#proper threads in a sec

[doyourequirefirstaid]

+

[ssa-dado]

see now i can’t stop thinking about his hands so :

non exhaustive list of inconspicuous ways to stare (or more) at hotch’s hands

1. baking and making him open jars (bonus points for the forearms, please can you imagine : rolled up sleeves, kneading dough… you know what else you can knead)

2. playing cards or scrabble (he pulls out the scrabble rule book because apparently "cunty" is not a valid scrabble word)

3. going to the farmer’s market and picking out fruit (yes he does the slap to pick out the best watermelon)

4. doing a palm reading (silly but effective, also great occasion to annoy him "i can sense great misfortune in your future…")

5. making him untangle necklaces (speaking of jewelry, that picture of his hand with the ring is really messing with my head…)

6. doing arts and crafts for/with jack (cute, classic, family friendly…sort of)

7. brewing coffee but specifically with the pour over method (absolute coffee snob but the old school way)

-y

OMFGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG I’M SOSOSOSOSOOS OBSESSED. I LOVE YOU. (Never wanted to be a watermelon so bad in my entire life) Also sorry it took me a while to reply buuuut ummm yeah, as per usual, I physically cannot be minimalistic about anything involving his hands

LADYFINGERS IN MY MOUTH NOW!!!

Hotch making homemade pasta (maybe it’s because I’m cooking rn. Maybe it’s because I’m a stereotypical #italian) Flour dusted across his forearms, caught in his salt-and-pepper arm hair. His biceps look obscene, sleeves rolled up, jaw clenched, brows furrowed… all that hyperfocus directed at a stubborn little ball of dough. (He probably sticks just the tiniest sliver of tongue out to concentrate for like half a sec.) In the beginning, the dough resists: it frays, crumbles. You have to work it. Really work it. He pins it down with one forearm (veins, veins) while the other hand rolls and folds and presses into it, over and over. Until it yields. Until it's soft and smooth and… obedient (take me down. You're allowed) #menext

Hotch making fresh juice Not using a juicer. No. He slices an orange and juices it with his bare hands because “it’s easier that way.” Liar. He’s just a whore and he knows it. Fingers flexing, forearms tight, the slow twist of his palm as he wrings the orange into pulp. Juice running down his fingers. That last squeeze. He knows what he’s doing. Maybe he cleans up by sliding those sticky fingers into his mouth, one by one, sucking the juice off. Maybe he holds eye contact while doing it (if he’s ovulating)

Hotch giving absentminded little touches You're just sitting there, not even touching-touching, when he reaches out to rub small, absentminded circles into the inside of your forearm (or running the tips of his fingers up and down your arm #touchstarved). Barely there, featherlight touches. Until he decides it’s not enough. So he either trails back down and interlaces your fingers just because, or lifts your hand, brings it to his lips and presses a soft, reverent kiss to your knuckles. Very chaste. Like prohibitionism intended.

Hotch sewing Because yes, he can. Princesses sew and so does he. He wouldn’t be a princess otherwise.AAAAAnyways - slutty reading glasses sliding down his nose, needle and thread in hand, laser-focused. Licks the end of the thread to guide it through the needle’s eye, curses under his breath when he misses for the third time, rolling his eyes. (Hotch swearing is smut to me) Sooo… fixing things. With his hands. #fixmenext

Hotch smoking He quit, obv for Jack. But sometimes a case knocks the air out of him and therapy isn’t fun. So he pulls out a cigarette from god knows where, slips it between his fingers (index and middle) and lights it like it’s muscle memory. Takes one long drag. He closes his eyes, head tipping back slightly, savoring the guilt & the relief. Hates that he missed it but fuuuck he did but that doesn’t stop him from taking another drag. Then another. Then the flick of his finger to tap off the ash, all collected and proper #princess

[devon-chestnut]

You know, I let folks convince me for a sec there that if I was “serious” about being an author, I needed to “build a following” on all the social media platforms. And you know what? I don’t want to. I like it here. All the “proper” authors on TikTok and threads and IG are all tearing chunks out of each other and don’t want to do anything except get numbers by posting deliberately inflammatory stuff, and I don’t need that in my life. I’m going to just write my silly little stories and talk about them here and if even one person writes me a fanfic or does an art, then it’ll be a success.

[feathersinning]

If I can be real for a sec

I really am thankful to yall who keep following me, liking my vague oc ideas even though I haven't really written any proper threads here in so long. I'm grateful that you all keep me on your dash, consider me a friend even if we rarely talk.

Thank you all

[dragonflight203]

Continuing my ME1 replay post Therum:

-How often did Garrus actually see his father? Garrus is from Palaven. Castis was C-Sec. Was Castis mostly away from home? Did Garrus spend a lot of time on the Citadel?

-Pallin and Castis, both turians, dislikes spectres because they lack accountability. Saren, a turian, is a rogue spectre that we, the first human spectre, are hunting.

Interesting that it's all turians talking about if spectres are good or not. Humanity just wants into the club. I don't recall Asari, Salarians, etc. discussing the merits of spectres at all.

I feel like this is a thread dropped in later games. ME2 and ME3 sideline spectres considerably; it's just window dressing to what those games are interested in. But ME1 wants to dig into spectres and discuss their place or lack thereof in the galaxy. And you can influence it via the paragon/renegade system.

-Ashley distrusts Liara because she can't imagine not Liara not speaking to her mom. Ashley, to whom family is everything and sticks it out in an organization that doesn't want her (the Alliance) because that's what her family does and she will redeem her family name. Fits.

-And immediately makes a dig about Asari sexuality. This is my ongoing issue with Ashley.

When I had her as a primary companion in my last run she repeatedly made digs at other woman. Normally Liara. Or maybe only Liara, it's been a while. Every time I'll be warming up, then another spiteful comment... Ashley, I want to like you. I normally do. But please be better.

I don't recall this occurring in ME3, so I'll put it down as a pitfall of ME1 writing. It has issues with the love interests in general.

-She only makes the dig at Asari sexuality if you say you don't think Liara's lying. If you're neutral or agree to watch Liara that's skipped entirely. It really is spite. And odd, because I'm playing Femshep. Ashley, please do better.

-Ashley's wariness of trusting Wrex and Garrus isn't unwarranted. This is a top secret ship, and Wrex is a merc. Garrus is more borderline as he's a turian and turians helped design the ship, but he probably doesn't have the proper clearance in the hierarchy either.

I can't fault her for raising concerns to Shepard. Raising possible concerns to your commander and leaving the final decision in their hands is the proper thing to do. Even if you yourself think the status quo is acceptable, you should point out it's a possible issue to verify that they've considered it.

-Ashley does everything possible to avoid mentioned her family background to Shepard. Does Ashley know anyone Shepard would? Nope, definitely not!

-Why was Saren recruiting mercs in Wrex's story? What was the purpose of capturing that Volus ship? I don't think that's ever cleared up.

[alanshemper]

Binance founder Changpeng "CZ" Zhao pleaded guilty to money laundering charges and agreed to step down as CEO of Binance, the largest global cryptocurrency exchange. He will pay a $50 million fine and faces the possibility of 18 months in prison.

Binance agreed to pay $4.3 billion in restitution for widespread wrongdoing including failure to implement proper anti-money laundering programs, unlicensed money transmitting, and sanctions violations. Binance will be allowed to continue operating, but will be subjected to a three-year-long monitorship program to ensure AML and sanctions compliance.

Simultaneously with the DOJ action, Binance reached agreements with the CFTC, FinCen, and OFAC on ongoing legal issues. Notably, the SEC lawsuit was not among those settled.

CZ posted a long thread on Twitter, admitting "I made mistakes, and I must take responsibility," carefully sidestepping mentioning what any of those mistakes were.

25 November 2023

[metamoonshots]

Bitcoin worth surged in a breakout rally to briefly contact $35,000 this month. However Euro Pacific Capital’s founder and chief international strategist doesn’t assume it'll final. This month noticed the ever-widening buzz surrounding a hotly anticipated approval by the SEC of a spot Bitcoin ETF. The joy has pushed blowout Bitcoin gross sales on crypto exchanges. However depart it to “Dr. Doom” (as Peter Schiff was nicknamed by the CNBC crowd throughout the housing bubble) to balk at Bitcoin’s sudden change of fortunes. Peter Schiff Isn’t Impressed with Bitcoin’s Rally Schiff lately remarked that a remaining SEC approval will finish Bitcoin’s spot ETF rally. The EuroPac chief says as soon as BTC is definitely authorized for a spot ETF product, the rally will lose steam. He additionally famous the chance that cryptocurrency merchants might start to unload and take earnings earlier than any forthcoming SEC approval. In an X publish on the favored social media web site previously referred to as Twitter, Schiff wrote: #Bitcoin is now buying and selling at $35K as speculators guess on SEC approval of $GBTC changing into an ETF. Such a dialog will probably mark the highest of the rally, if Bitcoin doesn’t unload previous to approval. The selloff can be much less extreme if the ETF conversion is rejected once more.” Time will inform if he’s proper. Bitcoin worth went parabolic within the 48 hours after Schiff tweeted this. It All Hinges on What the SEC Does Subsequent Curiously, Schiff causes that one other rejection by the Securities and Change Fee would provide some assist for the Bitcoin worth within the quick time period. It appears like he’s conjecturing some Bitcoin bulls will maintain their luggage regardless of dangerous information of a rejection. They'd be holding out on expectations of one other rally previous or following an SEC approval. In response to a query on the following X thread: “How a lot Bitcoin do you personal,” Peter Schiff answered, “None.” SPECIAL OFFER (Sponsored) Binance Free $100 (Unique): Use this link to register and obtain $100 free and 10% off charges on Binance Futures first month (terms).PrimeXBT Particular Provide: Use this link to register & enter CRYPTOPOTATO50 code to obtain as much as $7,000 in your deposits.

[sandsofdteam-moved]

yeah George is right at the end of the thread, giving attention to these kinds of clips constantly is just Not Constructive in any way, shape, or form. I get wanting apologies but people get their undies in a twist over things that were privated or deleted or just flat out old, essentially things people KNOW are bad and have taken the time to distance themselves from. I’ve literally watched dteam change their joke style and become better people in the last 2 years as fans have shown them that the shit they’ve learned from worse gaming spaces in the past are offensive at best and incendiary at worst for those already down the pipeline.

I think it’s stupid for anyone to delude themselves into thinking more shit isn’t going to come out, since the global elite rank we laud George for means he’s sat in 2014 cs:go lobbies for an unfathomable number of hours. If you’d grown up in gaming spaces before that, all those lobbies will do is solidify the shitty rhetoric and attitude more, and the mc pvp scene wasn’t (n honestly still isn’t) that pretty either, which is where we know most of the munchy crew comes from. More shit about them will come out, I’m sure of it, but George and Sap have been at the front lines of seeing Dream be publicly lambasted for every single wrong he’s ever committed, regardless of its actual weight, so they’ve in turn changed too. Nearly every actual controversy the dt have been in and apologized for recently have been for things that are not public because they know they were wrong, and have grown as people from it.

I understand that people are upset and it takes a hot sec to reflect on but the 2010s gaming space was not the comparatively utopian space we have now, even in the minecraft youtube community. The things we see show up about all of them were just things people said. Doesn’t make it right, doesn’t defend them from lacking the common sense to not say those things, but the average gamer gave much less of a shit about who they could be hurting when they’re going for maximum damage on an opponent’s psyche to win. If that means throwing around slurs and racism and misogyny no one gaf as long as they won. Unlearning that is difficult, considering how kneejerk of a reaction it is for people (just look at sap’s last ‘aids’ comment and his immediate apology and regret), but dnf who have seemingly distanced themselves from fps lobbies where this is more common have very obviously made conscious changes that show they’re better. (This isn’t to say it’s sap’s fault either, he just happens to like the mechanics of fps games where this behavior is unfortunately still prevalent in the player base)

All these public manhunts do is hurt more people, and the more attention we as a community bring to them the more likely they are to be spread around in bad faith aka hurting dt’s reputation instead of wanting clarification on them being better. I get wanting apologies, I do, but sometimes it’s better to leave things in the past and make a decision for yourself about if you think a content creator has changed. We don’t know them, but imo the things they present publicly nowadays simply don’t reflect the same person in those clips, same goes for someone like Phil who had 10+ year old clips dug up solely to add him to a cancel thread about sbi. The more attention we give to things like this the more frequently they’re likely to get dug up and the more people are going to get hurt from behavior that has changed.

Idk I think the proper mindset is to face the fact they were shitty people in the past, likely including their first few months as content creators under their current names. But their audience has taught them so much and their regard for what they say has changed substantially and for the better, so why drag them back to where they used to be? How can people be encouraged to change their beliefs if the only thing that they receive in exchange is the fact that they were a bad person hung over their head forever? If they’ve truly changed and learned, the guilt is already there. If you decree their actions were too much, leave of your own accord. Putting his foot down was the best possible thing to do in a situation like this, making sure that people are aware there’s more stuff likely out there, but discouraging using someone’s past, which is often deeply buried under privacy measures, to define them.

[wri0thesley]

morning person - nanami x fem reader (2.5k)

you just want to make his mornings pleasant. 

(not sfw, cock-warming, dom/sub undertones, domestic, established relationship, afab reader with fem pronouns).

[a/n: haha me posting more self-indulgent nanami fic? u guessed it]

Nanami is more of a morning person than you, and you’ve adapted your routine to suit that.

He can be tired when he gets home from work – then, he bends world-weary with the weight of his profession and what he’s done in the day. You undo his tie for him and kiss his cheek and give him a half hour to decompress before the two of you work on dinner together (you had wanted to cook for him, at first; you’d learnt in the end that being able to cook for himself was something that Nanami cherished, and the two of you work in perfect tandem now).

But in the morning, his eyes are a little wider and brighter. His lips are a little more likely to curve than sag; his hands a little more . . . free. You’ve adapted your routine to roll out of bed before him so that you can make sure everything is perfect.

You spend a moment, always, to enjoy the sun-dappled light on his face – picking out sharp cheekbones, the sweep of his hair, the muscles in his broad shoulders that he keeps hidden beneath well-tailored shirts. And then you’re wrapping a robe about yourself, as quiet as a mouse; heading downstairs, fetching the morning paper where it lays on the kitsch welcome mat of your home. Standing before the cafetière, putting in a scoop of Nanami’s morning coffee--

You don’t notice the difference yourself, but Nanami does. He’s so exacting, so precise – it’s one of those things that you love about him. You flip through the newspaper as you wait for the coffee to prepare, folding it over to the financial section because you know that he’ll look for it straight away anyway.

“Good morning.” Nanami’s voice startles you from your task; you look up to see him, only half-dressed, his hair still sleep-tousled and his smile soft with that specific kind of gentleness you only ever see on people when they’ve had a pleasant night’s rest.

(It’s partly a smile of satisfaction, you know, and you also know exactly why he was so satisfied last night. Not that you need to be thinking of that kind of thing so early in the morning--)

Not thinking about that specific thing only makes the memory of being pinned beneath him all the more potent, and you bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together as you turn to pour the coffee into his cup proper.

“Good morning,” you reply, wondering if he can hear the slight rush of breath that you try to hide. “This’ll be ready in just a sec’.”

Nanami moves across the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist. You can’t help but relax into the warmth of him, his embrace as familiar as the back of your hand. His shirt is half buttoned, shirt-sleeves pushed up to his elbows (his jacket is draped over the coat rack, along with his harness and weapon).

“You look beautiful this morning,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. You go all over hot at the words, heady with the rush of being loved by him. “Almost as beautiful as you did last night.”

“And you don’t need me to tell you that you look handsome,” you say, still breathless. You put the cup of coffee by his chair, beside the paper, Nanami’s arms still wrapped around you. He’s not always affectionate like this, but you suppose something about the warm morning and the air today and last night’s escapades have made him more romantic than usual.

“Mm. Perhaps I’ll decide I like hearing you say it?” It’s lightly teasing, his hand stroking your bare thigh below where the hem of the robe hits. “I definitely like coming into the kitchen to you in this.”

He lets you go now, taking the handle of his cup to take a sip of the coffee as he sits, leaving you flustered and blushing. His face, damn him, is perfectly impassive – not the face of someone who was holding their lover mere moments ago. You bring up a hand to feel how warm you are.

“I’ll get dressed once you leave,” you say, and Nanami raises his eyes from the financial section just long enough to quirk an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to,” he says. “I like you best in nothing at all, anyway.”

“Kento—”

Your voice is soft, scandalised – and more than a little bit needy. There’s a thread within it of wanting that Nanami doesn’t miss for a moment. You’re still very close to him; close enough to see that there’s a peculiar stiffness at the front of his trousers.

Oh . . . had he . . . woken up, with a problem? One that you hadn’t noticed? You suppose that you’ve been trying to get out of bed early to impress him recently, to have everything ready – but you didn’t think that you were far gone enough to not notice something like that. A curl of heat makes itself known low in your belly. If you’d known that was an option this morning, perhaps you wouldn’t have rushed around so much.

You inch even closer to him, so your breast presses against his shoulder. He raises a hand to lick his thumb, flicking to the next page of his newspaper. You wonder if he can hear your beating heart – it certainly seems to be the only thing you can hear right now.

“Did I forget something?” He asks, mildly – but there it is. A touch of danger. He knows that you know.

“No,” you breathe. Your hand comes to rest on his shoulder – his skin is hot beneath the linen. Fingers stroke over the shoulder, to where the collar of the shirt isn’t buttoned, the hollow of his throat. He leans back under your skittish touch, a soft noise escaping his mouth.

“You’ll distract me,” he chides. He’s done a pretty good job of that on you already. He focuses his eyes on the paper again, as you guiltily move your hand away. You watch him swallow, the bob of his throat entrancing. Lip caught between your teeth, you sink to your knees. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

The soft pet name makes you feel weak and warm inside, like your insides are all liquids. You raise a hand to rest on his knee, to move towards the zip of his work trousers. He sighs, clicking his tongue against his teeth as if he didn’t instigate this whole thing himself.

He says your name like a reprimand coated in hunger. He isn’t fooling anyone – not when the heat of his cock is pressing so snug. You shuffle slightly (glad that yours and his cleaning schedule means that the cool tile beneath your knees is spotless), pressing your cheek against his crotch, nuzzling into it.

You catch him by surprise, a hiss of breath through gritted teeth. You look up at him only to see that his eyes have focused sharp on you, his lips wet. You want to kiss him.

“Can I help you?” You ask, through a throat thick with arousal. It’s a marvel you can form words. When you woke up this morning, you did not expect to be so wet between your thighs and muddled in your brain before Nanami even left for work.

He puts the newspaper down on the kitchen table, relaxing his shoulders slightly, a sigh falling from his parted lips. One of his hands comes to rest gently on your head, fingers tangling in your hair. The heat of his palm (from his coffee, no doubt) resonates through you, mixing with the heat in your cheeks and your chest and your stomach to make you feel like you’re practically on fire with need.

“That depends,” he says. “on you.”

“You know I’ll do anything for you,” you say, and he shakes his head. His smile is almost sad, this time.

“That’s not something you should say to just anyone,” he murmurs. “That kind of pact has more power than you realise.”

“You’re not just anyone. Kento,” you repeat, a little more petulant, and he sighs again. “Please?”

“Please what?” A little hidden curve to his smile. He’s teasing you. He wants you to use your words.

“Please can I help you with this?” You rub your cheek against his crotch again, catching him off-guard – his cock stirs, twitching against the softness of your skin even between two layers. His hand flexes where it rests on your head.

He pretends to think about it. All the while, you’re wetting your lips, squirming, pressing your thighs together with ill-disguised hunger. If he says yes, and you use your mouth on him, you know that he’ll see to it you don’t get left without – Nanami Kento is an efficient man above all else – but that doesn’t help the fact that right now, your skin is prickling with the demand to be touched.

“Alright,” he says. Eagerly, you reach for the zip, tugging it down, leaning your mouth close-- “But not like that.”

“Hm?” You pause, tipping your head up, your eyes meeting his. He motions for you to stand up. Though you don’t quite understand, you do it anyway, watching with wide eyes as he frees his own cock from the confines of his underwear and trousers, giving it a cursory pump--

You can’t drag your eyes away from it. Nanami isn’t exactly the kind of man people see on the street and expect to be packing something like that, but . . . oh, you know from experience exactly how well it fills you up. The head of his cock is swollen pink, precome beading at the tip as he rubs his thumb over the slit. He sighs again, shuddering into his own grip.

“Are you just going to look at it?” He asks you, mildly, raising an eyebrow as you. His big hands settle around your upper thighs, pulling you just a bit closer. Heat radiates off of him; you think that if he pulled his hands away, you’d have handprints in the shape of him all over you. (You think you’d like that; looking down at yourself and knowing you belong to him utterly and completely).

One hand drags up, leaving trails of fire behind – pulling the hem of both your nightgown and your robe, higher and higher--

He clicks his tongue.

“Did you forget to put on underwear this morning?” He asks you, dragging a finger over your thigh and through the valley between your legs, your slick gathering on the tip of it and shining in the early morning light of the kitchen. “Or were you just hoping that something like this would happen?”

Your cheeks seem to get even hotter. You just didn’t see the point in putting it on before getting dressed, honestly – but as Nanami lifts his finger to his mouth, savouring the taste of your arousal just as much as he savours the taste of his morning coffee, you can’t make your brain work quickly enough to defend yourself.

And perhaps you sometimes think about him coming into the kitchen in a morning and fucking you hard over the kitchen table. When he looks so handsome half-awake and rumpled, who could really blame you for that?

He pats his knee.

“Come on,” he urges. “If you want to help me, there’s a seat at the table right here for you.”

You swallow but move forward, spreading your legs – straddling Nanami’s thighs. He adjusts his cock so it rubs across your folds, teasing your heated clit for just a moment before it catches on your entrance. Your hands cling to his shoulders, nails digging in as you ease yourself down past the plunging stiffness of him. You let out a shaky breath as he hilts within you, the stretch at once wonderful and aching so early in the morning and after last night’s vigorous activities.

You hadn’t realised how badly you could want somebody inside you until you’d met Nanami; you hadn’t realised how empty you could feel when they weren’t.

You adjust yourself, resting on the balls of your feet, ready to begin vigorously fucking yourself on Nanami’s cock, when the blond takes hold of your hip and forcibly presses you back down.

“Stay still,” he says, off-hand. He reaches around you to pick up his coffee, taking a slow sip of the dark liquid. You make a soft, confused noise, and he glances at you.

“You were being a brat,” he explains, as if the whole reason you were being a brat isn’t down to him. “I thought this would kill two birds with one stone.”

He picks up his newspaper with the other hand, holding it at such an angle that he can still read every line. Something about the way that he bends to hold the paper in particular makes his cock stroke a particular spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, and you bury your head in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply.

“It’s all about efficiency with you,” you mumble, and you think you hear him make a soft snort of laughter – you can’t quite tell, because he’s turning the page and his cock is rubbing against you in that way again, your mind bursting into stars. You’re disappointed when he stops, the little flame of heat inside you that was threatening to burst into a fire dampened down.

“Stop squirming,” he says, unconcerned by your mumbles. He smells like freshly baked bread and bourbon and crisply pressed laundry, and you breathe it in, dizzied by how much you love him. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“C-can it be that interesting?” You ask him. “M-maybe you should tell me what you’re reading--”

Inside, you think that perhaps Nanami’s boring financial times pages will make the hunger in you, licking up at you like all-consuming flames, tamper down. He takes a deep breath, before speaking aloud some facts and figures that you don’t properly take in because all you can do is think about how deep his voice is, how it makes his whole body vibrate and rumble, how you like his voice most of all when he’s telling you what a good girl you are for him, how much he loves your body, how hot and tight and wet you are, how good you taste--

“You’re not listening, are you?”

The noise that comes out of you in reply is a whine. Nanami clicks his tongue again, stern, pretending to be disappointed in you though you just felt the twitch of his cock where it’s buried as deep inside you as it can possibly be.

“Be good,” he murmurs into your hair, pressing another kiss onto the top of your head. “And I’ll make sure that you get to come before I go to work.”

Your voice is wobbling.

“What if I’m . . . not good?”

Nanami pauses, weighing the question up. His voice is very soft when he finally replies, so deep that it makes your toes curl.

“You don’t really want to find out, do you?” He asks.

You kind of do.

[abalidoth]

Efficiency

So there's a way to interpret gas mileage. In the United States, we usually measure gas mileage in miles per gallon (mpg) which is a measure of efficiency, not usage. The higher the number, the less gas the car uses. So, a proper usage measurement would be gallons per mile. The weird thing about that, though -- Gallons are a unit of volume, and miles are a unit of distance, so the gallon per mile is actually a unit of area. One gallon per mile is about 2 square millimeters, so a 20 mpg car (similar to my gas car) has a gas mileage of about 0.1 mm^2.

This seems like just a weird numerical trick, but this does actually have a meaning -- if your car was leaving a "thread" of gas behind it instead of burning it, the gas mileage is the thickness of the thread. This is explored in this excellent XKCD what-if.

This is something I've thought about a lot over the years, but something happened recently that made the whole thing more complicated.

Emma and I got an electric car.

Now, the efficiency of an electric car is typically measured in the bizarrely mixed unit of "miles per kilowatt-hour". The watt is a measure of power (energy/time) equal to one joule per second. So the kilowatt-hour is exactly (3600 sec/hr)*1000 = 3.6 million joules. The "mile per kilowatt-hour" is kind of a horrific chimera of four different units, some of which are metric and some of which are imperial. It's a weird one.

But, similarly to the gas car, this is a measure of efficiency, and so inverting it gives us our unit of usage. That would be kilowatt-hours per mile. But, similar to how the gallon as a unit of volume is (length^3), the kilowatt-hour as a unit of energy is (mass*length^2/time^2). For example, the joule, the SI unit of energy, is exactly 1 (kg m^2/s^2). But this means that energy divided by length is (mass*length/time^2) -- that's a unit of force! The kilowatt-hour per mile is a unit of force equal to about 2200 newtons. Our electric vehicle, which gets about 4 miles to the kilowatt hour (or 0.25 kWh/mi) has an "energy usage force" of 550 newtons, or 123 pound-force (that is, the force of gravity on a 123 pound object.)

Kinda like the gas-thread interpretation of gas mileage, this interpretation of energy usage can actually be visualized. This is kind of an "aggregated friction force" representing all of the various sources of inefficiency in the car, the force it has to overcome in order to move forward. 123 pounds is shockingly small to me for the force acting against an entire car -- that's the weight of a fairly small person. I could theoretically lift that much, although not easily.

Now, for the finale, I realized something -- we have a force for the usage of an electric car, and an area for the usage of a gas car. Which means, when you're considering whether to change from using a fossil fuel car to an electric vehicle, you want to compare the efficiency of the two. And when you want to compare things, you use a ratio.

The ratio of a force and an area is a pressure.

The ratio between our EV's energy usage and our other car's gas usage is 5.5 billion pascals of pressure, or about 55,000 atmospheres of pressure.

5.5 gigapascals is a lot -- it's about five times more than the highest pressure chemical reactors, or about one third of the pressure that artificial diamond presses use. The physical interpretation is less clear here, though. I guess if you compress the gas car's "gas tube" to 5.5 GPa, it would exert the electric car's "friction force"? Also, units of pressure are used for tensile strength -- 5.5 gigapascals is very close to the tensile strength of the high-performance superpolymer Zylon -- but I don't have a great sense of what that means.

I don't really have a satisfying ending to this, other than that the next time someone asks me why I got an electric car, I can tell them that it's FIVE GIGAPASCALS better than an internal combustion engine!

[skekilla]

https://www.deviantart.com/skekilla/art/Runaway-Train-Act-III-Scene-7-945305741

The Conductor didn’t need to tell anyone anything twice, that was for sure.

Though the strangling soul magic fled the car right away, the stillness it’d forced was left behind for a good half a minute. No one moved a muscle. No one said a word. Everything had shaken everyone up pretty well, and Johnny was far from an exception to that. He may as well still be paralyzed, really.

No, it wasn’t Johnny or anyone he knew who broke the still-frozen state of the place. It was that housekeeper, Drake. They looked down ever so slightly at Nick where he still lay in their arms. Soul magic must not stop peoples’ hearts from moving, it seemed; the blood that had pumped out of his wound and soaked their white gloves in the meantime proved that much. Drake sized up everything about the condition of their victim before taking a breath to speak: “Are you alright, Nick?”

“What the hell do you think, ah?!” the bartender exploded. “No, I’m not alright! You just STABBED me!” At least he’s still got his strength, Johnny thought weakly.

“Non-lethally.”

“You may as well have! I would’ve thanked you if you did! Damn it!” He winced; the strain of shouting must’ve pinched something in the wound. Through harshly gritted teeth, he added, “You could’ve just told me to stop.”

Louise peeked just over the bar. “And would you have listened?”

“No,” he replied, “but I wouldn’t have been STABBED! STABBED!!” An annoyed huff blew from him, despite the pain. “Not that you people would care anyway. That’s what I get for keeping two knife murderers around.” Johnny did a double-take. Knife murderers? Murderers?! His wide eyes flicked between Louise and Drake—neither seemed offended or indignant at the accusation. A wave of horror crashed over him and flipped him all around until he didn’t know what to do or think.

Standing, Louise sighed. “Alright, settle down,” they said gently. “Come around with him and sit him somewhere, would you, Drake? I’ll patch him up enough.” A nod, and they did as asked. Once they got out from behind the bar, Louise took Nick into her own friendly grasp and helped him to a booth. With that, she sat down with him and began threading a needle she dug out from somewhere in her skirt. Drake took up a post nearby. It’s like nothing happened! How is this all so normal?!

Everyone else in the car took that as their signal that it was alright to move too. Sally got up and hurried around, but was soon relieved by Orla popping out from behind the bar. They came together, the singer scolding and fussing as the dancer laughed apologetically.

BB straightened out from under the bar and glared over at Nick. She didn’t spare any harshness. It was obvious she didn’t care much about the state he was in. “Can I have a couple spoons now?” she asked.

Nick sneered. “As many as you fucking want.” A satisfied smirk turned the zombie’s mouth and she promptly skated behind the counter.

“Ugh,” groaned Lillian. The release of the soul magic had left her in a strange position, half-on half-off the edge of the bar. She brought herself around into a more proper way of sitting: she faced Johnny, where he still shakily stood in the aisle across from her, and let her legs dangle over the edge of the counter. Her mary jane-d feet crossed at the ankles. “‘The rudeness of my employee.’ Like they do any real work anyway,” she said. “Weirdo.”

Johnny tried to shift around too, but quickly remembered himself and put his weight back in his good leg. “W-well,” he stuttered. “Sure, I guess you could say they’re… weird.” I guess you could say everything’s weird right now, but I think that’d be putting it very lightly.

Her ears went forward a little. It was clear she’d noticed he was off. There was no time for anything else to be said; she hopped off the counter and took him by the arm. “Hang on, I got you,” she said. “Take a sec. We’ll all get going again in a minute, but you just relax for now.” After a bit of effort, they made it across the way to the nearest booth seat. It was really too bad that that happened to be the same one that Nick was at. Johnny tried to say something but it was useless, partly because it only came out as a bunch of stuttered nonsense and partly because Lillian had already gone away by then. He swallowed a terrible knot in his throat. Two knife murderers, an angry, trigger-happy bartender, and I’m sitting alone with them. God, keep me safe!

He was looking as far away from Nick as he could, but he could still hear him; the man hissed in a breath. “Ah, knock it off with the booze on the wound, would you?” he said to Louise.

“I’m truly sorry, Nick,” they replied, “but I won’t have your wound going improperly dressed. It could become terribly infected, rotted and filled with pus! I have seen it before, in the mouths of my more unfortunate patients.”

“Not your most, though,” Nick said with a smirk in his voice. It dawned on Johnny with terror what he meant. She murders people while operating on them? How can he possibly trust her with his care??

“Hush,” they murmured. “We mustn't frighten our new acquaintances any further than you already have. Why, look at this gentleman; he won’t even glance our way!” The feeling of their eyes on him sent a chill through Johnny. He pretended not to hear them and just sat there shiveringly. After a moment, the sensation left—Louise turned away. “Oh dear,” they sighed.

“Come on, it’s not so bad anyway,” Nick said. “You haven’t killed me under the needle yet. I owe you for this, you know.”

“Oh Niccolo, I hold no such debts against friends.” Their smile shone through their voice.

An easy pause followed before another sharp inhale from Nick heralded the beginning of the stitching. Johnny’s stomach turned and a dull ache sprung in his limb-stumps at the thought of it. He wasn’t left alone with the sensation for long, though. “Hey, you,” Nick suddenly said, making Johnny jump. “Yeah, I know you can hear me; turn around already.” His heart beat awfully fast. He certainly didn’t want to look over—not to see the gore, of course, but also not to see those people—but in that moment, he was really more afraid of what could happen if he didn’t do what he was asked. He turned slowly, his wide eyes just barely meeting Nick’s. “That’s more like it.” He cracked a smile that showed off his gold tooth. “You’re a funny guy. What’s your name?”

“J-Johnny. Johnny Ager.”

“So, Johnny,” he continued, “whatcha doing with that pain of a flapper” —he flicked his hand in the direction of Lillian— “over there? You seem like any old palooka, and… well, she’s not any old anything.” He thumbed his nose ever so subtly. “Kind of a puttana, if you know what I mean.” Louise gave him a look and pulled on the thread she was tying him up with. He screeched a little.

Johnny couldn’t help but wince in sympathy, even if what he gathered Nick had said wasn’t great. “U-um,” he started, looking away from the operation again, “we came out here together to get those other three. Lillian’s looking out for us.”

“Ohhh, so you’re all pals,” he said, recovering from Louise’s scolding smoothly. How easily his grimace slipped into that toothy grin! If I didn’t know better, I’d call him quite the charmer. Good thing I do! “That bunch had only really just gotten here. Didn’t mind them, besides that beat-looking pink one. What’s the matter with her, huh?” His eyes cued Johnny to answer, but he really didn’t know either, so he just shook his head. “Ah, what are you gonna do,” he carried on with a shrug. “Sometimes, it’s either out of spoons or out of juice, I guess. Well, the other two dames were fine. That Sally—it was Sally, right?—she’s a real canary.” Louise shushed him profusely at that comment. He chuckled in response.

“She can sure sing,” Johnny murmured. Really, he was a little lost in this conversation. When he’s not shooting, this Nick can sure talk circles around you.

Nick’s eyes lit with a certain gleam as he calmed himself from his laughter. It was a kind of look that made Johnny very nervous. “You’ve got a lot of friends,” he said. “Was that voice a friend of yours too? It said it wants to see you, anyway.”

His face paled and his whole body chilled at the very idea of the Conductor, let alone being their friend. He couldn’t even think of it: friends with the thing that had taken him away from his life, friends with the thing that seemed to be playing with them all like a cat taunting mice. They entertained them, and the thought that he could ever appreciate that made him feel sick. “No,” he said. “No, we’re just… trying to get to them to find a way out of here.”

Leaning back a little, Nick whistled long and loud. “A way out! Isn’t that swell for you. You know, I’ve been here for some couple of years and I’ve never seen anything like that. Are you sure that’s gonna go down how you think?”

Johnny winced again, though not out of sympathy this time. “No,” he murmured, “but it’s… well, it’s all we’ve got.”

Though Nick surely would’ve kept talking, he was cut off. “This place is so weird,” BB shouted from behind the counter. “Lil, why do they have a whole Coke tap here?”

“Eh, the bar came with it,” Nick answered instead of the rabbit girl. He grinned. “Believe me, I’d switch it out for some nice moonshine if I could.”

“This place is weird, alright,” Johnny sighed. He really did think it, with these murderers and the fighting and the suspicion now being levelled at him.

He hadn’t really been talking to anyone in particular (certainly not Nick, anyway), but the bartender replied regardless: “Yeah,” he said, “but I’m singing a different song from you. No way I’d go back out if I could.” What? Johnny couldn’t believe it. He checked with Nick’s face to see if he was joking, but no; he was still smiling, but a more hard, almost bitter smile. He meant it. His shock must’ve shown, because Nick started laughing again. “Listen, pal, I have things worth running from back home. I got more than a few droppers trying to rub me out. It ain’t easy when the mob and the fuzz are on you.”

“Yes, that’s something we three all have in common, at least,” Louise chimed in, her bright eyes glinting up at Johnny. “There are worse things after us at home than in here.” Drake sniffed in agreement and stared off to somewhere in their memory—a dark and sad place, by the look of it.

It then dawned on Johnny why all this was normal for them. It had to be. If this wasn’t what they made their normal, what else would they have? They were killers, certainly, but not totally cold-blooded ones; they were people, and this was the best they could do. They just wanted to live, and this train—though it was death, maybe it was all that they could survive in. He didn’t really know what to think, but, somehow, quite a bit of pity was all mixed up with his ideas. He ducked his head down and stayed quiet. What was there to say, after all?

A second or two went by. “But,” Nick broke the silence, “I gotta say, that whole voice thing was… odd. I wouldn’t wanna be getting in trouble with anyone here, too.” His gold tooth flashed again. “Say, what if I struck a deal with you, pal? We help you and your friends get where you’re going without getting chilled off by any cats, and you let us on to what this is all about. You never can know too much about who might be out to get you, ah?”

Johnny swallowed. It would surely be good to have more hands on deck, especially ones as good at fighting as these. Surely… but… “Alright,” he said. “As long as you promise to shut up your tommy gun. P-please.”

Nick laughed. “I’ll see if I can get it to agree, Johnny.” That left Johnny more than anxious, but he really rathered not to object. After all, Nick and that gun of his hadn’t had that talk just yet.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Gaming While Disabled

Pretty sure Goblin gave me her cold. Also still in exceptional pain from two consecutive days’ commute. Cold-achy plus fibromyalgia-achy is ... not fun at all and I didn’t sleep overly well because I kept having stabs and spasms.

On one hand, I kind of want to give Code Vein a proper try. Bestie got it for me as a part of a replacement birthday present when the Trinket slippers didn’t work out.

(Note to prospective buyers of the Trinket slippers on the Critical Role store - CHECK THE SIZES. They say One Size Fits Most, and there is zero wiggle room in their size range because my big-ass feet are a half-size or so larger than the upper limit on the slippers and they just will not fit on my feet. Also I kind of feel bad for any guys that want the Trinket slippers because my feet are large for ‘women’s sizes’ but about average in ‘men’s sizes’ so ... yeah.)

(Further note: the Trinket slippers are getting a good home with my friend in France as soon as I can figure out how best to seal and label an appropriate box, and I have Code Vein, and also a pre-ordered copy of B Dylan Hollis’ Baking Yesteryear, so nobody loses out on this; Bestie gets to make two people happy, friend in France gets slippers, I get cookbook and ARG. Speaking of; back to ARG talk.)

I mean, seriously, I do want to try this game. I’ve basically discovered that my predominant issue with ARGs is keybinds. As in, it feels like they’re usually designed for console and expect someone to be able to plug a controller in and appropriately use it. Fuck that; I could barely hold up my phone last night, and my phone’s way lighter than today’s controllers. Thing is, people more comfortable with a keyboard can apparently eat shit because people dealing with the keyboard controls appear to have gone about assigning keybinds the way I used to play Pin The Tail On The Donkey as a kid. I’m pretty sure the “git gud” crowd would probably say I’m overreacting about this and I just need to figure it out ... except for one thing.

To paraphrase Keanu Reeves as Neo: “I know Google-Fu”.

It’s easy to believe that whatever condition or problem you’re having, you’re the only one having it. Especially when the loudest and most annoying voices involved are the people who belittle and bitch at you about not being able to do exactly what they can, and how you should either cope with how it is or accept that it’s not “for you” and howl like they’re having their human rights violated when you ask politely for accessibility options that they don’t even have to use. I think the best lesson I ever learned - from therapy, from my friends, from Tumblr, which feels like a stupid place to learn a valuable life lesson but Tumblr Be Like That - is that there is always someone who has been where you are, who has gone through what you’re experiencing, and who might be able to help make it easier for you to go through it. All you have to do most of the time is find the right search terms, and advice will be there.

So I Googled “Code Vein Keybinds”. And what do you know? A whole, if short, Reddit thread where people are basically going, “The keybinds on Code Vein are dogshit; any advice for how to set them better?” The only reason the thread is so short is that a couple of people had what appears from the reactions to be an ideal set-up that I’m actually entirely keen to try.

The problem is the OW. Lotta OW. So much OW. I’m not sure I could manage that amount of frenetic activity in the state I’m currently in. I need something that’ll let me hyperfocus past the pain, yes, but adding a learning curve is probably not it. I suppose the thing to do is to go through the character creation thing (because seriously, it has the most fun character creation menu I’ve ever seen; almost makes up for the fact that there’s an awful lot of Big-Tittied Anime Girl With Minimal Clothing right in your face as soon as you get out of the tutorial), see if the new keybinds get me through the tutorial section any easier, get through the opening cutscene, and then stop there and do something a little less ... intensive. Not that my current thing isn’t kind of intensive in its way - I’m trying to finish my Meep!Herald’s run through Inquisition and am in the middle of Jaws of Hakkon, and still noticing that its response to the complaints of “too much running around through too much empty scenery” was “throw in respawning monsters too high level to simply blow through easily”, which is not the point but never mind. Just the controls are somewhat simpler; just a lot of pressing R interspersed with number keys. That’s a lot easier to manage than “parry”, “block”, “dodge”, “drain attack”, “variety of Gift keys”, etc.

I’m probably never going to be good at ARGs, but I dislike there being a whole kind of video game I can’t play because disability. I already have the whole thing where I can’t play most first person perspective games because I get migraines; if the ARG route is also blocked to me ... well. There are fewer and fewer games that don’t fall into those two categories, and I’m starting to feel shut out of the entire hobby. I mean, there are the indies - thank the gods for the indies - but still.

[bluerose5]

Ringing in the New Year

Summary: Garrus joins Shepard while he celebrates the coming of the new year. 

Note: “fidus” means trusted companion, can be used platonically or as a term of endearment.

After searching everywhere for him, Garrus was surprised to finally find Shepard in the crew’s quarters.

Maybe he had been too quick to assume that Shep wouldn’t hide out there, given how large and luxurious his own quarters were in comparison, but there he was, alive and in the flesh.

Shep sat there, legs in his seat and hugged close to his chest. His cheek rested upon his knees while he stared out the window that overlooked the Normandy’s drive core. The light played off of his bright blue eyes.

Everyone else was long gone, enjoying their shore leave on the Citadel, but Shep stayed behind.

Garrus had been curious as to why. Of course, he was. However, with everything going to shit lately, he wanted to make sure that Shep was okay, first and foremost, so he stayed behind as well. It might not be any of his business what Shep was up to, but he couldn’t rightfully leave him on his own without checking on him first.

Plus, it didn’t really feel like a proper shore leave without his partner in crime by his side.

Clearing his throat, Garrus took a seat at the table across from him, but Shepard didn’t even so much as spare him a glance.

At first, Garrus worried that he had done something wrong, but Shepard turned to him before he could ask.

And he smiled.

That damn smile, so warm and welcoming…

That same smile, which would sometimes stretch so wide that it would cause the corners of Shep’s eyes to crinkle, and his nose to scrunch up.

It was adorable, capable of toppling governments if its full power was ever unleashed on the public.

Luckily for them, it was a genuine smile, one saved for special cases. It wasn’t the polite, cordial smile that he put on for show, but the one that Garrus learned that he only used around friends and loved ones.

A select group of individuals that Garrus was grateful to be a part of.

They had come a long way together since their days of hunting Saren.

And when John gave him that look, that look filled with both reverence and fondness, it made Garrus’ heart sing. It made him feel accepted.

It made the skin under his plates grow warm.

That look was reserved solely for him. Garrus had noticed it long ago. It certainly didn’t take a C-Sec agent to figure out what it meant. Still, neither of them mentioned it at the time. It was one of those unspoken things, what they meant to each other, but their reunion had rekindled a flame that Garrus thought died out with Shepard’s death.

Funny how all it took was dying for them to get their asses in gear.

They always did like to be a little dramatic.

“Hey,” Shep whispered, capturing Garrus’ attention once again. “What’re you thinking about?”

Oh, that was easy.

“You,” Garrus answered smoothly. Leaning his weight against the table, he cocked his head to the side in question. “What about you?”

“Hmm…” Shepard hummed thoughtfully, picking idly at a loose thread on his sweatpants, clad only in those, a fitted t-shirt, and some fuzzy socks. “Home. Well, not home home. In all honesty, this is home. The Normandy. I was talking about Earth, though. Thinking about Earth.”

Garrus watched him ramble on, amused at his antics.

When Shep noticed his expression waver, mandibles twitching, he narrowed his eyes at Garrus.

“Don’t,” Shepard warned. He pointed at Garrus menacingly.

“Don’t what?” Garrus asked, playing all too innocent.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“I wasn’t, fidus,” Garrus stated, barely able to keep the oncoming chuckle at bay.

“Uh-huh.”

“Not yet, anyways.”

Shepard huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Aww,” Garrus chided, “don’t be like that, Shep!” While Shepard continued to pout, Garrus decided to lay the charm on extra thick. He reached out and pried one of Shep’s hands free before clasping it between both of his. He locked eyes with him, lowering his voice so that the deep flanging effect was more prominent. To another turian, he probably sounded ridiculous, but it never failed to gather John’s full attention. “Please, fidus.” Garrus even ducked his head and widened his eyes some, no matter how silly he felt. “Let me make it up to you.”

The second Shepard’s expression crumbled, Garrus knew that he had won this round.

When he flashed Shep a wide grin, the commander scowled, then snatched his hand away.

“Fine, make it up to me then,” John said, eyebrow raised.

“How so?”

John pretended to think it over, but he must have had something in mind, considering how quick he was to answer.

“Dance with me.”

Garrus blinked owlishly at that.

“Excuse me,” Garrus chuckled, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Commander Shepard?”

John immediately distanced himself at that response, staring at Garrus with a blank look before offering him a smile.

Only, it wasn’t his smile.

It was the cordial one, the one he wore when speaking with diplomats and random civilians.

It made Garrus feel like shit.

“Nevermind,” John whispered, waving off the idea. He gave a strained shrug, unable to meet Garrus’ eyes. “It was a stupid idea, I know.”

“No, no, no…” Garrus rushed to reassure him, rubbing at the back of his neck in chagrin. “I mean, I like the idea. I was just surprised. You never seemed to like dancing before.”

He trailed off, at a loss for words.

Shep rolled his eyes.

“Did I never seem to like it, or did I just seem annoyed because every time I do dance, people love to remind me that I’m horrible at it?” John deadpanned.

Well, he had Garrus there.

Sheepishly, Garrus got to his feet, determined to right his wrong.

He held out his hand, but John simply stared, motionless.

“Here,” Garrus said.

With a few swipes at his omni-tool, Garrus turned on an old turian song that he was familiar with, one that his parents loved to dance along to in their kitchen during warm summers on Palaven. Nostalgia flooded through him, cloyingly sweet in its intensity.

He only hoped that John liked it, too.

Offering out his hand again, he waited for the inevitable rejection, but it never came.

John placed his hand in Garrus’, staring up at him when Garrus helped him to his feet.

“So, uh, how do we—”

Garrus’ question stopped short when John took Garrus’ hands and wrapped them around his waist.

“Like this,” John instructed.

With Garrus’ carapace to take into account, John had to adjust to get his arms into a comfortable position around his shoulders, but they eventually managed.

Swallowing thickly, Garrus leaned into his touch when John reached up to take his visor off, setting it aside onto the table for safekeeping. When he returned to their embrace, Garrus pressed his forehead against John’s, nuzzling close so that their noses playfully bumped.

John spared him that breathtaking smile of his, and all felt right in the galaxy for the first time in a long while.

Together, they swayed to and fro, everything else melting away around them.

For a brief moment, there were no Reapers. There was no war, no Cerberus, no pain, no hurt.

It was just Shepard and Vakarian, John and Garrus.

A couple of aliens who found comfort and belonging through each other.

Garrus took a deep breath, savoring the moment.

“Not that I’m opposed,” he stated, “but what brought this on?”

John gave a half-shrug, embarrassed.

“Where I grew up,” he explained, “it’s New Year’s Eve right now on Earth. It’s a tradition among some humans to celebrate the coming of a new year. Some people party into the night, drinking and dancing. Others make resolutions, which will probably be broken after the first week of the year, if we’re going to be honest. That’s my experience, at least.”

They both chuckled.

“Others set off fireworks. Although, I think I’m way too jittery for that, all things considered.” He shuddered from simply thinking about it. “To each their own, though, so long as they don’t burn everything to the ground.”

“Easy enough to understand,” Garrus noted. “Although, that raises the question.” At Shepard’s curious look, he elaborated. “Were you looking to celebrate on your own?”

Shepard pursed his lips.

“Not on my own, per se.” He sighed, snuggling impossibly close. “All I wanted was some peace and quiet for once. To get lost in the moment without having to worry about the weight of the entire galaxy resting on my shoulders.”

“It’s not a weight that you have to carry alone,” Garrus reminded him, tightening his hold on his waist. “But I agree. You deserve a night, free of duty. The galaxy can spare you that much, at least.”

“It certainly helps to have such pleasant company.”

“Likewise.”

John’s omni-tool beeped, counting down the last minute of 2185.

Garrus loosened his hold on him, twirling him around before guiding him back in.

This time, John bumped his nose against Garrus’, even though he had to reach a little to do so.

“Careful there, short stuff,” Garrus teased. “Don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Haha,” John deadpanned. “You’re so funny.”

“When you said that one time how you like it when I keep you on your toes, I didn’t think that you meant it so literally.”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Promises, promises.”

Garrus spun him around in his arms, delighting when his grip tightened in response.

John hesitated, staring up at Garrus in wonder.

“Can I request one last thing to make this perfect?” he whispered, cupping Garrus’ cheek. “Another New Year’s Eve tradition, if you’re willing.”

“Whatever you want, fidus.”

The countdown reached ten seconds, and John’s eyes flicked pointedly to Garrus’ mouth plates, his thumb brushing over them.

“Kiss me,” he breathed.

Even though Garrus expected it by then, it still shocked him nevertheless that John —his John Shepard— would ask that of him.

All he could wonder is what made him worthy of the Commander’s affection, but he knew not to question it.

To do so would be foolish.

Instead, he accepted the affection that Shepard granted him.

Leaning in, Shepard met him halfway, clinging to Garrus as if his life depended on it.

Their noses brushed again, but then Shepard shifted the angle. His eyes fluttered closed, so Garrus soon followed suit, always eager to let him take the lead.

This was new territory to Garrus, yet it felt so natural.

Once the countdown hit zero, Shepard closed the distance. His lips brushed tentatively against Garrus’ mouth plates at first. They both pulled back for a split second, only to instantly pick up where they left off.

In their desire to get closer, Garrus reached down and picked Shepard up into his arms, wrapping his legs around his waist.

He set John down onto the edge of the table, caressing his waist and hips with a feather-light touch.

When John traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, seeking to deepen the kiss, Garrus submitted with a low trill in the back of his throat.

They explored each other fully until they had no other choice but to part, gasping for breath as Garrus nuzzled his nose against John’s cheek.

Garrus hummed appreciatively.

“Happy New Year, John.”

Shepard chuckled, breathless.

“Happy New Year, Garrus,” he said, “and what a way to start it.”

[faulty-writes]

Warning: Mentions of Bullying. 

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

Pairing: Student!Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fat Gum) x Student!Reader 

[I just love Fat Gum okay. My marshmallow man deserves all the love!] 

[A lot of crazy things happen to High School students, of course, your life was a little better knowing you had a friend like Taishiro. Despite the fact he got made fun of, you always found him to be charming and you had a little crush on him. So what happens when he invites you to a food truck festival?] 

Shiketsu High School is one Hero Academy that can match up to U.A. High School, but even so. It was a personal belief of yours that anyone could be a hero with the proper training. Of course, you were privileged enough to be able to get into the hero course of Shiketsu and you were proud of that. You had made so many wonderful friends and each one of them held the same dream as you, to be a great Pro Hero one day. Of course, there was one person you were closest to and his name was Taishiro Toyomitsu. The boy that would eventually grow up to become Fat Gum. 

You always found him to be a funny guy, despite the fact he easily towered over the other students and his quirk was a little strange. He was always eating, but he was friendly and was always willing to help others. If you were being completely honest, you had a little crush on him. But Shiketsu had set down certain rules regarding student relations. Being a hero was more important than romance to them and part of you understood that, but then again did anyone have the right to tell you what your heart wanted? Despite knowing the rules, you couldn’t help yourself. 

Taishiro was the one you had come to want, even if other students made fun of him for no good reason. But you always defended him and in turn, those students would begin to tease you about your crush on him, you were happy their words were just depicted as rumors even if they were true. Still, at the moment you were lucky enough to be his friend and that’s all you could ever ask for or so you thought. When you walked into class, you took your normal seat behind Toishiro who grinned before turning around to face you. “Hi y/n!” he said enthusiastically, waving his hand despite the fact you were right in front of him.  

Still, you smiled at his silly antics. “Hi Taishiro, I’m assuming you’re well this morning.” he nodded, still wearing that same smile. “You bet!” he replied as he gave you the thumbs up. His blond hair bouncing from his movements, “Hey I was wonderin’ something.” he said as he sheepishly looked at you. His fingers nervously tapping along the back of his seat which made you a little confused, he only acted this way when he wanted to ask you to do something with him or for him. You couldn’t wait to see which one it was, but you didn’t mind doing favors for Taishiro. After all, he was the one you had a crush on. Though you hid it well. 

“Which is …” you said, moving two fingers in a circular motion to try and get him to hurry up and say it. “Oh.” he caught the hint and blushed, “Right! Um, I have it here somewhere. Just a sec!” he urged as he rummaged through his backpack, a slightly panicked expression came across his face but it disappeared when he pulled out a small pamphlet. “Here we go, almost thought I lost!” he said with another grin before he dropped it onto your desk. “Hm?” you blinked and picked it up, immediately you noticed the food truck on the cover. “There’s gonna be a food truck festival in downtown Toyko ...and well …” he paused and rubbed the back of his head. 

His eyes glanced up and his cheeks were turning pink, you flipped through the pamphlet. Looking over the different food trucks that would be there and what they would be serving, it sounded pretty good. Your eyes shifted back to Taishiro who still looked flustered, “Would you like to go with me y/n? I’d sure appreciate a day with you. It doesn’t have to be a date or anything! Just …” he paused and nervously began to play with his fingers, a pout on his face and you chuckled. “It’s okay Taishiro, I’d love to go with you.” he paused and looked at you, blinking. “R-Really?!” he smiled and leaped over the desk to hug you. 

“Thank you, y/n! Don’t you worry! It’ll be great, I promise I’ll make sure you have the best day of your life!” he said before licking his lips, he couldn’t wait to taste all the delicious food. You smiled and hugged him back, despite the giggles you heard from the back of the class. You growled quietly as you heard the chatter and whispered words, most of them were directed at Taishiro. Gees, did people care about looks that much they’d make fun of someone for it? Ignorant bastards, you didn’t want to cause a fight in class. So instead, you focused on the hug and squeezed Taishiro before he pulled away, talking about how excited he was for the food truck festival. 

It took place over the weekend and though it wasn’t as big as the Sports Festival, it was still pretty big. There was a large crowd and the aroma of various foods filled the air which made your stomach growl. But you kept close to Taishiro who pushed through the crowd, you were hanging onto his arm and he was smiling. “You alright there, y/n? Let me know if I’m going too fast,” he said and you nodded. “I’m fine! Just a little crowded that’s all,” you replied, though you normally fine in crowds sometimes they became too much. Still, you felt a little better because you were with Taishiro and he was heading straight for one of the ramen trucks. 

“What kind of flavor would you like, y/n?” he questioned, turning to grin at you. “I like them all to be honest, not sure if I could pick a favorite!” you couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “I think I’ll take the beef.” you said before he nodded, “Sounds great! Make that two!” he said and smiled when he got the small samples. “Mm, smells good!” he said as he handed you one. It was in a small bowl and came with a pair of disposable chopsticks. You laughed as you watched Taishiro swallow his noodles down without a problem and you slowly slurped yours up. “I’d like to try that American food truck next!” he said cheerfully before grabbing your arm. 

It was amazing how much one man could eat, then again it made sense with his quirk and you noticed the more he ate, the plumper he became but it was kind of cute. In fact, part of you just wanted to pinch his chubby little cheeks. He was adorable but you were too shy to tell him that. Instead, you continued to walk around holding your stomach. Taishiro still wanted more food, but he was very considerate of you, especially when you told him you were full. “Well, that’s okay! We can wait a little while, I don’t mind!” he said as cheerful as ever, finishing off the last sample he had gotten. 

“Uh ...thanks Taishiro” you said, rubbing your swollen belly. He smiled and wrapped his arm around you and a gasp came as you found yourself being pulled against him. He was so squishy, somehow that made you blush. “Anytime y/n! You know I’ll always take good care of you.” His words made your blush deepen and you felt your heart flutter. “Uh, thank you again, Taishiro I-” your words were interrupted when you heard the sound of music begin to blast through the air and you jumped. “Hey there!” Taishiro said, pulling you even closer. 

“It’s okay, it’s just music. Let’s see where it’s coming from,” he suggested and you looked at him before nodding. He smiled and reached down to take your hand and butterflies replaced that nauseous feeling you had. His hand felt pudgy in your own but so secure and loving. It was somewhat of an overwhelming feeling. You looked down at your conjoined hands before looking at Taishiro, even in his chubby state he looked handsome and you weren’t sure how long you could keep your feelings down. You had a feeling you’d just snap one day and blurt your feelings out before kissing him. 

But you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with him either, sometimes life sucked. You sigh before Taishiro stopped. “Hey look at that!” he said as he pointed one of his pudgy fingers toward a makeshift dance floor. There was a small stage and a live band was playing, “Oh wow …” you said, blinking at the display. Those that were dancing looked to be having a good time and it almost made you want to join in. “Hey, wanna dance?” Taishiro asked, almost as if he read your mind. You jumped and looked at him, once more blushing. “M-Me? Well, I ...I c-can’t dance!” you replied, but the song that was currently playing came to an end and a slow song began. 

“Oh hey, they changed the song.” he said before glancing at you with a shy expression. “Well, uh ...if it’s not too much to ask. Would you fancy a dance with me?” he questioned, nervously scratching the back of his head and you almost fainted. He just asked you to dance!? Oh God, you couldn’t really deny him. He asked so politely and he seemed just as nervous as you were. You took a deep breath and Taishiro extended his hand. “It couldn’t hurt, a dance with a fat man huh?” you jumped, “Taishiro! I don’t care about that …” you muttered as you glanced to the side before taking his hand and he happily guided you to the dancefloor. 

You placed one hand on his shoulder, which was a little hard considering the height difference between you two and your free hand was holding onto his. Your fingers threaded together which made your heart skyrocket. His free hand was placed on your hip and he guided you, though you were just stepping back and forth. You pressed yourself as close as you could to him and smiled, despite your heart pounding in your chest. You felt so happy in that moment dancing with him and he, in turn, smiled down at you. “This is nice huh?” he said, giggling nervously and you nodded. “I like it,” you said as you leaned your head against his chest which made his face light up. “O-Oh!” his giggling continued but you didn’t mind, you’d take any excuse you could to get close to him. 

Of course, your moment of bliss ended when Taishiro cried out. “Huh!?” you shot your head up when he retracted his hands from you and rubbed the back of his now sore head. “What happened?” you questioned before you heard the obnoxious laughter. “What!?” you growled and stepped past Taishiro to see the group of classmates that often made fun of him, one of them was tossing a rock in the palm of their hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!? Apologize now!” you demanded and the three classmates looked at each other before continuing to laugh. 

“Hah! I can’t believe they like dancing with the human whale!” the first one said before nudging the second one who nodded, “Yeah, make sure he doesn’t squish you with all that fat!” they said before the third one spoke, “Maybe they have a thing for fatties.” you growled and cracked your knuckles, the eerie sound seemed to pierce through the music and the three classmates stopped laughing. “Uh …” one of them said, but they all noticed the threatening scowl you had as you stomped over to them. “If you’re so goddamn shallow about someone’s appearance let alone weight, someone ought to teach you a lesson.” you hissed and took another step closer to them, watching them cower. 

“We were only joking!” one of them said and you shook your head. “I don’t care if it’s a joke or not! Don’t you dare make fun of someone I care about! Taishiro is amazing and one day he’ll be a better hero than any of you and if you ever make fun of him again, you’ll answer to me!” you snapped and Taishiro watched in amazement as your words alone made the bullies turn and run. You huffed, “Bastards …” you muttered before turning back to Taishiro who stood there with a blank expression. “Ya know you didn’t have to do that right?” he said as you approached him, laying your hands on his chest. 

“Yes I did, you don’t deserve that treatment Taishiro. I don’t care if it’s your quirk or not, you are fine the way you are and I ...I can’t take someone making fun of ...saying such awful things about someone I …” you paused, looking down. Your cheeks turning a soft red, you shivered when you felt Taishiro’s hands on your shoulders. “That you what?” he questioned and you sigh, tilting your head back up to look at him. Despite knowing the rules your school had put down for you and the fear of ruining your friendship with Taishiro, you couldn’t let your heart suffer anymore. “I ...I really like you Taishiro,” you held up your hand, preventing him from speaking. 

“I’ve liked you for a long time and I know ...that’s stupid and I know you’re more focused on your hero career,” you said as you glanced away, closing your eyes. “But I just ...had to tell you that-”  Taishiro reached out to grab your chin, leaning over to silence your words with a sweet kiss. He tasted like pork and honey sauce, but damn if that kiss didn’t make your head spin. But you barely got enough time to enjoy it before he pulled away, smiling at you. “I’m not much of a rule-breaker myself, but I know one thing. My heart is sweet for your sugar and I kind of asked you here in hopes that ...you’d take it as a date. I didn’t know how else to tell you how I felt and well ...I thought you wouldn’t exactly like a big old chubby bunny like me. But I guess it worked out after all.” he said before chuckling. 

Your face was hot and you could hear your heartbeat echo in your ears. “O-Oh …” you said before looking at the ground, nervously shifting on your feet. “Hey.” you blinked but made no move to look at him. “Don’t get all shy on me now, it’s okay.” Taishiro insisted as he pulled you in for another hug and you squeaked in response before finally, looking at him. “Was the kiss too much? Heh sorry,” he apologized with a smile. “But overall, I thought it was a pretty good time to kiss you! I’ve been wanting to do it for a while so I took the chance,” he explained and you chuckled. “Hey I know, how about we try more food? Your tummy ache is gone right?” he questioned and you hesitantly nodded. 

“Great! Then maybe tomorrow we can go out on a real date! What do you say?” he questioned and you were surprised by his insistence, not that it was a bad thing. You knew he’d never push anyone into doing something they didn’t want. “I um, I think I’d like that,” you replied before smiling at your marshmallow man. “Great! Then maybe you could help me pick out a hero name. I was thinking of Fat Gum seeing as I got all this fat and it’s squishy like gum.” you giggled at his explanation and reached down to take his hand, slipping your fingers between his. “I think that sounds like a wonderful hero name,” you replied before standing on your tippy-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

[unproduciblesmackdown]

speaking of rian and winston making out (naturally), another fun particular [getting together] setup / subplot idea: just a subtle thread throughout an episode where we happen to see winston and rian being in meetings or whatever together throughout a particular workday so that, although it doesn’t affect anything, they can keep having this Weird Energy being sort of distant / avoiding directly interacting / their interactions being less characterful, and it’s neither [they’re fighting / there’s some problem or something] or [they’ve been making out lately*] but rather the more particular situation of [mutual interest in making out has been established between them and they’re just partly preoccupied with the knowledge that they’ll be making out later and are trying to kind of paper over that anticipation / sexual tension in the meantime by just kind of arms lengthing each other in general / avoiding direct exchanges until they’re really having a Direct Exchange]

visual concepts like, they get on the elevator together at the end of the day, with the cut to like in world 40 sec later with a shot from the same position / angle with the doors opening and they’re both in just slightly different spots just slightly closer together and just slightly more disheveled (alternate / bonus: this, but with a third utter rando in the elevator presumably picked up somewhere between their floor and the lobby)

(* maybe they made out lately in that like, their mutual interest in making out being established involved Doing So, but just for like 7 seconds in some equivalent of a supply closet, i.e. private enough for the moment and maybe entirely private if the writing allows that convenience but they also just might not be counting on that privacy and instead just grab little a making out appetizer as a treat and know they’ll have a proper rendezvous later)

(also for an idea of what’s a Weird Energy But Nbd between them, think it would be fun if their Sexual Tension At Work manifested as like, interacting very parallely lol like their hardly ever looking over when the other says something though they’re both clearly listening / verbally adding on in Usual ways, maybe even some more direct responses (like winston laughing at some Humorous Flair from rian, rian building on some otherwise regarded as tangential / off topic comment from winston) but still keeping their focus on any of the other parties in the room, Apparently Inexplicable Restraint is the vibe but it also doesn’t technically seem to be causing any roadblocks in the meeting’s overall flow of info so.......naturally would make most sense for taylor to be the one to notice anything at all b/c a) they have the most cause to pay attention to / interact with either/both of them, b) they are already capable of noticing when either/both of them are acting a bit off / differently from either person’s usual (5x07) and c) it’s also just handy b/c it’s entirely plausible taylor always just Leaves Things Be rather than what other characters might do, which includes stuff like “going out of their way to pry / ‘investigate’ b/c like, on general principle, they want to Know Things that they can maybe use as leverage against anyone else” or “going out of their way to pry into people’s business just b/c they’d like to give them shit about it even if they don’t get anything else out of it”)

(also because in self indulgent [What If? Quantent] situations i like to be self indulgent, all my ideas for riawin [flirting / sexual tension / mutually acknowledging; expressing; establishing interest] type interactions are like, can it please be Characterful / Idiosyncratic / Particular and “weird” in that it’s different from the usual way that is expressed through billions norms, where people often have a lot of billionsy dialogue but also in the like suave cleverness / repartee way that’s like ooh a playful challenge but given that winston’s less playfully challenged pretty much every time he speaks it’d probably be nice to get a break from that to indicate amicability / obviously the usual billions communication style doesn’t really ever work great for him so why elevate it and have him have to navigate that before he can kiss anybody; and furthermore in what we’ve seen, rian and winston Have had this mutual interest established in their interactions already (although we don’t know that the type of interest/s at play here are all 1:1 venn diagram is a circle Mutual) and it does involve their particular communication style / dynamic becoming more elevated in a way that definitely contrasts with the “usual” style and generally seems more flexible, and so far their techniques include stuff like [rian needling winston a bit to get a rise out of him] and [winston’s underwhelming efforts to dunk on rian] and [rian jumping in to argue for winston getting to stick around at tmc and be beyond criticism at the soiree] and [winston being pretty straightforward about acknowledging he Likes rian actually] and they’re both Weird(tm) by the standards of things around here so all that seems to support that their interactions in this realm or any other would Not exactly have to play out in usual ways / follow usual forms. and this is self indulgent b/c the usual flirting approach antagonizes me anyways)

this post has been in progress for like hours so i forget if i’ve exactly gotten across its Essence but i think the points are like, first of all just in general let’s see rian and winston getting to make out thanks, second of all this particular What If is like, it’d be fun if they had a fun subtle little Character Material thread of just being a bit awkward around each other all day like maybe something’s slightly wrong but it’s actually like “yes we’re focusing enough on whatever business stuff rn but are also like ��can’t wait to make out later after all of this’ about it so don’t worry about it”

[goatbi]

63 and 65 for the bleach au, i just think they're neat

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Benrey blinked at the light shining into the closet, shutting the small phone in his hands with a sharp click. Gordon had pulled open the closet door to grab clothing, as usual, and found Benrey still awake, which was different. The set up Benrey had in his closet was... uncomfortable for Gordon, at the very least, seeing as Gordon had set up the cot in there so he could pull it out easier. He had offered to do so multiple times, and even offered the spare room to Benrey, but he continued to sleep in the closet.

“Shouldn’t you?” Benrey countered, and Gordon took the point.

“Just making sure you weren’t up because of hollows or anything.” Benrey hummed, shaking his head.

“Woulda popped out.”

No, Benrey wasn’t awake because of hollows, which were surprisingly well taken care of at the moment. Their- Gordon’s friends, they weren’t his friends, Gordon’s friends, must have been taking good care of the city for the night. Gordon reached over him, grabbing something from above him and slid the door mostly shut, a sign he wanted to keep talking, but that he needed privacy to change.

“You sure you’re doing alright?”

“Hmph.”

The orders to return sat in the inbox of the phone, where he would get hollow reports time and time again. They had already sent one reaper after him, whose to say they won’t keep sending more and more, again and again until he’s overwhelmed by it?

The door slid open again, revealing Gordon changed into baggier clothing, and Benrey hummed at him.

“Come out of there for a sec.”

Benrey blinked at him, but shifting, hopping down from the cot. The gigai was so... different from what he was. Artificial body, crafted to hold the soul of the reaper hidden on earth for long periods of time. 

Except he wasn’t supposed to have it. 

Gordon hummed, carefully tugging him over and sitting him on the bed. Benrey raised an eyebrow at him as he shifted to sit behind him on his knees, threading his hands though Benrey’s hair. 

“What are you...” 

“Shh. Stop fussing. I’m braiding your hair.” 

Benrey fell silent, as Gordon slowly began the process of brushing out and braiding his hair. Benrey yawned softly, beginning to realize Gordon’s plan here, but not doing much to stop it from happening. 

Normally, Benrey would leave his mess of hair down, letting it do whatever it wanted, but now, he wondered if he should let Gordon do this more often. He leaned back against him slightly, and Gordon chuckled softly, not stopping him despite it making it a bit harder to braid his hair. 

Eventually, Gordon finished, and Benrey was half asleep against his chest. Gordon shifted him to the side, letting him lay on the bed properly, and Benrey blinked at him. 

“Take a proper bed, for the night, alright? You need the rest.” 

That was far truer than Gordon knew, and Benrey took it, ignoring the soft chime of orders from the Soul Society coming in from the closet, and closed his eyes, curling up into sleep and Gordon draped a blanket over him.