023

"Hello again, Today, rather than discuss one of our upcoming projects, I’d like to share an update about the studio itself and outline our vision for BioWare’s future. In order to meet the needs of our upcoming projects, continue to hold ourselves to the highest standard of quality, and ensure BioWare can continue to thrive in an industry that’s rapidly evolving, we must shift towards a more agile and more focused studio. It will allow our developers to iterate quickly, unlock more creativity, and form a clear vision of what we’re building before development ramps up. To achieve this, we find ourselves in a position where change is not only necessary, but unavoidable. As difficult as this is to say, rethinking our approach to development inevitably means reorganizing our team to match the studio’s changing needs.  As part of this transition, we are eliminating approximately 50 roles at BioWare. That is deeply painful and humbling to write. We are doing everything we can to ensure the process is handled with empathy, respect, and clear communication. With that last point in mind, I want to take a moment to explain how we got here, what we’re doing to support our colleagues, and what this means for BioWare’s current and future games. WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW After much consideration and careful planning, we have built a long-term vision that will preserve the health of the studio and better enable us to do what we do best: create exceptional story-driven single-player experiences filled with vast worlds and rich characters. This vision balances the current needs of the studio—namely, ensuring Dragon Age™: Dreadwolf is an outstanding game—with its future, including the success of the next Mass Effect™. We’ve chosen to act now in part to provide our impacted colleagues with as many internal opportunities as possible. These changes coincide with a significant number of roles that are currently open across EA’s other studios. Impacted employees will be provided with professional resources and assistance as they apply for these positions. While it’s unlikely that everyone will find a new role within the company, we are committed to supporting our staff as they navigate this change. Our sincere hope is that they can continue their exemplary work at studios who stand to benefit immensely from their talents. IMMEDIATE IMPACT If you’re wondering how all of this will impact development of Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, let me be clear that our dedication to the game has never wavered. Our commitment remains steadfast, and we all are working to make this game worthy of the Dragon Age name. We are confident that we’ll have the time needed to ensure Dreadwolf reaches its full potential. I can also tell you that every member of our team, even those departing BioWare, deserves credit for crafting a spectacular experience. These are our colleagues and friends, and we would not be here without them. I am so proud of all the work our team has done. WHAT COMES NEXT While this is an extremely difficult day for everyone at BioWare, we are making changes now to build a brighter future. We’re excited for all of you to see what we’ve been building with Dreadwolf. A core veteran team led by Mike Gamble continues their pre-production work on the next Mass Effect. Our commitment to quality continues to be our North Star. As cliche as this sounds, there truly is never a good time to enact changes like this, but we trust that we have the right leaders and team in place with vision, passion, and proven track records to deliver world-class Dragon Age and Mass Effect experiences that our fans will love. For now, I want to thank everyone at BioWare—past and present—for making the studio what it is. I also want to thank our community for your continued support. We’re eager to reveal more about Dreadwolf, and we look forward to discovering what else the future holds. Gary McKay General Manager, BioWare"

[source]

[mxtxfanatic]

*moseys on in with a cigar* so.... I've been rereading SVSSS and have been thinking about the Abyss again (as one does). More specifically, I've been turning over the question of why Shen Qingqiu went through with it...was it more out of fear for his life (which doesn't entirely make sense, since he's down to sacrifice his life for CQM by the demon attack scene, and I don't think he was already planning to make a mushroom body by the immortal alliance conference) or more out of a belief that the abyss was the only way for LBH to level up and reach his full harem protagonist potential? I'm leaning towards the second, but he's also SO upset about it and likes the little lamb Binghe so much, I'm torn 😫

Ok, so the thing about Shen Qingqiu's reasoning pre-Holy Mausoleum arc that we must remember is that 1) he is told that he cannot change key parts of the story, and 2) the parts that he cannot change are meant to transform Luo Binghe into an invincible protagonist who gets everything in life he could ever want (namely women and the power to prevent anyone from ever abusing him again):

After sending a happily beaming Luo Binghe away (returning his goodwill by using him as hard labor), Shen Qingqiu called on the System. “Is the scenario at the Endless Abyss unavoidable?” he asked. 【 If Luo Binghe fails to complete the “Endless Abyss” scenario, ten thousand satisfaction points will be deducted, 】 said the System. Upon hearing that number, Shen Qingqiu once again, out of habit, spat up a fountain of blood. Afterward, he wiped his mouth. Whatever, he’d spat out so much blood that he was used to it at this point. This was eminently logical. If Luo Binghe wasn’t shoved into the Endless Abyss, then he wouldn’t be able to activate his golden finger. If the protagonist couldn’t become overpowered, then where was the satisfaction? Therefore, the Endless Abyss scenario was unavoidable. And as this novel’s number one loser, number one scum villain, the execution of this glorious task, naturally, absolutely, inescapably, fell to Shen Qingqiu. Yet unwilling to resign himself to this fate, Shen Qingqiu asked again and ended up sighing, still unable to give up completely. Luo Binghe, who was currently like a little sun, was destined to fall and become that brooding, cold-blooded, demon youth. Even a transmigrator like Shen Qingqiu, who by all rights ought to have access to cheat powers, was unable to change this inevitability.

—Vol. 1, Chapt. 3: Favor Points, 7seas

So when the Immortal Alliance Conference invitation actually arrives, this is what Shen Qingqiu thinks of it:

The first step of Luo Binghe’s climb to the top, on his journey to marrying every ideal woman, as well as his first step toward his blackened heart, after which his soul would never again be washed clean—and he had actually managed to forget it!

—Vol. 1, Chapt. 4: Conference, 7seas

The narration then goes on to gush about the details of the Immortal Alliance Conference as if it is a fanboy gushing over their favorite vidoegame, as if this is Peerless Cucumber gushing over PIDW. Except directly after that praise-laden explanation, we get hit with this:

Shen Qingqiu was silent for a long time. He finally tossed the invitation into Ming Fan’s arms for him to file away.

Shen Qingqiu is not gushing over the Immortal Alliance Conference. Shen Qingqiu does not show excitement over its arrival. In fact, his actual thoughts come next, worrying over whether or not Luo Binghe is ready for the abyss, if his doting on the boy has unwittingly left him unprepared to face the horrors that await him. He was also afraid that he would be unable to throw Luo Binghe down when the time came:

Though Shen Qingqiu was comfortable being waited upon, he wasn’t sure if Luo Binghe’s development had gone awry or something. Wasn’t he sticking to his master a little too closely...? Shen Qingqiu would often wonder: Was it because I doted on him too much? Should I besmirch myself a little, as appropriate, to prove to the System that I’m firmly a villain? If things kept going as they were, he was afraid that when the time came, he would be unable to harden his heart and throw Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss.

This is a thought he has had often, despite earlier in the chapter the narration telling us that he had "forgotten" about the Immortal Alliance Conference until he received the invitation just then. So despite not being able to tell Luo Binghe about the existence of the system or their world as a book, what is Shen Qingqiu's next course of action?

Shen Qingqiu shook his head while smiling, and he considered his next words. “Binghe.” “Yes?” Luo Binghe’s expression instantly turned serious. He had realized that Shen Qingqiu had something important to say. Shen Qingqiu stared into his eyes. “Do you want to become stronger? Stronger until you are without rival, until no one beneath the heavens would dare challenge you?” Luo Binghe had possessed an answer to this question for a long time now. Sitting squarely, without the slightest hesitation, he looked straight back. “Yes!” This resolute answer made Shen Qingqiu release a breath of relief within his heart. “Even if in order to achieve that, you had to suffer through pain, torment, and countless tribulations, to the point that your body and heart were about to collapse—you would still want to become the strongest?” “Binghe does not fear suffering and tribulations,” Luo Binghe said slowly. “I only wish to be strong enough to protect the people and things important to me!” This answer finally settled Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts a little. That’s right. Luo Binghe, for the sake of protecting the myriad harem of jade- and flower-like beauties you’ll embrace in the future, you must become strong!

Shen Qingqiu doesn't ask Luo Binghe how the boy feels about him. He doesn't bring up their shizun-disciple relationship to probe Luo Binghe's thoughts. He asks about whether or not Luo Binghe wants to be powerful and is reassured that that is Luo Binghe's goal, not just something that he would be forcing on the boy. But even then, he is still unwilling.

Shen Qingqiu’s heart was still unwilling, but when he remembered that this suffering was something the protagonist had to experience in order to break free of his chrysalis and become a butterfly, he had no choice but to adjust his mindset.

What Shen Qingqiu is using to convince himself that Luo Binghe being thrown into the abyss is a good thing is not the fear of punishment if he were to refuse the task, but the promise that the abyss is a "necessary" right-of-passage for Luo Binghe to grow into the adult he's meant to be. Then after he dies in Hua Yue City and transfers his soul into the plant body, we get two moments of reflection from Shen Qingqiu: 1) in the first dream they share in Huan Hua Palace and 2) the second dream they share after Luo Binghe loses Shen Qingqiu's corpse and Zhuzhi-lang has kidnapped his plant body.

Shen Qingqiu studied Luo Binghe leaning against the bamboo, stare fixed on himself. He thought of Luo Binghe’s numb appearance on the throne earlier that day, all alone. When he compared that to the scene in the original work of Luo Binghe surrounded by splendid luxuries, his every call answered by hundreds, Shen Qingqiu’s heart throbbed a bit, though he tried to stop it. Luo Binghe didn’t have a single wife by his side to heal his injuries, to pamper and ask after him. How could his heart not throb? A perfectly fine stallion novel male lead had fallen to such a state. What man could bear to look?

—Vol. 2, Chapt. 10: Huan Hua, 7seas

It’s supposed to be a guarantee that after blackening, Luo Binghe no longer goes down the route of misery! Take your hands off!

—Vol. 2, Chapt. 11: Corpse, 7seas

We also get in Chapt. 9: Borderlands the fact that the reason Shen Qingqiu even falls back into Luo Binghe's orbit is because he discovers that Liu Mingshan, "Luo Binghe's wife," was captured by demon bandits and he wants to help Luo Binghe rescue her her because she is his shidi's younger sister and his shimei's disciple. If Shen Qingqiu was motivated by fear of death, he would have stayed far away from anything to do with Luo Binghe, instead of going to meddle in the affairs of one of the man's "wives." If Shen Qingqiu really feared Luo Binghe, half of his thoughts after resurrection wouldn't have unconsciously centered Luo Binghe for his amusement. Shen Qingqiu fully expected to resurrect into a world where Luo Binghe dominated with all the luxuries and women he could ever want, and it breaks his heart to discover that actually, his former disciple is alone, feared and reviled, with only a corpse to keep him company. If this was gonna be the outcome, then what was the point of Shen Qingqiue having been forced to throw him into the abyss?

Hope this answers your question.

[zorya-reads]

The Art of War: Thoughts & Book Review

The Art of War by Sun Tzu

★★☆☆☆ 

"All warfare is based on deception." It’s a bit like playing Monopoly, except Sun Tzu has the Vine Street maxed out, and you’re definitely not getting any free parking.

Synopsis: At its core, Sun Tzu's The Art of War teaches us that avoiding conflict is preferable to being embroiled in one, but if you must fight, you must fight to win. His work outlines the often ruthless strategies required to get that result.

(600 words)

1. Zorya said: The book presents 13 core lessons on warfare ad nauseam, many of which are repetitive. Its style is straightforward, IKEA assembly instructions: “If X happens, do solution Y,” or “A good commander does A; a bad one does B.” Clear and direct, it’s written so that any future apprentice of war *cough us* can easily grasp each point.

2. For almost 1,500 years as a cornerstone of military philosophy, The Art of War was enshrined in the Seven Military Classics by Emperor Shenzong of Song in 1080. Even today, it holds a powerful influence not only in Eastern military thought but also in Western strategies, business tactics, legal frameworks, and beyond.

3. One clear takeaway from this tome is that if war is unavoidable—if the Rubicon has been crossed—it must be fought to win. Likened to a chess match, where every move is critical, leading to an inevitable checkmate. Those battles are ones we still observe today by governments—control over economies, control over power, control over the game.

4. So? Who would read this 2,500-year-old manual? Military professionals, certainly. Business leaders, sure. Lawyers, Teachers, and a few pretentious Teens. All of whom can proudly place it on their shelves to pretentiously scream, "I'm strategic!", and then proceed to take a step up the intellectual book ladder.

5. But what do those modern audiences take from it? To win at every cost? Not if they’ve actually read it. Ultimately, there can be themes beyond the battlefield. Yet, it doesn’t offer as much practical wisdom for modern conflict as often claimed. While its historical value is undeniable, it’s barely applicable to modern-day conflict. It’s interesting because it’s old—like a vintage wine—except it doesn’t become finer. Age doesn’t add depth, just dust.

6. For the rest of us, the books aren't life-altering. The information is quite primitive. Nonetheless, given that it dates back over two thousand years and was accessible only to a privileged few at the time, it transforms from an ancient text into a treasure: Passed around by commanders, kings, and powerful figures—those who influenced history, all thanks to a small book like this. So, while it might seem irrelevant today, back then, it was a game-changer in how the world played out.

7. Therefore, critiquing a book like this is absurd. Would one call it fair to judge the early paintings we drew as toddlers from the perspective of a well-credentialed art critic? The Art of War should not be read for its own sake, but with the understanding that it is merely an ancient text that somehow managed to not vanish over time and might only be ever useful in a game of Monopoly.

*numbers are a stylistic choice as homage to the text.

**For those unfamiliar with Monopoly: Back when I was still a child, we always wanted to get the dark blue Park Lane, for it being the most expensive one in the game, but it's also the one that most rarely hits. So, Sun Tzu instead maxing out Vine Street shows strategic: The Vine Street is the second orange set after jail—and statistically the most landed on.

Additional Material

✦ ⠂Moodboard

✦ ⠂Supplement

[dailyanarchistposts]

“Make the most of every crisis”

Common sense wisdom would have it that things will forever stay pretty much the same. The current situation will change, no doubt, but always gradually, taking care to maintain the guarantees of modern life. The privileged amongst us count on remaining insulated from the turbulence of history; any unavoidable volatility, meanwhile, will take place only on our television screens, never outside the front door. Maybe!? Of course, maybe not. Remember that such is exactly the arrogance preceding the collapse of every great civilisation. There’s a growing fear amongst many of us that our sacred assumptions are beginning to expire. Perhaps a day will come – a day many of us could well live to see – in which we’ll arrive at the supermarket only to find it has nothing left to sell, let alone to find in the bins. And by that point it will already be too late.

Every day, global supply chains increase in complexity, to the extent that even minor disruptions have the potential to provoke widespread instability. The integration of our needs into a single, planetary economy provides certain conveniences, but it can’t go on like this forever. Just in order to survive, the system stacks itself up higher and higher, merely ensuring it has further to fall. With oil, for example, industrial civilisation has already likely surpassed its peak capacities for extraction; in recent years, the economy has demonstrated an increased reliance on the dirtiest, most inefficient fossil fuels the planet has to offer, including shale gas, tar sands, and brown coal. Something similar can be said about water reserves, currently being depleted twice as quickly as they’re naturally renewed; already today, billions lack sufficient access to fresh water, especially during dry seasons, and the number is increasing fast. Soil erosion, too, is a significant threat, as industrial agriculture – with its relentless application of monocultures and pesticides – lays waste to what land around the globe remains capable of supporting complex life. Factors such as these suggest that, as the 21st century smoulders on, economic depression and resource wars will begin to proliferate on an ever greater scale.

There are already over 7 billion of us on the planet, and we’re predicted to hit the 10 billion mark around the middle of the century. Moreover, population growth is likely to crescendo in combination with the aforementioned factors, potentially leading to a sudden incapacity for the system to support its inhabitants in many regions. Having said that, population levels might not be the core problem here: most slum-dwellers in the Global South consume only a fraction of the resources consumed by middle-class Westerners, perhaps even one hundredth as much. What’s especially worrying is that population is booming in the very places – India and China, for example – that are beginning to emulate the resource-intensive lifestyles previously hoarded only by much smaller numbers in the Global North. It’s difficult to imagine a gentle outcome to this situation: an exponential decrease in available resources, combined with an exponential increase in our reliance on them, seems to deem some kind of major collision inevitable.

It’s not even the likelihood of crises that’s increasing, but also our inability to deal with them. We live in an age in which, having become so severely alienated from the conditions of existence, merely growing your own food is considered eccentric. This is a distinctly contemporary situation, owing to the destruction of peasant life wrought by the Industrial Revolution, as well as the further deskilling of the workforce ushered in by the Digital Revolution. Whilst the system used to concern itself mainly with the political organisation of our lives, it nowadays holds down a monopoly on almost every conceivable facet of our material needs. This brings heaps of volatility: until a few decades ago, the collapse of a civilisation would, despite the obvious turmoil, nonetheless have left most people capable of feeding themselves. The 21st century, however, is such a strange creature, absolutely convinced of its advanced abilities, yet completely lost when it comes to the most basic gestures. We can have absolutely anything we want. (Provided the credit card reader is working).

Our techno-addicted culture is expanding at an ever greater pace, far quicker than anyone can begin to understand its implications. Rather than merely altering reality, this brave new world has created an entirely new one, steadily digitising the entirety of the human experience. Information technology is used to augment basic cognitive functions – memory, navigation, communication, imagination – to the extent users suffer literal symptoms of withdrawal without them. We fantasise about cyborgs as if they were the stuff of science fiction, failing to realise that they’re already here, that we’ve already become them. Merely leaving the room without our smartphones is often unthinkable, and that’s saying a lot. We need to be wary of becoming utterly dependent on our digital prostheses, particularly when their operation relies so heavily on centralised infrastructure. Any level of disruption here – as with a solar flare, power failure, or terrorist attack – would spell major tumult.

It’s time to seriously ask ourselves: if the collapse happened tomorrow, would we really be ready? With every passing day, this question becomes increasingly unavoidable. Fortunately, however, the key solution is also quite straightforward, having already been discussed in some detail: make anarchy liveable. By securing our material autonomy now – something highly valuable in itself, whatever the future brings – we increase our chances of coping and even expanding during any unpredictable moments of future turbulence. As this civilisation tumbles into the abyss, it will expect to pull each of us along with it; yet that outcome can be avoided, insofar as we already know fully well how to live on our own terms. It would be ridiculous to wait for the supermarket shelves to be looted clean before trying our hand at growing a cabbage. What we do before things get really serious will be decisive.

For many of us, this could well be a matter of life or death. Yet the situation isn’t quite so bleak, either: there’s good reason to believe that crises (of certain sorts, anyway) present important opportunities to increase our strength. A crisis can be thought of simply as a breakdown in the smooth functioning of normality, something that might potentially offer its share of advantages. With the system failing to perform its expected roles, these are moments in which the status quo has become even less realistic, inviting autonomous projects to fill the void. Quite commonly, a self-organised response occurs organically, devoid of conscious political consideration: as with so many disaster situations, ordinary people rediscover their dormant prosocial instincts – those spontaneous, impartial inclinations towards solidarity and mutual aid – just in order to pull through. By intervening in these accidental ruptures in intelligent, sensitive ways, we can add strength to the efforts, pushing them towards a permanent break. Important examples here include US anarchists providing material solidarity to those devastated by the 2017/18 hurricane seasons, as well as the Greek anarchist movement squatting accommodation in response to the ongoing European refugee crisis. In all likeliness, however, the familiar depth of crisis will pale in comparison to what’s ahead.

We cannot shy away from crises: to hide from them is to hide from history – from our history, in particular. Literally every example of libertarian revolution – Ukraine 1917, Manchuria 1929, Catalonia 1936, Rojava 2012 – emerged from a situation of outright civil war. Perhaps that’s a shame, but it’s also no surprise, given that any large-scale experiment in autonomous living will usually need a power vacuum to fill. After all, it’s not up to us to choose which multifaceted contexts are inevitably thrown our way, only to work out how best to inhabit them.

That said, none of this suggests we should look forward to crises. Not only do they bring great danger to humans and nonhumans across the board (especially those already worst off), they also provide the moments of instability necessary for authoritarianism to lurch forward. Fascist governments, too, have relied on crises – real or imagined – in order to seize power. No less, long-standing regimes will always gladly exploit moments of panic to crack down on dissidents. Exactly that happened, for example, with the 1923 Amakasu Incident in Japan, in which the imperial army used the turmoil generated by the Great Kantō earthquake as an excuse to murder anarchist figureheads. Or look at 9/11 more recently, gleefully utilised by regimes in the Global North to roll out an unprecedented wave of “anti-terrorist” repression. The bottom line on crises is simply that, whether we like it or not, they’re inevitable – especially under capitalism. Given that stubborn conundrum, we can only ask how best to make the most of them.

This isn’t a matter of counting down the days until the shit hits the fan, quite the opposite: the crisis is already here. Social hierarchy, in its very essence, is crisis. Merely in order to persevere, it must forever overextend itself, destabilising the very fabric of life wherever it goes. By intervening effectively in the carnage that engulfs us, we can minimise the damage wrought, all the while building the strength necessary to confront the single, planetary disaster this civilisation has become. As the crises multiply in scale and frequency, it’s possible the recklessness of the system will be its undoing, granting ample opportunities for insurrection and even revolution. Just remember that the failings of our enemies will never be enough. We must also be ready to take advantage. And to do that we need to get going now.

[natlacentral]

Avatar Netflix Season 2 Will 'Condense' Original Storyline (Exclusive)

Season 2 of Avatar: The Last Airbender will follow in the footsteps of the first season's storytelling "condensing." 

Each season of the animated Avatar series had twenty episodes, most of which followed their own adventures. When it came to the live-action show, the first season only had eight hour-long installments.

This led to many elements of the original storyline getting condensed, such as the combination and relocation of a handful of plot threads to the team’s stay in Omashu—meeting the Mechanist, Jet, Bumi, and venturing into the Secret Tunnel.

As one might imagine, these types of changes did not always land well with audiences.

Season 2 Will Condense Original Avatar Storyline

Speaking with The Direct at Paleyfest 2024, Avatar: The Last Airbender Seasons 2 and 3 executive producer Jabbar Raisani confirmed that they will need to condense some of the original story as the Netflix show moves forward.

Raisani pointed out how their handling of Seasons 2 and 3  which will conclude the live-action series - will be "a lot like Season 1," which also means "some condensing" has "to take place:"

"I think it's a lot like season 1. There's a lot of content in the animated series. And we will be looking at all that content. But we don't have the number of episodes that we have in the animated series. So, certainly, there will be some condensing that has to take place."

While speaking to The Direct about the possibility of more original moments in Season 2 for his character, Uncle Iroh actor Paul Sun-Hyung Lee shared that he "[does not] know how they’re going to remix the stories" going forward:

"I wish I could; I have no idea what they have planned for us... I know we're getting an opportunity to finish telling the story. Obviously, the animated series is going to be the template for us. But other than that, I don't know how they're going to remix the stories. Nobody tells me nothing. So I'm just gonna show up. And yeah, hopefully, we get a better, clearer sense of where we're going with that in the future. But right now, I have no idea what's going to happen."

While the original animated series has been finished for nearly two decades, the story of those characters will continue in a new animated film called Aang: The Last Airbender.

Currently, not many details are known about the project, but fans do know it will follow team Avatar as they are older following the events Avatar.

As for whether its story will have any influence on future episodes of Netflix’s The Last Airbender, Raisani admitted it will not, at least "not at this point:"

"No, not at this point. We are really looking at the animated series at what came before and less of sort of what they're currently doing on the new movies."

As for whether or not he would be interested in potentially adapting Legend of Korra for live-action, he firmly responded:

"Certainly, I'd be interested in anything that is in this universe."

[ Avatar 2025 Movie: Last Airbender Release, Cast & Everything We Know About Adult Aang Film ]

Remixing Season 2 Episodes Was Inevitable

When it comes to adapting the source material, condensing is unavoidable. Avatar: The Last Airbender fans shouldn't be surprised the same will be happening for Seasons 2 and 3.

Simply put, 20-minute bite-size adventures do not work well for the more extended episode structures of the Netflix show. If the original episode is a self-contained, isolated story, odds are it may not make the cut—or be weaved in with other plot threads.

Hopefully, at the very least, fan-favorite episodes such as the desert spirit library and how Appa got stolen can see the light of day in live action.

One thing that will make it notably more difficult to stick to the original episodes, though, is how behind on Aang’s bending lessons he is. Book 2 is all about him learning earthbending from Toph—however, in the live-action Last Airbender series, he hasn't even started lessons for waterbending.

The show is ahead of the game when it comes to Azula’s storyline, however, as she doesn’t originally appear until Season 2. That alone could save some episodes from the chopping block.

[nesiacha]

Analysis of the French Revolution film by Robert Enrico and Richard T. Heffron

One of the (many) problems with films about the French Revolution is that in 1989, anyone wanting to make films about this period was required to adhere to the government's line, which dictated that the revolution could only be portrayed as leading to horrors, under threat of censorship. We can see this in the struggles Hervé Pernot faced. Even during de Gaulle's time, filmmakers who tried to make films as honest as possible about the revolution faced obstacles. Thus, there are inevitably significant historical inaccuracies in these films. Ironically, the leader of the country at the time of this cinematography, Mitterrand, who endorsed such thinking, had guillotined many Algerian revolutionaries, including some who never intended to harm anyone, like Fernand Iveton, or Algerians who were falsely accused. He endorsed parody trials of Algerians, far more significant and flagrant than those of 1794 regarding the Hebertists, Enraged, and Indulgents, when he was Minister of Justice in 1957, solely to please colonialist lobbying and secure a good political position. Therefore, he has no moral ground to lecture the Montagnards, who only abandoned their restraint once France's position was untenable both internally and externally. Most of them, along with other non-Montagnard members, courageously sided with the colonized.

I'll try to avoid delving too much into the absurd black legends unless it's unavoidable, such as when the film seems to endorse Brissot's statement that the "Revolutionary Tribunal is the Spanish Inquisition a hundred times worse." I know the Revolutionary Tribunal committed unforgivable acts in some of its parodies of justice, but the stupidity of this statement speaks for itself.

In the film, the "good guys" are Danton, Lafayette, and Mirabeau. It doesn't matter that they were all corrupt to the core, although Danton should not necessarily be lumped in with Mirabeau, as Danton may have accepted bribes but didn't necessarily fulfill his end of the bargain, and Lafayette, in my opinion, demonstrated more bloodthirstiness. Marat is depicted merely as a madman instead of showing that he was a man ahead of his time, an honest revolutionnary and brillant, sometimes , used inappropriate language due to the injustices he and the people faced. There's an interesting parallel here with the Algerian revolutionary Abane Ramdane, who shares many similarities on these points for me. Instead, we attribute this talent to Danton and potentially Desmoulins.

In the film, the French revolutionaries are portrayed as defeated, but victory is ultimately achieved, solely credited to Danton, which is false, reductionist, and even insulting to all revolutions. If revolutions succeed, it's certainly partly due to intellectual leaders, including figures like Saint Just, Le Bas, Lindet, Charlier, Billaud Varennes, Robespierre, and Hanriot, but it's primarily thanks to the people who supported them—the soldiers who held the line, the sans-culottes who persuaded the Convention to enact or repeal certain laws necessary to sustain the revolution, and the people who endured necessary but harsh taxes, who gave their shoes, sheltered revolutionaries—something most revolutionaries acknowledge.

The film reduces the Hebertists, Enrages, and Cordeliers to madmen united behind Hebert, portraying them without charisma, failing to show why they were popular, and omitting the split between Chaumette and the rest because Chaumette refused to join the insurrection against the Mountain after the Ventôse law.

On the other hand, during Danton's trial, the indulgents are cheered by the people. I know Danton delivered excellent speeches during his trial, but so did other factions, and there's no evidence of this particular scene. I've already discussed the differential treatment between indulgents, Hebertists, and Cordeliers in one of my previous posts. Apart from Hebert, virtually all Hebertists were executed with great dignity.

Marie Antoinette, to better exonerate Louis XVI, is portrayed as helpless during the trial, appearing scared before the scaffold. In reality, she showed courage and dignity that even her adversaries admired, which isn't depicted because she might come across better than Danton.

The Girondins sing the Marseillaise as they mount the scaffold. Regardless of whether one likes them or not, they showed great courage, which isn't shown because they might come across better than Danton on the scaffold.

Lucile Desmoulins and Marie Françoise Goupil, along with Chaumette, Gobel, and others, die with great dignity, but this isn't shown either. For Danton glorification the is the only except Louis XVI to face his death in dignity.

Robespierre is depicted as a coward fleeing his arrest with Saint Just and Couthon, whereas in reality, the gendarmes didn't want to arrest him, and he willingly offered his hands for arrest. The uprising of 17 out of 49 communes was spontaneous, but most revolutionaries hesitated because they didn't know whether to remain lawful or not, resulting in their losses (a Napoleon would have fewer scruples than them and for the wrong reasons) . Again because it will make them better than Danton ( let' s not talk about the glorification of Barras in this scene).

Morality: Only corrupt men act. The most selfless are depicted as grave fanatics who will execute you. It's no wonder the government approves of such films promoting these messages.

Not to mention the women erased from the revolutionary period—Manon Roland, Lucile Desmoulins portrayed as gentle without the political acumen of the real Lucile Desmoulins. Similarly tratment for Simone. Evrard Eleonore Duplay is depicted as personality-less fanatic , far from the real Eleonore Duplay. Louis Reine Audu, Pauline Léon, Olympe de Gouges, Marie Anne Babeuf, Albertine Marat, Charlotte Robespierre, and Elisabeth Le Bas, among many others, will not be shown.

I might write a second part soon if I have the time or in one month for a better analysis of the characters.