#hexcode

[nshbrown]

/Hacker/

[abbr] HA-K'r

Political proponents of ratification of justice served while observed by theoretical objectives of modern combat with skilled accumulation and attrition relative of sports and engagements through competition.

SRC: https://.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hacker?lang=en-GB&&=#

[irisintheafterglow]

itoshi rin doesn't get injuries. ever.

he's downright religious about stretching, warming up properly, and being aware of how his body is holding up under the intense conditions of a match. he keeps a strict diet, an even stricter sleeping schedule, and pops enough vitamins and supplements to make his immune system work at 200%. but, when stupidly lukewarm isagi misplaces his stupidly lukewarm foot, rin ends up rolling his ankle harder than a bowling ball slammed down a lane. he doesn't react immediately to the lightning bolt of pain that shoots up his calf, only sending isagi a withering glare and continuing to rush the opposition's net.

like the rest of his team, you don't notice something is wrong until the end of the scrimmage, when rin collapses and curls his upper body around his ankle. his hands clutch the bottom of his leg and he shuts his eyes tight to hold in the frustrated groan he wants to release. the other players approach him and he snarls like a circus tiger, barking at them to leave him be. the same tune is played for the medical team, having no choice but to retreat after he insists he just needs a second to rest. with a deep inhale to prepare, you steel your nerves and walk over to where he sits.

"i said go," he seethes, his forehead resting against his propped knee. his eyes are shut, but he can feel someone standing there, watching him with a pitying look in their eyes. stupid. he gets hurt and suddenly it's poor, poor rin and his poor, poor ankle. it's weakness that he needs to stomp out, weakness that--

"you need to ice that." his eyes open slowly and you catch his walls recede ever so slightly. you always had a no-nonsense kind of relationship with rin, especially as a health analyst-in-training who was the only brave soul that spoke to him among your cohort. there was an unspoken level of respect that you had for him that you assumed he reciprocated, seeing as he always had patience for your long spiels outlining everything to do with his physical wellbeing. he appreciated that you never asked about his mental wellbeing, but sometimes your gut told you that maybe you should.

"i'm fine," he says through gritted teeth and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at his melodrama. you bite back your initial retort and instead settle on the turf next to him, your legs facing the opposite way so that you're not making direct eye contact. he watches you from the outskirts of his vision, as do the rest of the remaining team on the field, but doesn't deny your company. you let him take a few more breaths before asking your next question.

"what hurts?" any other trainee in your group would immediately be subject to scathing insults about their personality and emotional aptitude. you'd seen it, how he snapped at the trainees that weren't you.

"calf. ankle. inside of my foot," he mumbles, shame evident in his voice. he didn't like appearing weak; he already felt weak living in the shadow of sae. it was something he was constantly fighting against, carrying the sack of weight on his shoulder every game. he waits for you to scoff, to tell him to get over it, but you don't. instead, you hum and refrain from looking at him directly. in a way, it's the indirect conversation that he appreciates the most.

"i'm gonna get you a tennis ball for your ankle. where's your water?"

"back left by the bench." you nod and retrieve both items, returning to him in no time at all. you don't even stop to converse with the other concerned members of the management team, making a beeline back to him like you had no other place to be. "you should go," he says before you sit down again.

you wait for him to elaborate. he doesn't.

"do you want me to?"

he hesitates.

"...no."

"then i'll stay." you sit closer this time, still facing the other direction, but close enough that your arms could brush if he leaned close enough. rin won't admit that he likes the proximity. "i don't need to tell you how to use a tennis ball," you comment and his silence expresses his gratitude. he reaches wordlessly for the ball but you hold it just out of reach. "but, i am gonna force you to drink water before you do anything else."

"i'm not thirsty."

"i don't care," you reply. "you won't get better if you're not hydrated." part of him hates that you're right, that you're sitting here pitying him. but, he takes the bottle from your hand anyway and downs a few sips that turn into large gulps. he didn't realize how parched he'd become. "there. what else can i do?"

"stop pitying me," he scowls without thinking. as much as you like to think he's different when he's with you, there's still times like these when the rage slips out and he snaps. you haven't known him long enough to weather his storms, but you're determined to wait it out and you know he notices. he's too smart not to notice the way your shoulders sag, the way you conveniently look anywhere but in his direction, the way you're fighting every instinct to abandon him to protect yourself. "it's," he forces out, surprising you both, "it's not-i'm not your responsibility. i don't need you to take care of me."

"but do you want me to?"

he hesitates again and turns to look at you completely, detecting no sense of pity or malice or arrogance in your expression. you were there to help him, and you wanted him to trust you. what a foreign feeling.

"yes."

so you continue to sit there with him in silence, running your fingers absentmindedly over the turf as he gently massages his ankle with the tennis ball. you don't question when his shoulder brushes yours for a second, then returns to completely lean against you. when he decides it's time to wash up, he takes your hand and lets you help him off the field, his arm draped around your upper back as you act as his crutch. you later tell him after he's showered that you didn't help him because you pitied him, but because you knew he would be too stubborn to ask for help.

"how are you so sure?"

"because you told me to leave, remember? and who would have helped you if i left? who would you allow to help you?" you don't wait for him to answer and bid him a polite goodbye, leaving his face warm and completely at a loss for words.

he decides that it's not so bad if he gets injured, as long as you're the one sitting on the turf with him after the game.

[itslilacokay]

okay. i did it

i gave the rocketcorp worker who held the pencil more character (thankyou @midgetmoth for the name idea)

[rolandkaros]

IGA ŚWIĄTEK [POL] to chair umpire MARIJA ČIČAK [CRO] after receiving a time violation while serving for the match || IGA ŚWIĄTEK [POL] d. ELINA SVITOLINA [UKR] || MIAMI OPEN ROUND OF 16 || 24 03 2025

[meamiki]

isat color palette challenge WOO!! these are always fun :D

[comicaurora]

Hey Red what was the website you used for finding Falst's hair color? People on the Discord are curious.

this thing

[daily-oliver-swift]

Plushgingi

Day 24 of drawing Oliver Swift everyday until I get on HRT

[sugasugarsuga]

yall think scaras tip colour is pink or nah

[majorlyink]

have this cool ass drawing (click read more to see the non blurred version :3)

[squishosaur]

setleth for my good friend ethereal "em @ethereal-will" williamson....

individuals under the cut!!

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

The fact that Claude & Petra's skin color wouldn't really even be considered tan irl, it only seems that way in game because every other character is the color of a sheet of printer paper.

.

[astercontrol]

My hobby: Interpreting Meaningless Technobabble

in the most ridiculous way possible that still feels like it has enough Connections to make some kind of sense

So in TRON (1982), just before Tron finds Yori, we see her at work on the Solar Sailer dock. The guard supervising her asks, "what's the progress on the simulation?" Yori reports: "30, 56, 99 are correct. Limited 4 and 8 are missing."

but what do those numbers mean for her simulation?

well.

30, 56, and 99 are very correct...

for making a lovely shade of blue.

As for four and eight?

Well, they are very limited, and somewhat missing... because they represent the amount of red in that color.

---

Source

---

So... if you wanted to read meaning into this entirely arbitrary bit of scripted nonsense?

And if you wanted that meaning to reflect how TRON (1982) adheres to the same "Blue=Good, Red=Evil" theme as Star Wars, Deep Space 9 Season 5, current United States politics, and a variety of other fandoms?

well.

Yori is indicating that Blue is correct, and Blue will win.

because every time Red gets more "limited" and more "missing," Blue takes over just a little bit more.

And maybe, just maybe?

she's using her Simulation Skills to influence the color scheme of her workplace... just a little bit at a time... to reflect the growing power of the Blue resistance.

Yori's a prisoner of the MCP, being forced to do work outside her purpose. And they clearly have a lot of control over her. There's not so much she can do to help, materially.

But at least, she can occasionally... "hex" them.

[banzack]

happy pride month

[seoulmatez]

i should preface this by saying sorry i’ve been talking about anaxa so much but. . . i cannot stop thinking about how pretty his cock must be