#e: sns

[coellico]

2024 and they still haven't found the heterosexual explanation for the scene with naruto and sasuke staring at each other to the sound of "kiss me all night".

[bijinnexus]

KAWAKITA Saika 河北彩伽 SNS 250224 無加工オフショット

[justablah56]

@begaydodrughailsatan suspiciously hands them to you

[dollya-robinprotector]

There's a lot of canceled orders so there will be quite a lot of extra merch. Anybody missed the pre-order form can DM me to get some!

[redvelvetsource]

RVsmtown: Red Velvet's dynamic duo, IRENE & SEULGI, takes the stage at Yuewen Music Festival! 🎤 Get ready to party with their stunning multi-dimensional charm and chemistry on stage!! 👾👻 📅 Date: 28 December 2024 📍Venure: Sentosa, Singapore 🔗 http://sistic.com.sg/events/

[6idles]

Bonjour❤️

[3know-racha]

[🎥] STRAY KIDS • 2024 Billboard Music Awards

BBMAs Fit Check. Looking BBMAmazing @realstraykids! 💞

[lee-hakhyun]

kyung sein hasn't really had a major focus in any arc yet... the trans sein arc is coming i can feel it....

[musouie]

the urge to delete all of my old works

[secretmellowblog]

No offense, but the people asking for a Les Mis 2012 Extended Director’s cut with bonus extra scenes that somehow magically makes the movie better and retroactively fixes its problems, remind me of those people who were asking for the Secret Good Fourth Sherlock Episode…..

As a fan of the weird wonky mess that is Les Mis 2012, I feel like you kinda just gotta take it for what it is. XD

And I also don’t think you can expect a “remastered” version to fix anything, because almost all “remasters” are basically just minor visual tweaks that give film companies an excuse to charge you for the same product again.

[coellico]

It's the most confusing when you guys know there's a connection between you two, but you guys aren't officially together. But you guys aren't just friends either.

[astroaeroace]

Thinking about DX-TR.

Specifically, I’m thinking about the AU @justablah56 came up with about DX-TR being the one left behind on the ship.

Thinking about the raid. The moment when he grabs in Endellion, the desperation in voice when he says no, they need all of them, especially him. Especially MR-SN.

And maybe this time it works. Sort of. Endellion sends out someone to grab VR-LA. It’s not hard to see that VR-LA isn’t strong enough to fight them off and MR-SN has nothing left. VR-LA’s still alive, he’s the researcher, he’s useful.

So they get VR-LA, but DX-TR continues to protest, demanding they get MR-SN as well. They can’t leave him to die. They need all of them. They need MR-SN.

They’ve captured VR-LA by now, dragging him, bound and barely conscious, up the gangplank. Endellion gives the order to move out, to leave. And DX-TR cannot allow that. He shoves at Endellion, pulling at his armor until he’s at DX-TR’s height, yelling in his face, demanding they get MR-SN too.

But MR-SN is dying. He’s of no use to the Gith. And DX-TR, well. The raid is over; they have what they need from him. He’s just become a lot more trouble than he’s worth.

Endellion shoves him off and tosses him back on the Per Aspera. DX-TR reaches out for the Gith ship as it tries to go. He needs them to stay, to get AS-TR out here, to give him a healing potion, anything. He has to save MR-SN and his only hope is on that ship. He reaches out, barely catching the edge of it.

A slash of Endellion’s sword and he falls. His arm no longer attached to his body.

He screams, but an instant later his mouth is filled with water. Mechanites can’t drown, don’t need to breathe, but he chokes, splutters his way to the surface in shock. Watches the ship leave him behind. His only hope now out of reach. His arm burns, saltwater stinging in the wound as the desperately swims over to the edge of the Per Aspera. The scorched rigging and tattered sails of the broken mast dangle into the water, enough for him to climb — slowly, painfully, still bleeding — back on to the ship. Each second he climbs is another second of MR-SN’s life bleeding away on the deck. He has to get there in time. He has to still be alive.

He is, but DX-TR knows it’s not for long. The wound is deep, the ticking of MR-SN’s gears coming jagged and slow now. DX-TR is no healer. There’s nothing he can do. He pulls MR-SN close, into his lap, holding him. Cradling his face with his one good hand. MR-SN notices the wound, the oil-black blood, tries to ask about it, make sure DX-TR is alright, but he’s not listening. The words spill out of him like the water dripping off his form, like the oil bleeding from his arm — I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to go like this, I didn’t want this, I’m sorry — MR-SN interrupts him, shushes him gently. I know. I know you didn’t want this. I know you thought you were simply doing what needed to be done. I forgive you. I love you anyway. I forgive you. But promise me something. (And here we get the absolutely incredible exchange written by blahs — seriously just stab me next time, it would be less painful, great work.) Promise me our friends won’t suffer for my dreams. Wherever they take them, promise me they won’t suffer for my dreams. Oh, Em, they aren’t suffering for your dreams. They’re suffering for me not believing in them.

But DX-TR makes the promise. He’ll find them. He’ll bring them back. He’ll fix this mistake of his. He promises.

MR-SN dies. A mechanite cries.

He buries him at sea, as requested. And when it’s done, when the person he cared for most and killed anyway is gone, he gets to work.

He has a mission. He will not fail.

And if working every second he can keeps the image of MR-SN’s corpse out of his mind, that’s just coincidence.

The ship is trashed. Masts broken, helm shattered, shields down, navigation destroyed. Nothing working except the motive force generator below decks. He’s clever with his hands and decent with tools and fairly smart, but he’s no K-LB. He was barely capable enough to seal off the stump of his arm to keep himself from bleeding out. He has no idea how to fix this ship.

But he has to try. He digs into the consoles, twisting wires back together, piecing together scratched out arcane runes. The shields are the easiest, the most pressing too. If he’s liable to drift into any random plane, having the ship protected enough to survive it seems important. The helm is next. There’s so little can do with it; it’s so heavily arcane. But he’s able to get them back up to something of a speed. Not much. He’s no spellcaster; even if the helm was whole, he’d be an unbearably slow pilot. But at roughly a fifth of what their speed should be? It’s hardly better than drifting. But it’s something.

He runs of out repairs far faster than he’d like. It doesn’t stop him. He can’t stop, can’t rest, can’t let himself think about — keep going, maybe today he can figure out how fix it. He works himself into exhaustion, almost grateful when he falls into stasis over his current project. How else is he supposed to fall into stasis when MR-SN’s face is all he can see every time he closes his eyes?

When he notices the storm gathering on the horizon, it’s both a relief and a source of dread. Something else to do, something new to prepare for. But who knows if he’ll survive it. He can’t outrun it, can’t steer around it. He’ll have to weather it.

He ties down anything loose on the deck, secures the doors and hatches, redirects more power to the shielding. It’s not much, but it’s the best he can do. And when it’s done, the only thing left is go below decks and tuck himself into the strongest corner of the engine room. And wait.

The storm is furious, the ship tossed beneath him by churning waves. Thunder rumbles overhead, strange flashes of light — blue and green and red and purple, all crackling with magical force — rippling across the sky and through the porthole. A massive wave sends him sprawling, his head hitting wood with a crack, and everything goes dark.

When he wakes, the sea is calm and his mind is blank.

He exists. He is on a ship. His arm is gone. He is alone. That is all he knows.

A search of the ship tells him he was not always alone. The rooms are filled with things, broken and scattered by the storm. But he can see in the chaos the trappings of quarters, a crew. Purple drapes over a porthole, starry patterns painted on the ceiling. A simple but well-carved training dummy, marked with sword cuts. Darts with colorful feathers, still stuck into the target on the wall. And most strange of all, racks and racks of glass orbs.

The orbs contain memories, he discovers. Not his own — the hands he sees are different, metallic and fidgety, the voice higher and tentative. He catches glimpses of his own face in this stranger’s memory. Strange, does he truly look so stern? His eyes so cold and focused?

The orbs tell him nothing of what happened. There was a crew and now there isn’t. No information as to why. But, he thinks as he considers the poorly sealed end of his arm, if he was left in this state, whatever took them couldn’t have been good.

Something pulls at the edge of his mind, sharp with the sting of guilt and the heat of purpose. He must do… something. There was someone, a promise, a task, but… the thought evades him, details slipping away like water through his hands.

He scours the ship. Surely there’s a clue here somewhere, something to tell him who he is and what he is meant to do.

Two rooms on the top deck. The one under the bow is dark, plain, almost barren. A table, a few scattered floor cushions, a waterlogged and ink stained pile of papers. A jacket, the sleeve missing. His, then? He tries to conjure any memories, but. Nothing. Nothing of use. Nothing to give him a purpose.

He opens the door to the other room on the top deck, just beneath the helm, and his throat catches. He wanders in, scanning over the destroyed remains of a desk, running his fingers lightly over the green velvet cape hung loosely over a chair. Familiar, aching. Did he know whose room this was, once upon a time? Who were they, to make his heart ache so? What did they want him to do? To fix… something?

Perhaps he was to fix the ship?

But no, most of the work that can be done has been. There’s nothing left for him to do. Nothing but wait.

So wait he does.

He’s remarkably bad at it. The impatience itches at him, that sense that there is something he is meant to be doing fluttering just out of reach until he thinks he might go mad with it. However much he tries to ignore it, tries to sit still and focus on anything else, he can’t. The boredom burns.

So he decides to make the time pass faster. Or, at least, to make himself not feel it passing so slowly. He tucks himself back into the corner he awoke in and shuts himself down. System by system, slipping into a long, slow, stasis. Eyes go dark.

When he wakes up on a workbench, some unknown amount of time later, with a fire genasi tapping her wrench against his forehead, he knows four things.

He exists. He is not on his ship. His arm is still gone.

But he is not alone.

[justablah56]

I am once again thinking about how dx tr thinks about mr sn in the et tu patreon bonuses

[hakunonon]

looking forward to fate/stay night's 20 year anniversary, which type moon will celebrate by buffing fgo saber and archer.

who the fuck is 'rider', and 'caster'?

[redvelvetsource]

hi_sseulgi

[6idles]

고고🐰🎀🩷