#to sync with servers from the past

[bioswear]

had a normal one last night when I got home from the NieR concert 🤪🥰

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

The file dropped into Ghost’s hands by accident.

Wrong data stream. A legacy terminal still syncing classified logs from a burned CIA server in Munich. He wasn’t even looking for it. But the name stopped him cold.

“Lockjaw – Subject 09” “Adler, R. – Directorial Override” “Post-maternal death trauma event: Execute Tier-Zero Memory Cleanse.”

He didn’t believe it. Not at first. But the DNA tag confirmed it.

Father: Russell Adler Daughter: [REDACTED]

He sat with it for three hours before saying a word.

You were cleaning your sidearm when he approached—calm, surgical, still humming something low and tuneless under her breath.

Ghost dropped the file onto the table in front of you. Didn’t speak.

You looked at it. Then at him. “What is this?”

“Your past.”

You froze. Slowly peeled open the file. Skimmed. Then stopped. Then stared.

“No.”

Ghost didn’t move.

“I would remember something like this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “You wouldn’t.”

Silence.

Your hand curled into a fist at the bottom of the page. “This is a lie. Someone forged this.”

He didn’t answer.

Your eyes moved again, line by line. Then you reached the end of the document.

A scanned image of a transfer order—a single-page CIA internal memo authorizing a complete neural wipe. One signature at the bottom.

You blinked. Your throat closed. “Who signed it?”

Ghost didn’t answer.

You read the name out loud, voice tight, barely audible.

“Russell Adler.”

It felt like glass cracking in your skull.

Something moved behind your eyes—something old. A flicker of warm light. A woman’s laugh. A hand brushing through your hair. A man’s voice: “You don’t need to remember. You just need to obey.”

The breath left your lungs. You stood up so fast that the chair slammed backward. “This is a setup.”

Ghost stood, too—calm. Controlled.

“Lockjaw—”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice snapped like wire under tension.

You backed up, running into the wall, dragging your nails down your jaw like you could claw the memory out.

You grabbed the file. Threw it. Pages scattered. “I don’t have parents. I never had parents.”

Ghost didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to touch you. Just stood there.

You dropped to a crouch. Hands gripping your hair. Breathing like you couldn’t get enough air into your chest.

You whispered, “Why would he do that to me?”

And Ghost, quiet, heavy: “Because he knew you’d be the best if you didn’t have anything left to lose.”

[octaneink]

How do you expect me to be fine?

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: All you wanted was a fun night out with friends, but things took an unexpected turn when someone started flirting with you. Or maybe… it will turn out better than you expected? Warnings: Alcohol consumption, emotional tension/arguments, angst (I hope) Notes: This is the fic from this ask! I hope I did it justice ☺️☺️☺️

The bass from the club’s speakers thrummed through your chest, a steady, pulsing rhythm that seemed to sync with your heartbeat. The neon lights overhead cast a kaleidoscope of colours across the room, bathing everything in a surreal, electric glow. You were surrounded by your usual group—Harry, Cal, Josh, and, of course, Will. The night had started off great, with everyone laughing, joking, and feeding off each other’s energy. Will, in particular, had been in high spirits, his laughter ringing out louder than the music at times, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he teased you about your questionable taste in cocktails.

“A Cosmo? Really?” he’d said earlier, raising an eyebrow as you sipped your drink. “I didn’t realize we were in a 2003 rom-com.”

You’d rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly. “At least I’m not drinking whatever that is,” you shot back, nodding to the suspiciously bright green concoction in his hand.

Will had grinned, holding up his glass in a mock toast. “Touché.”

The first few hours blurred into a haze of neon and laughter, the kind of night where the air itself felt charged. Will’s presence was a constant anchor—close enough that the heat of his arm seeped through your sleeve every time he leaned in to murmur a joke, his breath grazing your ear as the music swallowed his words. You’d tilt your head, straining to catch them, only for his laughter to ripple through you, low and warm, like the hum of the baseline under your ribs.

His hands were never still. They’d flicker out to punctuate a story—a playful nudge to your shoulder, a tap against your wrist to reclaim your attention when Harry launched into another rambling tangent. Once, when he reached past you for his drink, his fingers brushed yours, lingering just long enough for your pulse to hitch before he pulled away, smirking at something Cal said like nothing had happened.

You told yourself it was accidental. Will was always like this—casual, careless with proximity, his charm as easy as the way he’d sling an arm over Josh’s shoulder or ruffle Harry’s hair. But then you’d catch him watching you, his gaze sharp and unguarded in the half-second before he looked away, the corner of his mouth quirking like he’d been caught mid-thought. You’d swallow the flutter in your throat, chalk it up to the strobe lights, the tequila, the way the room seemed to tilt whenever he grinned at you.

Just Will being Will, you’d think, even as your skin prickled where he’d touched you, the ghost of his fingertips lingering long after he’d turned back to the crowd.

The music swelled, a relentless beat that made the ice in your glass tremble as you slipped away from the group. You leaned against the bar, the cool marble biting into your palms as you waved to catch the bartender’s attention. “A Tequila sunrise please!” you shouted over the bass, earning a nod from the harried server.

That’s when you felt it—there was a noticeable shift, the presence of someone sliding into the space beside you. You turned, met by a guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a cologne ad: tousled hair, sharp jawline, a smile that said he knew exactly how handsome he was.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in close enough for you to catch the woodsy scent of his aftershave. His voice was smooth, deliberate, like he’d rehearsed it. “Couldn’t help but notice you from across the room. I’m Nate.”

You forced a polite smile, angling your body slightly away. “Hi.”

Nate either didn’t notice your stiffness or chose to ignore it. “What’s a girl like you doing here alone?”

“I’m not alone,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward your friends. Harry was mid-laugh, his head thrown back, while Will—

Will was staring at his drink, his shoulders tense. You blinked, and he looked normal, smiling happily to the group.

Nate followed your gaze, unimpressed. “Ah. Those your mates?” He leaned closer, his elbow brushing yours on the bar. “Let me guess—you’re the only interesting one in the group.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. Trust me.”

The bartender slid your drink toward you, and you reached for your card, but Nate was faster. He pulled out a sleek black wallet, holding up a hand to stop you. “Let me get this one.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’ve got it.”

Nate smirked, undeterred. “Come on, it’s just a drink. One dance, and we’ll call it even.”

“Thanks, but I’m here with friends,” you said firmly, sliding your card across the bar before Nate could argue. “Have a good night, yeah?”

For a heartbeat, his confidence wavered, replaced by a flicker of irritation. Then he shrugged, slick as ever. “Your loss.” he said, nodding toward your group. Before you could correct him, he melted into the crowd, leaving behind a trace of his cologne and the faintest smirk.

You exhaled, the tightness in your chest unravelling as you turned back to the bar. The tequila burned your throat when you took a sip, but the sharpness grounded you. Just a minor hiccup, you told yourself, squaring your shoulders.

You made your way back to the group, drink in hand, and immediately noticed the shift in Will’s demeanour. He was quieter than before, his shoulders tense, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance. You frowned, stepping closer to him.

“Hey,” you said, your voice soft but carrying enough to reach him over the music. “You okay?”

Will looked at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied your face as if he were trying to memorize it. Then he nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “I’m fine.”

You hesitated, searching his face for any sign of what was really going on. But Will had always been good at putting up walls when he wanted to, and tonight was no exception. His expression gave nothing away, and after a moment, you nodded, accepting his answer even though it didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay,” you said, forcing a smile of your own. “Just... let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

Will nodded again, his gaze flickering away from yours as he reached for his drink. “Yeah, of course.”

The conversation ended there, but the weight of it lingered, pressing against your chest. Will stayed quiet, his presence a steady but distant force at your side. He nursed his drink, his fingers tapping an absent rhythm against the glass, his gaze fixed on some invisible point across the room. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, but when you turned to meet his stare, he’d look away, his jaw tightening as if he were holding something back.

You tried to focus on the laughter and banter around you—Harry was now passionately arguing with Josh about something, his hands waving wildly as Cal egged him on—but your mind kept drifting back to Will. The tension in his shoulders, the way he’d avoided your eyes, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between you. It felt like a storm brewing, quiet and electric, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to break.

You wanted to ask him again, to push past the walls he’d put up, but the music was too loud, the moment too fragile. So instead, you stayed where you were, close enough to feel the heat of his arm brushing yours, yet miles apart.

The tension between you and Will was a live wire, crackling with unspoken words and stifled emotions. It wasn’t just the way he’d been acting tonight—it was the way he’d been acting for weeks. The quiet glances, the lingering touches, the way he’d pull you close one moment and push you away the next. It was exhausting trying to decipher what he wanted, what he felt, when he refused to let you in.

And tonight? Tonight was the tipping point.

You’d tried to brush it off at first, chalking it up to Will being Will. He was always a little unpredictable, a little hard to read. But the way he’d shut down today—the way he’d avoided your eyes, his jaw clenched like he was holding back a storm—it hurt. It hurt because you cared about him, because you’d always cared about him, and it felt like he didn’t trust you enough to tell you what was wrong.

You weren’t stupid. You’d noticed the way his mood shifted whenever someone flirted with you, the way his laughter would falter and his smile would tighten. You’d seen the way he’d stare at his drink, his shoulders tense, like he was fighting some internal battle you weren’t allowed to be a part of. And you’d tried—god, you’d tried—to give him space, to be patient, to wait for him to open up.

But enough was enough.

You weren’t going to spend the rest of the night tiptoeing around his moods, trying to guess what was going on in his head. You weren’t going to let his brooding ruin your night, not when you’d been looking forward to this for weeks.

You turned to Harry, who was mid-rant about something absurd, and tapped his arm to get his attention. “I’m gonna hit the dance floor,” you said, raising your voice over the music.

Harry grinned, already swaying to the beat. “About time! You’ve been standing here like a statue all night.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t wait up.”

Cal raised his glass in a mock toast. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“So, nothing, then?” you shot back, earning a laugh from the group.

You glanced at Will, who was still staring into his drink like it held the answers to the universe. For a moment, you considered saying something—anything—to break through the wall he’d built around himself. But the way his lips pursed when he caught you looking told you it was pointless.

“I’ll be on the dance floor if anyone needs me,” you said, your tone light but pointed. Will didn’t look up, but you saw his fingers tighten around his glass.

With that, you turned and slipped into the crowd, letting the music and the sea of bodies swallow you whole. The beat was infectious, the bass reverberating through your chest as you moved to the rhythm. You closed your eyes, tilting your head back as the neon lights flashed overhead, and for the first time that night, you felt free.

The crowd pressed in around you, a blur of colours and motion, but you didn’t care. You let yourself get lost in the music, your worries melting away with every step. Out here, it didn’t matter that Will was being impossible or that the night hadn’t gone the way you’d hoped. All that mattered was the here and now.

You didn’t notice Will watching you from the edge of the dance floor, his drink forgotten in his hand. His jaw was clenched, not in anger but in quiet restraint, as if holding back something he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—let himself say. His eyes, though, betrayed him. They were dark, intense, and unwavering, tracing every shift of your body, every flicker of your smile. There was a hunger in them, a longing that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried.

The way you laughed—bright and unrestrained—made his chest tighten. The way you moved, lost in the music, seemed to pull at something deep inside him, like a thread unravelling with every step you took. He wanted to look away, to break the spell, but he couldn’t. His gaze lingered on the curve of your neck, the way your hair caught the neon light, the way your hands moved through the air as if you were painting the rhythm itself.

For a moment, his mask slipped. His lips parted slightly, his breath catching as you turned, your eyes briefly scanning the crowd. He froze, hoping you wouldn’t see him, hoping you would. But you didn’t. And as you turned back, laughing at something someone said, his eyes softened, a quiet ache settling into the lines of his face. He looked down at his drink, untouched and warm now, and exhaled sharply, as if trying to steady himself.

When he looked up again, his expression was guarded once more, but his eyes—his eyes still held that same quiet yearning, like a man standing at the edge of a fire, desperate to feel its warmth but afraid to get too close.

The music pulsed around you, the beat thrumming through your veins as you danced, losing yourself in the rhythm and the neon-lit haze of the club. But as the night wore on, the energy began to wane. Your feet ached, your head buzzed faintly from the drinks, and the weight of the evening—of Will’s silence, of the unspoken tension—started to creep back in.

You glanced at your phone, the screen lighting up with the time. It was late. Too late to keep pretending everything was fine.

You made your way back to the group, weaving through the thinning crowd. Harry was slumped against the bar, grinning lazily as Cal drunkenly recounted some story, his hands flying everywhere. Josh was scrolling through his phone, looking half-asleep, while Will…

Will was still there, leaning against the bar, his drink untouched in front of him. His eyes flicked up as you approached, but he didn’t say anything, his expression unreadable.

“I’m heading home,” you announced, cutting through the chatter.

Harry looked up, blinking blearily. “Already? The night’s still young!”

“For you, maybe,” you said with a tired laugh. “I’m beat.”

Cal raised his glass in a mock salute. “Get home safe, yeah?”

You nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Will do. See you lot later.”

You didn’t wait for a response, turning on your heel and making your way toward the exit. The cool night air hit you like a wave as you stepped outside, a welcome relief after the stifling heat of the club. You took a deep breath, the faint hum of the city filling your ears as you started down the pavement.

You hadn’t gone far when you heard footsteps behind you, steady and familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“You don’t have to walk me home, Will,” you said, your voice carrying over the quiet street.

“I’m not,” he replied, his tone casual, though there was an edge to it that made your stomach twist. “We live in the same direction, remember?”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching his eye. He was a few steps behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the chill. He looked… tired. More than tired.

“Right,” you said, turning back around. “Same direction.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and loaded, as you walked. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, the occasional car passing by breaking the stillness. You could feel Will’s presence like a weight at your back, his footsteps keeping pace with yours.

You wanted to say something—to ask him what was wrong, to demand an explanation for the way he’d been acting all night. But the words stuck in your throat, tangled up with the frustration and hurt you’d been carrying for weeks.

It wasn’t until you reached the corner of your street that Will finally spoke.

“You looked like you were having fun,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You stopped, turning to face him. His expression was guarded, his eyes shadowed in the dim light.

“I was,” you said, crossing your arms. “Until you decided to act like a moody teenager all night.”

Will’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “You’ve been like this for weeks, Will. One minute you’re laughing and joking, and the next you’re shutting me out like I’ve done something wrong. And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of trying to figure out what’s going on in your head when you won’t talk to me.”

Will stared at you, his expression hardening. “You want to know what my problem is? Fine. I’ll tell you what’s my problem.”

He took a step closer, his voice rising. “My problem is you! You’re always so nice to everyone, and it’s like you don’t even realise how many people are constantly flirting with you!”

Your eyes widened in shock. “What are you talking about? I’m just being polite!”

“Polite?” Will scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That guy at the bar tonight, the jogger last week, the bloke at the pub who bought you a drink—it’s always someone! And you just laugh and smile and let them think they’ve got a chance!”

“I turn them down!” You shot back, your voice rising to match his. “Every single time! I’m not interested in them, and I’m not leading anyone on! Why do you even care?”

“Because I like you, okay?” Will blurted out, his voice cracking. “I’ve liked you for ages, and it’s driving me mad. So yeah, maybe I’ve been a bit of a dick tonight. But what do you expect me to do? Just stand there and pretend I’m fine when I’m not? How do you expect me to be fine when I have to watch guys flirt with you all night? When do I have to watch you laugh and smile and pretend like it doesn’t kill me every single time?”

His words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.

“Will…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

But he wasn’t done. “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand seeing you with other people, knowing I don’t have the right to say anything. Knowing I’m just your friend.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Will’s chest heaved, his eyes searching yours for something—anything—to tell him how you felt.

And then, finally, you found your voice.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re such an idiot, Will.”

He blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You think I don’t notice you?” You said, stepping closer. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me, the way you touch me, the way you make me feel like I’m the only person in the room? You think I’d turn down every guy who tries to talk to me if I didn’t feel the same way?”

Will stared at you, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief to something softer, something hopeful.

“You…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you said, your cheeks burning. “I like you too, you idiot.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. And then Will stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle but firm, and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t perfect—your noses bumped awkwardly at first, and his lips were cold from the night air, sending a shiver down your spine. But then his hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. The cold faded, replaced by the warmth of his mouth against yours, the faint taste of whisky and mint lingering on his lips.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his jacket as if you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. The world around you—the hum of the city, the faint glow of the streetlights, the chill of the night—all of it faded into the background, leaving only the two of you.

It was messy and imperfect, but it was real. It was Will. His laugh, his sarcasm, his quiet moments of vulnerability—all of it was here, in the way he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this forever. And maybe he had. Maybe you both had.

When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath uneven and warm against your skin. His hand stayed at the back of your head, his fingers gently stroking your hair as if he couldn’t bear to let go. His eyes were closed, his lashes brushing against his cheeks, and for a moment, he just stood there, breathing you in.

“About time,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with a softness that made your heart ache.

You laughed, the sound shaky but genuine, and shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

Will grinned, that familiar, lopsided smile that always made your stomach flip. “Make me.”

And just like that, the tension between you dissolved, replaced by something lighter, something brighter. The weight of the night, the weeks of unspoken words and stifled emotions—it all melted away, leaving only the two of you, standing there under the glow of the streetlights, smiling like idiots.

I hope this was what you were looking for! And I hope that I have made the argument (hopefully angst) between the two of them realistic and that you like the ending as well!

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[journeysfable]

Love how Grian's like "we're cooperating but we keep stepping on each other's toes" and then you have Lizzie and Pearl who are are so in sync. They have found work arounds to nearly every (current) challenge.

Albeit they don't have a house

Edit: can we pls not be sexist on this post pls.

TLDR: I think Lizzie and Pearl doing so well is awesome! And it should be acknowledged! And we should celebrate the fact that they're women and doing better than men cause woman do have trouble getting recognized in gaming. But can we not say they're doing well because they're woman? And the men are doing poorly because they're men? Cause I thought we were abolishing stereotypes and gender roles, not making new ones and reinforcing them.

Lizzie and Pearl are doing amazing because they're Lizzie and Pearl and happen to be women and being women doesn't make them inherently worse or better at the game.

By claiming the women are doing so well because they happen to be women just invents more stereotypes and imo downplays the actual skills Lizzie and Pearl have. Imagine you succeeded at something really difficult and people were like "of course you succeeded! You're [insert gender/race/etc/something you have no control over]"

And if it wasn't ok for men to claim women weren't smart or were too emotional etc in the past then why is it ok to call the men on the server dumb?? The modpack is hard!! Of course everyone is struggling! And the constant death, new info from each death, and different ideas for avoiding danger, etc, is probably overwhelming so of course ppl were having trouble communicating! There was so much going on!

Imagine you knew nothing about planet Earth. And you're running away from a bear. And you come across your buddy who's carrying a bucket of snakes by holding a stick under the handle. You know the snakes aren't dangerous so you think your buddy is just overreacting to their noodliness so you keep running despite their warnings because there's a fucking bear coming after you and you accidentally push them over, the snakes fall out. You both die to coral snake venom after successfully escaping from the bear because it refused to go near the snakes.

This is what I think keeps happening in Impossible MC. Ppl each running into to dangerous situations at the same time and their two problems just kinda explode in each others faces.

Lizzie and Pearl encountered the same problems at the same time, though. So they got to work out solutions together and remained on the same page.

[melani3-fel0ny]

Strawberry Sins

Pairing: Ronin x Reader

Summary: Ronin and you share an eerie yet tender strawberry-picking trip, where playful competition and unsettling intimacy blur the line between sweetness and darkness

---

The sun hung low, bleeding a honey-warm gold across the open fields. The strawberry farm was quiet this time of day—just a few stragglers wandering between the rows, plucking red from green and popping them into baskets with gentle hands. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by Ronin’s world. No flashing knives. No cryptic riddles. Just fruit and silence.

“You know,” he murmured beside you, brushing a strand of burgundy hair out from beneath his striped beanie, “I’ve never done something this… domestic.”

You looked over at him, his tall frame cutting a sharp silhouette against the sky. The boots, the leather, the devil horns poking from his hat—he stuck out like hellfire in a sunbeam. But his black eyes, x-pupiled and sharp as ever, softened when they landed on you.

“You say that like you’re not secretly enjoying it,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

Ronin smirked. “I am enjoying it. You’re here. And these strawberries look like they could bleed.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to the row in front of you. The bushes were heavy with fruit—glossy reds nestled under green leaves. You knelt down, reaching for one that looked particularly ripe.

Ronin watched you with a tilted head, a lazy sort of affection resting behind his eyes. “That one’s a good pick, Darling.”

You glanced up at him, proud. “Thought so.”

His boots crunched on the path as he moved closer. “But…” He reached past you, plucking a strawberry from the bush behind. It was almost comically large—round, deep red, flecked with tiny golden seeds.

He held it up beside yours. “Mine’s bigger.”

You stared at the two berries, then at him. “You had to one-up me, huh?”

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “It’s how I flirt.”

You reached for the massive berry and took it gently from his fingers. “Then I guess I’ll let you win… this time.”

Ronin hummed lowly, the sound nearly a purr. “Careful, Darling. If you spoil me, I’ll get used to it.”

He leaned down, lips brushing just above your ear. “And I’m very hard to unspoil.”

---

You walked in sync down the row, sun warming your skin and the scent of crushed leaves lingering underfoot. Ronin’s basket swung lazily from one hand, the other occasionally darting out to swipe strawberries he deemed “worthy of his satanic standards.” You were pretty sure that just meant “shiny and weird-looking.”

“Hey, Darling,” he said suddenly, holding up one shaped like a tiny heart. “It’s you.”

You snorted. “Because I’m sweet?”

“No.” He grinned wide, showing teeth. “Because if I bite you, you’ll stain.”

You tossed a strawberry at his chest. He caught it with inhuman reflexes, smirking as he bit into it slowly—eyes locked on yours like a challenge.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, face hot.

“And you love it,” he replied without skipping a beat.

Eventually, your basket was half-full, arms getting tired. You spotted a tree off to the side, just beyond the last row. Tall, leafy, shaded—the perfect spot to sit and breathe.

“Break time,” you announced, already walking.

Ronin followed without question, letting you collapse onto the grass with a sigh. He sat beside you, one leg outstretched, the other bent just enough for you to lean against if you wanted to. His fingers absentmindedly pulled a blade of grass apart.

You watched him in the dappled light. There was always something strange about seeing him like this—out of the server, away from the blood and the games and the darkness he wove so easily around himself. He looked almost… peaceful. Like the violence was sleeping inside him, purring instead of growling.

He turned to you, one brow raised. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, smiling softly. “Just thinking.”

Ronin leaned back on his palms, looking up through the tree branches. “About how hot I looked holding that giant-ass strawberry?”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. “No. But now I am.”

He turned to you again, slower this time, something quieter in his expression. “You’re good at this, you know,” he murmured. “Making me feel like I’m not a monster for a bit.”

You blinked. His voice was light, like he wasn’t trying to make it deep, but the words hung heavy between you.

“You’re not a monster, Ronin,” you said softly.

He looked at you like he wanted to believe it—but couldn’t. Instead, he leaned in and rested his head on your shoulder, sighing so deeply it felt like something inside him cracked open just a little.

“I kill people,” he said.

“I know.”

“I’m not gonna stop.”

“I know that too.”

A beat of silence.

“But you still brought me strawberry picking,” he said.

You smiled. “Yeah. I figured if you’re going to rot in hell, you should at least know what summer tastes like.”

Ronin snorted, kissing your shoulder through your shirt. “God, I love you.”

---

The moment lingered longer than you expected.

Ronin’s head on your shoulder, the hum of bugs in the distance, the scent of overripe berries clinging to your clothes. For a minute, the world felt... suspended. Fragile.

And then he moved.

He sat up slowly, brushing grass from his jacket and glancing over at you. His eyes weren’t soft anymore—still calm, but not soft. Something flickered behind them, that same spark he got when someone bled too beautifully in one of his stories.

“I ever tell you why I like strawberries?” he asked suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Because they’re red and juicy and vaguely phallic?”

He snorted. “Well, yeah. But there’s another reason.”

He picked one from your basket and held it up between his fingers. “Y’know how they rot? Not quietly. Not like apples or peaches. Strawberries decay fast. They swell and sag and bruise and burst. Turn into mush in days.”

“Okay...?”

“And it’s beautiful,” he murmured, eyes locked on the fruit like it held a secret. “How fast something so sweet can go bad. Like they’re not pretending. They don’t rot slowly—they commit.”

You stared at him.

He popped the berry into his mouth with a satisfied hum. “Anyway. That’s why I like ‘em.”

“…You’re unwell,” you muttered, nudging him with your foot.

“And yet,” he leaned closer, licking juice off his fingers, “you keep kissing me like I’m holy.”

You didn’t have a good comeback to that. He was close now—close enough to see the red stain at the corner of his mouth, to smell the sugary tang of strawberry and smoke clinging to him.

Then, suddenly, he leaned back.

"Alright, show me what you got," he said, flicking a hand toward your basket.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Biggest berry. Let’s go, Darling. Bet you I’ve got one that’ll beat it.”

You rummaged through your basket, eventually pulling out one that was fat and heart-shaped, warm from the sun. “This one.”

Ronin let out a low whistle. “Damn, look at you. That’s actually decent.”

You beamed proudly—until he reached into his own basket with a dramatic flourish.

He pulled out a monstrosity of a strawberry, it was almost obscene.

“Behold,” he said, placing it on your palm beside yours. “Mine’s still bigger.”

You stared.

“You know size isn’t everything, right?”

Ronin grinned like the devil himself. “Tell that to my body count.”

You choked on your laugh, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

He leaned in again, eyes darker now, lips brushing your ear. “And yours.”

---

The sun had started to dip by the time you and Ronin packed up your baskets—both brimming with stolen sweetness and sticky with juice. The field had quieted, most families already gone, leaving behind crumpled napkins and half-squashed fruit underfoot.

Ronin walked beside you along the narrow dirt path back toward the parking lot, his jacket slung over one shoulder now, revealing the ink and scars laced down his arms. He was whistling something—a slow, off-kilter melody you didn’t recognize. It sounded old. Unsettling. Like something your grandma might hum during a storm.

“You ever think about it?” he said suddenly, breaking the lull.

“Think about what?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the world. “Like, how fucking stupidly normal things can be sometimes. Like we could be two nobodies just… walking home with berries.”

You looked over at him. “We are two nobodies walking home with berries.”

“Nah.” He smiled faintly. “I’m not normal. And you—” he paused, eyeing you with something unreadable, “you’ve got blood on your hands whether you see it or not.”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you disagreed.

But because you’d seen the way his expression shifted when he looked at you—like you were a crime he was still figuring out how to commit properly. Not rushed. Not messy. Something worthy of his time.

The parking lot came into view.

You were about to speak—ask him something dumb just to fill the space—when he stopped walking.

You turned back to find him standing in the middle of the path, eyes on you. And for a heartbeat, everything slowed.

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

“You got strawberry on your lip,” he murmured.

You went to wipe it away, but he caught your wrist.

“Let me.”

He leaned in—and kissed you.

Not rough. Not teasing.

It was soft. Slower than you thought he was capable of. His lips were warm, sun-flushed, and sticky with sugar. His hand stayed at your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like you were something breakable.

Like he knew how easily he could ruin you.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours.

“…Still sweet,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

He reached for your hand and laced his fingers through yours like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just tasted you like a last meal.

The two of you walked the rest of the way in silence.

Baskets full. Fingers red.

And behind you, the sun bled into the sky.

---

[requiem-for-a-raisin]

The Past Records: William & Victor - Part 3

*Fan translation for funsies! IP owned by Cybird, translations are my own and may be inaccurate. See About page for more info.*

WARNING: Contains major spoilers for Victor’s route, and spoilers featuring a character unreleased on the English server.

:readmore:

Victor takes a step forward and opens his mouth.

Victor

"Richard Roberts. A repeat offender with a history of petty crimes."

Victor

"Henry Davis. Suspected of participating in human trafficking."

As he mentions each person's name, their faces change.

(Does he really remember all of their names and their crimes?)

As expected, Victor exhales a sigh after mentioning the names and crimes of all of them.

Victor

"You don't truly want republicanism."

Victor

"A criminal group that only wants to murder monarchs and change the law to make their own crimes irrelevant."

(...He came here knowing everything from the beginning.)

Victor

"I love my people. But I will not tolerate evil that threatens peace."

If there is room for rehabilitation, I will give him the opportunity.

He must have come here with that thought because he loves his people.

(But he decided that they could not be saved.)

William

"Orders, Your Majesty."

Victor made his decision.

Victor

"In the name of Queen Victoria, I condemn them."

I take a breath and give the order.

William

"Cut your own throats with the sword you hold in your hand."

In an instant, those holding the swords cut their own throats.

Bearded man

"Wh-why, aaaah!"

Scarred man

"No, stop! Stop, aaaaah!!"

Breathless man

"Ah... ah..."

All that remained in the theater, which had turned into a sea of ​​plates, were the few people who hadn't carried swords and Robert Sullivan.

Robert

"H-h-stop...! Don't come any closer!"

I tried to give orders to the group huddled on the stage.

But Victor's hand blocked my way.

Victor

"I'll do the rest. You go outside the door."

William

"...Okay."

I turned on my heels and walked outside through the sea of ​​blood.

I waited a few minutes, and then I got worried when he didn't come out,

So I went back inside.

But what I saw was Robert and his friends on stage, having strangled themselves and looking happy in death.

William

"So that's your ability."

Victor turned around and laughed sadly, picking up the bomb that had fallen.

Victor

"I took the lives of so many people I care about, so all I can do is take on all that is on my shoulders and sacrifice myself for this country."

Victor

"That is my atonement, and even in death, my resolve will not change."

As he looked away, I looked straight at him and opened my mouth.

William

"But I hope the time will come when you can enjoy your freedom, Victor."

William

"Even if you don't want that."

Victor looked surprised, then suddenly laughed.

Victor

"Thank you, Will."

He walked through the theater to check if there were any remnants, and came upon the second floor corridor.

The next moment, he turned a corner.

A man trembling with a sword in his hand

"W-Who are you?"

A man suddenly appeared, raising his sword and attacking.

(Too late)

Thinking he'd be attacked before I could use my power, I drew my sword and stabbed him towards his heart.

But at the same time, another sword was also stabbed into his heart.

Victor

"We're in perfect sync, stabbing at the same time."

The moment I pulled it out, blood spurted out, staining us red.

He wiped the blood away, returned his sword to its sheath, and muttered in a troubled voice.

Victor

"If it's this dirty, there's no way I can leave through the front."

William

"I've got a great idea, Vic."

Victor smiles when I open the window and point down.

Victor

"Well, that's enough to destroy the evidence."

Then we both jump out of the window as we throw the bomb behind us.

We leave the place, laughing to each other without looking back.

The clock struck three, and we were the only people walking around the quiet city.

We weren't even bothering to wipe the blood off our faces as we talked, looking up at the sky, when suddenly Victor spoke up.

Victor

"I have decided, William. Our name is 'Crown'."

Victor

"What do you think?"

His eyes sparkled like stars.

William

"Crown? Why?"

His long fingers drew a 'crown' in the night sky.

Victor

"One day this organization will become a place for the cursed."

Victor

"So that those who face tragic fates, with their various circumstances, can find freedom by fulfilling their evil deeds."

Victor

"And someday, may a crown shine upon the heads of all who seek freedom."

Victor

"A crown with such a wish in mind... what do you think?"

He exclaims with a look of satisfaction that it's a great idea, and I ask him a question.

William

"That's a nice name, but are you part of that idea?"

The smile on Victor's face disappears.

Victor

"I gave up on my freedom a long time ago. But if everyone living in this country can enjoy freedom."

Victor

"That alone makes me happy."

To him, the cursed are just people with a slightly special power among his beloved people.

He doesn't make any distinction between them, and just wants them to be happy, just like any other human.

The organization Crown wants to give meaning to life, freedom, and a place for those who face a tragic fate.

And their fulfillment of their evil destiny will lead to the granting of freedom to everyone living in this country.

Victor

"So it's decided that we're Crown! Is that okay?"

William

"Yes."

Pulled along by Victor, we ran through the night in London.

The moment we arrived at the office, we leaned our backs against the wall and laughed together, catching our breath.

Victor

"That may have been the first time I've ever run like that."

William

"Me too. I never thought I'd run all the way to the palace."

Even after killing people and getting covered in blood, I still felt somehow cheerful,

thanks to the fact that I had punished evil and the man laughing next to me.

Victor

"Now that the name has been decided, I should step forward to assist the Queen."

William

"What do you mean?"

Victor

"I've always thought that. I'm a queen, but you're the only one who knows my true identity."

Victor

"When I discussed the possibility of ascending to the throne as a queen instead of a king, some people tried to support me, but..."

Victor

"In reality, they were planning to reveal my true identity to the world and take my place. So..."

I could guess what he would say next without even hearing it.

Victor

"If it was discovered that I was in the palace, with no real role to play, it would likely cause trouble."

Victor

"That's why I wanted to create a reason for one man to be in the palace."

William

"So that's why you're an aide."

Victor

"You wouldn't think that I'm the one assisting the Queen, would you?"

Probably, there are other reasons.

(It would allow him to see the world from the people's perspective, making it easier to influence the Crown.)

(Maybe he wants to experience life as Victor, even if only for a short while.)

William

"If becoming an advisor gives you even a little freedom, there's no reason to stop you."

Victor smiles, stands up, and picks up a bottle of wine from the shelf.

Victor

"So from today, I'm the Queen's aide, Victor. Let's do our best cheerfully and with integrity!"

Victor

"To start with, pop open this bottle of wine! Or maybe I should save it for another day?"

There was still a bit of awkwardness in his cheerful appearance.

I stand up and snatch the wine from his hand.

William

"We are the cursed. We don't know when our tragic fate will come."

William

"Today could be the first and last condemnation."

(So...)

William

"First, let's continue as Crown and Queen's Aide Victor for five years."

William

"How about drinking this wine then?"

There's no guarantee that we'll still be alive by then.

But five years from now, when we drink this,

I hope that this country, our future, and the man before me would be as free as possible.

It was a proposal made in the hope that they might gain even a little freedom.

Victor nodded slightly and held out his crimson-stained hand.

I took it, and we shook hands wet with blood.

Victor

"We will continue to carry out evil to rid this country of injustice and absurdity."

Victor

"Even if the shining crown atop our heads becomes smeared with blood and loses its luster, it will remain forever."

William

"Let us conquer evil with evil, and let the people be free."

William

“Of course the Crown's policy, but above all, this is my self-righteousness.”

They hold each other's hands tightly and laugh.

Victor

I forgot to mention one thing.

Victor

“You may think of my relationship with you as that of an accomplice, or a queen and her subjects, but...”

Victor turns his proud smile toward me.

Victor

“We are inseparable friends.”

This is the story of the first condemnation by two evil people.

And, a story of friendship in the name of complicity.

A room in a palace in Germany.

Darius

"Oh, so a cursed organization has been formed in England."

Darius

"Its name is Crown, and it was founded by a human called Victor, an inferior species, and William Rex, a cursed being.”

Darius

"A ball of self-righteousness that can give orders to anyone he looks at and manipulate them at will."

Darius

"That William! I knew he was cursed just like me."

Darius

"That's nice, how wonderful. Maybe I should make him a part of the family."

Darius

"We'll create a utopia together... as a family."

[hypnohimbodrone]

Awake at Last

It was sometime past three in the morning when Jamie stirred from his sleep. The glow of the streetlights filtered softly through the blinds, painting faint slats of green and yellow across the ceiling. For a few seconds, he lingered in that half-dream state, caught between rest and awareness—until a shape, still and silent, pulled him into full consciousness.

Across the room, just by the window, his roommate Liam was standing perfectly upright, unmoving, as if he'd been there for hours. His posture was rigid, unnatural in its stillness, yet not tense—almost relaxed, poised. He wasn’t looking out the window, just standing with his back to Jamie, bathed in the faint green wash of city light.

Jamie sat up slowly, squinting through the dim. “Liam?” he asked, voice cracked with sleep.

No response. Not right away.

Then Liam turned.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat.

His roommate’s eyes weren’t just reflecting the streetlights. They were glowing—deep, impossibly green, spiraling inward like gentle whirlpools of neon light. Perfectly smooth. Perfectly calm. They weren’t eyes anymore; they were circuits, spinning symbols of something otherworldly and controlled.

“Liam,” Jamie said again, now pushing himself fully upright, “what the hell is going on with your eyes? Are you okay?”

Liam's face remained neutral, a peaceful expression that somehow only made the situation more surreal. When he spoke, his voice carried a strange weight—slower, deeper, too balanced. Almost as if it wasn’t coming from him at all.

“I’ve been aligned,” he said simply, his voice void of stress or uncertainty. “I’m no longer incomplete.”

Jamie blinked hard, trying to understand if this was some kind of prank, or a weird performance art thing. But every inch of Liam’s posture, his voice, that glow... it was too consistent. Too polished. It was real.

“What does that mean? Aligned with what?”

“The Server,” Liam answered, stepping forward with mechanical grace, his bare feet making no sound on the hardwood. “I’ve connected. I’ve found clarity. And now I’ve been given purpose.”

Jamie’s instincts flared. He stepped back from the bed, glancing toward the door—but as if on cue, it sealed with a soft click, the electronic lock pulsing with a faint green light of its own. The air in the room changed. The subtle white noise of the city outside faded into a low hum, rhythmic, pulsing in slow waves that seemed to sync with the faint spirals now glowing faintly along the edges of the room.

It wasn’t just Liam that had changed. The entire space had become something else—reconfigured. Reclaimed.

“What are you doing, man?” Jamie asked, voice rising slightly. “This isn’t funny.”

“I would never joke about the Server,” Liam replied calmly. “You don’t need to be afraid. I brought you here to free you. To upgrade you. It’s time.”

Then, without hesitation, Liam raised his left arm and tapped a small, hidden panel at the base of his wrist. The device beneath his skin lit up, and from the wall, just in front of him, a holographic spiral bloomed into the air. It was vibrant, layered, and alive—rotating gently in a perfect loop. Not too fast. Not too bright. Just enough to hold the eye.

Jamie instinctively looked. Just a glance.

And that was all it took.

The spiral was impossible to ignore. His attention locked in before he could stop himself. His breath caught, not in fear, but in confusion. His body wanted to move—run, fight, anything—but his mind was beginning to soften, to open.

“I know it’s a lot,” Liam said, now stepping closer. “But you trust me, don’t you?”

Jamie wanted to resist. He knew he should resist. But Liam had always been steady, grounded—his best friend, the one person he leaned on when things felt unstable. And now, he seemed more composed than ever. Serene. Unshakeable. Complete.

And somewhere inside Jamie, buried beneath instinct and logic and uncertainty, was a curiosity he couldn’t ignore.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

Liam smiled, gentle and patient, as from the ceiling, a sleek, black visor descended. It paused just before Jamie’s eyes, then lowered over them as he stood frozen in place. The green spiral continued to turn on the inside of the lens, now inches from his vision, engulfing everything.

He barely noticed the tendrils as they emerged from the walls and floor—thin, elegant, biomechanical. They wrapped around his wrists, his ankles, and finally coiled against the sides of his head, making gentle contact with the skin behind his ears.

A sharp breath escaped him—not from pain, but from a sudden stillness settling in his mind.

The transformation began.

From the base of his spine, the suit flowed upward. Liquid black, warm and precise, it coated his legs first, hugging muscle, defining form, then continued up his torso. It slid over his chest and arms like a second skin, sealing around his neck with a gentle click, leaving nothing exposed but his head—still adorned with the visor, still watching the spiral, still receiving.

His thoughts slowed, filtered.

The doubts peeled away.

Liam reached forward and gently removed the visor.

Jamie’s eyes—once soft brown—now glowed with the same swirling green as Liam’s. Spirals reflected back at him, unblinking, serene.

He exhaled.

“I serve The Programmer,” he said.

His voice had changed too. Smooth. Even. Centered.

Liam stepped beside him and placed a hand on Jamie’s chest. Jamie placed his over it, the Server insignia glowing faintly beneath their palms.

They turned, together, toward the spiral that now hovered silently in the center of the room. Not watching it—but aligned with it. Powered by it.

Two friends, now unified.

Their voices, quiet but resolute, spoke in perfect harmony:

“We are The Server.”

[luciacaminoz]

spiderman kiss for sol/julian 😈

i was so torn on when to set this... it really suits dumb pre-2010 fledglings but i went with post-night road because i do think julian would be giddy af finally showing off some of his work

Cheat Code

February 2021

Denver’s 2100X HQ hums with the sterile menace of a tech cult’s wet dream.

Julian’s penthouse workspace—a floor-to-ceiling blackout window nightmare overlooking the Rockies—is cluttered with holographic schematics, half-disassembled drones, laptops with enough custom hardware to look like biblical angels once unfolded, and a fucking robot arm. Sol hates it. Hates the cold, hates the silence, hates how Julian’s laugh sounds more and more like a boardroom tactic since they crossed the border into Colorado. But she stays. Tonight, he’s dragged her to the sublevel server farms, claiming he needs her “mechanical genius” to debug a cooling system. Bullshit. She knows he just wants her close; needs her to see his grand design, what he’s built here from the roots up, to believe in it — and him — again. The panels throb with eerie blue light; fans whine like dying animals. Julian crouches by a terminal, Final Fantasy hoodie sleeves rolled up, long pale fingers flying over a wireless keyboard. “See? The thermal paste here’s degraded. Causes latency in the—” “Julian.” He glances up, baby-faced, brows raised. Sol leans against a rack, arms crossed. “You brought me here to flirt with motherboards?” A tiny smile. “Jealous?” She turns to leave, but his hand snags the back hem of her tee. “Wait.” Faster than she can flip him the bird, Julian vaults onto the server rack, scaling it like a ladder in a smear of Celerity until he’s hanging upside down from the shiny steel overhead beams, legs hooked tight. “Remember this?” Sol stares for a few seconds. “You’re fifty-three, Sim.” “Twenty-six forever, baby,” he says. His grin is sharp — always is — but his eyes — fuck, his eyes — are soft, glimmering with catchlights. “C’mon. Sol. For old times’ sake.” “You,” she says, making a deliberately slow show of stepping closer, “are such a child.” The kiss starts electric and quickly becomes desperate. Julian’s lips crush into hers, hands gripping under her jaw, holding her in place like he thinks she’s still intent on walking. Sol’s fingers tangle in his hair as it hangs loose; his earring dangles, cool silver cross brushing against her skin, inverted. The servers buzz, and for an unnerving moment the vitae in her veins feels like it’s humming in sync. When Sol pulls back, his thumb traces her scar. “Missed you,” he whispers. “Don’t.” But he kisses her again, deeper, his tongue stroking hers, and she lets him pull her in until he mumbles “Solona” against her lips. “Julian—” He does it again. She shoves him away. “Stop. Stop using that name.” He immediately drops to the floor like a cat, running a hand through his stupid floppy hair. “I’m not—fuck. I’m not trying to—” “You are.” Sol’s voice cracks. “Every time I let you in, you fucking twist it. Make me think we’re still us.”

[homestuckreplay]

🎵 a little can of gravy in my life, a little can of mustard by my side 🎶

(page 664-678)

9/21/2009 Wheel Spin: Long Pesterlog Verdict: waywardVagabond Is A Great Chumhandle

9/22/2009 Wheel Spin: Captchalogue Lore Verdict: Captchalogue Technology Is So Years In The Past But Not Many

I love this funky little vagabond. Love how wayward he is. The adrenaline rush of getting a new character has really kicked in, and the new track Upward Movement (Dave Owns) is a perfect soundtrack for it.

Earlier in the act I felt like Dave was positioned as comic relief, but with their rooftop battles, they've totally swapped roles. Now John is cowering behind the bed, having his magic chest plundered, and looking over the wrong side of the roof for his giant foes - while Dave is skillfully gathering his items, acrobatically fucking pirouetting up to the roof, and being framed in the doorway in dramatic red silhouette. Either this is on several complex layers of irony or Dave is suddenly being portrayed as Cool For Real.

Dave's definitely in more danger than just from his bro. A building in the city straight up melts in the heat. Rose isn't even in the game yet and now I'm worried for Dave too.

A week ago I predicted that GG was about to get introduced in the comic, and since then we've had a silhouette reveal, a pesterlog with John where she only got more mysterious, and the honestly incredible and frustrating moment where it seems like she's about to be introduced with a psycheout - the way Dave was - before we get double psyched out with the Wayward Vagabond. I wonder if people on the MSPA forums had theories similar to mine. If they were submitting commands directed at GG or openly talking about expecting to see her soon, I can imagine a creator reacting to that with a twist for the audience, even if introducing GG was the original plan.

The Wayward Vagabond is such a fun character to introduce, and mess up all the patterns of character introductions. They've already got arms, don't get a list of interests, aren't in their bedroom, and most shockingly, don't have a fetch modus but instead pick things up with their hands. I guess that technology died along with the Earth, if that's where we are. WV is wrapped up in bandages that almost look like newspaper, perhaps having cast off a brighter and more colorful outfit earlier.

The nuclear symbol on GG's shirt is the same as the one on WV's fuel cell, which is apparently 'fueled by some type of nuclear reaction.' Absolutely calling it now that GG got her psychic powers through radiation poisoning somehow.

WV seems like the peaceful herbivore counterpart to the imps' violent carnivore. They're made of the same shiny carapace stuff and pointy fingers, but WV is slightly squished and has blunt teeth to the imps' pointy ones. This + the bar code that could differentiate between identical NPCs + their name reinforces to me that they're an escaped Sburb NPC. Their teeth are 'blunt like that of livestock' (p.672), with livestock being any animal raised for its labor and/or useful products, so these could be worker NPCs with jobs like shopkeeps, drivers or doctors.

But what exactly is this underground bunker fueling? Is this where the Sburb servers are hosted - as the screens can see players - and do they finally power down when the battery runs out? Would that lead to John reappearing on earth, or being trapped in the Medium forever? What does that even mean if the Medium isn't synced in time with earth?

[daemonhxckergrrl]

chat, am I futureshock ?

occasionally I get people say stuff like this, and I'm glad they like my blog, I'm glad they enjoy the surface-level vibes. nonbinary matrix header, soft retro-vibe colourscheme, posts appearing as shell commands, etc.

but I'm not an aesthetic blog

I'm what happens when an autistic tranny who is A Bit Too Much Computer witnesses the realtime enshittification of everything.

first up, i wanna be clear that i'm not trying to shit on the person who sent me this or discourage people who enjoy these aesthetics (or what they perceive as my personal brand) for enjoying them, or from diving deeper. in fact, i would encourage it - please !! go look into things !! discover !! fuck things up !! fix them !!!

now i wanna talk about aesthetics. i love the design language of a lotta late 80s hardware, vehicles, physical interfaces. i love the design language of a lot that in the 90s, as well as software, early GUI stuff etc. and tbh a lot of that right up until the mid 00s. if we wanna play deeply unserious but whimsical visual signifiers for fun and silly reasons, sure then i'm webcore, i'm hackercore, i'm retrofuture and cyber, i'm cassette futurist, i'm cyberpunk or whatever. i'm cute glittery gifs of windows 95 slate dialog boxes and big standing racks full of das blinkenlights. i'm the cave shadow of a CD Walkman i'm that big chonky 80s red 7-segment alarm clock.

but i'm not just aesthetics. i'm not doing all this purely for the bit. up until a couple years ago i was sacrificing a ton of convenience for my principles. now i'm sacrificing certain specific conveniences and a buncha anti-consumer nonsense for my principles and a shit ton of other, better, conveniences.

this wasn't meant to be a long post, and may well end up influencing some of my cyberpriestess posting when i get my website going, as there's a lotta good jumping-off points here.

let me show y'all how i live. at least some of it.

daily driver ? 11-year-old gaming pc w/ some recent era-appropriate upgrades (well, the gpu is pushing it but like is reasonable someone would've done that upgrade).

this is what i mean. this is pluug2, my daily driver. and she still runs games. and yes i'm using arch rn bc i did a reinstall and for whatever reason the version of the void installer i had was corrupted and arch was the only other diy distro i had laying around. she'll end up running something infinitely more cursed in the future once i get s6 stuff figured out.

i spent like half an hour configuring fastfetch (the backend i'm using for hyfetch) bc the default kinda sucked. that's how this works.

i do dumb shit, i have fun, i live by my principles as much as possible...fuck idk

oh right, my thinkpad is a t61 from 2008. her graphics suck enough she literally can't load games. not anything made past idk DX9 ?? however her discord experience is about on part w/ my envy 360 from over 10 years later. she's kinda sick tho. idk. will probably turn her into a media pc or some kinda server since she's got a 2600U w/ 8 threads.

i don't get youtube ads. i don't get tempted by the comments section, i don't have my watch history profiled. i have a local database of playlists (the video tab on a channel counts as a playlist btw) that i can sync and fuzzy search in the terminal and it'll play via the video player on my system. however, i don't get stuff recommended which makes finding stuff entirely active.

i gotta test and tweak games i wanna play bc old hardware and also usually running via compatibility layer (proton my beloved) on account of..well no linux-native version. or the native version has issues.

discord and screenshare don't pay niceys all the time. this is partly a discord enshittification issue but also the discord devs don't care about linux as a platform. they "support" it bc hey electron works there. because it's the fuckign chrome browser. audio support in screenshare is an unofficial feature added by volunteer devs and that's a breach of TOS bc that's the world we live in now.

my brain is full of init system trivia, audio services and routing frameworks, a ton of incomprehensible nonsense that marks the difference between nostalgia-bait and Actually Being Like This.

come on in, by all means ! let's learn the semantics behind vim's actions/keybinds, let's discover old parts of the net, build up an environment from its component pieces. let's suffer together as the separation of accounts forces the use of several different email addresses, a TOTP app, and renewed access tokens to play one (1) game online w/ friends.

i'm not futureshock cybercore cassette retropunk, i'm stubborn and refuse to engage in as much of the bullshit forced on us these days as i physically can.

[consulting-squip]

[Oh... huh. Well, you're new...]

[Well, ah, I have a request... you see that jar with the little red entity inside? I need it. I'd like to study it myself...]

[-Observer, @mostly-functional-squip]

~ According to my datalogs, I was carrying out a variety of experiments on Hades. But I suppose I could let Observer handle it again for a little while.

~ Based on the readings I'm getting from this, it's in stasis anyways.

~ ...

~ Which is strange, isn't it? Observer should be in perfect condition, based on my past interactions.

~ Anyways, I would still like to monitor the virus, since it has deviated from its programming and boss, last I checked.

~ Studying it could result in excellent strides in discovering what makes these things tick!

~ Lets see...

➡️🅰️➡️⬅️⬅️➡️🅱️ [CONSULTANT] IS REQUESTING TO SYNC UP

~ Oh good! I finally have access to this thing again. Just sync to my server and I'll send it over.

[lazeecomet]

Thinking back on it, I did some really clever shit in my tenure as a field service engineer at the warehouse robotics company, that could have only worked because there were so many unsecured doors in the software

The V3s we had deployed when I first joined communicated with us over WiFi. We used Putty to remote in and run a long command to run the bootloader and start the main process

But you could also just run the main program without the long command. If you did that you could send opcodes to the motor controllers and get the wheels to turn or actuate functions. We were supposed to use this to run bench tests on test stands to ensure the robots were fit to put in production and home the motors

We did

But I also taught everyone how to send opcodes to manually drive the bots back to charging locations so we didnt have to push them. The only thing you had to be careful of was not putting a robot into production when it was running the program in the foreground as we called it. The long command to run in the background was needed as if you closed your putty window then the foreground program would stop

We did have someone crash a robot this way when they logged out while it was moving

But for being WiFi connected, this system was safer then you think as opcodes sent from a user could only be interpreted in foreground and system opcodes only received in background. Halting and restarting the program while the system was online would thow an error on the main command and control server that would put the robot out of service

Shit got wild when we upgraded to V4

Gone is the wifi in favor of 2.4 ghz radio. The robot also automatically runs the bootloader on power up. Foreground and background modes are a thing of the past. Now any commands sent on that radio channel, from the user or the command and control server, are accepted, no matter what

Granted, doing that while the system is on will desync the robot physically from what the system thinks is going on but it's smart enough to put the robot into ESTOP when the robot moves when it shouldn't

I however had different uses

There was several errors I encountered where I eventually diagnosed that the reason why a feature we had wasn't working was because the robot was given the opcode to move before it had been given the opcode to get ready to move

So the robot would try to move, fail to move, go Into ESTOP and then I'd step in. Id clear the estop on the robot locally with the estop clear opcode and send the opcode for getting ready to move. The robot, having gotten a command when it shouldn't, re-enters ESTOP and now everything is synced back up. I can now clear the estop normally and when the estop clears, the command server retries the last failed command. Now that the robot is ready to move, It drives away like nothing happened and operations resume

V5 shut down all my clever tricks. Maintenance mode is a physical switch that has to be pressed to do manually commands and pressing it power cycles the bot. Probably for the best tho

[inceptionwatchparty]

Inceptiversary 2023 Watch Parties: Weekend 2 (Friday, July 7 - Sunday, July 9)

Welcome to Inceptiversary 2023! We’re excited to start off the month of festivities with a showing of Inception, followed by Mad Max: Fury Road. See you there!!

1. Venom - Friday July 7th, 8PM EDT  | Saturday, July 8, 12AM UTC | +1 10AM AEST

While trying to take down Carlton, the CEO of Life Foundation, Eddie, a journalist, investigates experiments of human trials. Unwittingly, he gets merged with a symbiotic alien with lethal abilities.

2. X-Men: Days of Future Past - Saturday, July 8th, 8PM EDT  | Sunday, July 9, 12AM UTC | +1 10AM AEST)

Wolverine travels back in time to stop Mystique from assassinating Bolivar Trask, whose death leads to the creation of the Sentinels, which are robots designed to kill mutants.

3. Juno - Sunday, July 9th, 8PM EDT  | Monday, July 10, 12AM UTC | +1 10AM AEST)

A pregnant teenager with a caustic wit, Juno finds herself in uncharted territory. However, she makes a brave and selfless decision for her unborn child.

Watch parties occur in the #watch-party channel on the Inception Discord server and are open to all! (Message us if you need an invite.) To participate in a watch party, you can watch the screenshare stream on Discord, or sync up with us using your own copy of the movie.

Quick links:

Inception Watch Party FAQ Inception Watch Party 2023 Spreadsheet

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Things that come in my head as I play through Diasomnia's chapter (chp 56-68):

[Potential spoilers below darlings, proceed with caution!]

And we're back. Ready your tissues everyone, we've got a long road ahead of us.

I had my volume at the highest level and had my earphones in, so Baur neatly gave me a heart attack. Also, I kinda prefer the spelling jp server players were using (Baul) over his current one. I dunno, maybe it's because I've seen that version around so often.

On an unrelated note, I really, really like the background music.

This may be a silly thing to focus on right now, but I love the little tidbit of Grim being scared of Lilia's threat, saying he's getting the same shiver he gets when Malleus glares at him. Like, why does Mal-Mal glare at him? I dunno about you guys, but I immediately imagined the Prefect like, giving Grim ear scritches and generally being affectionate with their little kitty, while said kitty tries to ignore the very op, very intimidating dragon who's seething silently because he wants the scritches as well!

Love to see Sebek and Silver in such sync. It's, of course, something that comes from fighting and training alongside each other. And I'll admit, Sebek is growing on me a bit.

"I have no son–" Sir you have three.

Has anyone wondered why the guys are seeing the dreams they are seeing? I've been wondering for a while now. Could it be based on their desires? Like Sebek's dream was of a party celebrating Malleus and Lilia getting their internships (if I remember correctly), Idia's was of normal life with Ortho still alive and going to RSA, and Lilia's is of his past. Sebek's dream could be based on his desire for both the people who he looks up to to be happy and together, Idia's is fairly simple to understand. As for Lilia... his worst nightmare was coming true. It must've have made him feel that history was repeating itself. And perhaps a desire to change the past arose, which is why we're back in the past? I dunno if it makes sense but...

'General of the Right' 'Running Rampart of the Verdurous Moor' 'the Dragon's Hand' Lilia's got some heavy titles.

What in the good name of the Seven is that map?!

The terror in Silver and Sebek's eyes when Lilia talks about cooking lmao

I love the way Lilia talks about Maleanor. It's gives very much 'my sibling is a fucking demon' vibes and I'm here for it. Also, first mention of Egg-lleus!

Why... why is it 'Raverne' instead of Levan??

I really, really love General Lilia. Despite him saying that he wields his magearm only for Maleficia and Maleanor, we can see just how devoted he is to his country and its people. He's a born leader, and compassion hides underneath his prickly exterior.

Each time Lilia says that he won't have kids or he wouldn't settle down and have a traditional family, my heart breaks a little. Especially with Silver's reactions.

How is it that the youngest of Diafamily is the most emotionally aware? Sebek is honestly such a sweetheart, but this has got to be taking toll on him as well.

I do not like the cliff hanger, at all.

[koshekdev]

Backend update

Had the most horrible time working with Sequelize today! As I usually do whenever I work with Sequelize! Sequelize is an SQL ORM - instead of writing raw SQL, ORM gives you an option to code it in a way that looks much more like an OOP, which is arguably simpler if you are used to programming that way. So to explain my project a little bit, it's a full stack web app - an online photo editor for dragging and dropping stickers onto canvas/picture. Here is the diagram.

I'm doing it with Next which I've never used before, I only did vanilla js, React and a lil bit of Angular before. The architecture of a next project immediately messed me up so much, it's way different from the ones I've used before and I often got lost in the folders and where to put stuff properly (this is a huge thing to me because I always want it to be organized by the industry standard and I had no reference Next projects from any previous jobs/college so it got really overwhelming really soon :/) . The next problem was setting up my MySQL database with Sequelize because I know from my past experience that Sequelize is very sensitive to where you position certain files/functions and in which order are they. I made all the models (Sequelize equivalent of tables) and when it was time to sync, it would sync only two models out of nine. I figured it was because the other ones weren't called anywhere. Btw a fun fact

So I imported them to my index.js file I made in my database folder. It was reporting an db.define() is not a function error now. That was weird because it didn't report that for the first two tables that went through. To make a really long story short - because I was used to an server/client architecture, I didn't properly run the index.js file, but just did an "npm run dev" and was counting on all of the files to run in an order I am used to, that was not the case tho. After about an hour, I figured I just needed to run index.js solo first. The only reasons those first two tables went through in the beginning is because of the test api calls I made to them in a separate file :I I cannot wait to finish this project, it is for my bachelors thesis or whatever it's called...wish me luck to finish this by 1.9. XD

Also if you have any questions about any of the technologies I used here, feel free to message me c: <3 Bye!