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genericpuff · 2 months

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Webtoons Is Making Moves - So Should You.

We all saw it coming ages ago and now it's finally here. There's no more beating around the bush or doubting if anyone is "reading into it too much", Webtoons' use of AI in its more recent webtoons is not an accident, not an oversight, but by design, it always has been. And I guaran-fucking-tee you that the work that already exists on the platform won't be safe from Webtoons' upcoming AI integration through scraping and data mining. Sure, they can say they're not gonna replace human creators, but that doesn't change the fact that AI tools, in their current form, can't feasibly exist without stealing from pre-existing content.

Plus, as someone who's tested their AI coloring tools specifically... they're a long, LONG way away from actually being useful. Like, good luck using them for any comic style that isn't Korean manwha featuring predominantly white characters with small heads and comically long legs. And if they do manage to get their AI tools to incorporate more art styles and wider ranges of character identities... again, what do you think it's been trained on?

Also, as an added bit that I found very funny:

Um, I'm sorry, what fucking year is it? Because platforms like WT and Tapas have both been saying this for years but we're obviously seeing them backpedal on that now with the implementation of in-house publishing programs like Unscrolled which have reinvented the wheel of taking digital webtoons and going gasp physical! It's almost like the platform has learned that there's no sustainable profit to be had in digital comics alone without the help of supplementary streams of income and is now trying to act like they've invented physical book publishing!

"The future of comic publishing, including manga, will be digital"??? My brother in christ, Shonen Jump has been exclusively digital since 2012! What rock have the WT's staff been living under that they're trying to sell digital comics as the "future" to North Americans as if we haven't already been living in that future for over ten years now?? We've had an entire generation of children raised on that same digital media since then! This isn't the selling point you think it is LMAO If anything, the digital media market here in NA is dying thanks to the enshittification of digital content platorms like Netflix, Disney+, and mainstream social media platforms! That "future" is not only already both the past and present, but is swiftly on its way out! Pack it up and go home, you missed the bus!

Literally so much of WT's IPO pitch is just a deadass grift full of corporate buzzwords and empty promises. They're trying so hard to convince people that their business model is infinitely profitable... but if it were, why do they need the public's money? And where are all those profits for the creators who are being exploited day after day to fill their platform with content? Why are so many creators still struggling to pay their bills if the company has this much potential for profit?

Ultimately even their promised AI tools don't ensure profit, they ensure cutting expenses. The extra money they hope to make isn't gonna come from their content generating income, it's gonna come from normal people forking over their money in the hopes that it'll be turned around, and from Webtoons cheapening the medium even further until it's nothing but conveyer belt gruel. Sure, "making more than you spend" is the base definition of "profit", but can we really call it that when it's through the means of gutting features, retiring support programs, letting go editing staff, and limiting resources for their own hired freelancers who are the only reason they even have content to begin with? That's not sustainable profit or growth, that's fighting the tide which can and will carry them away at any moment.

I'm low key calling it now, a year or two from today we're gonna be seeing massive lawsuits and calls to action from the people who invested their money into WT and subsequently lost it into the black hole that is WT's "business model". This is a company that's been operating in the red for years, what about becoming an IPO is gonna make them "profitable"? Let alone profitable enough to pay back their investors in the spades they're expecting? The platform and its app are already shit and they're about to become even worse, we are literally watching this company circle the drain in the modern day's ever-ongoing race to the bottom, enshittification in motion, but they're trying to convince us all the same that they're "innovating".

Webtoons doesn't want to invest in its creators. We as creators need to stop investing in them.

#fuck webtoons #who wants to bet that WT will either start gatekeeping its creator features behind paywalls #or start selling your creator data - including your image assets that you submit to the site - to make their AI integrations “profitable”#call me crazy but this is 2024 #webtoon critical #this also low key proves my theories that WT was simply outsourcing NA creators for pennies #all so they could build their market and then flood it with their own home turf content #and shove out the NA creators whose backs and labor and blood they built that market on

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bioethicists · 2 years

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hm i really hope that someone has said this better than me but the betterhelp ads (specifically the video ones, as the podcast ones tend to be less scripted) are such poignant examples of alienation + the role of 'go to therapy' in perpetuating that alienation. keep in mind that, if you personally found a therapist who is genuinely healing for you + that therapist happens to be through betterhelp- i'm genuinely happy for you + that experience does not invalidate anything i have to say below! (but jsyk they're trying to sell your shit to facebook lol)

starting strong w/ the fact that betterhelp is essentially the uber of therapy (aka using an independent contractor model which is harmful + predatory towards its providers), rushing in to fill the market on largely uninsured and/or uninformed ppl who want the ease of a concierge system without the cost + lacks a meaningful supervision system (which led to one gay man being recommended a conversion therapist when he asked for someone to help with his identity struggles, btw!). smarter people than me have written about the ways in which these trendy independent contractor apps strip people of labor rights, fail to provide adequate wages, + in the case of healthcare apps, increase digital surveillance + decrease accountability demanded from providers while exploiting the failure of the US healthcare system in order to churn a profit w/o actually creating sustainable, equitable change.

the betterhelp video ads all circle around a theme- a millennial starts talking about some form of emotional pain or worry, usually relatively standard existential worries ("do you ever think nothing has meaning?") or life worries ("i hate my job" "i think i'm gay"). their friends or the ppl around them respond blankly + coldly, looking at them like they're crazy. while i understand these ads are supposed to be tongue in cheek, they demonstrate the crushing reality of our alienation from one another- the solution to your friends responding to your evident pain with confusion + apathy is to confine that pain to a therapy session! nobody wants to hear your struggles or understands them- come generate profits for us by facetiming a newly graduated 24 year old who can barely make rent!

this theme fits well with what already put me off about betterhelp's marketing- their goal has never been to provide access to therapy for those who want it or to altruistically fill in some healthcare gap. their goal, bolstered by the rise in emotional suffering following, you know, the worldwide pandemic, is to generate + increase demand for therapy as a commodity. their earlier podcast ads focused on convincing others that therapy "isn't just for crazy ppl" + "everyone should be in therapy". regardless of if you personally agree with that statement, it should be evident that this is a blatant marketing tactic in which therapy is a commodity to be peddled, not an offer of support or healing. in fact, they're probably actively shying away from treating "crazy people", bcuz their flimsy support systems could not possibly handle an influx of ppl regularly in crisis or experiencing breaks with a common reality. their target audience is your average millennial under late capitalism + post COVID - anxious, lonely, vaguely depressed, unhappy with their jobs, worried + hopeless about their futures.

i'm not here to tell anyone not to get therapy. that's a personal decision + is none of my fucking business. it's about questioning the total alienation we feel from one another, such that pouring our heart our unexpectedly to a friend + being met with a blank stare is framed as "haha you need therapy" + not "it's crushing that this is how distant we are from one another". it's about a company noticing that (unfortunately very real) distance + fear of vulnerability + using that to direct our emotions into the confines of a business transaction under abusive labor conditions. it's about a world in which we are not engaging with one another emotionally (despite, or i guess bcuz of: widespread suffering, recent mass death, class warfare/untenable working conditions, increased pressure of fascist politics, generational trauma + abuse, etc etc). commodifying therapy isn't going to make that loneliness go away- it's going to normalize it.

#anti psychiatry #smh i write all these on the toilet then my wife is like charlie it's been a fucking hour

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c-u-c-koo-4-40k · 1 month

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Future Inlaws?

Next in the Severe Miscalculation storyline!

Previous Chapter Here:

Next Chapter Here: coming hopefully soon.

Edit! This Here!

For the madness that started it all click here!

Summary: We see some more of Khopesh's...family for lack of a better term. Another short interlude.

Warning: Swears! Other than that not many Karlsor makes a groaning statement about shoving an icepick in his brain. I guess that counts.

Tags: @kit-williams (Who let me use Anrir so Thank You!) @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan (Who let me use their sweary lad Karlsor, Thank you!)

@bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @passionofthesith @sleepyfan-blog @barn-anon

Scrtch scrtch scrtch scratch. The gentle sounds of a stylis on paper filled the dimly lit chamber with one sole inhabitant.

An ancient a terrifying being, with both wit and knowledge that spanned centuries, millenia even.

The Terran born Nightlord known as Anrir reviewed and continued to bonder over his notations. Some where simple paperwork relating to his position as Apothercary, others were more...personal pursuits.

The Nature of Warp Bonds and Their Affects

The top of the page read. Sprawling throughout the documents were testimonies, graphs, data and hypothesese about the strange phenomenon known as bonding.

Even before Anrir had achieved his own bond he'd been endlessly Fascinated with the concept. In a manner he saw it as the main driving force between All interactions that occurred in this bizarre version of Terra's timeline they'd been sent to.

Without bonds, the more...vicious of their brother cousins would have likely converted at least half the native population into bloody pulp for the Skull Throne.

With them, as well as the lack of resources making sustained conflict untenable, the foundation for the greater alliance was made.

And their Appearance. Anrir could not see it himself, but the Librarians and Psychers he had collaborated with told him they often took the appearance of plants and flora. The exact type varied heavily depending on the relationship in question.

Anrir hypothesized the continuity might be due to their minds visualizing the unseeable. A bizarre form of paradolia that gave form to the formless. He continued to review his latest additions to his notes-

CrrrAsh! "Mother fucker I Swea..."

Thud! "...have to Run faster than tha..."

Until a pair of Very Recognizable voices faded in and out of the background as they ran, interrupted his writing.

Anrir sighed, placing his stylus down....next to a cracked picture frame from the Last Time this happened.

The stomping footsteps became louder again. He turned, briefly calculating the distance in his mind.

Thump thump thump thump Thump!

Anrir casually flexed the unmarred digits of his right hand before-

"If I didn't know any better I'd day you're gettin slower Karlsi-EeK!"

Snatch! One Charmingly Taxing Nightlord scout scruffed in his hold. While more frantic (or perhaps furious) footsteps approached.

Thump,thump,thump,thump,thump,thump,thump!

"Mother fucker I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna fucking kill- Fuck..."

Anrir turned his eyes to his Claw's librarian, Karlsor, who'd stopped a few paces away.

"N-now Anrir, we didn't fuckin break anyth-Hurk!"

Two, two little Charmingly-Taxing-Nightlords scruffed.

"What...have I told you two?" Anrir asked, his voice firm yet controlled. "About Running near my Research?"

"Dont fuckin do it?" "Don't?" They said in unison.

"And...What, were you just doing?" He posed further.

"That," "Yeah, but he fuckin Started it!"

"You left the glasses unattended! You're lucky Ghosk didn't decide to snatch em!"

"They're My Sun goggles and How Fuckin Dare You!"

As the two younger Nightlords started bickering back and forth Anrir took a deep steadying breath and gently, but firmly... Knocked their skulls together.

Clack!

"Owwww!" "Fuckin hell that stings!"

"Now..." Anrir began. "Are we ready to discuss things properly?"

"Yes..." "Fine! fuck..."

"Khopesh...return Karlsor's glasses." Anrir commanded.

"Fine." Khopesh grumbled, more at his fun ending than Actually having to give the shades back.

"Hrmph!" Karlsor snatched them back with a growl, before placing them back on his face.

"And What do we say, when we have done something Wrong?"

"...I am sorry for taking your sun glasses." Khopesh aquiesed reluctantly.

"Hmph! Damn right you're sorry!"

"Karlsor..."

"And I accept your apology." Karlsor added quickly.

"Good." Anrir released the youngsters from their scruffing.

Khopesh rubbed the back of his neck. "You gotta Know you don't even Need them in this part of the base, riiiiight Karlsy?" Khopesh teased, gesturing to the Very dim surroundings which were custom suited to the Nightlords dark adapted eyes.

"Don't fuckin call me that ya whelp! And so fuckin what! They're My Shades and I'll wear them where I damn well please!" Karlsor snarled, before turning to stomp away.

"You're going to run into things again if you do that." Khopesh pointed out.

"The fuck I-WoAhAAH!" CRASH! The impact of the armored Nightlord hitting the wall rattled the room. On the worktable the picture frame once again fell over.

Unluckily as Khopesh predicted, Karlsor indeed did run into something. Or rather tripped. Whether that was do to wearing shades in a dark room or him being too mad to notice his surroundings was up for debate.

The grouchy librarian righted himself, before turning back to Khopesh with a seething look. "Not - one - word."

Khopesh smiled. "Okay. I'll just laugh then! BWAHAHAAHAHAHAHAA!"

"You're a FUCKIN DEAD FUCK I SWEAR!"

"ENOUGH!"

Oh shit. Both the younger Nightlords flinched as they remembered exactly Who they were squabbling near.

"Sorry Anrir." "Sorry." They replied hurriedly quieting their tones. The older Nightlord had his back turned, simply righting the framed photo from where it had fallen.

Thankfully, not Off the desk this time. Anrir took a moment to examine it, as he often did throughout the day.

No New cracks, thankfully. But the large one down the middle...no that truly wouldn't do. He did not Enjoy how it stretched between him and his Kitty.

He'd find a new sheet of plastic or glass. He'd prefer to keep the frame. Cutesy and childish as a lesser man would have considered it with its numeral stickers and pom poms and finger paint, courtesy of his darling participating in one of her daycare charges' crafting activities.

Anrir placed the frame back down with careful reverence, before turning back to his Sons.

"Let us but the matter Behind us, shall we?" He questioned. Though there was no room for debate in his tone. "Onto more Important things. Khopesh, you mentioned an announcement over your vox?"

The mood shifted with the change of subject almost immediately. The long haired Nightlord began bouncing in place, practically vibrating.

"Yes yes yes! I have someone Very special to introduce to all of you And! A new Hunt for us to plan!"

Well now That did intrigue Anrir. Khopesh could be very eager to go on Hunts (some would even say too eager). But far be it from Anrir to stifle something that made his son truly happy And generally made the world a safer place.

"You mention these two things at once...are they related?" Anrir questioned.

"If they are it's not much of a hunt if you Bring the fucker to us, dumbass." Karlsor snubbed a bit. Still a bit grouchy about the glasses...and grouchy in general.

"NO!" Khopesh snarled, barring his full teeth to his battle brother.

Karlsor's frustration was replaced with shock. This display wasn't the most frightening he'd seen, but he was stunned to see it come out of Khopesh, at Him.

Given the stunned silence Khopesh seemed to realize he over reacted. "I mean, No no no no No...well Yes technically." Khopesh corrected quickly. "They are not the one to be hunted! They are the one who was Harmed by the one we are going to be hunting. And they'll be here soon! I Just Know you'll Love Them!" Khopesh went from frantic correction to...cooing like a lovesick Lamenter??

"I see..." Anrir paused. "And...may I assume that this person is...Special to you?"

"Very much so! They are my sweet Lullaby! And we'll be sharing our first meal together tonight!" Khopesh said excitedly, quickly pulling up his vox messages and other saved photos. "I want them to meet all of you and your bonded's eventually! I think they'd fit in very well here. See?"

Khopesh showed off a few picts. One was of his Lullaby riding in horse competition. Another was them helping a young child learn to ride a horse. The picts and videos were a selection Khopesh had found from their mother's business' noosphere media.

Originally he'd obtained them as part of his investigation into Lullaby as a person, when he'd first met them. Now he simply kept his favorites, and to have something to show his Claw for reference.

"Rabbit and them both compete in sports, And they have experience in childcare and teaching from their family business like Kitty!" Khopesh explained. "And they're so sweet I'm sure Claude will find them very calming, once he gets past his usual shyness and then-"

Anrir's focus trailed off, but not for lack of interest! One of his sons had found a partner, And yes he Knew it was a partner; the smell he'd walked on base with, the 'glowing' and 'bouncing' energy he seemed filled with, and the presence of the bruising marks known as 'hickies' were enough to tell him that much.

He apparently Really liked and was looking forward to spending time with them. And Anrir would support Khopesh in this endeavor whole heartedly, bond involved or not. Anrir was many things but he was Not an Absent Parent.

No...it was because something about those photos-

Shwoop!

Khopesh's vox pings and a notification pops up covering the screen.

Lullaby: Hey I've arrived...I think? But I'm not sure where to go. Also I'm not sure they'll just let me in?

"Oh whoops! One moment." Khopesh shoots a vox message back.

Khopesh Thing That goes Prank in the Night: You should be able to enter the main lobby as it is open to the public. Wait for me there please! I want to introduce you to my brothers! I'm so excited for you to meet them.

Lullaby: Oh okay...how many am I meeting?

Khopesh: Just the ones in my claw that are here now. Don't worry they're gonna Love You! ;3

Lullaby: Including the one you made angry enough to chase you?? You suuuuure he'll like me? 🤔🤭

Khopesh smiled as he typed his next reply.

Khopesh: I'm Certain of it. He'll probably like how mouthy and sassy you are!

He stopped but then added...

But he can't have you of course! You're mine.

Lullaby: pfft! You've pissed him off that much huh? Well either way I'm making my way into the main lobby. The building is so Biiiiiig. I'm not used to this kinda space.

A photo came in. Showing Lullaby standing next to one of the Astarte sized chairs near the main entrance. It did indeed dwarf them as an average sized human.

"And saved!" Khopesh trilled, doing exactly that with the new photo.

Khopesh: Excellent! I will see you soon!

Anrir and Karlsor watched on with fascination. Well Karlsor was more still stunned to see this range of behavior from his brother.

Anrir, having his own special someone, was more understanding. But Still something itched at his brain.

"I must go greet them now. I will be back soon!" Khopesh stated, turning quickly to leave.

To his credit he did start by walking normally...until his speed picked up and he Launched himself into scrambling running climb throughout the unique architecture of the Nightlord base area.

Again, specially designed for suit their preference for skulking and climbing.

Karlsor stood their bewildered for a moment, before turning to Anrir. "What the Fuck was that about?"

Anrir simply chuckled. "Ah...young love..." He shook his head fondly before returning to his notes. Best sort and put them away for now, after all he'd be greeting a new face soon, best to look Presentable and make a good first impression.

He said much the same to Karlsor. "I'm assuming he'll be bringing his 'Sweet Lullaby' to meet us soon. Best get ready for that."

Karlsor groaned. Baselines were...well they were Frustrating or deal with! They either Weren't scared or were too scared. Sometimes they'd scream way too loud! And worse sometimes they'd giggle and call him...Bleh. Cute.

And Khopesh had apparently found 'someone special'. "If it turns out he's fuckin found someone Just Like Him I'm gonna stab myself with an Ice Pick!"

"I doubt Khopesh could find someone Exactly like himself dear Karlsor." Anrir assured, his desk now clean. He turned back to the Librarian.

"Though...I Must admit I am curious about his... Lullaby." Anrir muttered to himself.

Why couldn't he shake the feeling he was missing something?

"What got you Fuckin stewing suddenly?" Karlsor asked, noting Anrir's change in demeanor.

...

"...Those photos...did you recognize the Baseline in them?"

"...no?? Did you?"

Anrir turned back to Karlsor, his expression was serious. "I'm Certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that I've Never," he emphasized. "Met them before in my Life."

"So why Do I recognize them?"

Next chapter will be Here: (hopefully soon pray for my sanity)

#c u ckoo anon #oc: khopesh #oc: anrir #oc: karlsor #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience

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petcr3 · 1 year

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something to rely on | chapter one

series masterlist (coming soon!)

summary: despite being separated, bob floyd is there to support his wife and their son after she sustains some injuries in a car accident.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: separation/divorce, reader is frequently referred to by she/her pronouns, is called bob's wife/ex-wife, mrs. floyd, etc. bob and reader have a son, but i have tried to be as inclusive as possible with regards to appearance and the type of family! (meaning, if i've done my job correctly, charlie can have been adopted, not necessarily carried by the reader, etc.) non-graphic reference to a car accident, non-graphic description of injuries. chapter one is set entirely in a hospital. readers parents are present in the story, still married, and have a good relationship with reader because this is fantasy lol

a/n: lads, it's here. some of you have been hearing me blather about this story for fucking ages and chapter one is finally done. i'm proud of it, i think, but if nothing else i simply cannot keep sitting on it, so here it is! very excited for this story's future <3 i hope you love charlie as much as i do lol

It’s a rare occasion that one hears Bob Floyd before seeing him, but you suppose your getting into a car accident is a special enough occasion.

Things feel hazy–– with two broken wrists and a broken leg, you’ve been given quite the painkiller. You’re not sure how long you’ve been awake, exactly, but it can’t have been very long. There’s a digital clock on a small table next to your hospital bed, but your neck is too sore to turn far enough over to see it. A thick wooden door is shut against the buzz of the floor outside: the ringing of phones, the click of computer keys, and the clatter of patients being wheeled to and from scans and tests and specialists.

Even amidst all that, the sound of Bob’s words cuts through. He’s raising his voice, you realize. That’s not like him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the nurse says on the other side of the door, “but outside of visiting hours I can only admit family, and––”

“I am family,” he says, impatient.

“I understand that, but when a patient is separated––”

“Separated,” Bob interrupts, “not divorced. That is my wife and the mother of my child, so will you please let me see her?” It sounds much more like a demand than a question. The nurse sighs, clearly frustrated.

“Let me go speak to her.” She steps out from behind the counter and cuts Bob a severe look. “If she is awake, I’ll let her know you’re here. But given that rest is one of the most crucial things for her right now, I will not be waking her up. You can wait.”

“Thank you,” comes his clipped reply. The nurse approaches your room, only a few steps away from the front desk–– Bob would have just gone straight in, had he known— and when the door creaks open, he can be seen standing over her shoulder–– a respectful distance behind, at least.

“Ma’am, there’s someone here to see you,” she says. You can tell it’s taking everything Bob has not to run to you, but he’s smart enough to know that showing this nurse any more disrespect isn’t wise. “He says he’s your husband,” she continues, “but if you don’t want to see him, I can tell him to leave.”

“No, that’s okay,” you say, “he can come in.” She turns around only to discover Bob right behind her. He squeezes quickly past, murmuring a hurried thank you before practically flying to your bedside. All his frustration quickly dissipates as he leans over you, a deep furrow in his brow. Over his shoulder, you see the nurse shake her head, exasperated, and leave, shutting the door behind her.

“Hey honey,” Bob says, hand lifting to brush across your cheek, as if it’s two years ago and nothing has changed. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m okay, Bobby,” you reply, tired. You surprise yourself, though, using his old nickname like that. Since you two broke up, you’ve only ever called him Bob. “Someone lost control of their car in the rain, apparently. You owe that nurse an apology.”

“And I’ll give her one later. First I need to know that you’re okay.”

“I just said that I’m okay,” you laugh softly. “Bob, I’m fine.” Reluctantly, he nods, leaning back to grab at a chair. He won’t even stand all the way up, refuses to take his eyes off you lest you run off somewhere else to nearly get yourself killed.

“How’s Charlie; is he with your parents?” You nod, heart clenching at the thought of your son, how distressed he must be right now.

“Yeah,” you say, voice getting a little watery. “Yeah, I got to talk to him a little while ago. He wants to come visit after my surgery tomorrow.” Bob’s brow furrows.

“Surgery?”

“Just my left wrist. The right one and the leg only need braces, but,” you sigh, “yeah, the left one took the door pretty hard, so.” He nods.

“How about your head? All okay up there, no bleeding?”

“I have a concussion, but that’s all. They know what they’re doing here, Bob. Don’t worry. I’m gonna be just fine.” He studies you for a moment, then sighs, nodding his head again. “Not so fun being on the other side of it, huh?” you say without thinking. It isn’t meant to be cutting, but blue eyes snap up to your face, a faint expression of shock on Bob’s features.

Still, you have a hard time feeling too guilty. How many times have the roles been reversed? How many times have you held your baby boy to your chest murmuring reassurances that you can’t promise are true? How many times has Bob been gone, unable to tell you he was okay or even alive? Or looked up at you under the harsh white light of a hospital room on base and told you there was nothing to worry about when you both knew that there was?

Bob schools his expression into something a little softer and gives a curt nod. You can’t decide if that was over the line. But that had always been the problem, hadn’t it?

Neither of you had known how easy it would be to push each other over their limits. You’d thought love and a thick skin would be enough to survive the looming fear of losing your husband. Bob had thought it would be easier to outrun the guilt he always felt leaving you behind, the way it weighed on his chest like an anvil. Eventually, your wounds were rubbed raw and his ribs began to crack beneath the pressure.

The times when he was home were supposed to be precious, but they had become tense, uncomfortable. It wasn’t good for either of you, and it certainly wasn’t good for three-year-old Charlie. Splitting up had been the best choice, even though it pained you both to admit it.

Bob had been adamant about a separation rather than a divorce. Ex-spouses of the military were still entitled to some benefits, but for Charlie’s sake and yours he wanted to remain legally married. You’d both agreed that if you met other people and got serious enough, a divorce would be back on the table. It hadn’t been the easiest decision, but now, laying in a hospital bed, you can’t help but feel grateful. And how many people can say their ex husband came rushing to their side in an emergency?

Regret is already creeping up across your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, reaching to touch the back of his hand. Your fingers brush awkwardly against his skin where they protrude from your brace, but you can see the gesture means something to him–– his eyes shine a little sadly when he looks at you. He gives a faint shake of his head.

“S’okay. Me too.”

Despite your best efforts to persuade him otherwise, Bob stays the night in your room, sleeping with his legs slung across a second chair the nurses had been kind enough to provide for him. (He’d apologized to the nurse he spoke to when he arrived, and she’d taken it rather graciously, all things considered. In her place, you’re pretty sure you would have had him thrown out.) You fall asleep fairly easily, exhaustion having taken its toll, but you wake up in the wee hours needing the bathroom. You press the call button, hoping it won’t wake your sleeping companion, but Bob rouses when Jermaine, one of the nurses, comes in. The whole bathroom song and dance is a process you certainly don’t enjoy, but you’ve gotten used to it over the past several hours.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” Jermaine quips, walking to your bedside.

“I keep guzzling water when he’s not looking,” you say, nodding towards a still groggy Bob. Jermaine only laughs and pulls back the covers.

“All right, ready?”

“Yep.” You grimace as he braces his hands beneath your armpits to help lift you up enough to get into your wheelchair. You sigh as Jermaine rolls you to the bathroom and braces an arm around your waist to help you onto the toilet. The door stands open, but you’re too drained to care–– besides, this isn’t anyone’s first rodeo.

You don’t see the way Bob’s eyes widen with worry. How he watches each maneuver carefully, filing it away in the back of his mind. The decision had been made before he walked through the door, really, but seeing you struggle only cements it. He doesn’t say anything as Jermaine helps you back to bed–– only a quiet thank you as the nurse leaves the room. He can talk to you about his plan tomorrow.

A low murmur of voices filters into your consciousness as you wake that morning, your eyes flickering open to see Bob standing with Dr. Alvarado, who will be performing your surgery. She notices you shifting in your bed and comes to your side, Bob following suit on the opposite, returning to his seat.

“Good morning, Mrs. Floyd,” she says warmly, “how are we feeling?” Your mouth is dry and you swallow thickly before responding.

“I’ve been better,” you rasp, wincing at the scrape of your voice. Bob is holding out a cup of water before you even have a moment to think, and you start to reach for it before faltering. In the fog of waking up, you’d almost forgotten.

“I’ve got it,” he says quietly, bringing it to your lips. You drink, far too worn out to protest.

“Your procedure is scheduled for 12:30 this afternoon. It’s about 8:15 right now. That’ll give you some time to rest before pre-op. I’ve also been told you have a special visitor, if you feel up for it.” Your heart lifts, and you can’t help but look expectantly up at Bob.

“Charlie?”

The hopeful lilt of your voice splinters something in his heart. He smiles, tight-lipped but genuine all the same, and nods.

“Uh-huh. I know you said the plan was post surgery, but your mom called saying they were up and ready to go. I figured you’d want to see him.”

“Yeah,” you say, voice high and thin, “yeah I’d like that.” Dr. Alvarado smiles.

“I’ll let them know. They’re all very anxious to see you.” You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. Ordinarily, you try not to let Charlie see you crying. With the separation, you’ve been doing everything you can to be his rock. You remember how scary it was when you were a child to see your parents upset, or worse, hurt. But today, you don’t know if you’ll quite be able to manage it. Gracelessly, you swipe at the tears on your cheeks, but before long, Bob is at the ready again, tissue box extended toward you. You nod your thanks and clasp one in between your fingers. Blotting is much easier.

You’ve just about gotten it together when the door opens again.

“Mommy?” Charlie calls, and you hate how you can hear the frightened tremble of his voice. He makes it a few steps over the door jamb when he sees Bob.

“Daddy!” For a heartbreaking moment, wide eyes dart between the both of you, unsure of where to run.

“Go say hi to Daddy, sweetheart,” you say, heart swelling to see the reunion. Charlie beams and runs directly into Bob’s arms.

“Hey, big man!” he says, scooping Charlie off the ground in a strong embrace. “I missed you so much, little bear.” He presses a big kiss to your son’s cheek and is rewarded with a delighted giggle that has you crying again. Hurriedly, you dab at your eyes once more.

Your parents enter the room behind Charlie, your mother’s smile wavering and your dad’s brow furrowed. The braces make hugs awkward, but your parents’ presence is an enormous comfort.

“Charlie’s been very brave,” your father informs you. “And we’re all very glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you say wetly, wishing you could hold their hands. “I love you guys.”

You cast a glance over to your left, where Bob and Charlie are engaged in conversation, faces close together and voices hushed. Watching Bob parent has always made your heart ache, even now when things have fallen apart. He was meant to be a father, plain and simple. People who don’t know him might expect a Navy man to be gruff, tough on a child, especially a son. But Bob is all gentleness when it comes to your Charlie. He is patient and invested and even though you two aren’t together, it’s difficult to imagine parenting Charlie with anyone else.

You tear your gaze away to talk with your parents, explaining what happened and asking about how Charlie has been coping over the course of the last few hours.

A few feet away, Bob has his son cradled close in his arms.

“I was really scared,” Charlie confides in him, “but I gotta be brave for Momma.” Bob’s heart breaks just a little, and he smooths a hand over Charlie’s hair. Perhaps this instinct to protect is just built into the little boy– knowing you and Bob, that’s a distinct possibility. But Bob can’t help but worry it’s a result of the split.

“You don’t have to be brave for Momma, honey,” he says softly. “That’s our job. Parents get to be strong for their kids, not the other way around. It’s okay to be scared when someone is hurt. And it’s also okay to express that. Especially with me and Mommy. And being strong doesn’t mean you can’t feel your feelings. In fact, being able to feel your feelings is a part of what makes a person strong, because some feelings are really hard.” Charlie listens to his father with rapt attention–– he always has. “But it’s important not to ignore them. Does that make sense?” He nods sagely when Bob is done talking.

Bob can’t help but smile, heart swelling with affection. It’s moments like these when he thinks he could leave it all if it meant getting to spend every second of every day with his baby boy.

“Should we go say hi?” he asks, bouncing Charlie gently against his hip. Charlie nods, his gaze flickering over to you.

Though you’re talking with your parents, you can’t take your eyes off of your son. Call it selfish, but ever since you’d been able to think straight you’ve wanted nothing more than to see him. You’re reaching out for him the second Bob starts towards you, but he gives you a look.

“With your leg?” he asks quietly, even though Charlie is right there in his arms.

“I still got one good one,” you quip,” and I think a hug is gonna help me get better much quicker. Besides, all my problems are below the knee— I’ll be fine.”

Bob has always had trouble saying no to you.

“Be gentle, okay bud?” Charlie nods.

Carefully, he sets Charlie down in your lap, positioning him mostly on your uninjured right leg.

“Hi baby,” you beam, the pain you’re in practically forgotten. “I’m so happy to see you!” Charlie snuggles immediately into your chest, eyes impossibly big when they look up at you. Tucking him under your arm is awkward, but you do it anyway.

“Hi Mommy,” he says quietly, like he’s afraid talking too loudly will hurt you.

“Hi,” you say again, matching his hushed voice, smile wider than it’s been for the duration of your stay. Bob stands slightly off to the side, feeling a little bit like an intruder. Still, he can’t help but watch the way your eyes sparkle when you look at your son. He’s never seen anything like it.

A gentle hand on his shoulder catches his attention, and he turns to see your mother, her expression warm. He counts himself incredibly lucky that your parents don’t hate him. Sometimes he hates himself for what happened, and yet they still treat him like one of their own. The three of them exchange hushed greetings, each thanking one another for taking care of the two of you.

Over in your hospital bed, you’re playing with the ends of Charlie’s hair. He’s been telling you about everything that happened between yesterday afternoon and now, cheerily informing you of how much he cried and how he got to choose what he and your parents had for dinner last night. You drink in every detail with enthusiasm, grateful as ever for his enormous heart and his resilience.

“I was really scared,” he says softly after a moment. You nod.

“I bet. I was scared too.”

“Daddy says it’s okay to be scared.”

“Daddy’s right, baby. It’s more than okay to be scared. It’s important— it’s how our brains keep us safe.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. You know how I’m scared of snakes?” Charlie nods. “Well, not every single snake is dangerous, right? But there are some that are. And because my brain remembers that some snakes are dangerous, I get a little scared when I see them. That fear is my brain telling me to be careful and stay safe.”

“So I was scared because it’d be dangerous if you got hurt?”

“Kind of! It can also be scary to not know what’s happening, right? Because if you don’t know what’s happening, it’s hard to get ready to deal with it. And it can be scary to know that something sad might happen, because it’s hard to feel sad.”

“I don’t like feeling sad,” Charlie says, nodding his understanding.

“Me neither, baby bear. But today I’m not even sad, because you’re here.” Your son’s cheeks turn pink and he hides your face in his chest. Heart swelling with fondness, you cross your arms over his back in an awkward embrace and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Is it okay if I’m a little sad?” he asks, voice muffled by your hospital gown.

“Of course it is, sweetheart. You gotta feel your feelings. And feelings don’t last forever; they change all the time, right?”

“Right.”

Out of sight, Bob swipes a few tears from his eyes. He’s always proud of Charlie, but he’s proud of you, too–– with three limbs freshly out of working order, you would be well within your rights to be out of sorts, but there you sit, still parenting admirably. Beautifully, even. Your father squeezes Bob’s shoulder and he looks up, almost a little startled. Your father smiles and the two men exchange a nod.

Your mother steps over to your bed and pets a hand over Charlie’s hair.

“I think me and Grandpa are gonna go home for a little while, honey,” she says to him before looking at you and resting a hand on your shoulder. “Someone gave us a good scare yesterday and I don’t think either of us slept very well. We’re both a little worn out.” Suddenly, she seems to catch herself. “Unless you want us to stick around and––”

You shake your head and reach out an appreciative hand to cover hers.

“Go get some rest, Ma.” She nods.

“We will. But we’ll be back when you come out of surgery. Bobby told us he’d keep us updated.” Too tired to even think that far ahead, you nod.

“Thanks for looking after Charlie,” you say, tangling your fingertips with hers.

“Well, that’s my pleasure,” she says, pressing a loud kiss to her grandson’s cheek. “And we can figure out next steps, we’ll find someone—“

“Mom,” you say softly, “let's just— can we take things one step at a time for now?” She nods–– the anxiety of it all reads clear on your face.

“You know, you’re right. Let’s get you through surgery first.” You nod, grateful. “We’ll see you soon, then.” Your mother smiles and turns to get her bag. Charlie giggles as his grandfather comes over to playfully jostle his shoulders.

“Be good for your mom and dad, okay kiddo?” Charlie nods eagerly.

“That’s my guy,” your dad says fondly, giving your son a hug before turning his attention to you. “You give ‘em hell in there.”

“What,” you laugh, “in surgery? Dad, it’s just my wrist; I’m gonna be fine.” He shrugs.

“Can’t hurt though, right?” he says lightly, but you can see a glimmer of anxiety in his eyes. He leans down to kiss your cheek and you return the gesture.

“Right,” you affirm, softening. “I love you, Dad. I’m gonna be okay.” Your dad gives a final nod and links arms with your mother as they leave the room.

It’s so easy to forget that to him— to both your parents— you are still a child. Charlie is still so young, it feels impossible that he’ll ever be as old as you are now. Of course, you still marvel at the fact that he’s as big as he is; that he can walk and talk and do math equations and paint pictures. But it’s easier to manage how much he’s grown because you can still bundle him up in your arms and count on one hand how many birthdays he’s had. Maybe if you were having less of an emotional day, you’d be able to imagine what it’ll be like when he’s grown up, but you can feel tears welling up in your eyes again so you push the thought out of your mind.

“Mommy?” Charlie asks, bringing your attention back into the present.

“Mm?”

“Did Grandpa use a bad word because he’s very stressed?” Laughter sputters out of you before you can help it, and Bob raises an amused eyebrow.

“Yeah, baby,” you say, “I don’t think he was thinking very hard about which words he was choosing. He just meant that he wants my surgery to go well, that’s all.”

“It’s like telling someone to give it their all,” Bob explains, coming to sit down at your bedside again.

“It’s what Daddy does when he’s on a deployment,” you offer, curling your arm into something akin to a flexed muscle, “he gives ‘em heck.”

“And that’s what Momma’s body is gonna do when she’s in surgery. It’s gonna do everything it needs to do to keep her safe while she’s asleep.” Charlie looks between you two, worry creeping back into his features at the mention of the surgery.

“Hey,” you murmur, “I’m going to be okay, Charlie-bear. I promise. Sometimes things can go wrong during a surgery, but the likelihood of anything bad happening is very, very low.” Charlie nods, wide-eyed. “So there isn’t anything to worry about sweetheart. But it’s still okay to be scared, right?”

“Right,” comes his hushed reply. Your heart aches not to be able to soothe his anxiety, but you know there’s no sense in trying to talk him out of it–– especially in the wake of what you’ve been trying to teach him. Still, it seems to you that the rules shouldn’t apply to Charlie, with his delicate soul and enormous heart.

Bob lays a comforting hand on your son’s back and his little form immediately relaxes into the touch. The three of you sit in comfortable silence for a little while, but soon the door creaks open and Jermaine enters with a wheelchair.

“Is this Charlie?” he asks brightly.

“It is!” you chirp. The boy in question looks up shyly. “Charlie, this is my friend Jermaine. He’s been helping me since I got to the hospital.”

“Your mom is a tough lady,” Jermaine says warmly, squatting to be closer to Charlie’s eye level. “I promise we’re gonna take very good care of her.” Charlie nods.

“Pinkie promise?” he asks, heartbreakingly earnest. Jermaine smiles.

“You got yourself a deal.” He locks his pinkie with Charlie’s and stands up. “I’ve gotta take Mom for a couple of tests before her procedure, and then we’re gonna take her off to surgery. But you’ll get to see her in a few hours when she wakes up, okay champ?” Charlie holds on to you a little tighter and peers up at his dad, who nods encouragingly.

“Okay.”

“Mom is very lucky to have people that care about her so much,” Jermaine says. “You should be proud.” A little divot of determination forms between Charlie’s brows and he nods. Bob starts to stand and Charlie clambers around to give you one last hug.

“I love you Mommy,” he says. You squeeze him as tightly as you can and press a big kiss to his cheek.

“I love you too, baby bear. I’m gonna see you so soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, a heartbreaking waver in his voice. You give him another kiss before Bob scoops him up again, and before you know it, Jermaine is wheeling you off into the hospital halls.

Back in your room, Bob has Charlie wrapped up in a tight embrace.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby bear,” he coos, “everything’s gonna be okay.”

#something to rely on #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #top gun fanfiction #top gun reader insert #bob floyd reader insert #bob floyd x you #quinn writes #petcr3 writes #my writing #bruh im sweating #lewis pullman x reader #robert floyd x reader #ok fuck it we ball

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askagamedev · 8 months

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recently a Ubisoft exec apparently said that customers would have to get used to not owning their games for streaming and game services like game pass to really take off. What’s your take on that? Are we really headed to a place where none of us own our games anymore and we just rent them? If we buy games digitally do we actually own them? Can the rights to those games be taken away even after we paid for them?

As with most things, it's good to take the time to understand the nuance of what was said. The Ubisoft person doing the speaking was Philippe Tremblay and he is Director of Subscriptions at Ubisoft. In [the article], he was specifically talking about the mental shift that needs to happen in order for a subscription business model in games to really take hold, because game subscription services are really still in their early stages. Realistically speaking, subscriptions have one of two possible futures - an eventual plateau where subscriptions reach sustainability and equilibrium or an eventual crash because they couldn't.

Look at digital music streaming services like Spotify. They have largely reached their plateau as a massive chunk of the music market. There are still people who buy physical albums, but they are in the minority. The majority of music consumers tend to listen to their music via streaming services and have gotten used to not owning their music. This is one possible future for video games.

Let's contrast this with the current state of movie and tv streaming services. There's a huge number of streaming customers, but there are still strong physical media sales because the streaming services can't necessarily keep the shows and films the people want due to licensing issues. When this kind of volatility in the availability of the product is commonplace, it upsets the user base and puts them off of staying as subscribers. This is another possible future for video games.

As for buying games digitally and "owning" them... well, not really? Like... we've known for ages that end of service for live games is the end of the road, barring player-run grey shards and the like. There are many MMOG, MOBA, looter shooter, mobile, etc. games that have been shut down permanently. Some kinds of games are inherently ownable and some are not.

As player, it is largely up to us to decide what kind of games we want to support. Playing with a regular group of friends in a live service game is a huge amount of fun but absolutely not conducive to owning the game. Playing a single-player game by myself at my leisure is much more conducive to ownership, but I lose out on content updates and the camaraderie of playing with friends. It is my belief that we should all support the things we value. There are no solutions, only tradeoffs.

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#ownership rights #continued development #the business of video games #how things work #legal implications

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cognitivejustice · 1 month

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MO.CA: The Future of Sustainable Living in a Mobile Home

the Institute for Advanced Architecture of Catalonia (IAAC) has unveiled a groundbreaking project – MO.CA (MOBILE CATALYST). This modern mobile home, crafted from zero-kilometer natural materials and employing cutting-edge digital construction techniques, marks a new option for eco-friendly living.

Built entirely from sustainably harvested dowel-laminated wood sourced from IAAC’s Valldaura Labs in the Collserola Natural Park of Barcelona, MO.CA represents a fusion of traditional craftsmanship and modern innovation. This self-sufficient dwelling is designed to accommodate two individuals comfortably while boasting essential domestic amenities, all while minimizing its environmental footprint.

Powered entirely by solar energy, MO.CA can sustain 24 hours of continuous use without the need for recharging, making it truly self-sufficient. A set of three light-flexible monocrystalline solar panels connected to a MultiPlus inverter live on the roof, along with a backup battery, to keep unit up and running with power.

#solarpunk #solar punk #reculture #solarpunk aesthetic #spain #design #mobile home

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kytsuine-blog · 5 months

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Late act Dungeon Meshi (last three volumes, all ahead of where the anime is rn) spoilers, mental health / emotional turmoil talk below the cut

Marcille is such a good character. I fucking love her portrayal of the fear associated with differential aging, and that hits me hard because I plan to be digitized someday, but I am afraid of all the people I'll lose before that's possible. The loves of my life are older than me. My mom means everything to me. My dad did, too. And odds are, at least one of those people left with me won't experience the long term alongside me, because they'll die first.

Getting to the point that a consciousness can be replicated is still really far off. I think that it'll be reached within my lifetime, but that's not the kind of immediacy it'd take to have, say, my cool lesbian aunt with me in the digitalized age. And it's hard to come to grips that at the very least, this pain I'm feeling from missing my dad will very possibly be with me for subjective millennia.

Idk, Marcille is living out a fight for her friends' lives against the very concept of aging, and that resonates with me a lot. And in this world, we don't have a winged lion to get our wishes twisted by, just capitalism and the profit motive. I worry that they'll try to sell people on "reconstructing them from the memories they left behind."

I worry that it'd be convincing.

I just watched the Shapeshifters episode with one of my partners. Our perceptions of people are so divorced from their true selves, because we experience only a part of them. That's true whether you know them as a friendly bus driver you see once in a while or whether they're your dad, or your spouse, and you are entwined with them in ways you can never untangle. If we reconstructed our dead loved ones to entertain us from our collective memory, could we meaningfully say there's a difference to us against people who chose to be directly copied? Would it matter? I sometimes have a hard time justifying a "yes" to that.

For people who dream about overcoming the flesh, I feel like Dungeon Meshi has a lot of really important questions about what we're going to lose along the way. And yes, that time would pass anyway, but looking too eagerly to the future can hold us back from seeking joy and comfort in the present.

It's important to improve your eating habits, establish sustainable lifestyle rhythms, and get proper exercise. The future is best when we give ourselves the strength to get there.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #dunmesh spoilers

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materialsscienceandengineering · 4 months

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Next-generation sustainable electronics are doped with air

Semiconductors are the foundation of all modern electronics. Now, researchers at Linköping University, Sweden, have developed a new method where organic semiconductors can become more conductive with the help of air as a dopant. The study, published in the journal Nature, is a significant step towards future cheap and sustainable organic semiconductors. "We believe this method could significantly influence the way we dope organic semiconductors. All components are affordable, easily accessible, and potentially environmentally friendly, which is a prerequisite for future sustainable electronics," says Simone Fabiano, associate professor at Linköping University. Semiconductors based on conductive plastics instead of silicon have many potential applications. Among other things, organic semiconductors can be used in digital displays, solar cells, LEDs, sensors, implants, and for energy storage.

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northwindow · 7 months

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love your blog so much! and im wondering how you archive/document your day-to-day life and the information that you take in — whatever form: books, lyrics, trees, etc etc — ? im struggling so much w forgettttttting

i love this question! i’ve always longed to have a beautiful and consistent journal, but it’s something i struggle with maintaining organically so i’ve tried some different structures over the past few years. long-winded answer under the cut 💗

back in 2021, i was making a monthly journal on google slides which i really liked because it's so natural to integrate images. i just made a month of it public here as an example of what it was like.

from 2022 - now, i've been doing a new concept where on the last day of every season i write long, list-y answers to these prompts:

art that has been resonating with me (includes music, books, movies, visual art, anything really). i'll usually write a few words about it... "Decision to Leave dir. Park Chan-Wook—the eye shot! the eye shot with the ants crawling on it" or "'Train Ride' by Ruth Stone: 'Release, release; / between cold death and a fever, / send what you will, I will listen. / All things come to an end. / No, they go on forever.'" or "Chunky misshapen pearls and other organic, shiny shapes"

my favorite memories from the season... examples from past lists include "Swimming hole with Zoë where I stuck a twig in my hair and we waded around on our hands like crocodiles" and "Walks in my snowsuit at night, one in particular where the Gemenids meteor shower was just starting"

a checkup on 5 of my current projects/goals. currently these are 1. learn to lift weights, 2. write 50 "identical" poems, 3. write a new syllabus, 4. practice mindful spending, 5. improve at woodworking.

a checkup on 5 of my core values. currently these are 1. adventure, 2. connection, 3. play, 4. sensuality, 5. sustainability.

reevaluating projects and values to focus on next

since you mentioned wanting to remember things-- when i'm putting this together i draw extensively from my tumblr archive/likes, calendar, photos app, recent playlists, and letterboxd and storygraph accounts. curating this kind of ephemeral data into a more permanent and thoughtful record is really satisfying to me. i privately call this method "wrapped" a la spotify... like i'll have a big entry for "fall 2022 wrapped" and then "winter 2023 wrapped" and so on. i do all this on the app notion and file the seasons on one big page so it's easy to click into one and remember what i was doing and thinking about. (i also converted my dream journal to a notion database. i've logged about 300 dreams in here and love that i can tag by character/feature.)

over the years i've also kept a more classic diary via text documents that's less structured, just spitting out whatever's on my mind with the date at the top. i tend to do this frequently for a while, then ebb off, then restart another doc, rinse and repeat. i also have a few physical notebooks (including these two) but the digital stuff is way more extensive as i prefer to write on the computer.

if i were going to recommend any of this, i would say the visual format of the slides journal was really compelling because i liked the aesthetic freedom but i also love the "wrapped" lists because they seem to cut to the core of an era's texture. in the future i'd like to try to integrate these aspects together! 📓

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thesoftboiledegg · 2 months

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I couldn't find the original post, but a blogger on here wasn't wrong when they said that the first Hulurama episode would probably be about NFTs. It took a season to get there, but Futurama's finally skewering the digital graphics that inexplicably became an online phenomenon.

I'm not against Futurama making fun of topical issues--season four's "Bender Should Not Be Allowed on TV" brilliantly skewered demands for sanitized television, and (unpopular opinion), I thought "Rage Against the Vaccine" was one of Hulurama's best episodes.

However, "The One Amigo" didn't have anything new to say. The writers just rehash what most people are thinking: NFTs are weird and goofy and make no sense. Like "How the West Was 1010001," a thin parody of modern technology is the framing device for a more interesting plot.

But Bender's trip to Mexico isn't anything mindblowing, either. His family interactions are cute, and I love the vibrant, colorful scenery, but the story is pretty basic. Bender thinks he found a group of friends, they betray him, he escapes, and...that's it. The crew's museum heist is another cliche, although I appreciate their concern for Bender.

One of the Comedy Central run's flaws was making the characters cold and uncaring for the sake of unfunny one-off gags. I love how Hulurama's been leaning into the "found family" aspect and making Kif and Amy's kids part of the main cast instead of forgetting that they exist. Fry drawing at the kids' table is adorable, too!

Speaking of Fry: he's increasingly turning into a side character, to the point that it seems like the writers are actively avoiding giving him lines. Billy West is a great actor, but Fry's starting to sound gravely, so I wonder if he can't sustain the voice for very long.

Anyway, "The One Amigo" isn't bad. It's nowhere near the Comedy Central disasters like "Yo Leela Leela," "Neutopia" or "The Butterjunk Effect." The writing is funny, well-paced and has a little heart. You can always count on great art and animation.

But I probably wouldn't watch this if it didn't have Futurama's name attached--and man, after all these years, the theme song still gives me instant nostalgia. I hear it and start thinking about watching episodes from the original run. Still, instead of dwelling on the series' past, I wish I had more optimism about its future.

#futurama #futurama reviews #the one amigo #hulurama #futurama spoilers #bender #bender bending rodriguez

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xhanisai · 9 months

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Let's kiss quietly alone in secret, Like an old picture book we no longer read

AO3

Pairing - Adrinette

Prompt - 'Hands'

Summary -

But little did she know that he was always watching, always worried and always so concerned for her. He knows that when Marinette gets into the zone, especially when designing or working on projects or even class president stuff, she always forgets about the state of her hands and has learned to ignore the pain for a good while.

However, this kind of mindset will only damage her hands permanently in the future and that's the last thing his talented, wonderful, amazing friend deserved after everything she's done for everyone else (especially when she's never asked for anything in return).

~(x)~

Every single hair on the back of his neck stood up with backhanded pain from the sight of his beloved good friend's face grimacing in agony, the girl twisting her wrists and making them crack each time she twirled the appendages. Instead of receiving at least a semblance of relief, she only seemed to have fuelled the aching fire that spread through her fingers and arms, her digits continuing to cramp and her thumbs refusing to move on their own accord. Adrien was already aware of the constant pain she was in, often having Alya on her case to rest her hands or gritting her teeth in discomfort when she thought no one was looking. But little did she know that he was always watching, always worried and always so concerned for her. He knows that when Marinette gets into the zone, especially when designing or working on projects or even class president stuff, she always forgets about the state of her hands and has learned to ignore the pain for a good while. However, this kind of mindset will only damage her hands permanently in the future and that's the last thing his talented, wonderful, amazing friend deserved after everything she's done for everyone else (especially when she's never asked for anything in return). He's even witnessed his acquaintances in both piano and fencing lessons learning the brutal consequences the hard way and the horrific injuries they sustained because of the lack of self-care. He never wants Marinette to experience those kinds of things, ever. So Adrien didn't think twice when he strode across the courtyard (with a curious Nino hot on his heels) and then gently grasped one of Marinette's sore hands with his own. All patience was thrown out of the window and the blond refused to let her run away from him or even let her go through her standardised, flustered word soup, eyeing her with tight lips and furrowed brows throughout the whole time. "I'm sorry, but I can't bear to see you in so much pain right now. Come with me and let me help with that." He requested firmly (though he really wasn't going to take a no for an answer; her health and future were at stake here after all). Beckoning her to follow him, Adrien led Marinette to a nearby bench, paying no mind to the inquisitive Alya and Nino who tagged along and stood behind the bench when their best friends took a seat. "You've been spending hours and hours on a daily basis using your hands for all sorts of things and I assume you don't regularly do any hand stretches or exercises, correct?" Her sheepish expression was all the answer he needed and he couldn't stop the anxious sigh he let out. "Marinette...you need to learn to look after yourself properly...or at least let your friends help you out,"

"I didn't mean to...you know? I often just forget..." She looked like an adorable pouty kitten but then her hands began to throb and burn anew, her eyes now closed tight and her lips a thin line of pain. He didn't waste any more time, bringing both of her hands to him and then he began to massage the base of her wrists using the pads of his thumbs in small circles. His heart broke from the quiet whimpers and hisses of distress that escaped her mouth, her shoulders hunched tight and her lips wobbling. "It'll hurt a lot at first but then it'll feel much better, I promise," He added gently, shuffling closer towards her, hoping their proximity would soothe her nerves too (just like how her presence never fails to keep his heart light and make everything around them seem a little more colourful). "It's fine...it's fine...you're good." Marinette managed to offer a small smile but he wasn't blind to how wet her baby blue eyes were and how rouge her face was becoming. He hoped he hadn't aggravated her soreness but it was near impossible considering that he performs these exercises on his own hands every day, practically making him a professional even if Plagg were to argue otherwise.

"Let me know if it gets any worse and I'll try a different technique," He smiled warmly and then requested for Alya and Nino to grab some ice bags from the nurse's office (and hopefully give them some privacy too because the cheeky smiles they were trying to hide was way too obvious). "Okay, can you stretch your fingers? Wiggle your thumb?"

When she showed some struggle trying to move her digits, Adrien began to massage the lower corners of her palms, where the base of her thumb bone was and his fingers would move up one joint at a time before moving to the next finger. He was relieved to see her shoulders loosening and the alleviation becoming more and more prominent on her features. Her lashes were fluttered shut and her perfect rosy lips were slightly parted, making his throat dry up and his heart hasten up its pace. It's not like he's never noticed that she's beautiful...but seeing her like this? So at peace and so zen because of his ministrations? It made his chest swell with an indescribable emotion and he wanted to just lean in even closer so that he could indulge himself with the sweet, warm scent of the spiced vanilla that always lingered in her pretty hair and on her cute clothes—

He shouldn't let himself get too distracted.

She was putting all of her trust in him and he is determined to give her the best results possible. Yet, every delighted sigh and pleased breath she let out continued to stir his heart and make his own hands tremble. Though his hands were much larger and longer and calloused, her smaller, softer and pinpricked pair remained steady in his grip, as if they were a perfect match.

Adrien hoped that he could do this more often. .

"How do you feel now?" The 'ma Princesse' went unsaid on his tongue but the mischievousness and amused twinkle in his eyes remained, his smile widening when she flexed her hands in his with awe and her lips parting in a kissable 'o'. "Is there any more pain? Or any other parts that are sore? I have plenty of ways to make them feel better." (Like keeping her hands entwined with his own for the rest of the day, until they part for home-time.)

"This feels so much better now...you're a lifesaver, Adrien!" She was all pink bubbles and excitement, all the energy back to her tiny body where it belongs and her eyes full of glitter and life. "Thank you so much! I don't know how to repay you for this! You're literally so...so magical!" The way she breathed out her last sentence and looked at him with that...that look? It took all of Adrien's restraints to stop himself from lunging forward and finally, finally gain another kiss from Marinette Dupain-Cheng where no wax statues were involved or any cameras for a school film. To get a bite of that sweet macaron flavour and the taste of her lips branded to his own once more in a manner where he could savour it for much longer and in better spirits too.

'I'd love a kiss on the lips or two if you want to repay me. Maybe go to that new café that had just opened across the road with me for some coffee and hold my hand forever.' Adrien almost blurted out but thankfully, he had some control over his mouth.

"You can start by wearing your wrist braces more often and doing the hand stretches and exercises you're meant to do, Marinette. But if not, I'm more than happy to do this for you every day. Whenever you want me to." He felt his bashfulness creep up inside him and seep out, his thumbs sweetly rubbing comforting circles in her palms and before he knew it, his heart acted on its own accord. "I forgot one last thing."

Just as Marinette was about to question what he meant, Adrien brought her hands to his mouth and his lips puckered against the inside of her wrists with soft, soft butterfly kisses. His emerald greens watched her intensely as his lips continued to trail all over her hands until they reached the tips of her fingers, letting his warm, dewy lips linger on her sweet skin. He hoped, hoped that he didn't freak her out too much, that she relished and savoured the intimate touches just as he did. That she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Luck was on his side today because not only did Marinette snap out of her entranced stupor, but she also took a leap of faith and loosely tangled her fingers with his, averting her brilliant blues for a second before meeting his gaze once more with courage and bravery.

"I'd...I'd love it if you were to do this more often..." Though she stammered a little, her quiet, shy voice was easily picked up by the eager boy and he couldn't help but smile so wonderfully at her. He pressed another kiss to their entangled fingers, his face and cheeks just as red as hers throughout and the glee he felt in his tight chest was so unreal.

"The hand massages? Or the hand kisses?" He couldn't help but tease, heartily laughing when she squealed in protest and tried to hide her face with her hands, forgetting that they were currently interlocked with his own. The force caused him to propel forward even closer, their faces a mere breath apart. Adrien couldn't register anything else that happened around them, hyper-focused on the girl before him and the way her pretty pink lips looked more appetising than ever, testing his will. Marinette peered at him under her long lashes, unable to take another breath and trapped under his worshipping gaze. Taking another dose of courage, she brought their entwined hands to her mouth and brushed his fingers with the softness of her lips, all whilst watching him with those hypnotic blue eyes of hers. Adrien could have sworn that he died right there and then and was currently residing in one of the seven heavens.

"Both...both would be nice,"

And he was a goner.

~(x)~

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml fanfics #ml fanfiction

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