#several other people have implied or suggested that too over the years and it's just

[anaalnathrakhs]

love this part of my life where the things that are difficult but challenging and good for me are things i can stop and skip and halfass, but the things that are difficult and painful and pointless are the things i have to live with no matter what

[marimayscarlett]

Hello lovely!

Because I love your takes and posts on the eternally beautiful, wonderful Richard Z. Kruspe, I was wondering what your top five random weird facts about him are - like silly things he’s said or other people have said about him (e.g. Khira’s post on insta complaining about all the naked lady art in the house!)

TY! 😘

Hello my dear and thank you so much for your ask! Glad you enjoy my posts, this means a lot to me 🥰

This one took me a while (had to comb through several interviews for this), but I shamelessly used this ask to create two little lists - one with weird little facts/moments and one with interesting little facts in general. Not necessarily my top five (would be super hard to pick them), but moments which I think about currently. A lot 😄

Random weird facts and moments:

Literally this interview. He had absolutely no restraint and some pick-me-vibes going on, especially in these moments: - Interviewer: 'On the surface, the title A Million Degrees seems to suggest heat or that you are implying that the music is hot or on fire.' RZK: 'Or just me!' (laughs) - Interviewer: (speaking about the possibility of Emigrate opening for Rammstein) 'Isn’t it physically exhausting, too?' RZK: 'Yeah, it’s like having two women in the same night!' (laughs) - Interviewer: (after explaining her thoughts about the title "A million degrees) 'So, out of curiosity, what was your intention with the album’s title?' RZK: 'I always knew that women were smarter than men!'

me reading this entire interview:

That recording an album with Rammstein can be quite exhausting is something Richard (and sometimes also other members) mentioned several times. They discuss a lot, sometimes have verbal fights, etc. - but Richard admitted that he sometimes wished for proper "Wild West" fist fights because that maybe would've also solved some problems 👀 (as I mentioned some time ago, how about some anger management my guy) (source)

Poor little lad does not understand the concept of strip clubs, plus since he doesn't drink alcohol, it's apparently abysmally boring for him in these locations 😪 Better write a strip song, fitting for a good striptease, and that's how we got the song "Get Down" (source)

Widely known, but still: this moment from this interview: - Interviewer: 'What would you spend your last £20 on?' RZK: 'How much is that in Euros, about 20? A nice blowjob! Actually, change that - a handjob. Yes, they're easy to get near where I live. I could get 20 minutes for 20€, that's good value!'

2. Random interesting (at least for me) facts in general:

In this podcast Richard mentions that the Emigrate album "The persistence of memory" essentially was a therapeutic project for him. In 2019, he fell into a heavily depressive episode after the tour and even contemplated quitting music completely. So he started to sift through his old compositions and songs he had on his computer, some dating back over 20 years, and somehow found his love for music again through those memories - and this album, which was not at all planned, was the result of this process. This is the reason why we have songs like "Freeze my mind" for example, which dates all the way back to 2001 and was written by Richard and his then-wife Caron.

In this interview Richard mentions that these four songs are his favourites (at least at this point in time): - Hurt by Nine Inch Nails - Babe I'm gonna leave you by Led Zeppelin - Sin City by AC/DC - Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode

The book "Perfume" by Patrick Süßkind (which explores dark themes of obsession and power, linked with the sense of smell and emotions), which he read as a teenager, was the reason why he wanted to create something which REALLY moves a crowd, like the perfect song. (source)

Here Richard mentioned that when his daughter Khira was younger, he played her a lot of the Rammstein tracks because he knew she would be brutally honest and give him straightforward feedback. This didn't work anymore after some time, since as a teenager she later learned how to please him and get what she wanted (let's be real, we've all been there). Plus, he's apparently a rather strict parent, believing that you have to make a lot of experiences to get forward in life and that self-discipline helps a great deal.

In this interview, Richard mentions that he likes to pick out an audience member to get an connection to through eye contact (at least this was the case back then) - and this eye contact helps him to put on a good show, most likely to play the concert for this particular fan. Plus he thinks about doing mediation after a concert, as a vent to balance out all the energy he's absorbed from the crowd.

I hope these lists are at least a bit like what you had in mind as an answer 😊 Thanks a lot again for this ask 🤍

[goodluckclove]

I have spent some time now trying to formulate a question but every time i arrive back at there's probably no answer. OH. So. (Please ignore if you do not want to answer or can't or whatever. I'm thinking instead of sleeping and that tends to lead to strange thoughts.)

Where does creativity come from? Like, how do people get that spark that turns into an idea an universe. How do they step outside what they have experienced (tropes, stories), and... create something of their own.

I don't know. The answer is probably somewhere between "it just comes" and "they listen and notice it" (as in they are not in something resembling chronic creative burnout).

Writing looks fun. Creating stories. Having a world take shape in your imagination. I enjoy getting glimpses into that process and seeing the end products. (I would love to try it myself but it's one of those "so far away i have zero idea where to start" things. Where on the other hand rants, thoughts, concepts *prompted* by anything and routed in something already existing seem to come freely and turn into whole essays (sometimes at least). Oh well.)

I really don't know. Please ignore if this is weird. I should maybe have some water.

Take care if where you are it's also way too hot. Have water or rest or whatever might be good in that moment, if you want. I hope your day goes as well as can be, with nice moments and strength for the hard ones. (How do people end asks i am not good at people today.)

Hi! You sent this to me a while ago and I hadn't answered it, but I've been thinking about it a lot. I think I'm finally settled enough to answer it.

I think every human being - at least every that I've come across - possesses innate creativity and the ability to make art. I never believed in the concept of god-given "talent" and actually find the concept deeply patronizing as, in my mind, it implies no real effort. Which is bullshit. I will call an artist capable, honest, skilled, passionate - I will never call them talented.

Children are creative in their natural state and in their own way. What happens is an exposure to poison over the years. Your favorite books and movies aren't good for the reasons you like them, or if they are it doesn't matter because they're not real art. People project what they think art is onto you and negate any opportunity for you to grow and form your own sense of intuition.

Or you're never given a chance to really explore art at all. No one makes an effort to show you books you can relate to, so you decide you don't like reading. You think the stuff at art museums is just stuffy Old Dead Guy paintings, and since no one suggests you explore otherwise you never explore painting or sculpting as something accessible to you. It's an unbelievable tragedy to me and I cringe inwardly every time someone tells me they just aren't creative.

There are no uncreative people. There are no boring people. There are only people who were lied to and demeaned until they felt the only real option was to deny themselves the language of communicating through art and storytelling. And that's fucking horrible.

So how can you move past that? I talk to a lot of "aspiring writers" (another term I despise), who tell me blocks in their creative process that keep them from doing the work they want to do. Oftentimes I just respond by asking who told you that? Was it a teacher who was unable to finish their novel because of some poison they consumed? A parent who only sees you through the lens of a career they've decided you're meant to pursue to have value in the world? Perhaps a stranger on the Internet who realized that you can gain a facade of illusory "respect" by making individual taste and limited artistic scope as an overall rule of thumb everyone else has to follow?

Once you find the root of what makes you feel fundamentally severed from creativity, you can start to undo the hold it has over you. You might have to start further back than what feels good for the ego. If you struggle to write a long-term project, maybe you just need to write something. Anything. Just play with fragments and develop a foundation of actually confirming you're able to take up space. Because you are and you absolutely should.

Big ramble but this is a really important topic to me. Don't know where to start? There are really no wrong movies! People watch and wonder what their lives are like! Explore a single plot point of character without worrying about an overarching narrative! As discouraging as it can feel to struggle in a way so many other people seem perfectly well-versed in, it is never too late to develop creativity in your life!

[jeannereames]

Professor Reames, I was looking at the so called burial crown of Philip and I was wondering what’s the relation between that type of crown and the diadem?

None. They're two different things. First, "crowns" are typically made of plant stems woven together. Later, gold versions of this appear, like the crown in Royal Tomb II. (As you suggest with "so-called," that is probably not Philip's Tomb, whatever tags Greece or the media place on it. Why is a long, detailed story I don't have time to get into but there's literally years' worth of publishing about the identity of the bones in Royal Tombs I and II.)

These gold burial crowns are found ALL OVER the north/Balkan area by the Hellenistic period, but they show up before that (the ossuary of the Spartan general Brasidas at Amphipolis had one). This crown below is from the ginormous tomb of Seuthes III of Thrace, and looked to both Ann and I like a "I can do it bigger and better!" to the Macedonian vault tombs. It dates to the early Hellenistic period. The gold out of that tomb (found in the Kasanlak Museum) is impressive. But you'll see these things a lot. The one from Royal Tomb II is distinctive mostly by its size and attention to detail.

Crowns served lots of purposes. The four big atheletic Games in ancient Greece, including the Olympics and Pythian, were called "stephanic" because the only prize the winner got was a crown. (And not a gold one, either; it was either olive, laurel, pine, or wild celery, depending on the Contest.) It was the HONOR associated with the crown that mattered. (Stephanos = "crown" in Greek, if you or one of your friends is named "Stephen/Steven" or any variation.)

Anyway, crowns show up in all sorts of contexts from drinking parties (symposia) to burials--as with Tomb II. They don't imply anything royal, although they do usually imply some sort of honoring or "dressing up."

"Diadema" just means a headband. We see these all over, even before Alexander. It was designed to keep hair out of your face, often during sports, and might be made of leather or ribbon or some other flexible substance. The first image shows a guy tying one ... the ends are what he's holding in his hands. The pieces broke off the statue, so all that's left is what's around his head and what's in his hands. The second shows in marble the cloth back tie. Many statues had diadems attached in some other material that has since been lost. Remember, these statues were all painted and sometimes had "added bits" like semi-precious stones for eyes, or gold crowns, that later disappeared. So if you see an indention around the crown of a Greek (or Roman) statue? It's missing its diadem!

It was repurposed as women's jewelry too. See below. These start becoming prominent in the Hellenistic Era after ATG, but we do find them earlier, as noted. The diadem as a ROYAL symbol gets connected via Alexander, and then his Successors. (Coin of Antiochus below with his father Seleukos I's image in diadem.)

The diadem as ROYAL symbol seems to be specifically ancient near eastern. The Persian Great King employed it as sort of "action crown," different from the upright tiara that would fall off if he had to move around much (like fight). The Persian royal diadem was either white and blue striped or white and purple striped cloth, and was tied around the head so that the ends dangled.

Apparently, Alexander adopted it instead of the upright tiara (whether he really never wore the tiara is debated). Sometimes, he tied it around his hat (presumably the kausia, a special Macedonian hat that looked kinda like an ancient beret, but there doesn't seem much room on that for a band, so maybe a petasos, or floppy straw sunhat).

Anyway, the gold-covered silver circlet in Royal Tomb II at Vergina is a dressed up version, and one (of several) reasons people have argued it's not Philip's tomb. It's very unclear that the king used a diadem in Macedonia before Alexander. I'd argue they didn't, but admit we lack much evidence either way, except literary.

So while you wear both a crown and a diadem on the ol' noggin', these are two different objects. The later conflation of "crown" with "diadem" = a symbol of royalty, is medieval, or at most, late Roman.

[looniecartooni]

tell me MORE (/np)

Oh ho ho boy- where to start? This may get a bit wonky and I might sound a bit crazy.

Okay- so... first off Fanto and Dimitri are a lot alike. They both put on a killer show and crave attention and they both technically can not tell a lie (Dimitri's tail speaks his thoughts, Fantoccio was just said to have it by Katie- I'm not entirely sure why. Could have to do with Pinocchio or how Autistic people or honest or something else). And at a glance, they kind of have some visual similarities. For instance- they both have yellow eyes and a tannish- pallet.

Perhaps it's just an odd coincidence, but it's also been said at some point that Fanto was built to be like his creator. Someone with a flair for the dramatic who can't tell a lie? Seems pretty likely.

Now there are some definite issues revolving around this. We don't know enough about Dimitri to confirm or deny this. He certainly would be old enough to be Fantoccio's dad possibly as he knew Arthur and Aristotle. But this also suggests that at some point Dimitri owned a theater, knows how to carve puppets, can bring them to life, and is possibly Autistic. However, if he was Fanto's dad and owned a theater, why would he bother pretending to be a hero? Why would he use the gem to bring one or possibly more puppets to life? Wouldn't he be exhausted and busy?

I don't think Arthur and/or Aristotle would have created him though nor would I think they'd give up on him if they accidently left him (Ari might- thinking he's dead- but even still). Billie would have been already a couple months old when Fanto got stuck in the theater. Ari and/or Arthur just leaving behind what would essentially be their child, who as far as we know has very little to know knowledge about Billie. The timelines and character on that stuff seems odd. They also don't scream "theater kid" or "parent of a theater kid" as much as Dimitri.

I also keep just seeing other random things that make me just think it's a possibility even if it's not there. For example, "Dimitri" means "Follower of Demeter". Demeter is the Greek goddess of spring time who after losing her daughter Persephone to Hades caused the seasons to get cooler and does that every six months when her daughter returns to the underworld. Am I thinking too deeply into Dimitri's name to prove my point? Probably. Does Dimitri's name imply he could be a father in mourning after his child was trapped in the magic city? Does Dimitri care enough to make a child or worry about a child if he can't reach them? I don't know! All I know is he sets buildings on fire then acts like he's a hero to save people. Why does he do that? I don't know! Is it a coincidence that his name has to do with plants and trees and Fanto is technically a tree man? I believe yes, but I could list several characters named Dimitri that have nothing to do with plants or kids.

But in my heart- I feel like it makes the most sense. The devs are telling us barely anything about Dimitri purposely (supposedly the story might unravel, but that could be a joke) and Aristotle said that the gems were being used for evil (although that could be rewritten at this point). Dimitri is said to be an antagonist- so what if he was the last person to be seen with the yellow gem?

This theory feels a bit forced, but I swear, this feeling is hard to shake off. Only true confirmation I think I'll get is if we wait for the game to come out, be shocked and upset that it's Aristotle (that'll just be mega sad no matter how the chapter ends) or some third random person. If it turns out Dimitri's the missing dad who had a kid 7 years before Arthur (possibly more- I don't know if Dossylmeyer who has only been mentioned twice is even in the game), then I will be over the moon. If you read this whole thing, here are some pancakes 🥞Thank you for listening to my theory. I was going to make a more official post, but this can do for now. You also get this random image:

I might make an official venn diagram and stuff later when and if I do get information.

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 3 Tatarigoroshi pt. 2

Despite opening the way it did, we still have our pre-horror sillies.

Keiichi can't cook! OH NOOOOOOOOOooooo.

Truly the average high-school guy's experience knows no border.

Satoko and Rika save the day, and educate Keiichi on the proper ways of committing arson.

Again, playing with the mod is great because of the voice acted Meeps.

Satoko is working on her stand-up routine. Also I'm just tickled by the idea that Keiichi got completely physically overpowered by the small child. How old are Rika and Satoko anyway? I don't know if they ever bothered mentioning it before, I just assume they're ages 10 and 11 respectively. Or the same age probably. I know that when the second chapter did the summation it said Mion was 1X, and I figure she's probably around 18.

So Satoshi is going to play a much bigger role than he has in the previous chapters eh? Wonder if he'll be an alive participant or a posthumous one?

A lot of the time whenever I pronounce the word vigor I usually pronounce it vi-gor, instead of the usual pronunciation. A guy I used to work with decided to convey his annoyance with "purity culture" and start nit-picking people pronouncing words, "can't say vinegar because it sounds too close to the n-word" and on and on he went. Basically every word that ends with a grr sound. Also he latched on to "not being able to" pronounce the Guilty Gear character Nagoryuki's name correctly. Then again this is the same guy who got mad when I pointed out he seemed oddly incensed when the various companies did the least bit to pretend to care about pride month. He pulled out the usual argument of "I'm not homophobic/transphobic but" and he tried arguing that I was implying he was. I just thought it was kind of funny how bent out of shape he got over, of all things, gray Skittles.

Speaking of people who decided they can't handle today (seven years ago) "pansy-ass handling of culture" I once had a boss who sang the praises of Wolfenstein 2: The New Colossus. "They say the n-word in it!" Nothing about the gameplay or anything, just "they say the n-word!" Then he got fired because a customer called him out on the fact he routinely acted like a baby. A forty-year old baby. Please forgive these digressions.

It's only just now occurred to me, they've never really confirmed one way or the other that Satoshi is actually dead. In chapter two they mention that he disappeared after Watanagashi in 1982, but it's never explicitly said point blank that Satoshi died. Even in chapter one it's only Keiichi's mania and paranoia that says Satoshi died. With this information in hand I would like to put forward my predictions about what this could mean. One: nothing. Kind of a boring option, and the least likely in my opinion. Two: Satoshi is indeed dead. The revelation that he died will be the inciting incident that pushes Satoko over the edge and causes her to start killing. Three: Satoshi's alive, but he's a prick. Not just any prick, but a violent abusive prick that will make this chapter extremely uncomfortable to read. This will push Rika over the edge, and start killing. Of course there's also the fourth option that Satoshi will be alive and just be a swell guy. Then after several hours of Keiichi being an extremely jealous individual Satoshi will die in a Watanagashi-based murder that gets pinned on Keiichi.

Of the four theories I have put forward I think that Prediction Three: Prick Satoshi will wind up being the one that's correct.

Also, I wonder what other baggage Rika's carrying? Is it the stuff about being the last of the Furude shrine maidens? The weight of being one of the people in control of Hinamizawa? Or just the mental strain of having to be the adult at such a young age? I wonder if Satoko is going to get violently protective of Keiichi? Since Rika has suggested using Keiichi as a replacement brother for Satoshi I mean.

[afterthefeast]

re lrb in any case to me astarion’s arc is less about regaining agency than becoming aware that he already has it and has to act like that. there's a distinction between agency as a material fact, ie having the ability in theory to make your own decisions and act on your desires, and the awareness of having that agency.

i'm no psychologist, but in my experience one of the most helpful steps in recovering from mental illness has been the awareness of my own agency ─ yes, sometimes I feel as though my life is completely run by my intrusive thoughts, but invariably getting out of that place has involved a recognition that ultimately, I am the one in control of my thoughts and I have the agency to work through them. that doesn't mean that it isn't hard, or time-consuming, and sometimes I don't succeed in the way I'd like, but nonetheless the ability to at least try is and always has been in my power.

in baldur's gate 3, your companions appear with varying degrees of agency (aside, obviously, from the tadpole they all share). they range from gale, whose current situation physically and magically restricts him but who at that moment in time doesn't have many other immediate restrictions on his day-to-day actions, to wyll, whose every move is watched by his abusive warlck patron.

nonetheless, your companions benefit from being shown that they not only could have agency at some point in the future, if they break their pact/shar's curse/free cazador/free orpheus/fix the infernal engine/get the crown of karsus, but they have agency now and must therefore use it responsibly. wyll is already to some degree aware of this, i think, even if it's only because he is so morally forthright ─ he's one of your companions who remains actively trapped by their abuser during the game, yet he refuses to kill karlach because he knows that would be wrong. even within his severely limited circumstances, he makes a choice, he demonstrates agency. in the shadowfell, shadowheart ─ a cult victim subjected to extreme psychological and religious abuse ─ has the choice whether or not to kill aylin, and can make it either way.

astarion, at the point at which you meet him, has just been given freedom for the first time in, essentially, his life. it's no surprise that he doesn't know what to do with thise newfound agency, and doesn't recognise it for what it is, given that he literally cannot remember ever having control over his own life. that's deeply tragic, but it doesn't erase the fact that he has control over the things he does during the game. those actions (for example, given i am still talking about that last rb, talking about the children he kidnapped and gave to cazador as though they were nothing), are things he has agency over and is responsible for. nonetheless, he acts as though he does not, lurching from one attempt to gain power to another (killing the druids to suggesting you use whatever's in moonrise to your advantage), because his own self-perception as someone completely powerless is so overwhelming. he must accrue power because that is the only way he can make sure he's safe and can never be hurt again. it's just that that self-perception is not completely accurate, he does have agency; if he makes choices that result in moral wrongs, those moral wrongs are his to bear.

i'm not getting at astarion here, I don't mean to imply that he's at fault for this attitude. it is, obviously, the natural response to 200 years of enslavement and abuse. kind of the whole point of the game, of all of your companions' quests, is that if people are hurt and abused often they will feel as though their only avenue towards power is to do the same to others. but being severely traumatised doesn't make his behaviour okay; he doesn't get a free pass to do whatever he wants because of cazador. you can like him, literally who am i to say otherwise (i like him too!), but don't just excuse everything he does or get rid of the most interesting parts of his character because you're unwilling to grapple with the fact that as it stands in the game, he's morally incredibly complex.

i think there's a tendency to assume that a character either must or must not have agency, and to present it as a binary, because for some reason it's used as a shorthand for moral culpability, when in reality the relationship between agency and culpability is significantly more complicated. i haven't really been getting into coerced choices here because that's a whole other kettle of fish (though i will give the necessary disclaimer that my stance on this is quite clearly influenced by the fact that deep down i'm a bit of a virtue ethicist). nonetheless, while this is my pop philosophy take and i'm not trying to impose this overall moral framework on people, i think it's pretty reasonable to say that lack of agency does not mean that what you did was not wrong.

implying that astarion is at fault here would be indicative of the very attitude I am trying to oppose ─ the idea that people either have agency or don't, and if they do bad things with agency they are evil, but if they don't have agency they are victims. astarion is both ─ he is the victim of horrendous, harrowing trauma and yet he has done bad things and in fact visited that same trauma upon other people. there's no escaping this, and i think it would be bad for astarion to just brush everything he did for cazador under the rug because he did it for cazador. he still did those things ─ he might not be culpable, i do not think he can be considered as such, but there's no way you go through all of that and don't feel guilty for it.

notably, if shadowheart kills aylin and wyll kills karlach (if he can? i actually don't even know if he can do that, but hypothetically), they are still responsible for that action and it was still morally wrong. they have to deal with that: part of dealing with it can be to recognise the coercion they were subject to, but the fact that they lacked agency doesn't just erase the wrong or mean it was never wrong in the first place. likewise, astarion becoming the ascended vampire is still obviously a terrible thing to happen for him and everyone else, and is in no way justified just because it might finally give him the sense of safety and control he craves. the whole point of that moment is that even when he is being retraumatised, when he has returned to the place and person that hurt him, astarion has the capacity to choose, and to choose the right thing. acting as though his trauma means he has absolutely no agency whatsoever and so never has to address the fact that he can, at various points, greatly fuck up, just removes one of the biggest themes of his whole character.

tldr: astarion has agency, one of his greatest challenges is realising that he does and that he must use it responsibly, and acting as though that is not the case does a disservice to his character and the story it is trying to tell. also it is deeply deeply boring. the end.

[luciusspriggss]

well, went on a date with okcupid guy, and it was fine, i guess. not terrible, not great.

went to the movies afterwards by myself and then went home.

talked to my roommates about it, and it was made clear, once again, that because i am autistic and very gullible, see the best in humans, and take what people say literally and don't look for hidden meanings, it his REALLY easy for me to fall into a bad relationship (which is my usual go-to, besides Jes. Jes was lovely they just became an alcoholic and lost their way).

i brought up things that he said that bothered me, but as i usually do, i tried to defend those things by trying to come up with reasons as to why he said it in the first place

and it took one of my roommates to look at me and say:

"M, you are a great person, you see the best in people. this guy sounds just like your abusive ex Nick. you deserve better than someone like that"

and yeah that's when i got it.

to be fair, the night before the date, i told my roommates that he was either a really cool genuine guy that actually wants to be a good person, or he is a piece of shit asshole who is only trying to get people to perceive him that way.

things he said that bothered me:

regarding a tree wherein someone used a chainsaw to cut a large limb, and to compensate the tree started growing new shoots vertically on the remaining un-cut limb:

"why would the tree to do that? it's so stupid"

🤔 why would you say that??? that is an evolutionary advantage that the tree is able to still grow in adverse situations??

he also had a clear favor of herbaceous flowers over trees, especially over conifers, which...why? he didn't respect trees at all, which i think is weird.

he suggested i work for a timber company because of my degree because it makes really good money

which is a weird thing to say after i explained i dont agree with modern forestry practices because it focuses on making money instead of forest health?

after i explained my love of playing sports but my inability to do them because of my asthma. which i have been trying to "train my lungs" for over twenty years in order to play or even just go on a run, i realized my asthma is bad enough that no matter how hard i try it won't work. there are varying levels of how asthma affects a person, and since around age 10, my asthma has been pretty severe (most people get over a cold in a few days, it takes me 1-2 months to be able to even breathe "normally" again when i get sick).

he told me i shouldn't give up and keep trying, because he knows some people who have asthma and yet can still play sports.

he also suggested that i do go for runs or play sports, but i bring my inhaler with me to use when i get out of breath, and then keep going on

?????? i dunno how other peoples asthma works, but if i push myself to the point of an asthma attack (which is not hard for me to do), i am out of commission for 30 minutes to 2 hours WITH a rescue inhaler. and this is after "training my lungs" for twenty years.

he also implied he was too smart for therapy and all he needs is a good friend to trauma dump to

??????????? that is a bold take my guy. there is definitely more nuance when saying something like that. i tried to talk to him about his views to understand where he was coming from, and to put it simply, it was not good.

he made note of how hard living in a world of capitalism is, so he understands why i am unable to find a job that suits me (fair, but why bring that up. he knows i am currently looking for jobs), but when i tried to explain that i am capable of doing most jobs, the problem is my being autistic in an allistic world, and never lasting more than a year at a job for a variety of reasons (which i explained to him)

he was very condescending? said everyone feels the way i do (after i said the common denominator for every job i have done is i have literally attempted suicide which has led me to quit), and implied i wasn't trying hard enough?

i kept trying to not talk about dark subjects, but it is hard when he does.

also, maybe dont shit talk your ex on a first date? i get we both still live with our exes, but i never shit talked jes? i said that our friendship is better than ever? it was difficult the past year, but we have finally reached an understanding with one another and we are happy to be friends? trying to bring some positivity and optimism to the dark conversation, but nooooo

had to compare my struggles with unemployment to his ex's?? shit talk her in the process? which sort of shit talked me in a way?

what a fucking asshole

also, he asked me to join in the fun of the sport he competes in. never specifying how i could take part of the sport (this was after the date and through text).

A) he completely ignored my discussion about my struggles with asthma

B) he ignored A, as well as my discussion about inequality, sexism, and homophobia in sports that deterred me from doing sports

C) he meant i just come and watch? like a groupie or something? i dunno if this is what he meant but i don't like it either.

overall, yeah this seems super obvious, we are incompatible

but do you know how hard it is for ME to see these red flags??? i was willing to go on another date, but my roommates were the ones who told me it would be a bad idea. and i agree with them, now that they laid things out clearly.

there are even more red flags i just don't want to bring up, because it is really embarrassing that i didnt see them

but, i just don't get it. i have said all the red flags, but the green flags were pretty great.

he's a highschool chem teacher and loves teaching kids, he has a passion for botany (just not trees? he also confidently mis-identified a shrub which i dunno if he was trying to impress me or something, but he didn't believe me when i told him he was wrong), has a similar sense of humor as me, loves going to the botanical gardens, loves going to the river, understands tumblr to a certain degree, enjoys ted lasso and our flag means death (although he doesn't see the point in rewatching shows? to each their own), i dunno i guess i am realizing their were actually not that many green flags.

:/ ah well. live and learn.

[oodlyenough]

with tlou hbo I definitely think the FEDRA/military softening is pretty weird, it's gone way beyond just fleshing them out imo. there are so many things that have stacked up throughout the series; removing FEDRA killing Tess, the Jakarta cold open having the doctor be the one to suggest the bombing to the horror of the military people, this ep's stuff, etc. it does make me worry about how the ending is going to be framed if they lean too hard into 'well the Fireflies are just as bad!!'

Yeah, it's my biggest outstanding concern/qualm with this adaptation. I'd even forgotten some of those elements, like Tess' death, but it also reminded me of the suggestion that the bombing technique worked in some areas which ? ... The round-up-civilians-and-kill-them thing is brand new to the show too which makes it even weirder to introduce while also doing this other stuff. You can flesh out/add moral complexity to so many parts of this universe but I don't feel we needed to do that for fuckin FEDRA lol. Even the infected kid in ep 1 - why would FEDRA waste time/resources bringing that kid into the QZ to test them? Game FEDRA would've sniped the kid for walking suspiciously lol.

Meanwhile you've got stuff like the Fireflies posting a sixteen-year-old alone in a mall they didn't clear properly (apparently), Marlene is an unknown entity and doesn't seem trusted by Ellie the way she is in the game, they skipped the doctor's recordings in the university in lieu of just pins on a map, etc.

I recently rewatched the game's opening credits sequence (which I love, btw, and I'm kind of sad we didn't get an equivalent in the show -- always gives me chills!) and the bits in there about the military coup and the Fireflies' "public charter calling for a return of all branches of government"... Again they're not above reproach, but compared to FEDRA???? ??? ?

The one thing I can imagine that would really sour this adaptation for me is the ending. I'll use a cut bc game spoilers

If the show frames it as/implies Joel was correct and justified in doing what he did and/or that he did it for any reason beyond his personal attachment to Ellie I will be, uh, severely disappointed in an otherwise so far well done adaptation. It needs to be choosing Ellie over the betterment of the world/future. Joel's choice being both entirely understandable on a human level and deeply, hideously selfish is, like, the entire reason the game has any meaning. I think the fans who have spent the past decade trying to spin it as a heroic selfless action, Joel was worried about vaccine distribution concerns or the science of it or Ellie's agency (LMFAO) or ... literally anything beyond *Joel does not want to lose Ellie*... have been watering down both him as a character and the story as a whole. Would hate to see the show do the same.

[sundayschurchbench]

It’s been several days since I finished FFXVI and I gave myself time to process those emotions, but I still don’t like the ending. The more I watch people play through that conclusion, the clearer my reasons become. To me, Clive was never free.

He was his mother's disappointment (and treated like a bastard just because he failed to "awaken"), his brother's shield (I loved their bond but it was still a big responsibility for a child), a slave assassin to a foreign kingdom, Cid's replacement, the person people placed their faith on in the absence of a savior while being wanted/hunted as a vessel by a selfish god who only cared about self-preservation.

In the end, after having so much taken from him and giving so much of himself, he had to lose everything to birth a new, better world.

And I get it. Intellectually, I understand and can even see the "beauty" in the tragedy of it all. I know what had to be done and I know he was always that kind of guy—willing to give himself up for a better cause.

Emotionally, I disliked it. I always do. In the end, he didn't escape the whole "being Child of Fate" thing.

Joshua shouldn't have died.

Dion shouldn't have died.

Clive shouldn't have felt like he needed to die to bring happiness to everyone but himself.

I know it's implied he survived despite seemingly calcifying at the end. He was given a quill and suggested to abandon the sword for that quill—to become a writer when it was all over. And you see a book after the credits written by "Joshua Rosfield."

Again, taking up someone else's name, having their legacy live on. I get it was a cute, meaningful gesture—if it was Clive who wrote it because Joshua didn't survive, but he could never just be "Clive." He was always someone else, something else. Not just Clive. I wanted him to live as Clive Rosfield.

I know the ending was ambiguous to leave the door open for DLC's. I mean, Clive "healed" Joshua after consuming the powers of god with all the creation magic that came with it. We can assume, if we want, that Joshua does make it too. Maybe he's the one who becomes the writer because Clive was too busy being a farmer or something.

Maybe Dion survived too.

Maybe when Clive "healed" and "birthed" this new world, or whatever actually happened there, those people in the vicinity were restored.

[And maybe none of them lived and DLCs are about the past of the characters in those 13 years after the intro... or they'll give Jill a little Clive baby who is also tasked with living up to his father's legacy...]

Don't get me started on how Dion deserved better. Especially if you do the quests before the finale—that shit hurts. Clive was given time and a support system to overcome his guilt over "killing Joshua" but Dion never had that. He was only allowed to find absolution in death. He should have lived a long life—repairing his kingdom, raising that little girl who saved his life with his boyfriend, and being happy.

Maybe on the other side we didn't see, in some DLC, they did live happily ever after.

But it wouldn't change how punishing the finale felt.

Jill said Clive always wanted to save everyone, but never thought to save himself, and even at the very end he didn’t.

He could never rid himself of his fate as some divine plot device. 

I get that it is heroic and noble to give up oneself for those you love and the world they'll be left in. That undoing the horrible suffering we saw was indeed an act of love, but I personally dislike this trope.

It's a personal bias of mine when a hero needs to die to achieve a greater good, leaving behind people who want them to live because they too deserve a slice of the happiness pie.

Clive spent his life juggling duty, guilt, promises, dreams while being stalked by a god hell-bent on destroying his life to break down his will and take over his body (Ultima, you had tits too, so why?) and yet he was still chained to his fate of becoming a sacrificial lamb.

The only difference was the outcome.

One option ensured everyone/the world perished.

The other option ensured the everyone/the world didn't perish.

He just couldn't escape being bitch slapped no matter what.

I know that it's poetic to show how different he is from Ultima who didn't care about anyone, hijacked a planet because his was dead, and created people for the sole purpose of saving himself through them someday.

Clive had to be the opposite.

Had to be willing to die for a better world.

Prove to Ultima who was floating in the lifestream that selfless love was better than self-love.

I get it. I get the themes, but I don't have to enjoy them.

This was also my problem in FFXIV with the Warrior of Light's ties to a past that chased them all the way to their reincarnation(s), but that's another story.

I felt the story punished Clive for existing.

I didn't feel liberated by the ending.

The vagueness of it didn't satisfy me.

He had a miserable fate from beginning to end.

Even if Clive is alive, happy, and free in some future DLC chapter, that hint of disappointment will stay with me. Because they said the ending was meant to stand on its own.

I know that a story isn't good because it has a happy ending, but I can't think of a cast of characters who deserved a sappy end more than this one, especially a protagonist who was seemingly born under the worst possible star (fate).

I didn't want the conclusion to be left up to interpretation.

Overall, I still liked the journey, I enjoyed playing it, loved the cast, and especially enjoyed the combat—which I wasn't expecting—but I can understand why so many people turned to fanfics.

It's the only way to cope now.

[raichett]

Bullseye

Enough with heroes Hotguy and Cuteguy, let’s get some villains in here. 

Content warnings: transphobia, minor character death, implied/referenced sexual assault, foul language including suggestive language. The plot of this can be summed up as “Scar kills a predatory transphobe”, so make of that what you will.

This flash fic can also be found on AO3.

–

BULLSEYE

Since leaving heroism – and the hero industry’s root-deep corruption, disregard, exploitation and every other nasty thing they hide under their sleek façade and tinted windows, forked tongues behind smiles and rust under the gold paint – behind, many things have changed for Grian and Scar. Some good, some bad, some just… change.

They haven’t bothered to change their call signs overmuch, however. Hotguy the Hero is now Hotguy the Villain, still in his same black costume with the blue and gold symbol, with his same bow, though he’s upgraded his repertoire of arrows.

Look what you did, look how we turned away – look how we’re still the same people, only now we don’t bow to you anymore.

Grian understands forging a new identity and how freeing it is, more than most, but he also likes the way that the media and heroes are forced to keep using those call signs, unable to sweep under the rug that two of their top heroes had chosen villainy out of their own free will. The public has been pressuring for more substantial answers than the excuses made by PR for months, and they’re even getting close, what with the rise of hacktivism and the way that the Hero Council can’t hide the cracks caused by rust that have been growing over the years.

A part of Grian can’t wait for the inevitable leak to hit the internet. He and Scar have already talked about it giddily, and decided that ordering too much pizza and getting wine drunk, the news channels and social media trending pages playing across several of their monitors, is going to be their own private celebration. In fact, Grian’s fairly certain that Scar has already picked out the wine, given the sudden appearance of a wine rack in their lair.

But none of that matters right now: here, it’s late at night, Grian is fleeing a pair of heroes that have been chasing him for several blocks, and the alleyway he’s ghosted down into using an old fire escape is occupied by what has to be one of the most obnoxious men Grian has ever met in his life.

“Don’t you get cold in that get-up, bitch?” the man asks, taunting. “S’all – pink and shit. But I guess you got legs for days even if you’re tiny, so flaunt ‘em I guess.”

“Look,” Grian says, annoyed, “just get out of my way. I’ve got bigger fish to fry tonight.” The last sentence is a lie – Grian’s bigger fish is the leftover pastry from the bakery that’s sitting in the fridge back home that he really wants to snack on before bed – but the man doesn’t seem to care that Grian is basically letting him go, despite the insult right to a villain’s face. No one understands mercy these days, honestly.

“I’ll show you something bigger,” the man says, leering. “It’s not like you’re packin’ anythin’, is it, Cutegirl?”

Grian flushes with anger and mortification, and, to his fury, he feels knocked off-centre. Damn it, it’s not the first time he’s had his old call sign spoken right to his face, it’s just –

It’s just been a long day, and Grian wants to go home, because he’s tired and cold and his ribs are still throbbing from that kick one of the hero pair had landed on him and he’s just not in the mood for this.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” comes a voice from above, one that makes Grian relax instantly. An arrow flies down from the rooftop and lands in the concrete between the man’s feet, the titanium tip embedded there, a warning shot fired as he stumbles back. Scar descends to stand by Grian’s side.

“Fucking bitch,” the man snarls, too offended and overconfident to accept that discretion is sometimes the better part of valour, and that he’s really not in a situation he can push. “Bet she spreads her legs for you every night! Maybe her mouth wraps arou-”

The man staggers back one step, then a second, as an arrow suddenly sprouts from his chest. He gurgles, blood dripping down his chin.

“Whoops!” Scar says, menacingly cheerful, still aiming his bow. “My hand must have slipped.”

Something clatters down as the man scrabbles at his chest. Scar seems to take pity on him and nocks another arrow. Grian watches as this one spears through the man’s eye and right into his brain, killing him instantly. The corpse falls to the filthy ground.

“Thanks,” Grian says, swallowing. It’s not that Scar killed a man – he’s killed before, and so has Grian – it’s that… fuck, Grian doesn’t know. Just – this whole night, really; Grian just wants it to be over.

“Welcome,” Scar answers. He puts away his bow, jerking his head up to the roof. “Heroes are a bit knocked around, but they’ll be fine once their backup gets here. We should go.” He puts his hand on Grian’s. “You okay, Cuteguy?”

“Yeah,” Grian replies, following Scar out onto the street as they jog for a different alleyway. “Yeah,” he repeats, this time stronger, “I’m fine, Hotguy. Long night, is all.”

Scar and Grian shoot their grappling hooks up and begin scaling the stained brick. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes back there,” Scar says quietly. “I know you’re capable of shutting down bastards like that yourself, but – you just looked really upset.”

“Can’t believe you actually killed him,” Grian murmurs back. “We don’t really – y’know. Not outside self-defence…”

“… Ah,” Scar says, understanding lighting his eyes. “Okay, yeah, different angle. Cutie, that guy had a taser behind his back. I think he might’ve – not taken no for an answer – and your armour still needs those upgrades for resisting and grounding electric shocks.”

Grian pales. “Hasn’t there been a whole load of assaults in this area recently? It was on the news.”

“Well,” Scar says, hauling his way over the top of the roof and retrieving his grapple, “looks like there won’t be any more, will there? That guy will never lie in wait for anyone ever again.”

Grian picks up his own grapple and stares back in the direction of the corpse they left behind. “Guess not,” he says, any lingering remains of guilt dissipating like smoke on the wind. He’s a villain, for goodness sake. He’s got a moral compass, sure, but one doesn’t make it this far into either heroism or villainy without it denting a little in some places, spinning loose in others. “You said you got the heroes? Good. Then let’s go home.”

[female-malice]

EROI, or energy return on investment, the energy recovered from one unit of energy invested in obtaining it, continues to decline. EROI, in a sense, is the most important index of the quality of a deposit. It integrates the two main countervailing forces operating over time that effect the efficiency of winning energy from nature: increases due to technological progress and decreases due to depletion. Since the EROI of most fossil fuels is decreasing, depletion is the dominant force.

The importance of a high EROI for the production of wealth can be seen clearly from the work conducted by Carey King. About half of the economic activity of England from about 1300 to 1750 was dedicated to generating the energy (food, fodder, wood) to run the other half of the economy, implying an EROI of something like 2:1 for the energy sector. Civilization certainly existed, and people may or may not have been basically happy, but they were certainly poor by today’s standards, with very constrained food options, generally short lifespans, little travel and little or no recreation as we understand it. This ratio held until the beginning of the industrial revolution (about 1750), when the EROI increased to perhaps 5:1 with coal and then 10:1 or more with oil. For the first time, many people became fairly well off. This relative affluence for many continues today, when we pay only about five percent of our GDP for energy (except when, in periodic “energy crises”, it goes up to and above 10 percent). Thus, for a modern civilization with education, health care, complex arts, etc., we do not need just a positive EROI but a substantially positive one, with an EROI of something like at least 10 or 12:1. One can imagine a modern society existing on an EROI of say 2:1, as England did in 1500, but in this society half of all economic activity would be dedicated to generating the fuels that would allow the other half to exist. Society could be as poor as England in 1700, and this ignores the fact that there are many more people to feed.

Many studies suggest that in the past few decades our best oil and gas fields and coal mines are increasingly depleted, and the EROI for all fuels has been decreasing. Laherrere believes that our current “official” estimates of oil remaining are several times too high since they are inflated with “ghost” amounts that are politically but not geologically derived, include large amounts of ultra-heavy “tar sands” and use inappropriate accounting procedures. Such assessments give support for Mohr’s “low” estimates and the decline in resource availability in the original Limits to Growth.

[officialleehadan]

More Bite than Bark

Ballet Heels

+++

“Someone upset Cami. I want to ruin their lives.”

Julian looked up to see Sanderson standing in the door of his office. The genius was, as always, garbed in a worn hoodie and the very softest of cotton pants, and sported an uncharacteristically furious expression on his face.

Julian had only seen that expression on Sanderson’s face twice before. Both times preceded a truly staggering flood of vindictive malice. A kinder person might disapprove, but Julian was not most people.

If someone had upset Camille, he would enthusiastically rain fire upon them.

“Where is she, who are they, and what did they do?” he asked, all veneer of politeness and humanity gone as Sanderson stormed in and paced like a trapped tiger. He didn’t even go for the coffee, which told Julian just how serious it was. Is Cami safe?”

“I dropped her off at your condo. It has the best security,” Sanderson said, just barely mollified by Julian’s immediate attention and concern. “One of the paparazzi people got into her school and asked a bunch of nasty questions. There are rumors that you’re paying her for sex and that’s the only reason you’re willing to be seen with her. She got called into a meeting with one of the school’s directors, but she wouldn’t tell me what they said. She came home early. She was crying.”

White-hot rage left Julian blinded for several long breaths. Only years of practice allowed him to shove it down where it boiled painfully in his chest.

“Which tabloid?” he asked through gritted teeth even as he grabbed for his phone. He sent off a hurried, reassuring text to Cami, promising that he would handle everything, and a second one to the ruthless shark of a lawyer who ran his legal team. A third text went to his public relations team. “Names, Sanderson.”

“Inner-City Insider.”

Damn it all. One of the most aggressive, and the nastiest of the tabloids. Unfortunately, they were also well-connected in the higher end of society. It didn’t change Julian’s plan, but it meant they were going to have to get their hands a little dirty to deal with it.

Not that he had ever minded handing out a healthy dose of vengeance. Apparently it had been too long since he taught the business world how nasty his bite really was. A year of happy pictures with his beautiful girlfriend must have convinced them that he had mellowed out.

The sound of running feet announced his head of legal, who understood that when Julian texted his personal number, the matter was dire and his boss was furious. It didn’t happen often, but every now and then, someone crossed Julian badly enough for him to ruin them. The sight of Sanderson, scowling darkly and still pacing, told George just how badly things had gone sideways.

The only other time Julian and Sanderson worked together to end someone was back in school. George hadn’t been there for that disaster, but he had probably heard stories. Everyone knew that while Sanderson was mostly harmless, he was sometimes not at all harmless, and could wreak a great deal of damage in a very small amount of time.

Moments later, the clatter of heels on tile announced Elaine, Julian’s head of Public outreach. Like George, she knew that a personal text meant that things had gone well beyond ‘bad’ and right into ‘how much damage can an angry billionaire with a bad temper really do’ territory. Julian didn’t even mind that she was probably already in damage-control mode, since damage control was, to an extent, what he wanted at the moment.

“Someone for Inner-City Insider is implying that my girlfriend is a sex worker,” Julian said without preamble, and without letting them catch their breath. They could breathe when the problem was handled. “And suggesting that I am her client. George, you are aware of my arrangement with Camille. I expect you to come up with an air-tight legal defense if Julliard attempts to expel Camille over this matter. Elaine. We are purchasing Inner-City. Work with Legal. I don’t care how much it costs. Send me the paperwork. I’ll pay for it privately.”

He had more than enough money to throw around, and it was worth it to make this point inescapably clear to anyone foolish enough to think that delving too deeply into his private matters was a safe life decision.

“What do I tell them if they refuse to sell?”

“Present them with an extremely expensive and extremely public lawsuit regarding slander, accusations of criminal behavior, trespassing on private property, and emotional suffering. George, make it hurt.”

“Yes Sir,” George said, utterly cut-throat, which was why Julian kept him on his payroll. He didn’t have any time for lawyers that weren’t thirsty for blood. “I’m sure we can make something stick somewhere painful.”

“I have every faith in you. Go. Elaine, stay a moment longer.”

George went, no longer at a run, but then, he was a shark, and the only time sharks moved fast was when something else was trying to eat them. Now that George was confident that he was not the target of Julian’s wrath, he would handle everything smoothly.

Elaine sat when Julian nodded her towards a seat. She was texting furiously, probably with her team. He let her do it. She was even more competent than George. Julian paid her a fortune with some staggeringly generous benefits, and she returned every penny on that investment in spades.

“HR has been after me to take a vacation for more than a year,” he said, calmer now that George was off on his business, and the wheels were already turning to solve the issue cleanly. “And I’ve never done a personal interview beyond a few think-pieces for the more educational magazines. I think it’s time that changed.”

“Are we addressing the rumors?” Elaine asked professionally, still texting, although she stopped to give him her full attention. “Beyond George’s work and buying the tabloid, I mean. Also, what are we doing with Inner-City?”

“Rebrand it into an arts-and-charity focus. Feature new and upcoming artists. And no, we’re not addressing the rumors,” Julian said. This was what he was good at. This fast-paced business world was what he had been raised for. He didn’t often throw his money around, but that just meant he had more of it to throw. “We’re doing a piece on Cami and I, and specifically on our relationship. Sanderson, you and I are running one before I take Cami on vacation. We’re going to focus on our long friendship. I’ll have my stylist work with you.”

Sanderson winced, but he understood that everything Julian was doing now was damage control. While Sanderson might refuse to work with anyone else most of the time, he and Julian had been friends for a long time. This wasn’t about either of them. It was about protecting Cami.

“Tell me when and where. Can I wear my usual suit?”

“No, but my stylist will work with you on cut and fabric.”

Sanderson winced again, but gave in with gritted teeth. Julian shared a nod with him. They would do anything for their girl. She might be Julian’s girlfriend, but she had been Sanderson’s best friend for longer.

“About the vacation,” Elaine asked tentatively, finished texting for the moment, although she would start again as soon as Julian finished giving her marching orders. “Where, when, and for how long. I assume we’re doing the couple interview somewhere romantic?”

“I’m thinking Vienna or Paris,” Julian said, mind whirling. Paris was a good choice. Cami had never been, but spoke dreamily about the performing arts scene. Better yet, it was far enough away to give them a hazy lens of distance from the city. “Two weeks. Maybe three. Reach out to Cami’s school. Make sure they understand why she is going away for a while, and that there will be no consequences for her absence. They’ve dealt with high-profile students and claim to have a strict anti-harassment policy. It’s time for them to prove it.”

“I’ll arrange anything. The company has a penthouse in Paris. Will that do?”

“Yes. Arrange it. I’ll manage my own calendar arrangements and entertainment while we’re there.”

Well, he would have his assistant do it, but Worthington was an expert at managing his schedule and would get his own Paris visit out of it, settled comfortably in a all-expenses-paid hotel nearby with every amenity. Yes, it would be a work trip for him, but Julian wouldn’t need him much while they were there.

His employees were loyal because he treated them well and paid them a fortune. It worked out.

When Elaine was done texting again, he thought over everything and nodded once, before he stood. She rose to her feet and he offered her a nod.

“You know what to do. If I thought you needed managing, I wouldn’t have hired you,” he told her, as close to friends with her as he could be with an employee. “Keep me updated.”

“Yes Sir,” she said, with a smile that was almost as vicious as George’s. “Don’t worry, Sir. We’ll rain fire. You have a good vacation with Miss Mills. I’ll arrange the interview in Paris, we’ll go live as soon as it’s ready, and everything will be settled by the time you’re back.”

“Good. Go.”

She went. Julian waited until the door closed again before he looked over at Sanderson.

“We film our interview in two days,” he said, and allowed some of his own emotion to show. He hated that Cami was under fire, just because of her association with him. Sanderson was weird. Nobody took suggestions of romance seriously with him. Julian, however, was rich, seemed normal, and was under thirty. He was a prize half the city wanted to claim, and his name always made news. “It will go live while Cami and I are in Paris. The interview with her and me will go live shortly before we return.”

Sanderson pondered that. If it was for anyone else, he would have refused, but for Cami, he would make it work, even if it meant uncomfortable clothes and an interview, which he was historically terrible at.

“I’ll figure it out. Worthington can get me down to the stylist,” he decided and fiddled with his sleeves. “You should go to Cami and tell her all this. She’s… she doesn’t need me. She needs you.”

“I know,” Julian allowed himself the smallest smile to reassure his friend, and stood. His coat was handy, and everything he had to finish for today could be managed by someone else for the moment. “Come on. Everyone has their marching orders. “Don’t worry, Sanderson. I’ll settle this. Anyone who thinks Cami is a safe target is about to get a violent lesson about why I rule a fortune 500 company at twenty-five.”

+++

Ballet Heels:

Cut a Dance Floor

Shuriken Toaster

Agreement in Paper 

Rivals and Friends

Arm in Arm  (Subscriber Only!)

Secret Steps

Dance the Steps  (Subscriber Only!)

Along a Logging Road

Dapper Diamond

Festival Festival (Subscriber Only!)

Takes Two

Society Splash (Subscriber Only!)

Pas de Trois

Introduction Leap

Plotters Plotting

More Bite than Bark (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[adaginy]

Asteroids and Politics (P. 1)

This is something I wrote some years back (in the Before Times, if you couldn't tell from the massive governmental coordination...). It's written as one story, one long chapter, but I don't wanna throw 3600 words at tumblr all at once. tw american politics and tw brief lynching mention in this first half.

Now, let me preface this by saying I’m fairly centrist: Although every sensible person knows the Strike was a Bad Thing, I can admit that it did technically solve the problem for the short term and give us the time to get things fixed. And it gave us the motivation to get the Strikers out of office, plow their political machine under, and salt the earth so it wouldn’t grow back -- that hadn’t been what the Strikers were trying to do, of course, but when people wonder or write about what would have happened if the Strike had been stopped, the would-be-Strikers usually remain in power, ruining things over a longer term like someone slowly boiling a proverbial frog.

Scientists had been worried about global warming since the 1970s, other than a few nutters going on about global cooling, discredited nutters I wouldn’t even know about if my grandfather didn’t always try to use them as evidence it was a hoax and scientists didn’t know anything. In the 2000s or so, they started calling it global climate change in an effort to get people to understand that a series of bad winters did not mean there was nothing to worry about and in fact meant the scientists had been right.

There had always been a faction of people who didn’t believe it, or said they didn’t, just like there were still people who thought the earth is flat or in the center of the universe, except those people didn’t normally end up in elected office. There was no money in saying the earth is flat. There was plenty of money in saying everything was fine and we didn’t need to implement carbon caps or anything like that. 

Eventually it got a little too toasty to deny that something was up. Politicians were fine cutting funding for NASA when they said satellites were reporting higher temperatures, but when the military-industrial complex they loved so much started reporting it and planning on higher sea levels, well, they couldn’t cut that. Anyone who cut defense spending hated their country and was probably a secret communist, or so the Strikers had implied in the last several decades of campaign advertisements. So, they begrudgingly agreed it was happening, though they still refused to believe it had anything to do with fossil fuels and cow farts. Droughts were usually blamed on loose women and gay people and atheists, despite a notable absence of any of them in the upper atmosphere. 

And they took a majority of seats in the government. God, I still can’t believe that. The presidency, the two houses Congress had at the time. Appointed cabinet positions. All of it. God. Who was worst in US politics before that? Was it Hoover for the First Great Depression and a Bush for the Second? And a bunch of early presidents who used to be on U.S. money had shit all over the Native Americans. We learned about the presidents in school, but it’s been a long time and of course the Strike is so much fresher in our memories. I just wonder if voting for them ever became the embarrassment voting for the Strike government had been.

So, by the time it became Very Evident that we needed to Do Something Now, it was too late anyway. We needed to have Done Something Decades Ago. And the scientists who had wanted carbon caps and so on, to be fair, did not have any new suggestions except harsher caps followed by enduring the next few centuries and hoping for it to balance back out. And we know now that the post-Strike economy flourished in a rush to make the best solar panels, the best wind farms, the best de-acidification plants, and so on, but the Strikers argued the economy would collapse from “government interference” if we followed the scientists’ advice. There were also vague allegations from the Strikers that the scientists were a part of some conspiracy, but the Strikers had been saying that since the 1980s or so and had never articulated what the endgame of this conspiracy might be. The scientists said the Strikers were in a league with oil companies, which actually was true, despite the Strikers telling their followers that that was a hokey conspiracy theory in itself.

The Strikers were also in a league with much of the military-industrial complex, which came into play when they planned the Strike itself. “They” the Strikers and “they” the MIC, both. 

This is all what we found out after the Strike, when the politicians were still proud of themselves, before it all went bad. They had found the answer, they said. They’d run it past scientists, they’d said, and the greatest minds in engineering, too. And the answer was on its way. Math had been done, rockets had been launched, and a small asteroid was being pushed toward Earth and, after months of secret work, would crash into the Sahara in a week to send up a cloud of dust that would cloak the world from the sun in order to lower global temperatures. 

None of those scientists or engineers step forward these days, which is easy to understand after a few likely suspects got lynched. Not a bright moment in the origins of the new government, but the lynch mob participants were arrested, and when prisons were reformed they were put through a battery of tests to weed the real sociopaths out from the people who regretted their actions instead of regretting being caught.

As for the Strike, of course there was an outcry, most notably from the several independent countries -- most countries were independent back then -- that made up the Sahara. It wasn’t unoccupied, they shouted. It wasn’t unoccupied and it didn’t belong to the US to be making that decision. The whole world backed them, condemning the Striker’s hubris.

The Strikers proposed moving it to the Australian Outback, which didn’t win them any friends in also-independent Australia. (Technically Australia wasn’t wholly independent, but the United Kingdom it was weakly tethered to was not part of the US.) People lived there too, and also any errors in math would make for millions of additional casualties as the entire country was obliterated. Additionally much of the country’s Aboriginal history and population are there, which is cited now as a reason it couldn’t have been there, even if Australia didn’t cite it much then. 

It couldn’t be the Atlantic, either, as striking water wouldn’t cause the same effects as striking land. Arguably that was the best selling point for hitting the Atlantic, but the Strikers didn’t want to look stupid by admitting they were wrong, I suppose. My grandmother -- no connection to the global-cooling grandfather -- answered “Vietnam, Iraq, Strike” before slamming the door in the face of Striker canvassers who’d come around trying to quiet restive neighborhoods before the full revolt.

Antarctica drew the short straw. Researchers were evacuated with all the ice cores and samples they could carry. Penguins were gathered by the thousands, as many as could be caught. Some were distributed to every zoo and aquarium and even pet store that could house them. Most were deposited in the Arctic and wished good luck, with vague plans suggested to re-capture them and send them home after the dust had settled, literally and figuratively. That effort was the first sprout of the new government, I think: dozens of countries banding together to cooperate for what had to be done, to share and share alike in all the best plans and equipment to save a little piece of the world.

While we waited for the Strike, we lambasted the government. All the backroom dealings were made public. The secret funding bills, written by big players in the MIC, passed as confidential Homeland Security measures. The plans being parceled out to contractors and subcontractors so no-one had enough of the big picture to blow the whistle.The oil companies funding the research (with their bankrolled scientists), hoarding the receipts for tax time. There was an uproar. How had this been done without citizen oversight? How had the oil companies and MIC gotten so powerful as to steer a government into attacking its own planet? It wasn’t only in the US, either. Other countries were aghast at us and cleaned house in their own governments, in democracies at least, just to be sure.

(Part 2)

[captain-hawks]

Hello! I'm a new follower but I'm already devouring your works (and trying hard not to spam haha). I love your spicy sleepover games, it's such a fun theme! For the threesome weekend, can I request Oikawa and Atsumu? Thank you!!

(hihi welcome<3! thank you so much!)

friendly competition

atsumu miya x f!reader x tooru oikawa

c: 18+, competitive idiots, 2 ex boyfriends under one roof, squirting competition, fingering (double fingering penetration?), [implied unprotected p in v, creampies, cum eating]

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — THREESOME EDITION!

“Just cause ya think you’re a god on the court doesn’t mean ya know how to make a girl squirt, dumbass.”

“I’m shocked any girls even let you get that close to them with that shitty dye job, Miya.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve fu—”

“Neither of you are getting any tonight if you don’t grow up.”

Atsumu and Tooru’s mouths both snap shut at the same time, and they have the decency to at least look somewhat apologetic as they glance down at you 

It’s certainly not how you originally planned on seeing tonight pan out, lying in your bed between both of your ex-boyfriends who you weren’t even sure really knew each other beyond a mild acquaintance in the world of professional volleyball—but clearly they despise one another. 

“Is being a conceited dickhead a prerequisite to being a pretty setter?” you ask sweetly, glancing between the two of them.

Atsumu opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something, but Tooru punches him in the forearm, quicker to take a hint. 

You dated Atsumu for a few years in college—you lived together in a shitty, one-bedroom apartment—and your intense, year-long fling with Tooru came a couple years after that. Neither relationship ended up working out, but you’ve stayed friends with both of them, passively keeping up with their volleyball careers and texting them every so often to razz them over bad serves and embarrassing paparazzi photos. 

On your way home from work this evening, you’d received simultaneous texts from Atsumu and Tooru, which was an odd coincidence in and of itself. But the real kicker was finding out that both of them were staying at the same hotel for a volleyball conference—a hotel which had closed for emergency repairs an hour earlier due to a partial floor collapse. And because neither of them could find last minute accommodations, they both asked if they could crash on your couch.

Without thinking too much of it, you said yes to both, figuring it wouldn’t be an issue. 

Spoiler alert: it was, indeed, a fucking issue.

Given your lack of a spare futon and their delicate sensibilities, you had suggested that because you’re all adults, one of them could sleep in your bed with you. The mattress is certainly large enough, after all.

Thinking back, you’re really not sure what possessed you to say it, given that they’re both the kind of people that will take their competitive nature to the grave. The argument had unfolded over an array of takeout boxes spread across your coffee table, nearly resulting in several chopsticks to the eye when they both tried presenting a case for who deserved to sleep in your bed.

While neither seemed to be under the assumption that sleeping in your bed meant you’d be fucking, the conversation grew cruder by the minute regardless, Atsumu nearly on the verge of whipping out his dick and a ruler just to prove a point.

You could blame it on the lack of compatible matches you’ve found across dating apps lately, or your vibrator that finally gave up and kicked the bucket last week. 

But deep down, you knew the real reason for the tide of heat stirring in your gut—the fact that the two men seated on either side of your couch were the two best sexual partners you’d ever had in your life.

And that they were both also the only two people that you could fathom would be down for the ridiculous, hormone-fuelled idea brewing in your head—

Competing for the bed.

Sexually.

You’d struggled to find quantifiable parameters to judge them both on, going back and forth for nearly an hour until you threw your hands in the air, exasperated, and blurted out, “Well, nobody’s ever made me squirt.”

–

“So remember, when it’s your turn, you can do whatever you want to me—within reason—to try and make me squirt. When your time is up, you have to stop and switch. You’ll go back and forth until one of you wins, and winner takes the bed.”

Atsumu and Tooru both nod.

“How are we deciding who gets to start?” Tooru asks.

Six tied rounds of rock-paper-scissors later, Atsumu’s seething as he points a figure inches away from Tooru’s face and barks out, “You fuckin’ cheated.”

Tooru shrugs, offering him a wink before shoving him halfway off of the bed and climbing on top of you.

It’s odd how it doesn’t feel strange at all, staring up into Tooru’s soft brown eyes as he gazes down at you, your eyes fluttering shut as he cups the side of your face and strokes a thumb over your cheek. 

Despite the years between now and the last time you found yourselves in this compromising position, it feels like no time has passed at all as he murmurs against your lips, “Hi sweetheart,” in the ghost of a kiss.

Something hot and insistent yawns awake inside of you, your lips parting slightly as his mouth scrapes over yours, your empty fingers twitching slightly from where they’re palm-up beside your head. You know it’s muscle memory—the way his hand slides up your wrist, fingers intertwining with yours as he presses down.

He takes your other hand and does the same, sliding both so that they’re pinned to the mattress above your head, his hips pressed against yours while he brazenly licks his way into your mouth just the way he knows you like it. 

“You taste like honey,” he murmurs, a trail of spit hanging between your lips as he pulls away slightly before taking your bottom one between his teeth.

It was always a little difficult to breathe around Tooru, all that vibrant, fiery, addictive space he took up in your heart. 

“Alright, time’s up, get the fuck up,” Atsumu grumbles, tugging at the collar of Tooru’s t-shirt. 

Tooru releases you, holding up his hands and shooting you a smirk before sliding down to the end of the bed. 

When Atsumu gets on top of you, it’s different—the feeling that floods your veins. It’s a soft, bright, all-consuming warmth, memories of late nights buried under the sheets and quiet, lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed with him. It’s still blistering, the edges of this heady attraction you don’t think you’ll ever be able to shake, but it’s carefully shaped by the tender afterglow of familiarity.

“Hey baby,” he grins, your heart somersaulting in your chest as he presses a slow, gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And then your nose.

And then your forehead.

It makes you ache, the way he never forgot this silly little game of teasing, delayed gratification. The way it became a ritual, your fond huffs of frustration as the path of his kiss deviated far beyond the reach of your mouth—from your shoulders, to your tummy, to your ticklish ankles.

There’s a pleased sound that rumbles in his throat as you unconsciously thread your fingers into his hair, just like you always used to, tugging his mouth against yours. His hands cradle your face, his lips a searing band that sets your pulse alight and thrumming wildly in your chest. 

“I kissed better than that in high school, next,” Tooru sighs, unceremoniously tugging at the back of Atsumu’s mussed blonde locks.

He glares, squeezing your left hip once before rolling off of you.

“I’m surprised neither of you is rushing into this,” you observe as Tooru takes Atsumu’s place, trailing his finger along the thin strap of your sundress.

Tooru leans in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your sternum. His other hand wraps around your waist, and he chuckles quietly under his breath as your body arches upward into the sensation of his tongue caressing the place where the plunging neckline of the dress meets the swell of your breasts.

“Well it’s not going to work if you’re not turned on,” he murmurs, hand coming up to cup one of your breasts

He uses his thumb to drag down the material just enough to expose your peaked nipple, dragging his tongue in circles over the pert bud until you’re biting your lip to hold back the keening noise in your throat.

“I miss the pretty sounds you used to make for me,” he sighs, tugging down your dress further to let your tits spill out. “And these, I really miss these.”

He leans in, closing his mouth over one, noisily sucking and lapping at your tit as you let out a loud, trembling moan. 

“Tooru.”

“Switch!” Atsumu barks out. 

There’s a looking glimmering in Atsumu’s eyes—that determined, one-track focus he gets on the court before a serve. But it’s scalded with the simmering edge of the darkness blown out in his pupils that leaves you all too aware of the rapidly pooling arousal in your panties.

Seemingly of the same mind, Atsumu runs his tongue along his lower lip, mouth curving upward as he slowly pushes up the skirt of your dress until the black lace is on display. Spreading your legs, he settles between your thighs, holding your gaze as he pointedly drags a finger over your clothed cunt.

You know he’s not commenting on how wet you are because he knows Tooru will take all the credit. 

Instead, he leans in, lips lingering against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “We both know how wet I can make you.”

Unbothered by the barrier of your panties, Atsumu begins to massage your cunt from the outside, carefully watching the way the rising and falling of your chest accelerates with each pointed stroke of his thumb across your swollen clit. 

And then he pushes your legs open a little wider, clearly having not forgotten the way you love to be spread open, and you have to press your face sideways into the pillow to muffle your brazen, needy moan when he starts to finger you through your panties. As badly as you want to feel the bare stretch of his fingers inside of you, there’s something about the way the sticky, wet lace drags against your slick, tight walls that has your legs trembling, a fresh gush of arousal leaking out of you.

“Fuck,” he exhales, fingers curling around your hip as he watches you rock your hips into his touch, trying to take him deeper despite the way your panties are limiting his movement. 

“My turn,” Tooru cuts in, and you nearly groan in frustration as the pleasure simmering between your legs vanishes instantly at the loss of Atsumu’s touch.

Tooru spots the furrow in your brows and makes quick work of your panties, slipping them off and tossing them aside before coming to lay beside you. On your other side, you can feel Atsumu settle down into the same position.

“Hands off, Miya,” Tooru snaps.

“I just thought we were all getting comfortable,” Atsumu sighs dramatically, curling his hands around the pillow like a portrait of innocence.

Tooru rolls his eyes before leaning in close to kiss your neck, blazing a hot, damp trail of plush lips and sharp teeth as his deft fingers slide down the slope of your abdomen to rest atop your slick mound.

Having closed your legs slightly, you spread them wider again, and he takes your cue to slip one long digit into your wet cunt. You moan, your hips lifting up off of the bed to push him deeper inside of you, and he lets out a rough exhale, “Fuck, she wants it so bad.”

Atsumu’s breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he replies, “So fuckin’ bad.”

Tooru groans as you continue to try to fuck yourself on the single finger he’s plunging in and out of you, eyes going from your dripping wet pussy to the steady shaking of your tits.

“Give her another one,” Atsumu breathes out, sitting up a bit to watch. 

You’re not sure when the fuck this became a collaborative effort, but you’re not complaining. 

Tooru’s quiet for a beat before he replies, “Help me.”

There’s no hesitation in the way Atsumu’s hand snakes down, his finger sliding into your cunt right beside Tooru’s, and you let out a broken moan at the electrifying pleasure that pulses through your body at this—at being fingered by both of your ex-boyfriends at the same time. 

Atsumu scoots closer, his front flush against your side, and you can feel the thick outline of his hard cock through his sweatpants. (Those stupid gray sweatpants you know he wore on purpose.)

Turning to him, you smirk, though it’s difficult when your face continues to contort in pleasure as they both pump their fingers in and out of your slick entrance. “I’m surprised you’ve kept it in your pants this long.”

Atsumu laughs, and the sound is low and rough as he leans in and murmurs against your lips. “I’m so goddamn hard.”

He kisses you, and it’s so, so messy, spit coating your lips as he wraps his tongue around yours, the press of his mouth growing rougher as your moans get more desperate.

“Me too,” Tooru exhales, his hands grasping your chin to pull your mouth to his instead.

One of them begins to stroke your clit with their thumb, and you gasp, drunk on the pulsating maelstrom of pleasure building up inside of you at a frantic, intoxicating speed. 

And then, between one breath and the next, suddenly Atsumu’s mouth is right up against Tooru’s, and they’re both kissing you at once while they continue to stuff their fingers into your cunt. It’s so filthy, the spit-soaked way your mouths all slot together, the way both of their tongues wrap around yours as they curl their fingers and massage that soft, spongy spot on your inner walls.

When your climax hits, you’re not prepared for the intense, all-consuming downpour of blazing hot pleasure that floods your body, every thought in your head rendered useless beyond the way you nearly sob as you shout both of their names one after the other. Clear liquid squirts out of your cunt, spraying everywhere and soaking the sheets.

As you come down from your orgasm, the three of you lie there in silence for a few moments before Atsumu asks, “...do we need a tie breaker?”

Glancing over at him, you huff out a laugh. “No, because you’re both sleeping in here tonight.”

–

They bicker over it, just a little.

A few choice words tossed over the brushing of teeth and the shuffling of pillows.

But it’s all a moot point later when Atsumu’s groaning about how it’s the “hottest fucking sex he’s ever had” while he’s roughly fucking Tooru’s cum back inside of you.

(And he doesn’t even complain about semantics when you squirt one more time for Tooru while he’s eating the filthy mixture of their cum right out of your cunt after.)

[lunarmaden]

heya ✌️ i'm tav / fable, i'm 23 years old, my timezone is est, i've been in the rpc for ~10 years, and you could pour soup in my lap and i'd probably apologize to you. if the way these are worded makes me sound a little harsh, it isn't meant to come off that way!! i've just been in the rpc for too long to be vague or lenient. that said, a few rapid-fire rules before we get into the lengthier ones that actually need explaining:

— don't follow me if you're any sort of phobic towards any group of people. — mun =/= muse, i don't condone everything my muses do, you get the drill. — vagueposting / guiltposting is an instant block from me. it's not cute. we're all adults here, let's communicate and act like it. — don't rush me for replies, period. rushing me for a thread at all will result in me flat out dropping it.

[ 1 ] for blogs that i can’t see myself interacting with, i will soft block you to keep my followers clean. personal blogs will be hard blocked immediately unless a sideblog is attached to it and i can easily see that your personal blog is a hub. note that it will take me a little while sometimes to decide if i want to follow back. give me a few days at a minimum. do not unfollow and follow again and again to get my attention. i will just hard block you and call it a day.

[ 2 ] i'm neutral on callouts. if i see them and think the proof provided in it is actually valid, then i'll reblog it under my psa tag and leave it at that, no further discussion. it will not go under "drama tw" or anything of the sort, because if it's serious enough, it isn't petty drama. it's a genuine warning passed to other members of the community so they can make their own opinions about. that said, i also believe people can change. if there is proof of that, then i see no reason to hold past mistakes over someone's head.

[ 3 ] i will only write with 18+ muns. if you follow me and are a minor or your age is not listed clearly on your blog, i will soft block you immediately. do not lie to me about your age, you will be hard blocked if i find out.

on a similar but less serious note, i also don't follow if i can't immediately see an alias. just...kinda wanna know who i'm following, is all.

[ 4 ] i get that plotting is kinda important for some people!! however, rarely will i ever fully plot a thread, and i heavily prefer using memes to interact. now, plotting for the general vibe of the thread and dynamic between characters? absolutely!! but frankly, if i relied on completely plotting threads, i'd kill my creativity and get even less done than i already do. i'm here for a fun time, not a stressful and / or long time, so please be aware.

[ 5 ] speaking of relying on memes, send me several at a time! you're probably more likely to get a response if you give me variety to work with. if i get a meme i don't think i can work with, i'll probably send several back to you to make up for it. just so things don't feel lopsided or something.

[ 6 ] i am 23 and valynn is an adult ( even though elven ages are... a little weird ), so nsfw content is likely to show up here in some capacity. when it does, it'll be tagged as "nsfw //" ( or "suggestive //" if it's only implied ). however, i'm likely only going to write those topics with people i'm close to.

[ 7 ] anon hate is cringe, so if you send it, it won't get a response from me unless it's to make fun of you. at this point i expect most of us to know not to answer it seriously otherwise the sender is just being encouraged, so if i keep seeing it being answered / talked about on the dash ( unless it's being poked fun at ), i'm probably just going to soft block for my sake because. y'know, you didn't wanna get the negativity, i don't wanna see that negativity, etcetera.

on that note, untagged negativity will also lead to me unfollowing. untagged posts in general will lead to me unfollowing if it's a frequent thing, honestly.

[ 8 ] with how difficult tumblr has made it as of late to properly source things, i have become significantly more lenient when it comes to people reblogging memes and musings from me, as long as it isn't like several posts in a row. that said, i expect this understanding to be mutual. i'll always try to reblog from the source if i can, but if not, it'll just have to come from whoever slapped it on the dash.

[ 9 ] if you need something tagged, tell me! i’ll do my best to remember to tag what i need to, but please remind me if i happen to forget. the system i use is just "trigger //". now, if you use fancy tags for nsfw posts or posts that otherwise need a trigger warning and refuse to adjust if confronted about it, that's getting a hard block. it isn't difficult to be respectful of what people need tagged. the refusal to do so for your aesthetic is kinda fucked.

as for what i need tagged, all i ask is that visuals of sunflowers are tagged appropriately. i would also appreciate detailed mentions of terminal illness being tagged, specifically cancer, but that's more of a squick than a trigger, so that one is less of a problem.

[ 10 ] obligatory "let's just have fun" rule here. we're all on this hellsite to write our silly little guys, it really isn't that serious. just be decent, and we'll be chill!!