#this is meant to be the first part of a project also

[perhapspenelope]

ok first off I don’t get why every pro choice person who argues with me has to be so rude and call pro life people stupid: one person literally told me to kill myself! Being mean doesn’t help to get your point across. And though you said that some people were forced into a pregnancy, about 7% of abortions are from that. And while that’s horrible, getting an abortion in that situation doesn’t solve the problem, in fact, it usually worsens the trauma. Also, why do you keep assuming that we don’t care about the babies once they’re born? If you truly think that you’re unfit for a baby you don’t have to get an abortion, you can put the baby up for adoption instead of killing them. The younger the person is, the more likely they are to get adopted, so it’s absolutely not like their life would be horrible. Their parents very likely might get them while they’re so young that the child would never even know they were adopted. And the medical procedure that we’re fighting to get rid of is protecting children— literally. That procedure is only meant to kill those kids, regardless if they were forced into it or if they freely chose. The literal definition of protecting is to keep safe from harm. There’s also a clean difference in complaining and fighting for change. In the state that I live in, abortion is legal in practically any circumstance, many of the facilities are germ-filled and tons of the “doctors” are unqualified. But probably the worst part is that the clinics don’t care about the safety of the procedure or pills: they only care about the money you pay for them. Sure, they’ll make sure everything is nice and clean and safe enough to pass a test or safety check, but in the end all they want is your money, not you to feel safe during the procedure, not you to feel like you made the right choice after it’s all done and over: they want to make a profit off of women in distress and confusion. And while it’s very rare for a pregnant woman to be physically forced into an abortion, many of her piers and even family pressure her to kill her baby. And since you keep saying how we apparently don’t care about the children after they’ve been born, do pro choice people care about the women after they’ve been through a procedure that can be pretty traumatic sometimes? That kind of question can always go both ways. I know that pro life people do offer a great thing called Project Rachel which helps women who have been through an abortion and regret it or are traumatized help through peaceful retreats and similar things. Even if you’ve chosen an abortion, most pro life people will still offer you help because it’s the right thing to do.

y’all know, most people don’t even know what goes down during an abortion. it’s horror movie level graphic, and it’s to a baby, an itty-bitty child who’s DNA will never be replicated.

[gffa]

I'm not sure how I feel about the Project Hail Mary trailer, for two reasons: - I'm not sure Ryan Goslin will ever really fit the image I had of Ryland Grace in my head... except, by the end of the trailer, he was growing on me??? - The trailer gives away a MAJOR spoiler that is deliberately meant to be a shocking reveal/major story shift. And I'm not sure how I feel about that! I understand why they did it, it's the heart of the book, and it's an exciting hook to put in the trailer, I'm not sure they'd get a lot of people into the seats if they didn't reveal that part, because otherwise it could so easily look like a generic scifi movie. But it also makes me sad because most people won't have that moment where you experience that absolute SHIFT in the story that you're reading, where you think you're reading one story and suddenly, WHAM, you're reading an entirely different one, and it was incredible! But also there's still a ton of surprise left, they don't even show the surprise (I want to know their design soooooo bad, I want to know what the scene is going to sound like/how they're going to deal with that sooooo bad), so I think they're making the best choice they can, but also man I just want to make everyone read the book first, because as much as I love Weir's movie adaptations, I still think the books work better for me and this trailer feels like it'll be the same way. I can't wait because I am so very here for Ryland and Rocky's friendship and I want everyone to love their friendship as much as I do.

[sonoranbumblebee]

During Carmy's main "shouting wedding vows" monologue, I think he semi-consciously switches topics in a kind of a subtle way that's interesting.

So Carm lists Syd's great attributes, ending with "...and you're doing all of this great stuff for every right fucking reason."

And then, I think he switches to talking about Adam's restaurant. He doesn't pause or verbally mark it, he just launches into it. The segue is so fast that it wasn't until the third time I watched that I started to suspect he had switched gears and wasn't just ranting about the Bears.

"And I get it. This is a great opportunity. And it's for a lot of fucking money. And you can hire who ever the fuck you want?"

The this is the trick word here. If he'd said "that is a great opportunity" it would have been clear he meant Shapiro's, by using this it sort of hedges whether we're talking about Adam or Carmy. I was confused but accepting about the "lot of fucking money" and "hiring part" but on my first watches I just thought he was projecting into a Bear future where suddenly they're very profitable. But he's talking about what he thinks or knows is the Shapiro offer, which is a new opportunity to be sure and who knows might even be great. He also gestures that way which also happens to be where your hand would point if you were talking about this restaurant.

And then he switches back to talking about the Bear, and he gets much more aggressive, playing offense whereas he's been on defense since he first went out there:

"But this place, right now, this is starting to gel. It is starting to feel alive, right? And you will have seven people in front of a fucking train for you right now. And I'm gonna do everything I can to set you up for success but—any chance of any kind of good in this building started when you walked in and any possibility of it surviving? It's with you."

All of which is to say, that I think there's more of the "just please don't go to that other guy" in this whole fiasco than I thought at first glance.

It starts to read as more of a sales pitch than as an explanation/rationalization of why he needs to leave for his own reasons but she will be fine and here's why. He's trying to sell her on her own restaurant, which is of course a stand-in for his/their family.

Syd told TJ that if she went to pizza house they would never let her come back to video game house. But if I'm reading this correctly, Carmy is terrified that if she goes to pizza house she'll never come back to video game house, so he starts testifying about the relative merits of the Bear.

But maybe/definitely what he's also doing is trying to tell her why she should love their family and stay with them/him as opposed to leaving them/him.

"...starting to gel...starting to feel alive, right?" - "I know parts of this suck but other times feel pretty magical and good and almost perfect, right? We could be happy."

"people who will throw themselves in front of a fucking train for you right now." - We fucking love you for true, emphasis on relationships she can leverage right now as opposed to ones she *might* develop in 14 months when Adam's restaurant opens.

"And I'm gonna do everything I can to set you up for success" - she kind of takes this as a kiss-off like "I will print up some informative documents before I go" but maybe it's more like "I know you're wildly sick of my bullshit but I will do anything for you before you cut me loose, I am always at your service if you need help"

"...but—any chance of any kind of good in this building started when you walked in and any possibility of it surviving? It's with you."

any way you cut it, this is the big testimony. He's acclaiming her as a chef, but he's also reiterating what he said long ago: "I wouldn't even want to do it without you." This restaurant dies if Syd quits. If she leaves him for Adam he's done, because the Bear without her is a dead body with a missing heart.

In short, I think he was much more hurt than he let on, which I suppose we could have guessed. In any case, he's so desperate to prevent her leaving him for a better, less terrible/problematic chef that he basically fires himself without even talking to her. It's insane! He's trying to save his family but he keeps saying "restaurant" which she very reasonably finds uncompelling.

[digitalaliceinwonderland]

Price x Mechanic!reader, fem reader

Rusted Bolts

Fleeing to the military had been a split second decision that you would never get to take back. But you didn’t regret it for having sold your golden years for training, warm food and a bed. Your father had already done his due diligence in pawning out your childhood to any gang or thief that needed illegal car upgrades. The regret sprouted from something deeper: you had never gotten a chance to step away from what your father had taught you. You were a mechanic, always had been always would be. And that’s exactly what your father would have wanted.

After basic training, you had your eyes set on what could have been a very new horizon. Sure, that horizon was muddled by war and enemy fire, but it didn’t smell like cigarettes and gasoline. That was until you made a mistake. A truck broke down during a training exercise, of course, yelling and commands soon followed to get the jeep running again. For some reason, you didn’t think that it would matter much. For some reason, you thought it would fly under the radar.

No one expected it when the short girl, swamped in Kevlar hopped up and popped open the hood. But your drill sergeant certainly made notice when the jeep not only sprang to life but proceeded to prance around the field as if you had poured the fountain of youth in the gas tank.

The offer for a spot as a mechanic came shortly after that. And you didn’t have the heart to keep fighting your “destiny” anymore.

You rose up the ranks fast. You had a touch that seemed like magic for vehicles, and you had an attitude on you fit to outwit anyone else in the garage. Not only did your superiors like your ability to get the job done. But the government loved how cheap it had become since you were fixing the unfixable instead of scrapping them for parts.

Now, you found yourself in a situation that brought back that bad feeling. The weight of secrecy settled as an ache in your shoulders as you were walked around the garage. It was smaller than most you had worked with. But somehow, this base alone had racked up enough money spent on buying new ground vehicles that the higher ups had taken notice. The base itself was shrouded in mystery that made you uncomfortable. It was set far apart from any civilian life, and the soldiers that filled it seemed to have an extra edge to them. “You’ll be the head mechanic of this garage,” the woman in front of you said, “but there is also a smaller garage on the other side of base that is specifically meant for you to do individual projects.”

You nodded, taking a glance around. Staff was sparse, not that it bothered you any. But it was yet another sign of how little the population at this base was. So why the hell were they tearing up cars left and right?

“Well,” the woman sighed, taking a brief glance at her watch. “I think that the vehicles will start rolling in soon, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you ma’am,” you said with that military grade politeness.

In just a few minutes you were left with a new garage, a new staff, and a new home. “Just like old times,” you muttered as you turned and went to the line up of tool boxes. Might as well get familiar with it before people started coming in.

At first, it was more basic repairs. Switch out the tires, oil change, or the bumpers falling off (not uncommon for military grade). By the time the really troubling vehicles started to pull up, you were starting to get familiar with your team. “Oh fuck off,” you muttered, standing with some of the guys as you all watched a jeep covered in mud roll in. This thing had grass clinging to it, how the driver could even see through the windshield was a mystery. “How did they even do that?” You asked as the soldiers inside got out.

The guy to your right chuckled and shook his head. “Oh you just wait. The task force hasn’t even come back yet.”

“The task force?” You questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“No,” he corrected, “the task force.”

Sure enough, it was about an hour later when you heard the distinct sound of squealing metal as another car pulled up. “What. The. Fuck.”

The car that pulled up next looked like it had been hit, point blank, by a missile… and then stomped on repeatedly by a couple of rhinos. One of the sides was dented in so bad that the metal had split, on that same side the back door was missing and the glass on the other door had been broken. The front of the car looked like the driver had ran into a tree at 100mph, it was a miracle that the car was even running.

“Yup,” someone said beside you. “That is the task force. TF 141.”

Before the team of men could even fully get out of the car you were storming up to the drivers side. You could hear the squeaks and protests of your team who seemed utterly horrified at your approach. But all you could think about is how these men had sentenced you to at least a few days of trying to salvage this car.

The man who got out of the drivers seat was around your age, maybe a few years older. He was tall, muscularly built but still a little softer than some. For a split second, you were able to recognize that he was attractive. But the thought only flitted through your mind before you were stopped in front of him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The man’s eyes widened, he was stunned into silence. But more so, you noticed how his eyes darted over you and how a light pink seemed to rise up on his cheeks. “I-“

“Who the hell are you?” A gravelly, deep British voice said as the owner, a man in a skull masks rounded the front of the car.

“I’m the mechanic who is gonna have to fix this fucking mess.”

Finally, the man in front of you spoke, his tone much softer than the other’s. “Haven’t seen you around before. You’re new.”

“Yeah.” You replied sharply, not entirely willing to give up your attitude yet. Especially not with the four men, the driver, the skull mask guy, and two others staring. “What the hell did you have to do to get this car so bent out of shape that it would be easier to fix if I was building it from scrap?”

The man in front of you smirked a little, but it was another, a Scotsman who answered. “I take it that ya don’t know who we are.”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are.”

“You would if ya actually knew who yer yelling at right now.”

“Who I’m yelling at is the military’s largest money drain in vehicles.” That seemed to shut him up long enough for the man in front of you to speak. “So you’re the girl they hired to clean up our mess?”

Your eyes darted up to him and hardened into a glare that once again made his lips twitch up at the corners. “I’m Captain John Price, this Ghost, Soap and Gaz.”

Then, the realization hit you. It crashed down over you like a bunch of rocks. Holy shit, that’s what they meant by the task force. These guys were the best of the best. You quickly tried to level your gaze again. Slipping into the same shoes you used to wear when a notorious street racer would strut into your dad’s shop. “I’m ________, the new head mechanic.”

Price smiled a little, which brought out his crows feet wrinkles in a way that softened your attitude a little. “Nice to meet you.”

His tone was cool and surprisingly calm. It had an effect on you that you weren’t prepared for. Your heart skipped a beat, and then slowly started to calm down. Your angry puffs of breath eased into something slower and deeper. “Nice to meet you too.” You replied, your voice slightly quieter than before.

There was a moment of silence when it felt like all eyes were on you. These guys had a way of making you feel like you couldn’t hide anything. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I’m sorry that this is how we are being introduced to each other, love.” Price continued, the more he spoke in that calm tone, the more you felt like the power of the conversation was slipping from your grasp. “But, given the nature of our work, I don’t doubt that we will be seeing each other under these circumstances again.”

That earned a soft chuckle from Soap and Gaz. “I don’t doubt it either,” you replied, your voice slightly more clipped than before. You didn’t like this, you didn’t like this one bit. Already, you could feel the uncomfortable tension of your internal power struggle. Hell, Ghost practically radiated the energy that now fed your stress. Price, straightened and took a step forward, finally putting enough pressure on you to get you to back down and step away. “My men and I have to head in and clean up. But if you have any further concerns you can feel free to visit me in my office.”

Your jaw ticked in frustration. You didn’t like not being in control, you didn’t like the feeling of having your anger sapped away with just a few words. It was alarming and it left you feeling vulnerable. You gave Price a curt nod, but watched him with glaring eyes as him and his men left the garage.

Leaving you questioning what the hell you had done accepting this job.

Ch 2 coming soon!

[darkandstormydolls]

Finished another historical cosplay today! (Apparently first bustle era ultrakill cosplays are my thing now. I have accepted this fate)

Presenting: 1870s V2!

This dress was almost entirely a stash project: the red fabric (and the upholstery fabric I used for interlining because it was sturdy and on hand and which made my bodice absurdly heavy) were from a yard sale, the buttons and braid were things I just bought to have in my stash at various fabric stores while on trips, the teal fabric is, fittingly, left over from my Gabriel dress, I keep a bolt of black cotton broadcloth on hand since I use it so much, and the various skirt fabrics were all left over from past clothes I have sewn for myself.

The bodice is the Truly Victorian polonaise bodice pattern (with some alterations to the neckline), since I wanted to mix it up a bit from the other two first bustle era dresses I’ve made (I do not have a problem I promise) and I was trying to think up different overskirt ideas to try and mimic the wing design in a way other than just a big bow/sash at the back. There was supposed to be red in between the teal as well, but I ran out of fabric, and I’m glad, because I think the darker fabric gives more of a contrast. I added all the braid trim for some more visual interest and also to go for a little more of a militaristic vibe, and I think it all ended up looking pretty good

The skirt is by far the most complicated part of this outfit. It was meant to mimic the look of the mixed metal pieces and wires that the machines have showing under their plating, and I made it out of a bunch of different black and grey fabric, interspersed with red piping and with more red piping between the panels (which also helps with the fact that a lot of those seams are on the bias. Since it only goes in straight lines, the skirt piping is all on the cross grain rather than then bias, to give a little more support. It was kind of supposed to have a cheveron pattern, but I mixed up the placement of the piping and didn’t want to redo it, so I went with the sort of offset stripes

I forgot to take an accessories picture, but there’s also a black, high necked chemisette that hooks closed at the back (which I need to adjust a bit, because I learned while taking these photos that it is way too big), a brooch with a center of the dress fabric and the machine designation stitched into it (I used one of those cross stitch blank things with a pin back), and my hat, which is a black taffeta with a teal hatband/streamers and which I am struggling to figure out how to place (it’s a little too small to wear like a men’s hat, but it also doesn’t seem to want to just kind of perch gracefully)

Despite the few minor problems, I really love this outfit! I’m planning on wearing it to a costume event soon, and it’s a fairly wearable outfit (good pockets, not too awkward to walk in, ect), so I’m happy to be able to get some use out of it both for historical events (without character-specific accessories) and as a cosplay

[frostgnawdraws]

failure and futility

for day 2 of campfire fest! prompt: third eye (and i guess could also count for explosion, or a lack thereof lol) @outerwilds-events

[fireleaptfromhousetohouse]

>One gets the impression that the council and police force were oblivious to and incredulous about the magnitude of the problem

Attendees were provided with background information listing the known addresses of alleged activity, including hotels and takeaways in Rotherham. It also included taxi companies alleged to be involved, and case studies of three girls. In total, Risky Business supported 319 girls on either a one to one or group work basis over an 18- month period from April 2004 until October 2005. The presentation was made at the end of 2004 to the Rotherham Children and Young People's Board, with six councillors present, including the Leader. The following April, a further presentation was made to 30 councillors. The explicit content meant that by 2005 few members or senior officers could say 'we didn't know'. Similar material had been passed to the Police in 2001 by Risky Business on behalf of the local agencies. (p110)

For reference, the first prosecutions didn't take place until 2010.

>an intentional cover-up, which did not happen

When I went in to the office I was told that over the weekend somebody had gained access to the Risky Business office, opened the filing cabinets and removed all of the data relating to the Home Office work. To be clear to the committee that involved accessing the grounds of the International Centre; gaining access to the Centre itself; disarming the alarm; moving through a key coded and locked security door; unlocking the door to the part of the building where the project office was located; unlocking the door to the project office itself; unlocking a desk and finding the keys to the filing cabinets; identifying which filing cabinet had my Home Office pilot data in it; and removing my data but nothing else. There were no signs of a forced entry. Additionally the office computer, which was password protected, had been accessed. Some documents had been deleted, and there appeared to be minutes of meetings which had been created over the weekend. We knew that because of a log of activity which showed that documents had been created or edited over the weekend on the computer hard drive. The minutes of those meetings, which I had purportedly attended, showed that I had apparently agreed to certain conditions regarding the disclosure of the data to the Home Office evaluators and the consequences of failing to adhere to those conditions were outlined to me. In particular, I had agreed not to submit data to the Home Office evaluators without express line management approval. I had not attended any such meetings, had such conditions outlined to me, or agreed to them. In fact the date of one of the meetings that I had supposedly attended was when I was overseas on annual leave.

Senior council figures tried to cover up the theft of 21 laptops containing personal details about child abuse victims in 2011. An internal audit found that council officials chose not to inform the information commissioner about the security breach, then falsely claimed no sensitive data was compromised.

>to the best of my knowledge there wasn't ever any case where people aware of a problem chose not to do anything about it due to the ethnic dimension

The various official reports on the Rotherham child sexual exploitation scandal consistently cite people involved claiming there was pressure from above not to act due to the ethnic dimension, or that they perceived there to be such pressure, a distinction which you're welcome to nitpick but makes absolutely no difference to the outcome - or to the victims. However, the Home Affairs Committee 2013 report does point to an instance of exactly what you say, people being aware of a problem but choosing not to do anything due to the ethnicity of the perpetrators, and it's one that is perhaps particularly telling:

Both Ann Cryer and Andrew Norfolk suggested that a desire to protect the community from criticism might sometimes override the duty to address the criminal behaviour of these men. "I have spoken to young men in some of the towns where this has been going on. Universally, they decry what happens. They say they are disgusted with the men who have been doing this but, equally, that they would never have dreamt of going to the police about it, because you do not turn on your own community" (p54)

Despite how one might instinctively interpret the idea of the police and council's failures to act 'being caused by wokeness', that this is a matter of the soft bigotry of low expectations coming from all-white organisations, both organisations did have prominent Pakistani-heritage members, some of whom ended up acting as de facto community liaisons (p33), and some of whom had form for engaging in nauseating behaviour like this:

All the senior officers we interviewed were asked whether ethnic considerations influenced their decision making. All were unequivocal that this did not happen. However, several of those involved in the operational management of services reported some attempts to pressurise them into changing their approach to some issues. This mainly affected the support given to Pakistani-heritage women fleeing domestic violence, where a small number of councillors had demanded that social workers reveal the whereabouts of these women or effect reconciliation rather than supporting the women to make up their own minds (p93)

Could these councillors - who had means, motive, opportunity, and previous - have also attempted to stop violent serial rapists from the same community being dealt with through the proper channels? Who can say.

>"excusing child rape", a thing that did not happen

“Don’t worry- you aren’t the first girl to be raped by XX and you won’t be the last.” A police officer to a victim (p56)

Should racial or religious identity ever excuse child rape, as some claimed in Rotherham?

obviously not, individuals should be judged on their actions and group identity is clearly no excuse for harming others.

I'm unclear what other answer you could possibly expect ti this, and I think you're a crank with a distasteful obsession who is sadly uninterested in actual communication with other people in the interests of mutual understanding.

[mbat]

finished the tape holder! the theme i ended up deciding on was the seasons!

[theunconcernedembalmer]

idk how long my laptop will survive seeing as i hardly use it anymore so anyway here's an abandoned project from a couple of years ago where i ambitiously tried to make an rpg with the yokai outfits. here are some sprites i made

[keeps-ache]

need to be exploding something but i Can't for some reason. just Can Not. my ability to do is just. Nay

[outeremissary]

Having one of those weeks of "is this the monthly Malaise or am I about to have a real mental health rut"

[reasonsforhope]

Pictured: Luis Cassiano is the founder of Teto Verde Favela, a nonprofit that teaches favela residents in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat. He's photographed at his house, which has a green roof.

Article

"Cassiano is the founder of Teto Verde Favela, a nonprofit that teaches favela residents how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat without overloading electrical grids or spending money on fans and air conditioners. He came across the concept over a decade ago while researching how to make his own home bearable during a particularly scorching summer in Rio.

A method that's been around for thousands of years and that was perfected in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s, green roofs weren't uncommon in more affluent neighborhoods when Cassiano first heard about them. But in Rio's more than 1,000 low-income favelas, their high cost and heavy weight meant they weren't even considered a possibility.

That is, until Cassiano decided to team up with a civil engineer who was looking at green roofs as part of his doctoral thesis to figure out a way to make them both safe and affordable for favela residents. Over the next 10 years, his nonprofit was born and green roofs started popping up around the Parque Arará community, on everything from homes and day care centers, to bus stops and food trucks.

When Gomes da Silva heard the story of Teto Verde Favela, he decided then and there that he wanted his home to be the group's next project, not just to cool his own home, but to spread the word to his neighbors about how green roofs could benefit their community and others like it.

Pictured: Jessica Tapre repairs a green roof in a bus stop in Benfica, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Relief for a heat island

Like many low-income urban communities, Parque Arará is considered a heat island, an area without greenery that is more likely to suffer from extreme heat. A 2015 study from the Federal Rural University of Rio de Janeiro showed a 36-degree difference in land surface temperatures between the city's warmest neighborhoods and nearby vegetated areas. It also found that land surface temperatures in Rio's heat islands had increased by 3 degrees over the previous decade.

That kind of extreme heat can weigh heavily on human health, causing increased rates of dehydration and heat stroke; exacerbating chronic health conditions, like respiratory disorders; impacting brain function; and, ultimately, leading to death.

But with green roofs, less heat is absorbed than with other low-cost roofing materials common in favelas, such as asbestos tiles and corrugated steel sheets, which conduct extreme heat. The sustainable infrastructure also allows for evapotranspiration, a process in which plant roots absorb water and release it as vapor through their leaves, cooling the air in a similar way as sweating does for humans.

The plant-covered roofs can also dampen noise pollution, improve building energy efficiency, prevent flooding by reducing storm water runoff and ease anxiety.

"Just being able to see the greenery is good for mental health," says Marcelo Kozmhinsky, an agronomic engineer in Recife who specializes in sustainable landscaping. "Green roofs have so many positive effects on overall well-being and can be built to so many different specifications. There really are endless possibilities.""

Pictured: Summer heat has been known to melt water tanks during the summer in Rio, which runs from December to March. Pictured is the water tank at Luis Cassiano's house. He covered the tank with bidim, a lightweight material conducive for plantings that will keep things cool.

A lightweight solution

But the several layers required for traditional green roofs — each with its own purpose, like insulation or drainage — can make them quite heavy.

For favelas like Parque Arará, that can be a problem.

"When the elite build, they plan," says Cassiano. "They already consider putting green roofs on new buildings, and old buildings are built to code. But not in the favela. Everything here is low-cost and goes up any way it can."

Without the oversight of engineers or architects, and made with everything from wood scraps and daub, to bricks and cinder blocks, construction in favelas can't necessarily bear the weight of all the layers of a conventional green roof.

That's where the bidim comes in. Lightweight and conducive to plant growth — the roofs are hydroponic, so no soil is needed — it was the perfect material to make green roofs possible in Parque Arará. (Cassiano reiterates that safety comes first with any green roof he helps build. An engineer or architect is always consulted before Teto Verde Favela starts a project.)

And it was cheap. Because of the bidim and the vinyl sheets used as waterproof screening (as opposed to the traditional asphalt blanket), Cassiano's green roofs cost just 5 Brazilian reais, or $1, per square foot. A conventional green roof can cost as much as 53 Brazilian reais, or $11, for the same amount of space.

"It's about making something that has such important health and social benefits possible for everyone," says Ananda Stroke, an environmental engineering student at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro who volunteers with Teto Verde Favela. "Everyone deserves to have access to green roofs, especially people who live in heat islands. They're the ones who need them the most." ...

It hasn't been long since Cassiano and the volunteers helped put the green roof on his house, but he can already feel the difference. It's similar, says Gomes da Silva, to the green roof-covered moto-taxi stand where he sometimes waits for a ride.

"It used to be unbearable when it was really hot out," he says. "But now it's cool enough that I can relax. Now I can breathe again."

-via NPR, January 25, 2025

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I think the reader's response to this post is probably going to either be "That's incredibly minor" or "Holy shit YES I'M ALSO PROUD", depending on people's personal experiences with academia, but:

Today I am incredibly proud of one of my students.

In the interests of disguising identities, let's call them Ceri. Ceri is one of my third year undergrads (meaning their final year, for anyone unfamiliar with UK uni systems.) They transferred to us last year, and within two weeks I was giving them the contact info to get to Student Services and get themself screened for ADHD; they have some mental health struggles, but I clocked pretty quickly that they STRUGGLE with procrastination, and punctuality, and attending 9am lectures in particular. Naturally, as is the way of my people, it took them a further four months to remember to go to the screening. Lol. Lmao. Rofl, in fact.

But, they did it eventually! Their screening lit up like a Christmas tree at the ADHD section, and they got a free laptop and optional one week extensions and a study support worker named Claire. This has helped tremendously, and although mental health + until-then-unsupported ADHD meant their academic profile had slid sideways somewhat, with the new tools available and a couple of resits they passed the year and hit this year running.

Until, that is, the last fortnight.

Now, I take them for a Habitat Management module that has two assessments: an academic poster presentation before Christmas, and a site-specific management plan in May. Naturally this means we are at that happy point in the year for the poster presentations. I give out the briefs at the start of the year, so they've had them since October; I've also been periodically checking in with them all for weeks, to make sure they don't have any major burning questions. The poster presentation was to pick a species reintroduction project, pull the habitat feasibility study out of it, and then critique that study; Ceri chose to look at the hen harrier reintroductions proposed for the southern UK. All good.

Which brings us nicely to today! Ceri's presentation is scheduled for 2.30. At 11am-1pm, I am lecturing the first years on Biodiversity, while Ceri is learning about environmental impact assessment with a colleague I shall call Aeron. This means we are separately occupied during those same hours.

Nevertheless, Aeron messages me at about 12.

"I think Ceri needs to see you after your lecture," he writes. "They're panicking, I genuinely think they might cry. I'm worried. Are you free at 1?"

I say I am. At 1, I get lunch and sit in the common area; Ceri comes to see me. To my personal shame, imagine all of the following takes place while I stuff my face with potato.

Now: this part is going to be uncomfortably familiar to anyone who has ever tried higher education with ADHD, especially unmedicated. It certainly was for me. All I can say is, I never had the courage to take the step here that Ceri did.

"I have to confess," they said quietly, and Aeron was right, they were fighting back tears. "My mental health has been so, so bad for the last fortnight. I've left it way, way too late. I don't have anything to present."

"Nothing at all?" I asked.

"I've been researching," they said helplessly. "I found loads on the decline of the hen harrier. But it wasn't until last night that I finally found a habitat feasibility study to critique. Generally... I've been burying my head about it, and it just got later and later. I thought I should come in for Aeron's lecture, and I should at least tell you."

This part is a minor thing, right? But honestly, I remember being in the grip of that particular shame spiral. I never did manage to tell my lecturers to their faces. I just avoided. I honestly can't imagine having the courage it took them to come in and tell me this, rather than just staying home and avoiding me.

"I think..." they said hesitantly, "I know I can submit up to a week late, for a capped mark. I think I need to do that, and apply for extenuating circumstances. But then I'll have both Aeron's assignment and yours due at the same time."

Which meant they would crumble under the pressure and likely struggle to pass both; so me, being as noble and heroic as I unarguably am, stopped eating potato and said, "Let's make that plan B."

(It was good potato. I am a hero.)

So, we made plan A: I moved their timeslot to 4.30, giving them three and a half hours. The shining piece of luck in this whole thing was that this was the crunch time assignment - if it had been Aeron's, they'd have had to try and write a 3000 report in that time. But for me, all they had to write was an academic poster, and those things are light on words by design. We found them a Canva template, and then we quickly sketched out a recommended structure based on the brief: if it's habitat feasibility, look at food availability, nesting site availability, and mortality risks in the target release site. Bullet point each. Bullet point how well the study assessed each. Write a quick intro and conclusion. Take notes as you go, and present the poster itself at 4.30.

"You think I should try?" they asked doubtfully, looking like I'd just asked them to go mano-a-mano with a feral badger.

"If you run out of time, so be it," I said. "But your brain is trying to protect you from a non-existent tiger. That's why you've procrastinated - it's been horrible, and you've been shame spiralling, and your brain is trying to shield you from the negative experience; but it's the wrong type of help for this situation! So while you're sitting there working on it, hating life, every time your brain goes 'This is hopeless, I can't do it', you think right back 'Yes I can, it just sucks.' And you carry on. Good?"

"Good," they said. "I'm going to mainline coffee and hole up in the library. Enjoy your potato."

And then, of course, I had to go and watch the other students' presentations, so that was the end of me being any help at all. I spent all afternoon wondering if they were going to manage it, or if I would be getting a message at 4.25 telling me they'd failed, and would have to submit late and hope for an EC.

And Tumblrs

Tumblrs

Let me FUCKING tell you

They turned up at 4.15, fifteen minutes early, wearing a mask of grim, harrowed determination and fuelled by spite and coffee, and they pulled up that poster and started presenting and yes, okay, I'll admit their actual delivery was dramatically unpolished and yes, they forgot to include the taxanomic name for the hen harrier on the poster and yes, fine, I admit that there were more than a few awkward moments where they lost their place in their hastily scribbled notebook but LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU -

They smashed it. It was well-critiqued, it had a map, it had full citations, it had a section on the hen harrier's specific ecology and role in the ecosystem, it had notes on their specific conservation measures. They described case studies they'd read about elsewhere. They answered the questions we threw at them with competence and depth. There was analysis. All that background research they'd done came right to the fore. They were even within the time limit by 15 seconds.

You would never have known they'd produced it in three hours, from a quivering and terrified mess fighting the bodily urge to dehydrate via tear ducts. After they left, the second marker and I looked at each other and went "So that was a 2:1, right?"

I caught up with Aeron downstairs and he was beaming. Apparently Ceri had seen him on their way out, and had gone over to talk to him. Aeron said the difference between the Ceri of this morning and the Ceri of then was like two different people; in four hours, they'd gone from their voice literally breaking as they admitted the problem, ashamed and broken, to being relaxed and happy and smiling.

"I reckon I've passed," they apparently told Aeron, pleased. "Maybe even a 2:2. There's things I wish I'd had the time to do better, but I'll be happy if I passed."

They won't know until late January what they got, because we're not allowed to release marks until 20 term days after hand-in, and the Christmas holidays are about to hit. But I'm really hoping I can be there when they're released.

But mostly, I'm just... insanely proud of them. I cannot tell you how happy I am. And I know, I know, obviously this is not a practice I would want to see them do regularly, or indeed ever again, and it only worked because they were fucking lucky with the assignment format, but like... when life is just punching you in the face, and you hit a breaking point... isn't it nice? That just this once, you pull off a miracle, and it's fixed? The disaster you thought was about to ruin you is gone? To get that relief?

Anyway. Super super proud today.

[calumcxke]

NOTHING SAFE IS WORTH THE DRIVE (LHS) - TEASER

pairing: playboy!heeseung x inexperienced!reader

summary: lee heeseung was an asshole. you had decided that. having to work with him on a group project made things a hundred times worse. but when a heart longing to experience love for the first time meets someone more than willing to give it, the line between irritation and something deeper starts to blur.

wc: 1166 (FULL FIC 37.9K)

warnings: reader is completely inexperienced, angst, miscommunication, reader falls too quickly and gets flustered very easily, kinda slow burn but not really, heeseung plays basketball but it’s barely mentioned heeseung calls reader ‘princess’ a lot, kissing, making out

smut warnings: dry humping, oral (f rec.), unprotected sex, virginity loss (teaser does not include smut)

FULL FIC HERE

notes: hi.. i don’t know what demon possessed me and made me write a 37k fic but it’s here. finally. this fic is my baby, it’s also very self indulgent LOLLL,, tbh the only reason i’m posting a teaser first is bc i’m so scared to post the full thing right away, anyway hope u guys enjoy LOVE U ^3^ this is HEAVILY based off treacherous (t.s), bewitched (laufey), and smooth operator (sade)

you check your phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, the glowing screen mocking you with the time. heeseung was supposed to be here half an hour ago. thirty whole minutes.

you sigh, your fingers tightening around your phone. you had already texted him- a simple, are you still coming?- but it was staring back at you with “delivered” right under it.

your fingers tap against the table impatiently as you stare down at the open laptop in front of you. the library is quieter than usual, the hum of low voices and the occasional rustle of pages filling the space. you consider packing up and leaving, your hands beginning to collect the pencils and highlighters you had set out around you.

“you’re pretty dedicated to this, aren’t you?”

you don’t even need to look up to know who it is. finally.

slowly, you lift your gaze, leveling heeseung with an unimpressed stare. he’s standing there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, looking completely unbothered. like he hasn’t just left you waiting for half an hour.

“you’re half an hour late,” you deadpan.

heeseung grins, like he finds your irritation amusing. “technicalities.”

you scoff, shaking your head. “you said we’d meet at six.”

“yeah, and i meant it,” he says, smirking at the way you roll your eyes. “it’s just that… time is a social construct.”

is he fucking serious.

you gape at him, your eyebrows furrowed. “are you seriously trying to use philosophy as an excuse?”

“would you rather me lie?” he asks, finally sitting, slinging his backpack onto the table.

“i’d prefer you actually care about this project. it’s a huge part of our grade, heeseung.”

he waves a dismissive hand, pulling his laptop out of his backpack. “relax, princess. i’m here now, aren’t i?”

you gulp at the nickname, turning your head back to your laptop to open up the assignment. “barely,” you mumble.

heeseung chuckles, enjoying your annoyance. “fine. i had practice, it ran later than expected.”

“that’s all you had to say,” you reply, your eyes flickering up to meet his, “and a text would’ve been nice.”

“can’t really text when i’m on the court, princess.” he shoots back, tilting his head with a smile.

you exhale sharply, already regretting ever agreeing to meet with him. “can we just start? we’re already behind schedule.”

luckily, he agrees, his eyes drifting to his own laptop.

you sigh, your own attention drifting back to your laptop. all you can do is hope that things begin to go smoother than this at some point. because right now, you’re considering slamming your head into your laptop or the table.

you try to focus, you really do. but it’s hard when every few minutes, heeseung is moving. drumming his fingers against the table, shifting in his seat, clicking his pen as he reads articles on his computer.

finally, you snap, your eyes looking up at him from your screen. “are you always this restless, or do you just have an allergy to being productive?”

heeseung blinks at you, lips quirking up like he finds your irritation entertaining. “nah, i’m just bored. this class is stupid.”

“why are you like this?” you roll your eyes, glaring at him. “even if this class is stupid, it’s still an important project.”

“like what?” he tilts his head, all faux innocence, completely ignoring your second statement. “charming? fun to be around?”

you scoff. “you were late. plus you were a dick this morning.”

heeseung chuckles, shaking his head lightly. “c’mon, princess. loosen up a bit. you’re making a big deal over nothing.”

“look, i had a shitty day. you’re not making it any better,” you mutter, scoffing again. a voice in the back of your head wonders if you’ve broken the world record for scoffing this much in five minutes.

heeseung leans forward, resting his chin on one hand. “i’m sorry. you know… i’m pretty good at relieving stress.”

your jaw drops. “excuse me?” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way his words have a blush creeping up your cheeks, instead turning your attention back to your laptop. “just focus on your work, heeseung. we need to plan out who’s gonna do what part.”

you don’t miss how he tilts his head, a knowing smile on his lips as he clicks his tongue, nodding. “alright. just remember we have to work around my schedule.”

you let out a groan, your head rolling back as you look back towards him. “heeseung!”

he only laughs in response, shaking his head at how you get embarrassed when other students give you dirty glares.

“sorry,” you mumble softly, your eyes glaring at him. “focus.”

an hour later, you guys had made relatively good progress. you had divided tasks, and heeseung had done his work, for the most part. he still found every opportunity to get on your nerves, but at least he did so while being productive.

you both pack up in silence, swinging your bag over your shoulder. you spare him a glance, mumbling out a small, “bye, heeseung.”

just as you step outside, you hear the unmistakable sound of sneakers scuffing against the pavement behind you, “where you headed?”

you turn your head slightly to see heeseung strolling up beside you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he looks down at you.

“my dorm,” you reply, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, “it’s late.”

he nods, shrugging as he continues to walk next to you, “i’ll walk you.”

you stop in your tracks, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. “why?”

he tilts his head, raising his eyebrows slightly. “why not? i have nothing else to do.”

“because…” you search for a logical reason, but there really seems to be none. you blurt out the only excuse that comes to mind. “it’s late.”

he furrows his brows, falling in place beside you as you begin to walk again. “it’s 7:30.”

you glance at him, shrugging. “that’s considered late for some people.”

he smirks, tilting his head at you, an amused look on his face. “what if i just enjoy your company, princess?”

your face heats at the nickname, and you roll your eyes, quickening your pace. “we barely know each other.”

“well, i’d like to change that.” he keeps up effortlessly, long strides matching yours with ease.

you scoff, trying to ignore the affect his words have on you. “i think you like to get on my nerves, heeseung.”

he grins, nudging your shoulder lightly. “that too.”

you sigh, glancing at him before looking straight ahead. but you don’t tell him to leave. maybe a part of you deep down enjoys the company. maybe you could allow for a part of yourself to feel wanted if the campus playboy was walking you back to your dorm. and if your heart stumbles a little when he walks just close enough for your arms to brush, you choose to ignore it.

(divider cr: @uzmacchiato)

[sadagios]

Icarus, and the Sunflower

A Desert Duo/Scarian AU about an avid player meeting his favorite, comfort character in a death loop video game.

I can’t write a fic, nor have time to draw comics like i used to, so we are doing bullet points on a tumblr post

PART ONE: BEFORE THE ALPHA TEST

PILOT: PART TWO

2.1k words below the cut

SOME BEGINNING NOTES: - This AU is only character shipping, and references a lot outside the life series events (evo, hermitcraft, empires, etc). This is not meant to ship the CC’s themselves and if anything alludes to it, it is purely unintentional. - This is not canon-compliant ermmmm i do what i want and i will put every idea i have into this - Tags for this part? Game dev AU, Grian is whipped for Scar, some characters are real and some are fictional, this is only the pilot, absolutely not beta'd i only have one impulsive braincell

A. Gria

Gria is a single man in his late 20s; he works at a game company called E.V.O. Games (Entertainment Virtual for Everyone). He was an architecture graduate who dabbled in game dev in his spare time during his undergraduate studies. Although he didn’t pursue that path, he utilized his skills in level design. He used to work in several indie game companies, one of which was a company founded with friends, before he was hired by E.V.O. Games. He was excellent at his job, and his ideas and inputs always improved whatever project he worked on. Because of this, after a few years, he was promoted to creative director.

His latest project was “The Evolutionists’ Portal,” a 3D pixel-style puzzle game in which the player has to navigate the world to find portals hidden in each level, and these portals progress the game. With each portal traveled into, the world becomes bigger and more complicated, making each portal harder to find. However, with multiplayer, this task is easier through working together (and doing fun shenanigans together).

It had a buggy release, especially for multiplayer, but it built a decent player fanbase; the story itself was short and simple, but it was replayable thanks to its multiplayer mode.

For visualization, it’s 3D with a top-down perspective like “Pokemon Diamond/Pear/Platinum” but has gameplay similar to “Stardew Valley”

Gria and his team get along well, and he is quite close to some of them:

Martyn: an audio engineer. This is the first game he’s worked on since he was first hired in the company.

“Big B”: a VFX artist. He and Gria joined the company around the same time and bonded over stressful deadlines and annoying seniors when they started out.

Jimmy: the project manager. Although Gria takes a lot of joy in teasing him, he is hardworking and great at keeping everyone in check with the calendar. Out of everyone, he is the one Gria is closest with. He also works on another game by the company called “Empires.” 

Pearl: an environment artist. She joined the company a bit later in the development. It is her first time dealing with pixel graphics but she did it incredibly well. She also works on “Empires” with Jimmy.

“Empires” is a free-to-play fantasy open-world action gacha RPG. It is the biggest game of the company and their title game. 

For visualization, it’s just “Genshin Impact” and “Honkai: Star Rail”.

Recently, there was a buzz around that their game, “Empires”, will have a collaboration event with another big name. Gria was too busy and overworked to take notice of this, though. 

The fruits of his labor later came as game nominations for “Best Multiplayer” and “Best Audio Design.” Gria was happy their work was acknowledged by players worldwide, even if they didn’t win.

B. Hermitopia

After so long, Gria finally took a week off. It was foreign to have no obligations for even a day. He doesn’t use this time to travel; instead, he sits at home and lurks on the internet to keep up with gaming news and updates. He uses the username “Xelqua” with a red macaw as his profile picture.

He stumbled upon a “Redstone tutorial” post by the user ”Potatonutshell”. Curious and intrigued by how such a complicated contraption is possible in a game (and bored out of his mind), he asked this user what game it was for. Potatonutshell briefly, and over-excitedly, DM’d Gria with a huge wall of text about this game called “Hermitopia 6.”

In the beginning days of his break, Gria spent time messaging this Potatonutshell fella, named “Mumbo.” Mumbo named himself after a character named “Mumbo Jumbo”, who is one of the most skilled “redstoners” in the game. He related heavily with the character and took a lot of interest in the redstone circuitry game feature as he is a programmer in real life. Gria thought the game was interesting, but not enough to install a 36 GB game for $39.99. He changed his mind when Mumbo told him more about the game, especially its base-building mechanic.

“Hermitopia 6: Hermit Civil War” is an open-world fantasy action RPG known for its base-building core mechanic. It is the sixth game in the franchise, and each game starts in a brand-new world. The player and the lovable NPCs are called hermits, a band of humans, fae, hybrids, and other species who live together on an island and work together to live a sustainable life amidst the hostile creatures that roam the world. 

For visualization, it’s like “Skyrim” with “Baldur’s Gate 3��� graphics and dialogue UI.

Gria planned to try it for a few hours, only humoring his new internet friend, until he met this beautiful NPC named “Scar Goodtimes” — a human-vex hybrid with scars all over his “handsome face and carved body”, as Gria would personally describe him. He was also a builder who lived near Gria’s very odd underwater base. Throughout the remaining days of his break, and his weekends after that, Gria played Hermitopia 6 religiously.

Scar calls him “GRIAN”, which was a typo error — Gria pressed enter early in the name selection screen and he didn’t realize it until Scar first mentioned his name 3 hours into the game. He can’t be bothered to fix it, though (and he's grown fond of it.)

Gria continued to play the game in his free time, slowly falling in love with the game as he kept on playing. He also kept talking to Mumbo, who he fanboyed about the game with. He found out that Mumbo lived close by too, so they hung out frequently and bonded over the game.

Gria: I genuinely thought you had a big mustache, y’know, like Mumbo Jumbo. Mumbo: I do too! It’s... it's there! [he shows his very faint mustache] It's there! Gria: sure.

Xelqua started off as a lurker, to an active Hermitopia fan account. He was interested in the base-building aspect of the game and shared his designs online.

Hermitopia is not a dating simulator. There is no romance mechanic in the game. Anyway, Gria installed (and tweaked) a romance mod because no one can stop him from flirting with his fictional vex boyfriend.

Mumbo: Grian, if I hadn't met you personally, I would've pictured you as a crazy Scar fanatic. Gria: Wha— How— I’m not crazy. Mumbo: You downloaded a romance mod just to flirt with Scar and commissioned an artist to draw a scene from it, and now you have it framed on your bedroom wall. So, Grian, I think that’s crazy behavior. Gria: … I do what I want, Mumbo!

Gria's love for the game and Scar grew more as another hermitopia game was released (Hermitopia 7). Then, he, as Xelqua, became a notorious name because of a supposedly harmless poll about the sexiest character in the game. He was known as the insane Scar fan.

He's got every Scar merch, though there isn't much Hermitopia merch released in general. However, if someone posts about a new Scar fan merch, a certain username might appear in their notifications, like a hound trailing a scent. Haters and trolls are also dragged to hell and back because, if they aren't regretful after being berated by this insane man, they will not be able to surf through the web in peace as long as Xelqua holds a grudge. 

As insane as this Xelqua person is, Scar had become a popular character within the fandom, compared to his old status as an underrated sweetheart without much attention or fanfare thanks to Xelqua constantly (for years without missing a day) talking about him. Xelqua also organized or helped some Scar fan events and constantly supported merch creators with hermitopia merch (especially if it involved Scar.)

User Xelqua, about Scar: He is my little sunshine, my precious sunflower. He might’ve killed some men, but he was hot while doing it.

C. The Collaboration Event

Back to Game dev stuff, Gria isn’t open about his current obsession with his coworkers. When the collaboration event with the “Empires” games was finally announced, two representatives from the other company came to visit. “Skizzleman” has been a writer for Hermitopia since the 3rd game. A character from Empires, Gemini, will become a new character in the next Hermitopia game, and there will be a DLC that will add a new small map with many biomes and new materials. In Empires, Hermitopia characters will be featured in a limited-run gacha banner and a limited-time story event. 

Now a Hermitopia fan, Gria tried to interview Skizzleman about the game (while making it not obvious how obsessed he is with it). Skizzleman was the one who wrote the lore for “Impulse” as well as most of his dialogue throughout the games.

Another representative for Hermitopia, the lead designer Joel, came to visit for the collab event. He is a fanatic of Empires and a diehard “Shadow Lady” fan, which is why he is so excited to work with E.V.O. Games for the collab.

Accompaniment art for this here: link

Gria was never into gacha games, but with a mix of Pearl and Jimmy convincing him to try the game they worked on (not to mention the fact that it is free-to-play), and showing him an initial sketch of what some hermitopia characters will look like in the game (this isn’t allowed, but Jimmy and Pearl found the thought of their serious coworker playing a gacha game amusing), he finally caved. Little did they know, showing a topless concept art of Scar is more than enough to reel him in.

When the collab update was finally released, Gria grinded Empires just to get Scar. He practically paid his own salary back to his company just to get Scar to max level and his additional skins. (He loved his new “HotGuy” skin the most)

With the release of “Hermitopia 8: Moon Collision” and the introduction of co-op multiplayer mode, Gria invited Pearl to play with him with the excuse that they're only going to see how Gemini looks in the game. Gria successfully got Pearl hooked on the game.

D. The Watchers Studio

Before Gria properly applied to a game company, he developed small-scale games with his high school friends. They called themselves “The Watchers.” He met them in a small art club and they bonded over their favorite games. Gria’s favorite game growing up was an old zombie game with a title he can no longer remember.

One of their unfinished games was “The Life Game.” It was a battle-royal death game where the players had to gather resources and have limited lives.

Two of their old friend group recently reached out to Gria to catch up. They said they wanted to work on “The Life Game” again and wanted to ask Gria if he wanted to join again. Of course, Gria already had a job himself, so he declined. However, he hung out with the two and checked in with their progress, nostalgia hitting him as they relived their old game ideas.

The two invited Gria to do an alpha test and asked him to invite any friends who might find it fun. Gria invited Jimmy, Pearl, Martyn, and Big B, as well as Skizzleman and Joel who he’s been acquainted with. He also sent an invite to Mumbo, who was unfortunately busy with his job at the moment. 

To Gria’s surprise, the two had turned their game into a VR game. All seven of them played in a medium-sized studio, and although the game was fun, it was nausea-inducing, especially for Joel. They all lost to the Computer-AI characters, which concluded their Alpha Test.

After the meetup, the two lent them their CD copy of the game with the VR Headset they used (which was suspiciously generous of them).

Skizzleman liked the game a lot and asked if they could do it again sometime, which Gria relayed to his two old friends. Pearl shared the same sentiment but is too caught up with work which makes her unable to join their next session.

The gang kept discussing the game they played and its potential to become a hit with a little more polish. This made Gria feel proud of his old team and his past self, reminding him of the time he was passionate about making games despite his lack of experience. 

With limited coding knowledge and a little help from Mumbo, he made a server to host “The Life Game” online instead of LAN. He sent copies to Mumbo and Pearl in case they’d join later. According to the two, the game had more improvements to it since the last time they played it, which was months ago.

Gria had a small voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea— well, he did get a bit sick in the last session, but everyone had fun. So, he ignored the warning bells and hit “Join World.”

This marks the End of Pilot Part One Next Chapter > PART TWO: UNFIXABLE ERROR

ENDING NOTES: I've been brainrotting and hyperfixating on the idea for a while now, and I don't know how to let it all out so I'm going to try out this format. Hopefully I could add more to this! Thank you if you've read this far into the post. :) Made a spotify playlist too in case anyone is interested (I'm still working on this though)

[sixeyesonathiel]

you ever draw someone so hard you ride them?

pairing — star player satoru x broke artist reader

synopsis : after months of being your muse, satoru finally flips the table and makes you his canvas—reverent, hungry, and utterly devoted. you spent weeks capturing his form; now he worships yours, whispering that you are the masterpiece.

wc — 3.5k tags — smut, fluff, university au, pining, finally touching, soft dom satoru, service top satoru, hand worship, oral (f receiving), mirror sex, slow burn payoff, first time, established relationship, emotional smut, he loves you so much it’s sick, you lets yourself be loved, gentle filth, satoru is down so bad it’s pathetic

a/n: yes. this is the smut for free throws & figure drawings. i couldn’t add smut in the original oneshot, but these two never left me alone, the part two which includes their life after college is still in the making!

eight months in.

that’s how long it takes before satoru touches you like this.

not because you weren’t ready. not because he wasn’t. but because he’s a golden-retriever-faced menace who waited—waited—until your need outweighed your pride. he could tell. he always could. and he never pushed, never asked, never made you feel cornered. just circled closer every day like gravity, like fate. one teasing comment at a time. one lazy smirk, one thigh brush, one perfectly timed stretch of his jersey in your face. every moment so casual. calculated. loving. he gave you time to breathe, time to bloom.

he made it a game. but not one he ever planned to win fast.

he’d kiss you slow in the halls, hand in your back pocket, mouth curling into your neck just to feel you twitch. he’d crawl into your bed after practice, shirtless, smelling like sweat and mint gum and expensive laundry detergent. he’d grin like a devil and mouth at your collarbone like he was innocent. always stopping short. always leaving you throbbing, breathless, caught between a gasp and a growl. and he’d laugh when you shoved him away, cheeks pink, thighs pressed tight, muttering something vicious under your breath. and then he'd say something stupid like, "it's cute when you fluster," as if you weren't already melting inside.

satoru gojo is shameless. but he’s also patient. reverent. completely and utterly yours.

he never tried to touch what you weren’t ready to give. not once. not even when you straddled his lap in the studio, thighs framing his hips while you adjusted the light for your latest sketch. not when you fell asleep with your hand in his shirt and your face in his throat. not when your breath hitched the first time he kissed the base of your spine, or when your hips unconsciously pressed against him during a late-night cuddle. he’d grin, yes. he’d tease. but he’d always stop. always wait. because he wanted you to feel safe. he wanted you to choose.

because he knows how much you overthink. how long you spent folding your love into corners, how tightly you hold your own body together, like it’s a project you haven’t quite finished. you’re an artist—your hands are your pride, your purpose. and he knows that too. better than anyone.

he fell in love with them first.

long before you ever let him in, he was already watching the way you curled your fingers when you thought, the way you rubbed your thumb over your pencil before sketching, the way paint smudged the edges of your knuckles like a secret only he was meant to see. he watches them like a man starved. kisses them when you let him. cradles them like they might shatter. memorizes the little freckle on your index finger and the groove of your palm. calls them magic. says they saved him.

"you know you could ruin me with these," he’ll murmur sometimes, his lips brushing the heel of your palm. "all that talent, all that precision, and you use them to paint me?" his smile is crooked. adoring. "no one's ever been so lucky."

and when you look away, flustered, pretending not to care, he kisses the dip of your wrist and whispers, "i’d let you wreck me. just say the word."

but he waits.

days turn to weeks, then months. your sketchbooks fill with him. you pretend they don’t. he pretends not to notice. he starts bringing snacks to your sessions, then full meals. makes you take breaks. kisses the stress from your forehead. lays his head in your lap and lets you draw in peace. he runs errands for you. he fixes your squeaky cabinet. he folds your laundry, badly. he doodles in your margins when you aren't looking and gets scolded every time.

he never asks for more.

and still, he waits.

until one night, you pull him into your bed.

not like usual. not with the intent to sleep. not with your body curled toward the wall and his arm tossed carelessly around your waist.

no. this time, you kiss him first.

this time, your mouth is open and soft and wanting, your hands sliding under his shirt like you’re memorizing the ridges of his stomach. and for one suspended breath, he freezes. just to make sure you mean it. his lashes flutter. his breath stills. his hand hovers above your thigh, waiting.

and you do.

because for once, you aren’t overthinking. you aren’t afraid. you want him. you trust him. more than you’ve ever trusted anyone.

and the moment your back hits the sheets, he’s all over you.

knees planted wide between your legs, hands everywhere, mouth hot and eager as it trails kisses down your body. his eyes are bright and ravenous, that blue burned down to smoke, lips already slick from the kisses he's stolen. his hands shake, just barely. like he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch. like he doesn’t want to ruin anything by rushing.

"took you long enough," he breathes, voice shot to hell as he watches you peel your shirt off. his gaze drags over your chest, reverent. like you’re light. like you’re art. like you’re his. something in him breaks a little, seeing you like this. bare. willing. glowing.

"you’re so annoying," you mutter, breathless, smiling despite yourself.

"mmhm," he hums, nuzzling against your neck. "but you’re still letting me fuck you. can’t be that bad."

your glare doesn’t land. not when he’s pressing you into the mattress, nosing at your jaw, whispering, “been dreaming about this. you, under me, making all those noises you try so hard to hold in.”

he kisses your hands first. of course he does. each finger, with reverence. your palm, with warmth. your wrist, with devotion. he presses them to his chest like they’re sacred. says something about how they’ve built whole worlds. says he wants to earn every touch.

he doesn't just want you.

he cherishes you.

and fuck, you are noisy.

it drives him insane.

satoru hears it before his mouth even touches you. that soft, hitched breath when his hands slide beneath your thighs, calloused fingertips dragging slow and reverent like he wants to learn the shape of your tremble. the little gasp you try to swallow when he kisses the sensitive skin above your knee, letting his lips linger there too long, humming softly as if he's savoring something decadent. the sound that breaks from your throat when his thumb barely brushes over your folds and finds you soaked — it has him swearing under his breath, jaw going tight, shoulders tensing as though he’s barely keeping himself leashed.

his groan is guttural, lodged deep in his chest, like it takes effort to keep himself from diving in right then. his eyes are hooded, lashes clinging to sweat-slick skin, pupils blown wide beneath strands of silver hair that stick to his damp temple. his mouth is parted, a bead of spit catching on his bottom lip—already pink from where he's been biting it raw. his expression flickers, moment to moment: awe, hunger, something like devotion. he looks like a man seconds from prayer and sin all at once.

“mm,” he hums low, dragging a knuckle through your slick. his thumb ghosts over your clit but doesn’t linger yet. “you always get this messy when i just look at you?”

your thighs twitch. your jaw clenches. your hands fist into the sheets, trying not to give him the satisfaction. but your eyes flutter half-shut and your lips part around a breath that catches anyway.

“don’t narrate it,” you mumble, voice shaking, already unraveling.

he laughs into your skin, hot breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh, and his grin is all teeth and mischief.

“can’t help it,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower. “you’re too fuckin’ cute when you try to be mad at me.”

his palms slide behind your thighs, thumbs smoothing over your skin as he eases you apart, spreading you open like you’re something sacred—his. the air hits your wetness and your body jerks, but he’s already lowering himself, settling between your legs like it’s his home.

his eyes roam every inch of you before he even touches. he stares, quiet for once, like he wants to memorize the way you look right now, how flushed you are, how your chest rises with shaky breath.

“shit,” he whispers, licking his lips. “you’re unreal.”

you breathe his name again, soft, tentative. he glances up, and when your eyes meet, his smile softens into something molten.

“shhh,” he says, lips brushing your skin. “just lemme taste you, baby. wanna make you feel good.”

and then he devours you.

no teasing. no hesitance. just tongue, mouth, hunger.

he groans like he’s been starved, like every inch of his body is aching to have this. he buries his mouth in you and licks like he’s drowning and the only thing keeping him breathing is you. his tongue is hot and slow at first, dragging between your folds, mapping out every part of you. and then deeper, messier, hungrier.

his nose nudges the crease of your thigh and he exhales sharply through it, groaning as his tongue circles your clit and flicks just right. your hips jump and he grins, lips curved against your skin.

when you moan, broken and high-pitched, his lashes flutter and his eyes roll back, like the sound of you is enough to undo him. he tightens his grip on your thighs, keeping you still while he feasts. you feel his jaw flex, the sharp edge of his cheekbone brushing your thigh with every movement.

he pulls back just a moment, lips slick, breath ragged, eyes glazed.

“you make the prettiest sounds,” he breathes, voice thick, reverent. “c'mon, don’t hide them from me. wanna hear everything.”

his tongue returns, more focused now, lapping and sucking in rhythm. you twitch beneath him, thighs clenching, and he lets out a low, gravelly noise of satisfaction. his lashes flutter again, mouth working hungrily, jaw moving with purpose.

“mmm,” he hums against you, smirking. “tastes better than any fuckin’ sweet i’ve had. should’ve done this sooner.”

your hand flies to his hair, tugging without thinking, and he groans loud—vibrating straight through you. his shoulders shudder, like he wants to grind himself into the mattress just from your sounds alone.

“fuck,” he breathes, and the tip of his nose bumps your clit again as he speaks. “pull harder. make a mess of me.”

then—without warning, without mercy—he sinks two fingers inside you.

thick. slow. deep. curling like he knows exactly where you need him.

your back bows. your breath stutters. your body arches up into him, and you make a sound he’s never heard from you before—wrecked and raw. his free hand anchors you down, palm spread flat against your stomach like he’s holding you to the earth.

“look at you,” he groans, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “so fuckin’ tight. like you’re made to take me.”

his fingers work a slow, maddening rhythm inside you, knuckles dragging firm as his tongue flicks your clit in sync. the room is too hot. your vision swims. your thighs shake beneath his mouth.

he watches every twitch, every breath you catch, every expression you can’t hide. he looks wrecked—hair damp and curling against his temples, lips swollen and slick, jaw sharp with tension.

he pants against your cunt, voice breaking.

“close,” he murmurs. “i know. i can feel it. fuck, baby, gimme it. let me have all of it.”

you shatter.

legs trembling, voice cracking. your orgasm crashes through you like thunder, loud and bright and soaked, and he moans into it—desperate and unfiltered, mouth still moving, tongue still pressing through every wave. your body jolts with every aftershock, thighs shaking around his head, hands twitching against his shoulders. your fingers go slack in his hair, your voice frayed.

his fingers don’t leave you. they ease, slow, coaxing every tremor from your body with tenderness. his mouth lingers, placing soft kisses now, like he’s trying to soothe you through the comedown.

your hands push weakly at his shoulders, breathless, spent.

and he loves it.

he finally lifts his head, breath warm against your thigh, chest heaving like he just ran through a storm and found peace in you. his pupils are blown wide, nearly eclipsing the soft blue, hair disheveled and damp with sweat, strands sticking to his flushed forehead. his lips glisten, raw and parted, breath shaky as though your taste alone stole every last thread of his composure. his tongue drags across his lower lip slowly, like he’s still savoring the flavor of you, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smug, breathless grin.

he looks wrecked. and radiant. wild with need and dripping with adoration.

“you okay?”

you nod, barely. dazed. lips swollen, eyes glassy, pupils unfocused. your lashes flutter as he kisses up your body—delicate presses, reverent, like each inch of skin is something sacred, like he’s anchoring himself in the world by mapping every place he’s made you feel good. he doesn’t speak at first. just hums, low and satisfied, murmuring quiet praises into your skin like they’re instinct. like worship.

his mouth finds yours again, and he kisses you deep—wet and warm, a slow press that melts into something messier. he lets you taste yourself on his tongue, groaning into your mouth as your hips roll against him without meaning to. when you whimper, he exhales through his nose, kissing you deeper, his fingers slipping beneath your thighs to anchor you down.

“mm,” he exhales, voice syrup-thick as he shifts beneath you. “not done.”

his hands settle at your hips, palms steady, guiding you effortlessly into his lap like you’re weightless. your back meets his chest with a slick press, your sweat-slicked skin sliding against his. his arms coil around your waist, strong and grounding. his chest rises and falls behind you, a little too fast, like he’s barely managing to keep himself from dragging you under.

the mirror is in front of you.

angled just right. angled perfectly. and god, he made sure of that.

his cock, flushed dark and twitching, slides between your folds as he shifts his hips beneath you, letting the tip nudge against your clit before gliding through your slick. the friction alone makes your head tip back, a choked sound escaping you.

he watches your reaction in the mirror, that infuriating smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. you feel it—his amusement, his awe.

“look at that,” he purrs, voice heavy with affection and mischief. “haven’t even put it in yet, and you’re already fallin’ apart on me.”

he kisses the side of your head, nose brushing your temple.

“breathe, baby.”

his fingers dip down again, slow, teasing circles over your clit. featherlight, just enough to make your stomach tighten. your head tips back, body twitching in his lap. your nails scratch lightly down his arms, the only defense you can muster.

then—

he pushes in.

inch by inch.

thick, stretching you open like it’s the first time. because it is.

your breath shatters. your whole body jolts, hands flying to his forearms. your nails dig deep. your thighs strain to close, but his arms hold you open. you gasp—a helpless, breathy thing that breaks before it ever becomes a word.

“shh,” he coos, voice gentler now, lips grazing your ear. “s’okay. i got you. just breathe. you’re takin’ me so good already.”

he groans—low, shaky. your walls flutter around him with every inch he sinks in, the stretch making your whole body shiver. his hand doesn’t leave your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles to ease the burn.

“fuck,” he moans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “you’re squeezin’ me like a vice. gonna make me lose it before i even move.”

you try to speak, to say something biting—but the words collapse into a soft, keening sound as he bottoms out.

his hand finds your chin and tilts it forward.

“nuh-uh,” he murmurs. “don’t look away. wanna see how fuckin’ pretty you look like this.”

your eyes drag open, hazy and wet, and meet the mirror.

you barely recognize yourself—flushed and shining, lips parted in a stunned gasp, your skin glowing with sweat. your brows are drawn, mouth twitching as your walls flutter around the thick weight of him inside you.

he starts to move.

slow. dragging. deliberate.

your breath stutters. your knees twitch, thighs trembling.

“that’s it,” he hums, breath hot on your neck. “just like that. god, you’re makin’ the cutest faces. y’know that? fuckin’ adorable. you sure you’re not the one obsessed with me?”

he rolls his hips deeper. you cry out, barely a sound, just air and heat. your hands tremble where they grip his thighs, too overwhelmed to speak.

“what’s that? no smart little comment now?” he teases, kissing your shoulder, his voice drenched in adoration. “thought you were tough, angel.”

he grinds up into you again. your mouth falls open.

a whimper.

a moan.

and nothing else.

he laughs. delighted. wrecked.

“knew it,” he whispers. “knew i’d turn that sharp mouth of yours to mush.”

his thrusts quicken. deepen. his arms wrap tighter around your waist, locking you in place as he fucks up into you, smooth and controlled. the mirror shows everything. your body bouncing with every roll of his hips, his cock splitting you open again and again, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he moves.

“look at you, baby,” he growls, picking up the pace. “fuck—how’re you this gorgeous and still act like i’m the muse?”

his voice cracks with it. because you are—your expression undone, jaw slack, eyes lidded and wet. your thighs tremble with each thrust, every sound that escapes you more broken than the last.

“don’t hide from me,” he pants, breath sharp and quick. “keep watching. wanna see the exact moment you fall apart.”

you try.

but your eyes blur. your vision swims. your body rocks helplessly in his lap.

your orgasm coils tight in your belly, sharp and violent.

“satoru—please—i’m—”

“that’s it,” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear. “let go. let me feel you, baby. wanna watch you fall apart all over my cock.”

you break. again.

your body collapses against him, your scream breathless, voice cracking. every muscle pulls taut, trembling. your walls clench hard around him, and he groans—deep, raw, as he fucks you through it, chasing his own edge.

“that’s it. fuck, that’s it—”

he spills into you with a strangled cry, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside, thick and so much it spills out around the edges. his arms crush you to him. he moans again, low and broken, like he doesn’t know how else to react. he doesn’t thrust again. just stays buried. trembling. like finishing inside you knocked every last thought out of his head.

his arms wrap around you like he’s trying to anchor himself—like if he loosens his grip, he might float away. his palm is pressed flat against your belly, grounding you, fingers twitching like they still don’t know how to stop touching. his forehead rests against your shoulder, breath ragged and warm, strands of hair clinging to the sweat-damp skin of his temple.

your bodies breathe in tandem. chest to back, sticky with sweat and afterglow. his cock twitches again inside you—a slow, pulsing aftershock—and you feel the lazy, inevitable trickle of his release starting to slip out around him. your thighs twitch. your toes curl. your reflection in the mirror shifts, barely perceptible, trembling like the rest of you.

“you okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing the back of your shoulder.

“no thanks to you,” you mumble, your voice thick and flat with exhaustion. it lacks the bite you were aiming for.

he laughs—quiet and hoarse—and kisses your jaw. “so mean,” he croons, nuzzling against your cheek. “and here i was, giving you the best night of your life.”

“shut up,” you whisper. your eyes are half-lidded, unfocused. “i can’t even feel my knees.”

“that’s a good thing,” he says, smug now. “means i did it right.”

you groan, shifting just enough to smack his thigh with the back of your hand, weakly. “you’re insufferable.”

“you love it,” he replies, kissing your temple. he still sounds dazed, too satisfied to be cocky for real. “gonna run you a bath soon. hot. lavender oil. bubbles.”

“don’t make promises you’re too tired to keep.”

he exhales a breathy laugh, the sound low and melted. his hand trails up your stomach, then down again, soothing, thoughtless. his thumb traces just beneath the curve of your ribs.

“give me five minutes,” he murmurs. “then i’ll carry you. princess treatment.”

“mm. better.”

he adjusts his hold on you slightly, only so he can tuck his nose into the crook of your neck, exhale slow and deep like he’s trying to memorize the way you smell like skin and sweat and everything he just did to you.

“but not yet,” he says, the words nearly lost in your skin. “just let me stay like this. hold you a little longer.”

and he does. he stays wrapped around you like he was carved to fit there.

like if he lets go, the world might stop.

a/n : i missed writing them—missed how individual they are, and how their chemistry feels like a natural consequence of who they are, not just the romance. free throws & figure drawings is still the piece i’m proudest of, and this feels like a little love letter to that <3 also: i toned down the explicitness in this one—not because they aren’t filthy, but because i really wanted to center the intimacy over the porn teehee :3