#try except finally python

[proeduorganization]

Python Exception Handling

What is exception handling? Exception handling in Python is a way to manage and respond to runtime errors. When an error occurs, Python typically stops and generates an exception message. Exception handling allows you to catch these exceptions and handle them gracefully, preventing your program from crashing. Basic structure of exception handling The basic structure of exception handling in…

[lemoncrushh]

Drunk Me Is Like Regular Me

Summary: You and Harry have a cute and silly evening together. AKA, Harry can't help being cute, even when he's drunk.

Warnings: just some drinking and penis jokes

Word Count: 1061

A/N: This is just a silly little blurb from 2016 based on a prompt.

You sat on the sofa next to Harry as you scrolled through your Netflix queue. Neither of you were particularly in the mood for a movie, but there wasn't much else to do. After deciding against watching your favorite drama for the millionth time and vetoing Harry's suggestion of a Monty Python movie marathon, you tossed him the remote.

"You decide," you said as you headed for the kitchen. "But no Python. I think I've heard enough about how awfully nice it is to have a penis."

You heard Harry snicker in the other room before calling out to you. "What are you doing?"

"Making a drink," you replied. "I feel like getting drunk."

"You feel like getting drunk, but no penis jokes?" he quipped.

"I'm warning you, Styles."

"Heyyy."

You returned to the living room, a glass in each hand and a smirk on your face to let him know you were teasing him. When you handed him his glass, he took it with slight hesitation, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What is this?" he inquired.

"A Sloe Comfortable Screw."

"Seriously?" he scoffed.

"That's what it's called!" you exclaimed with a giggle, sitting next to him. "It's Sloe Gin, Southern Comfort and orange juice."

Harry inspected the contents of his glass before side eyeing you.

"It's good," you insisted after taking your own sip. "Try it."

"Alright then."

He brought the glass to his lips, taking a cautious sip followed by a generous one.

"Not bad," he admitted.

With a satisfied grin, you sat back, resting your elbow on the back of the couch.

"You know, I've yet to see you drunk."

"You've seen me drunk before," he said.

You shook your head, "No, I haven't. I've seen you a little tipsy at best. But never drunk."

Harry chuckled, his dimple dipping into his cheek.

"Tell me," you said, sitting up, "what is drunk Harry Styles like?"

He quirked a brow before taking another sip of his cocktail. He took his time swallowing, slowly lowering his glass to grin at you.

"Drunk me is like regular me, except with more grammar errors and a deeper meaning to everything."

You threw your head back laughing. "I can't wait to see that."

Harry lifted his glass. "Make me another one of these and you just might."

"Is that a promise?" you beamed with glee.

"We'll see," he rolled his eyes. "So what are we watching?"

"You were supposed to decide."

"We don't have to watch a movie," he shrugged.

"Okay...what do you wanna do then?"

Before he could respond, you stood up fast, nearly spilling your drink. "Oh!"

"Careful, love, that screw was meant to be slow, not fast."

"Let's play a game!" you exclaimed.

Harry shook his head, muttering under his breath. "She didn't get my joke."

"Shut up, yes I did," you said quickly.

"Then why didn't you laugh?"

"Because it was lame."

Harry threw his hand up in exasperation.

"Let's play a game, Harry," you repeated.

Harry mocked you, sitting on the edge of the sofa, his eyes wide. "Okay! What game?"

"A drinking game," you answered.

Taking the final gulp from his glass, he handed it to you.

"Fine. But I'll need another screw."

Rolling your eyes, you returned to the kitchen to make more cocktails. When you came back, a deck of cards in your hand, Harry eagerly accepted his second drink, a happy little glow about him.

"Hang on, tiger," you chuckled when he was about to take a sip. "Let's start the game."

You sat on the floor next to the coffee table and began to shuffle the cards.

"What's the rules?" Harry asked, sitting down next to you.

"Nothing major," you shrugged. "Just guess if the next card is higher or lower."

"That's not very fun."

"You have a better suggestion?" you raised your eyebrows. "I know you don't want me to make you play Never Have I Ever."

Harry eyed you again before nodding. "Fine."

You played back and forth for a while, each of you having to take several drinks. When Harry's glass emptied again and yours was getting close, you rose from your spot to make another round of cocktails.

"Wow," you widened your eyes when you stood, your head spinning. "I think it's kicking in."

"Not to me," Harry shrugged. "I feel good."

You chuckled at his obvious grammatical error, not sure if he had said it on purpose or not. But you knew he was probably feeling the effects of the alcohol.

When you returned with the third drink for each of you, you nearly fell on your butt until Harry caught you.

"Easy, baby," he murmured. "Maybe we should stop it with the drinking games."

"No," you pouted. "I still wanna see you drunk."

Harry smiled at you as he leaned over to whisper in your ear. "I think I am."

"So if we're not gonna play a game anymore, what are we gonna do?" you asked him.

"Why do we have to do something? Sometimes just being with someone is nice. You can talk. Or not. Whatever. But you don't always have to be doing something."

He leaned back then, resting against the sofa. His eyelids were heavy as he brought the glass to his lips. Catching you watching him, he grinned, lifting his glass higher as though to toast to you.

You shook your head as you giggled, aware that Harry was now past the tipsiness you'd seen him in before.

"I like this," Harry declared, lowering his glass to look inside it.

"The drink?" you inquired.

He shook his head. "No, this. The silence."

"Gee, thanks," you scoffed.

"No, I don't mean - don't take it that way. That's - no."

You raised your brows in question, having no idea what he was mumbling about. Harry then placed his glass on the coffee table, scooting his body closer to yours.

"It's like...this," he whispered, his eyes practically burning into yours as you stared at him.

"Like what?"

"Like...this..." Harry gestured between you. "Me and you, you and me. Just...being here...together."

"Oh - kay," you nodded slowly, still lost on what he was trying to say.

"Don't you think it means more when you can just enjoy...being?"

"Mmm...yeah, Harry, you're drunk."

"And you have beautiful eyes," he stated before surprising you with a kiss.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[manicpixiefelix]

at the other end of the leash

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

@vannyangelxoxo asked: can you write Felix beating someone’s ass for reader? Summary: You convince Felix to go with you to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in one of the last weeks of Summer before you begin your first year at Oxford University. While out on the town during the Festival, Felix finds himself enchanted with one of the performers, an avant-guarde acrobat named Magnus. The perfect night quickly goes south, however, as Felix discovers someone trying to take advantage of you, and he immediately steps in. Of course.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. Set at the end of Summer before Felix and Reader start their first year of university at Oxford. Established Bi Felix.

Warnings: heavy themes; reader is slipped a roofie at a club and a stranger attempts to take them home, and it's heavily implied that he plans to assault them. felix gets there in time, which leads to the second warning of VIOLENCE. felix beats that motherfucker to a bloody mess. it doesn't get super gorey/explicit but there is a lot of blood. also there is discussions of nudity, non explicit sex, and recreational drug use in the club.

A/N: 6053 words. well, would you look at that. another request that got outrageously out of hand. this is also a personal homage to Edinbugh Fringe Festival, my beloved, my home for 6 weeks of the year. id also like to state that it's a wonderful place to be; the roofie plot is 100% fictionalised. the rest of it is a pastiche of real things that i have actually experienced. i cannot stress enough the raw animal attraction of a man named magnus who can and will flirt with anyone and everyone while getting drinks after his shows, who performs several times a week with his dick out, wearing eyeliner, heavily tattooed, who smokes and has pretty eyes. that's all i have to say about that.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Come on Fi, it's the last weeks of Summer before we start uni," you'd been rather desperately imploring, as if Felix had ever known how to refuse you when you actually wanted something, "you know Monty Python started there before they were even Monty Python," you told him knowingly, which was certainly interesting, though not particularly relevant. Finally you sighed, splaying yourself out over the sofa you'd been sitting, looking up at him from as he entered the room. Now you were spread out foolishly, childishly, looking up at him with imploring eyes, "Fi we've spent a month lazing around the house and I know your parents have no other events planned before we go back, except for the party on the second last night; we'll be back before then, I promise! I want to spend time watching strange show, meeting people I'd never imagine, and drinking cocktails named after famous poets from rustic bars!"

It had been your suggestion to go to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival for a few days, and despite the exhaustingly long train ride and the hotel prices that would probably cripple anyone less well off than you - Felix had agreed. Of course he'd agreed; you sounded so hopeful.

Which is how you'd found yourself in an underground club on a Friday night, dancefloor packed with more bodies than sense, and a twenty minute line for drinks. Tonight he'd been feeling especially bold, forgoing a jacket altogether, spending time in the mirror with you before heading out to see the show you'd chosen for the evening - a compelling one-man show about being gay in Australia, in a less compelling, cramped venue. So now here he was, in one of his more fetching dark, silk, button-down t-shirts, eyeliner on his waterline, mascara even though he claimed to not need it, a touch of glitter by his temples, and his favourite brown lipstick that he'd agonised over.

Not long after you'd come out, you'd tried wearing eyeliner with the male, private school uniform - I can- I should be allowed to do whatever I want, right? - and the minute after Felix had gotten out of suspension for smacking a kid who called you a slur, he went out and bought his own eyeliner. His collection had only grown from there. It really was a shame that people seemed to think it was reserved for femininity. Well, as it turned out, people who weren't part of things like Fringe Festivals.

Felix fit right in tonight.

It's a little thrilling; these people, in neon underwear and wigs and makeup that would forever outshine his own efforts, they look at him differently. Drugs passed around him - oh darling, would you like some? But once he'd ask what they were and the kind soul goes to check, they're pulled away by some other shiny thing to focus on. Always too close, tits out with nipple pasties being sweated off, he's sure he saw someone's dick out on the dance floor, the most beautiful, feminine, sculpted faces on the hairiest male bodies sporting only a gold speedo. Confusing and foreign and everyone smiling at him.

Felix wasn't quite sure where you'd gotten too, especially not since he'd found himself caught in the blue-eyed gaze of a stocky punk with a face tattoo and carefully loose hair pulled back into a low bun. Nose piercings and ears with stretched holes that Felix could see all the way through, black silicone bordering the void almost like it was intended to match the black makeup around his eyes, though it looks worn, half sweated through. Still, Felix can't help but be enchanted by the way it made his blue eyes peak so brightly through. Felix didn't think he had much of a type when it came to guys, but he'd always found something very charming about dark hair and blue, mischievous eyes.

"Magnus," he'd introduced himself as with much confidence and yelling over the music, and when Felix introduced himself, asked if he was here for the festival, Magnus smiles wider. Felix thinks very distinctly of biting. "Actually here blowing off steam after a show," a performer then, "part of an avant guarde acrobatics troupe," a very flexible performer.

"How... long have you been doing that?"

"About three years now," Magnus squints into the distance as he tried to recall, "since I was nineteen."

"Oh," Felix brightens up, adding without thinking, "I'm nineteen." And immediately hangs his head with embarrassment. Thankfully, instead of calling him a kid - despite only being twenty-two; everyone in their twenties seemed to like calling him a baby, even if they'd turned twenty yesterday - and laughs.

"Oh thank god," he claps Felix on the shoulder, "because I was definitely going to ask."

"It's a pub," Felix points out, as if no-one underage has ever snuck into a pub ever. Magnus gives him a sidelong smile.

"With no security in sight, mate," he snorted. Felix had noticed that drugs were being passed around like candy, but he hadn't really considered it beyond that. Magnus, however, points to a couple that have been grinding on each other on a bar stool several feet away, "he's been fucking her like that for the past fifteen minutes." Felix's brows shot up.

"Really?!" He gasped; Magnus grinned like the Cheshire cat, mentioning in a far too offhand way that they were also friends of his, "should we move?"

"It's the furthest you're going to be from some kind of sex act unless you want to go outside," he gave a loud, pleased sigh at the environment, seeming entirely at home. Felix is struck with the immediate and vivid image of Magnus in his beautiful leather jacket pressing him up against this very wall, hand slipping beneath the waistband of Felix's pants; the freedom of everyone seeing and nobody caring and -

"What's avant guarde about it-" Felix clears his throat awkwardly, "the acrobatics, I mean, if I may ask?" Felix tries to remain polite while he knows he's blushing all over. All he hopes is that this man beside him that he's just met can't tell how loudly he's thinking holy shit have I met someone who could throw me around the room with ease? Is that something I want? He's never really thought about it before -

"You ever seen three people stand on each other's shoulders all at once in the full monty?" As if that's a real question Felix is supposed to have a real answer to, but Magnus stood just a little taller, just a little prouder, "I'm the lad at the bottom, holding us all secure, cock out for the world to see." What a fucking mental image.

Magnus also informs Felix that the tattoo on his face, the delicate dagger, has its match somewhere else on his body. It's with a staggering amount of confidence that immediately flusters Felix that Magnus tells him he can either buy a ticket to the show, or buy him a drink if he'd like to see it. He's pretty sure he's never been so directly and effectively hit on before in his entire life. Yes, counting the trips you, he, Farleigh, and Venetia took to France that Summer in high school.

Standing in line, thinking about beautiful, punk, acrobat Magnus and what Felix can only assume is his tattooed cock, it takes him a long while to realise that he's nearing the bar and has been staring at some guy's drinks for a full minute. Something colourful and fizzing, something with vodka he's pretty sure. It takes another moment to register something falling into one of the drinks from between the man's fingers as he goes to take them away -

"Hey!" It could have been an accident, it could have been nothing, but Felix wouldn't be able to forgive himself if it wasn't, "dude, hey!" He tries to snatch at the guy's denim jacket, but he slips into the crowd. Trying to jam himself up to the bar, despite everyone else's annoyance, he tries to tell the bartender, but the man's already disappeared too far.

Vaguely distressed, but mostly dejected, he steps back to his place, and waiting another few long moments for his turn at the bar. Even as his gaze roams the crowd for the potential bastard, he can't seem to see him. But he looses track of his thoughts on the matter when he gets back to Magnus, leaning against the wall with half a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and those gorgeous blue eyes drinking in Felix as he approaches.

"Was almost worried I'd lost you there," he slings an arm around Felix's waist, drawing him in close, accepting the drink with a grin, and all Felix can think about is how warm he is, how he smells sweet and like rich herbs and smoke. He asks what Felix does, and Felix tries his very best not to sound as young as he suddenly feels -

"Remains to be seen," he leans into speak into Magnus's ear, musting the confidence he knows he usually has in spades, wrapping his own arm around Magnus's shoulders, "about to start at Oxford in a few days -"

"Oxford!" Felix isn't sure if Magnus is teasing him or not. He's also not sure that he minds, he kind of wants the man to keep looking at him- keep smiling at him like that.

He's so enraptured by the company he's found for himself that it almost startles him when you come stumbling out of the crowd, off of the dance floor, beaming and sweating, holding a half-finished drink.

"Fi, there you are- oh my, hi, hello!" You're already giving Magnus a million watt smile, clearly quite drunk. Felix catches you with his free hand, having finished his own drink not too long ago.

"Hello, sweetheart," Magnus greets you warmly, but with an unmistakable hint of reservation, gaze momentarily flicking between yourself and Felix, trying to reassess the situation in the blink of an eye. You don't seem to notice that, however, simply standing a little taller, subtly preening at the pet name.

"Y/N is my best mate," Felix leans in close to Magnus to explain, voice fond in his ear, "the reason I'm here at all." And there's that smile again, all warm and amused and Magnus' eyes shining in a way that makes Felix want to let him do terrible, unspeakable things to him.

"Lucky for us both then, that you have such a darling friend."

Performers are a different fucking breed of people, Felix can't help but think to himself, even as Magnus turns - arm never leaving it's place around Felix - to properly introduce himself to you. He thinks it again watching Magnus charm you just as easily, even if he wasn't trying to outright hit on you the way he had been with Felix.

"I was just- I was just-" you stumble over your words, taking another sip of your drink - something colourful and fizzing, vodka something, you'd said with an offhand frown, a lovely guy I've been dancing with bought it for me - while you take Magnus' offered free hand to steady yourself, "I was thinking of heading back to the hotel pretty shortly, I'm a bit -" you make a vague hand gesture. Before you can even finish the sentiment, however, the next song begins and you light up. Finishing your drink, you grab Felix's free hand with your own, tugging them both towards the dance floor, begging them for one dance.

"How could I say no to a face like that?" Magnus teases, letting himself be dragged onto the dancefloor, Felix adding with a fond smile.

"Trust me, I wouldn't know."

Glad for the company, you gleefully let loose amongst the crush of bodies, and there's something both endearing, and endlessly attractive, about how happy Magnus seems to match your energy. The three of you jumping around to The Sex Pistols, Magnus shouting along with all of the lyrics and seemingly impressed that you and Felix at the very least seem to know some of them.

After the song, however, you seem to slip back into the crowd on the dancefloor, as if once more transfixed by the lights and movement and heat of the night. Magnus, however, leans in and asks if Felix smokes.

Outside it's far easier to breathe. It's cooler too. Still, Magnus pulls off his leather jacket, ties it around his hips, leaving him in a tight, white t-shirt. Felix has known in a roundabout way that he wasn't straight for quite some time, but damn did reminders like this not feel like being hit by a truck. Covered in tattoos and with the kind of arms and shoulders the Greeks could model statues of gods from, Felix knows he's staring but quite literally does not know how to stop.

Except then Magnus is pulling out an actual, metal cigarette deck, offering it to Felix for him to take one, and Felix is pretty sure this is the coolest person he's ever met in his life.

"I love these," Magnus takes Felix's hand in his free one, clicking the cigarette deck closed and sliding it smoothly back into his pocket, "these are cute," he's looking at the silly, little collection of stars tattooed on his hand. They look like nothing compared to the ink all over Magnus, but he seems genuine in his interest.

"Surprise gift for my sister," Felix hears himself say, cigarette between his lips as he fumbles in his pockets for a lighter.

"For your sister?"

"Well it was a surprise to me too," Felix chuckles at the memory, "Y/N and I organised for me and Venetia to get matching tattoos of her choice for her birthday."

"You... didn't know?" Magnus snorts, dropping Felix's hand to take the half-cigarette out from behind his ear, holding it out for Felix to light.

"Well I'm not opposed, I've got a couple of tattoos - nothing like yours," he grins, and Magnus's gaze meets his, flashing with that same amusement and attraction as in the club that had so captivated Felix in the first place, "but I'm kind of surprised that that's what Y/N gifted her?"

"Did your sister not like it?"

"No, that's the thing, I've actually never seen Ven react like that to a gift before," Felix muses; smiling at the memory, "of course she was a menace about it at first; I was worried she'd been given too much power," he snorted, tipping his head to look at Magnus, only to see those blue eyes gazing back, as if hanging on Felix's every word, "do you know how close I came to having a tramp stamp?"

"As if you wouldn't look fantastic with a tramp stamp," Magnus snorted.

However before the story can even be finished, the door to the club opens and both turn at the sound of your voice.

"No, I need some water first -" you sound very wrong. The person beside you, a man who looks vaguely familiar, though Felix is sure it's not his face, is setting almost too brisk of a pace.

"Come on, there's water back at my place, remember?"

"I need to go back to the hotel," you tried to insist, "and water- 'm gonna throw up in the taxi."

"You'll be fine, I promise, I've got you." The man's hailing at taxi, while you're swaying on your feet, looking even more out of it than you had when they'd last seen you.

Felix is moving on instinct, without hesitation, without even thinking.

"The fuck are you doing?" His voice raises, and the man turns right as a taxi is pulling up, looking at Felix with blatant irritation, not appearing to be intimidated in the slightest.

"Back off man, my friend isn't feeling well-" the bastard lies through his teeth, even as you of course recognise Felix, and take his arm, mumbling that you felt sick, "see?" He actually tries to pry you away from Felix, "I'm taking care of them, no need to worry -" but Felix puts his hand on yours, secure. Just as well, since you start to list and lean and lose your balance.

"Fi," you mutter weakly, pitifully, "help."

And that's when Felix realises what he recognises about the man; the jacket that slipped through his fingers at the bar. The man he'd seen dose your drink, as it turned out.

Felix has never seen red in his life the way he has in this moment.

Fury simmers white-hot just beneath his skin, though he keeps himself calm and collected as he gently walks you over to the wall of the club, easing you into a sitting position. All the while the bastard that was with you is berating him, saying you just needed to get somewhere to lie down. Magnus, however, seems to understand what's happening, and sits himself down beside you at the wall, quietly asking one of the many onlooker to go inside and grab some water for you.

"Fine, sit 'em on the filthy fucking pavement in the middle of the city instead of letting them lie down in a bed to sleep it off; you feel good? You feel like a hero for not letting me take my friend home -?"

There is an audible crack when Felix's fist makes impact with the bastard's nose. He knows once his adrenaline wears off it's going to hurt like a motherfucker, but it's worth it. More blood splatters across them both than Felix was anticipating from his wonky uppercut, but he doesn't care. The man half recovers, unsteady, but he gets a hit on Felix's cheeks with a fist full of rings, but he seems almost disorientated. Felix goes for the throat this time, satisfaction being the sound of the man choking on his gurgle of pain.

Felix isn't quite sure what it was that sent the bastard crashing to the ground, but he does know that he's tearing through that man's coat pockets like a feral beast before he finds the bottle of pills like the one he saw fall into your drink.

It's like the entire world stops for this one second.

His knuckles ache, covered in blood that isn't his own, clutching the same roofies that were now coursing through your blood, making you weak and vulnerable and prey to bastards like this. His head spins, fury spitting in his veins, blood singing to tear this man apart. There were on lookers, a gasping crowd, but for some reason no bouncer in sight, no-one stopping this.

And you, sitting against the wall of the pub, tucked up against Magnus who had a protective arm around you and was looking at the man beneath you with something cold in his eyes. His other hand was balancing a glass of water on his leg next to you, for you, but you didn't move, just looked at your hands, helpless. Magnus's cold gaze slides to meet Felix's, and there's something approving in his eyes. He gives the faintest nod.

Felix kind of blacks out after that.

The next thing he remembers is being shoved into a taxi rather frantically, hearing Magnus shout - well get him on his side so he doesn't choke on his blood before the ambulance arrives. You're already in, leaning against the window seat, gazing vacantly out of it. Felix gently touches your shoulder once the door shuts behind him- fuck that seems like a lot of blood? When did that happen? You make a vague hum of acknowledgement, so Felix shuffles over to the middle seat and coaxes you to rest against him.

"Fi?"

"Of course," he cradles you against him.

"Fi," your voice is weak, he can hear you beginning to sniffle. Your words come out awkwardly, slurred terribly, "feels wrong, c'nt.. m've."

"I know, I'm sorry," Felix feels the tears in his own eyes, "you'll be okay, I'm here, you'll be okay." He can't believe he let this happen. The front door opens, and Magnus's voice greets the driver.

"Sorry about the state of them in the back -"

"'s Friday, laddie," the terribly aged, terribly Scottish taxi driver says blithely, "where shall I be takin' yas?"

Magnus looks over the back to you both, expression concerned, but genuine, and asks for the address of your hotel. Felix takes a moment to compose himself, but finally gives it, and the drive commences in silence.

It seems only natural for Magnus to also get out once you've all arrived, easily sliding into step with Felix as they both wrapped one of your arms around their shoulders and helped get you back through the hotel and up to your room.

"Thank you, Magnus," Felix says softly as he fishes the key from his pocket, "I'm so sorry about how the night turned out." Magnus actually laughed at that, and Felix opened the door.

"Felix, if the context weren't so dramatically, disgustingly awful, this would be the most fun night I've had all Fringe." And you all shuffle inside, Felix guiding you all towards the bedroom to lay you down, "nice room by the way," Magnus looks around as he passes through, "who's cock did you have to suck to afford it in the middle of the Fringe?"

"I..." Felix hesitates, "don't know if that's a first meeting kind of question."

"Well played, Oxford boy," Magnus says, but there's no malice behind the nickname, "I have my theories, though." Part of Felix is glad Magnus is there, to help lighten the load, lighten the mood, even a little.

They lay you gently on the bed, and Felix is just glad that you seemed to finally have fully passed out. He can't begin to imagine the horrors that were going on inside your head. Then it's just the two of them. And the built in wardrobe across the room with it's floor to ceiling mirror.

And all that blood on Felix.

"I look the fucking American Psycho," it's fucking horrific! What did he do? Magnus, sitting on the end of the bed with one knee crossed over the other gives an amused smile.

"You actually kind of do."

"It's not good!" Felix approaches the mirror like he's in a damn horror movie, scrubbing at his cheeks with little success, but with a surprising amount of sharp pain, "the fuck did I do? Is this all his?" Magnus, in the mirror, is looking at him curiously, "Magnus, seriously, the fuck did I do?"

"You were fucking beautiful, Felix," Magnus says, sounding almost awed. Felix stopped; there was nothing flirty, nothing about it that wasn't genuine. Wait holy shit, Felix realises, are these fucking butterflies in his chest? Now of all times?

Then, in the next moment, Magnus blinks, clearing his throat loudly, like he hadn't meant to say that. For the first time all night he looks genuinely flustered, dropping his gaze.

"You hospitalised a fucking rapist, is what you did," he said matter-of-factly with a nod - he'd nodded before, it's the last thing Felix really remembers - "proved your point to everyone there finding those fucking pills; that was a good move. I mean, I had to explain what the fuck was happening to our little audience while I was dragging you off him - didn't think you wanted to kill him."

"Thanks," Felix says weakly. Then, softly, looking down at his shaking hands, "should I go to the police?"

"For doing a public service?" Magnus snorts, shaking his head, "no, there's at least a dozen girls who will attest to him acting threatening, and to Y/N's behaviour - who was thankfully taken away by an actual kind friend - and that he admitted in a fit of rage to spiking the drinks. He'll be the one in jail if anything." It's so... easy. So nonchalant.

When Felix asks, confusion, disbelief, innocence in his voice, Magnus just smiles like the easiest thing in the world, and says he's an actor, it's his job.

"You don't have to be doing all of this," Felix covers the room in a few short steps, knowing he'll never have the words to thank this stranger for all he's done tonight.

"Are you kidding me? I'm going to be telling this story for the rest of my life," Magnus grins brightly, and his eyes shine just like that had hours ago, before everything went to hell. He leans in conspiratorially, "you broke his fucking ribs."

"I think I broke more than his ribs," Felix says with a tentatively proud smile. Magnus nodded in absolute agreement. Then, after a moment.

"Have a shower, Felix," he said, "I'm going to go downstairs to the petrol station, see what they have there, and be back in a bit; is it okay with you if I crash on the sofa -?"

"You don't have to do all this, seriously, it's late, please go home," Felix implores, taking Magnus's face in his hands. Magnus, however, looks at him like he's a fool.

"I'm going to make sure you're both okay," he pets Felix's hand on his cheek, smiling so sincerely, "and besides, if I'm down getting stuff, that way you can have a shower and know I'm not using that time to be a creep towards Y/N while you're busy."

After a moment of deliberation, Felix pulls Magnus in to press several kisses to his forehead, calling him an absolute Godsend, while Magnus laughs to hide how flustered it makes him.

The shower is where the adrenaline really starts to wear off and the ache of the fight sets into his muscles and bones. The mirror mists over and the droplets still cling where he wipes his hand over. His knuckles are bruised, as is his face, scratches and split lip and gashes where the rings had punctures his cheek. The makeup and eyeliner that he didn't think to properly remove before his shower probably makes it look a little worse than it is.

There's scratches on his throat, his collar, shallower on his chest where the bastard had tried to get him through his shirt while he was trapped beneath Felix on the ground. Scratches up his arms as the man fought a losing battle.

He takes one of the makeup wipes from the pack and cleans up his face as best he can as the first step. It helps, but not by a lot. Back in the bedroom, once he's dry, he searches his suitcase for pyjamas, getting himself dressed.

In there, there is a long few moments where he watches you sleep, watches the steady rise and fall of your breathing and sees the dried tear tracks on your cheeks.

"Fi, help."

God, he's tearing up at the memory. He should have stopped that cunt at the bar when he'd had the chance, when he first saw it happen. Never in his life has he heard you sound genuinely weak until tonight; his hands shake.

Before he gets you cleaned up, however, he feels like he needs to check... Magnus really didn't have to come back. Yeah, sure, he said he would, but if he got tired, if he needed to call it a night, Felix would not blame him in the slightest. He really was surprisingly lovely, and part of Felix would probably regret not getting his number, but it was understandable -

Magnus is sitting cross-legged in the hall, across from his door, eating a slice of white bread from a grocery bag by his side. In his other hand, he's texting.

"Give us a second, just letting the troupe know I'm fine."

Felix blinks at him. Felix waits. Magnus's thumb works the digits of the Nokia he's focusing on, before he must hit send, satisfied. Then, tucking the phone back into one of the inner pockets of his jacket, he looks up, eyes still that same, bright blue. He looks genuinely pleased to see Felix. Felix, for his part, is genuinely pleased to see him too. Surprised as well, if he was being honest, but pleased.

"You look much better," Magnus comments, and pushes himself to his feet. Bag looped in his arm, Felix sees it's a few basic supplies, bread, maybe some spread, something he can't identify, and something bright red. He offers to pay; Magnus tries to shrug it off, but Felix finally gives a self deprecating smile, gesturing around to the rather luxury hotel room they were in. Magnus gives himself a moment to take it all in again, and finally sighs, smiles, gives in.

He does, however, insist on making them both food.

Grilled cheese; all he could find on short notice since it was getting to the early hours of the morning. Felix watches for a few long moments, the way Magnus moves around the kitchenette with practiced ease, like a man used to these spaces, to life on the road. Felix finds he enjoys just watching Magnus; perhaps this is how people have often felt about him. Magnus doesn't watch him, he feels rather free.

"Do you want to take off your makeup," Felix pipes up just as Magnus reaches for the stove. Magnus freezes, "if you're staying, and being so kind as to make me food, the least I can offer is for you to make yourself comfortable."

"Should have suspected you'd be a good host," Magnus grins over his shoulder, and gently puts the pan down, leaving the stove off for the time being. So Felix directs him to the bathroom and tells him to take all the time he needs, and himself heads to the bedroom. Fishing his wallet from the jeans he'd discarded for the night, he pulls out two fifty pound notes. It's far more than the contents of the grocery bag, but Felix definitely doesn't care. It's so little for how kind he's been.

Opening the bedroom door, however, and he almost runs into Magnus, startling the both of them. Even with the remnants of his makeup still clinging around his eyes, the faintest traces of stubborn eyeliner and mascara, he looks fresh-faced and beautiful. Startled, both by the abruptness, and the fact that he might be even more taken with this man without his makeup on, all Felix can do is hold out the money. Magnus seems to thaw first, chuckles, shakes his head, and calls Felix incredibly generous. Unsurprisingly, Felix insists that it's not generous, it's simply fair compensation for his kindness.

After a moment, Magnus peers around Felix, asking how you were. Felix finally relaxes, assures him that for now you're fine. Magnus's expression is understanding, but still very knowing, as his gaze flicks between Felix and you.

"You take care of them, I'll take care of food," he insists gently. Before Felix can even ask how Magnus knew what that he still wanted to make sure you were comfortable, Magnus pats his chest fondly, "you beat a man half to death for them, I assume you want them to sleep in comfort."

Yeah. Fair. Good assessment of the night, and of Felix.

So Felix smiles, thanks him, and trusts him in the kitchen.

Felix treats you with such reverence in these moments, wiping off your makeup with such care, changing you into your pyjamas while he made sure there were no bruises, no scratches, no sign of this bastard anywhere on you. But no, thankfully not. He could have killed that bastard. Sounds like he almost did.

You frown in your sleep. Felix's heart hurts. But there's nothing more to be done for now.

Magnus is humming softly in the kitchen, a gentle sound amid the comforting sizzle of butter in a pan. Felix watches from the doorway for a long moment, the gentle, neutral expression, the focus on the food, the way he's retied his hair to catch all the hair that had so casually been hanging around his face back at the bar. There's something else different about him, however, and it's not the lack of leather jacket or makeup, it's something Felix can't put his finger on for a good few moments.

"Did you get shorter?"

Magnus stops humming. His gaze slides to Felix out of the corner of his eyes, expression unreadable. Then his gaze drops to the ground, and Felix follows; Magnus is wearing Christmas socks on the cold tiles. After a beat, Felix puts two and two together, and Magnus gives a vaguely sheepish laugh the minute he stalks around the kitchen island to the door. There's a pair of gigantic, black boots sitting primly by the door.

The absurdity of this, on top of everything else, finally has Felix laughing, collapsing against the kitchen island, face in his hands, as Magnus cackles quietly by the stove.

"What even is this night?" Felix groans through his fingers.

"One to remember," Magnus responds sagely as he served the first of the grilled cheeses onto a waiting plate, "the good parts, at least, and the good in the bad," immediately he puts another blob of butter in the pan, "and when you look back, you won't see the rage or the fear," he puts the second set of bread and cheese in the pan before picking up the plate with the first, finished dish, "you'll simply recall the love that inspired it all."

"You're so wise," Felix sighs fingers curling down so he could rest his chin on his fists, glad for the man he'd met by chance just a few hours before, "how'd you get so wise doing backflips in your birthday suit, Magnus?" He can feel himself growing tired, finally, as a yawn hits him, "is that something I should try?" Magnus laughs once again, putting the plate of food in front of Felix. He settles across from him, mirroring with his chin on his hand over the kitchen island.

"I take chances on people who intrigue me."

Somehow this terrible night has come full circle; you're comfortable and safe, there's nothing to worry about, and Felix desperately wants to kiss this damn acrobat who's in his hotel room making him grilled cheese at three in the morning.

"Magnus?"

"Yes, Felix," he murmurs back, smiling softly.

"Is that why you're still here, being so... lovely?"

But there's something in Magnus's eyes that dims at the question, just a little. Taking a deep, hesitant breath, his smile turns a touch awkward as he pushes off of the counter to check on the stove. Felix follows him with his eyes, confused, unsure of what he could have said that was wrong.

"I suppose that could be the short answer," Magnus offers, idly. Felix is quiet, crosses his arms on the bench and sinks down to rest his head there, almost childishly, waiting, "don't know if this is a first-meeting discussion either." Magnus finally comes to, though his tone is thankfully lighter.

Silence. Slowly, Felix sits himself back up and starts on the grilled cheese in front of him, quietly thanking Magnus who once again assures him it's no trouble. They sit and eat in silence together; it's not awkward, but Felix is growing more tired with each moment that passes.

"I'm five-seven," Magnus offers without prompting, halfway through the impromptu meal. Felix snorts so hard he starts almost choking on a lump of cheese. Magnus claps him on the back, snickering to himself. Felix, while trying to blink away the way his eyes are watering, peers over to the boots by the door once more, "six inch platforms."

"Fucking hell, how do you walk around in them?" Felix says between thankfully clearing coughs, "you don't perform in them, do you?"

"Fuck no," Magnus grins, "it's not that hard -"

"They'd make me near about seven foot!" Felix crows.

"Maybe next time you can try them on."

Next time.

Even as Magnus spends the next half hour tending to Felix's wounds, advising on how to take care of his muscles, Felix can't stop grinning to himself. Then Magnus says it again, wearing a grin of his own;

"I'm not kidding, I'm going to make sure you're taking care of yourself next time I see you."

"You promise?" Felix wears a wide, goofy grin, clearly giddy at the prospect, enough so that Magnus can't help but finally pull him in for a kiss.

"Promise, Felix."

[roxannepolice]

Rant 3/phantom pains of Schrödinger's lore in ChibnallWho/"the history between" doesn't mean much to the author. that is, it does. but it doesn't. but it does. but not really. but./can someone in the group chat please read my time sensitive questions I posted 25 hours ago?

Between bracing myself to finally open the advisors reviewed thesis, waiting for anyone at work to give a newbie a hint, and reading a fairly good criticism of the political stance in ChibnallWho, I guess it's a good time to let go off some steam about this era. Now, an important clarification for tumblr: when I criticize the show, I am not in any way bashing on people who enjoy it! Good for you, and that's why I try to tag these appropriately.

But yeah, this is going to go deep into what I mean when I say the writing in this era is just bad, something even its defenders sometimes concede. This often turns into dicussions of political/social messaging in seasons 11-13, which is as fair criticism as any. Yes, it often veered into confusing to downright appalling. But for me, that's not what "bad writing" means. You can make an excellent story about a likeable rapist and murderer. You can make compelling propaganda of pretty much any economic stance (well, maybe except for "the solution to problems with Amazon is to blow up their trucks so now everything has to be delivered on foot I guess", that's something straight from Monty Python). And of course, the "too woke" "criticisms" aren't anything valid like at all.

No, for me the bad writing in ChibnallWho lies in the general sense of confusion as to who exactly is the target audience here: someone who's very well acquaintanced with the lore(s), or someone who's completely new to the show. Now, this is also inspired by some criticisms of RTD2 is that it is too expository, leading into the show-within-a-show theorizing. And of course, exposition can be done well or not-so-well, and there's good argument some parts of exposition in s14 were on the nose. But the thing about a television series, especially one as long as Doctor Who, is that any episode can be someone's first - and the writer's job is to make it so it won't be their last. What this means is that the audience needs to be provided the information necessary to grasp at least the emotional level of the story, if not every bit of earlier lore logic. In the case of Doctor Who there's also a part of establishing which part of the lore is valid to the story at hand, considering that both within the show itself, but also the huge multimedia lore, there are bound to be contradictions. And that's ok! You have a good story idea that will require a retcon for a better pay off, go for it! Like, if you really think the Doctor should get to save Gallifrey for their 50th birthday, then go ahead, just reduce the Time War to a local conflict between Time Lords and Daleks instead of underlining just how widespread across time and space it was, and logistically impossible to contain by removing one party (this is one of the many cases of "I don't like what Moffat did, but I agree the execution is functional").

Basically, Lancelot having an affair with Guinevre isn't relevant to him storming a wedding and killing mortally wounding giving a fleshwound to the bride's father.

So, essentially my issue with ChibnallWho writing is simultaneously trying to cut itself off from lore/earlier seasons, while relying on it for any emotional pay off. To give a counterexample from this very era's one of best written episodes: when the Doctor goes on about what being turned into a Cyberman means and that she won't lose anyone else to that, that's bloody powerful! And it's powerful regardless of whether you know it's specifically about Bill, or just go on the information provided within the episode - that the Doctor lost someone to this. Unfortunately, The Haunting of Villa Diodati is an honourable exception in this and many other aspects.

So, to start from the beginning. There's a frequent criticism that team TARDIS was overcrowded in seasons 11 and 12 with three companions, to which an immediate defense is that it's not the first time there were three companions at once. Fine. But combine this with the following: it's not just three companions introduced at once, it's three companions introduced at once, plus a brand new Doctor, plus a brand new sonic, plus a brand new TARDIS interior (that's absent for nearly full two first episodes). So you're basically left with four strangers and no point of reference in your getting to know them. And by no point of reference, I mean something that I haven't noticed anyone else pointing out: Thirteen is literally the first Doctor since One to have no established elements in their first season, at all (barring the TARDIS and sonic, again, completely redesigned).

It's a bit hard to discuss One to Two regeneration relying only on stills and audio, but Polly and Ben are there to act as audience proxies for this Beatle-hairstyled guy with a recorder being the old man he was a moment ago. Three's first season all revolves around UNIT, established in Two's era. Four inherits UNIT and Sarah Jane. Five inherits Adric, Nyssa, Tegan and the Master for his welcome. Six has Peri. Seven has Mel, the Master and the Rani. Eight's movie is all about the Master. Even the reboot for Nine has the Nastene consciousness as a hello and the whole season revolving around the Daleks. Ten gets Rose and Tylers, and Cybermen, and Daleks, and Sarah Jane, and K-9. Eleven gets the previously established River Song and a Classic Who villain reunion in the season finale. Twelve gets Clara. Thirteen gets.... Twelve's suit that she should have stayed in and Daleks, nearly three months from her first episode.

And the thing is, I understand how this would have appeared to be a good idea on paper! Complaints about the show getting lost up it's own self-referential ass have been around for years by this point, and even Moffat tried to go for a soft reboot in s10. Chibs literally asking him to set the TARDIS on fire is as symbolic a new beginning as they get. A bold, intriguing idea. As is trying to explore Titanic with nothing but a snorkel.

Because in practice it had two fundamental flaws, one more general and one specific to the story as it unfolded. The general one has been hinted at: this is basically why there's the sense of overcrowding on the TARDIS, while also leaving the audience feeling they don't really know anyone on board. Are we getting to know the new Doctor from the companions' perspective? The companions from the Doctor's? The new villain (and a really unfamiliar one, Toothboy isn't a familiar threat like plastic pollution metaphor or pshysically inevitable end of the world) from an alien's or humans' perspective? The new worlds from all of theirs? We sort of end up relating most to Grace, except she dies in the first episode. The thing is, it is in confrontation with the established that we learn most about the characters. Nothing characterizes Nine more than his interactions with the Daleks, going from torturing one to deciding he can't commit another planetary destruction to stop them. Basically, between a kind straight Black navy officer and a White lesbian strangling her wife in a jealous rage, you're likelier to recognize Othello in the latter. Something tells me this is why RTD had Fifteen interact with another Doctor, Donna, Mel, Kate, UNIT, the Toymaker and even toothied Master before sending him on his own merry way.

The second problem has more to do with the direction the story actually went in. Because just from the above, and indeed after s11 it was a frequent praise of the era, it would look like Chibs is going for something easily accessible to new audiences. Great. But then comes s12 and basically all of the emotional pay off comes from the audience's attitude to the the lore! Or, maybe I'll put it this way: all charitable interpretations of it are rooted in not only lore literacy, but specific readings of established lore. And not only is the lore hardly established for the newcomers, but it's also not established which parts are to be cherry picked for the returning audience. Nowhere is it better visible than in Fugitive!Doctor's TARDIS being a police box. This was clearly meant to tell the audience yes, this is indeed the Doctor's TARDIS, but if you know how much of a deal pre-Hartnell Doctors would be, you'd also know the TARDIS doesn't just look like a police box, it was stuck looking like one in 1963. And so we end up with secret third Doctor theories between classic series 6 and 7.

And this is the fundamental problem with the timeless child. It shakes the lore to the core, but without establishing what this lore is, and how the audience is supposed to feel about it. Oh, you can go for post-colonial criticisms, but that relies on you reading the Time Lords as the british empire, a reading not clear to all of the audience, as exhibited by an actual academic article (because yes, I spent my hard earned money on a collection of academic articles about ChibnallWho and no I absolutely won't share a pdf should anyone dm me) written by an author more rooted in feminist than post-colonial critical theories seeing the new origin of Time Lords as replacing a masculine creatio ex nihilo ethos by that of a feminine explorer-scientist [appreciative]. You're basically supposed to get a phantom pain of a lore that's both alive and dead until observed, the presumed intention being that you will have a positive or negative feelings about the cat, without considering most people will be either abstractly impressed by the metaphor, or equally abstractly disturbed by animal abuse. It's criticising the roman empire by debunking it being founded by Mars's children raised by a she-wolf.

And this is also visible in the Doctor's own reaction to the revelation, which I guess you might argue is complex, but I would say it's more shifting from establishing moment to establishing moment. She goes from being shocked by it (again, no part of the text informed me I shouldn't cherry pick her characterization as including calling Time Lords the most rotten civilization in the universe, also is it even established that's the second time Gallifrey was destroyed?), to describing it as empowering, to apparently not thinking about it for 100 years, to having an identity crisis, to stating her identity is about what she does, to bemoaning the could-have-beens, to deciding she doesn't want to know, to her deepest desire being wanting to know it after all (the vision of ttc in potd). Like, come on, not finding your glasses means your room is messy, not complex. The effect is infantilizing more than anything else, I mean it's been what, three months since the last time a villain informed a heroine she has an epic origin that's also very horrible in The rise of Skywalker? Which impression is amplified by the only clue as to the Doctor's personal, not performed, attitude being that she apparently finds the cliche chosen one story of a boy abused by his adoptive family turning out to be a wizard, and a special wizard at that, comforting. Probably not the intended reading that wouldn't even be available if Rowling got cancelled earlier, but there as things are.

And of course, this has a lot of bearing on how thoschei dynamic is executed. On the one hand we have the entire emotional pay off rooted in the "history between them", on the other vague references to Classic Who and expanded universe, on the third characterization of the Master that is rooted more in fanon Freud-for-dummies woobification than anything this character's motivations have ever been established as. Like, between the charitable reading "Thirteen is hostile to the Master because of the events of s10" and the anti-charitable reading of "Missy's development was retconned in the Master's hostility", the answer is, it doesn't bloody matter to the story at hand, or else it's the writer's job to point to it as meaningful (again, as Maxine Alderton did with cybermenification in THOVD). Another case of "I don't agree with Moffat, but I agree the execution was functional", but you can juxtapose this with the way Simm!Master was presented in s10 - yeah, he got cured and kicked out of Gallifrey; that's really all you need to know, because his role in this story is being an unrepentant asshole and no amount of gifs slowing down John Simm turning his eyes down before saying "Eh, you wouldn't understand" will change that. The same goes for "see, the Master didn't destroy Gallifrey over everything that's been done to them, but over Theta being hurt uwu" interpretation - neither the reading this was the motivation, nor anything relating to the Master suffering from the Time Lords have been established in the text, neither as it unfolded nor as a pay off reveal! This basically relies on the attitude that the most charitable reading is by default the intended one, which is how you end up with "op means that Taylor Swift being gay shouldn't make you ignore all other gay women musicians".

A little bit of an aside, but people remember O was an actual person the Doctor met in unknown circumstances, not just a creation of the Master from the beginning, right? Like, this is taken into account in all "he's so desperate to be friends again uwu" readings, right?

So this is why "if the history between means anything" quote falls flat to me. The meaning is rooted in lore that's brushed aside in the same breath. The author relies on it being meaningful for the audience, while providing only the bare bones of "we were friends, but took completely different paths" background, and that by the end of the first act. Just as he relies on the audience having an emotional attachment to the lore without doing anything to create that attachment.

[avissapiens]

Jockbull Summer Week 4 Set B (3/12/23-10/12/23)

Model Used is Oliver Forslin.

1.

I’m not adhering to this one as strictly. Maybe that’s not what abg intended but oh well. I’m more so expanding its scope to be more about risque clothing choices in general. On that front I made perhaps the stupid purchase of a thrifted Wrestling singlet. But damn it feels so good and tight on my skin. But i’m way too tall for it so the cut looks ridiculous.(Buff, hypnotic, AND tall. Swoon more.) Maybe when I'm more shredded I’ll be able to wear it more unabashedly.

2.

Maybe I should start offering a combo Hypno-workout routine. Or maybe an archetype centric workout split to enhance and build certain aesthetics. I wonder if anyone would pay for that.

3.

Got one in and because of the nature of weeks and spacing out my rest days the next one would be Monday of the week that i’m posting these. I’ll only take the cals from this week to be consistent so that's 700 calories burnt, while on a fast.

4.

Focusing the dropsets on pull day has been insane. I know it’s not likely but my arms already feel bigger. 17.5 inches. The peak that I've been missing all this time is finally starting to show through. Fuck the degree. I’d drain every course I took this year from my head (except Bio 206, 205 and 395) if it meant I could get some extra inches on these fucking pythons.

5.

First tumblr pic incoming. Try to contain yourselves(don’t contain shit. Go wild brahs)

[im-immortal]

Small Miracles

Beth Greene is not dead. Though it is not for a lack of trying.

After eight long years spent in the CRM's grasp, struggling to find reasons to continue surviving, Beth finally finds her reason: Rick and Daryl are alive, and they are closer than she ever could've guessed. Now she must take advantage of her only opportunity to escape and track them down.

Along the way, she revisits all of the places that changed her into who she has become. And she is forced to remember who she truly is at heart despite how unrecognizable she finds herself.

But she has an unexpected ally along for the journey. Just the same as her, he is somewhat of a living miracle. Except he's no longer living... he's a walker.

Moonshine Awards 2023 Third Place Winner for Best WIP ZA, and Second Place Winner for Best WIP Reunion/Fix It!

Chapter 26 // Part 17: North Carolina III

A moment of silence passes over them. Or, more realistically, hangs over them. Like a bomb waiting to drop. Like a noose waiting to tighten. And then, unable to be left hanging in this purgatory of uncertainty for even a moment longer, Beth takes a long drag off her cigarette and holds the smoke in her lungs for as long as possible before asking, “What was it?” “What was what?” Amanda shoots back, though her tone betrays her ignorance. Beth pauses. She exhales long and slow, watching the cloud of smoke expel from between her lips and dissipate before her eyes. “What was it that—what made you think he loved me? What made you so sure? You an’ Edwards?” Another moment of silence passes between them. Beth can feel the tension like a physical thing. Like a rope pulled taut, like a bubble ready to burst. Still, she doesn’t turn her head to look at Amanda. She simply waits.  Then Amanda speaks softly, her voice cracking as she recalls, “Well… the way he looked at you. Anybody with eyes could’ve seen it. But I guess that was something more subtle. For all we knew, it could’ve been the guy with the Colt Python who loved you—the way he grabbed you once you made it over to their side. But… no. It wasn’t him. He loved you like a daughter, or a little sister. That was obvious.” “Rick,” Beth manages to say. “What?” “The guy with the Colt Python. His name is Rick.” “Oh, right…” Amanda mumbles, clearing her throat awkwardly before going on, “Well, it uh, it was the looks on all their faces after Dawn shot you. It was the way he-he didn’t turn away. Rick turned away real quick. Like he was wiping the blood off his face, but it wasn’t that. He was wiping away something else, and he wouldn’t look at you after, he just kept looking at us, at the floor where your blood was pooling. But Dixon—he didn’t hesitate. He had this look on his face. It was something I’ve never seen before. I-I don’t think I’ve ever seen it since. The way he pulled out his gun and fired so fast, blew that bullet right through Dawn’s head before she could get more than a couple words out. Everything after was kind of a blur. I can’t tell you exactly what happened. I don’t remember it. But what I do remember is seeing him on the floor. “I was just standing there, useless. I thought your people were gonna kill us. I thought they were gonna shoot us all dead just like he’d shot Dawn. I begged ‘em not to, I tried to step in and stop more pointless deaths. But they didn’t even try to kill us. They all seemed… shocked. Or-or more sad than shocked. But he was the saddest. He was crying. He was picking you up like he thought—like he thought you’d wake up. He was shaking you, and then he was just… crying. Begging. Nobody moved. Not even Rick. Everybody just watched. We watched him pray, and then we watched him pick you up and carry you out in his arms. You were heavy. You were dead weight. They all knew it. All of your people—they knew it, they tried to help, but he pushed them away. He wanted to carry you, all on his own. He had you in his arms and-and he looked back at us. At me, at Edwards, at everybody. He looked back with this expression that just… it told us to go to hell. He looked back at us like he was promising something. Like he was promising he’d be back to make us pay for killing you. And then he carried you out. All the way down. And he-he never… Beth, he never looked back. Not once. All he cared about was you. We all saw it. We had no idea. Not until you took that bullet. We had no fucking clue.”

[usoud-tournament]

Welcome To The Tournament!

This blog is exclusively to run the Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny Tournament based on Lemon Demon's song sharing the same name! This post is to straighten out the rules and details to hopefully avoid too many questions.

How the bracket order was picked out:

I did my best to do the pairings based on the order which the character first appears in the song. All of the characters in the song are fighting against each other in the first round with the exception of Monty Python's Black Knight, as we're having a mini-round with him in order to let the two Gandalfs duke it while still keeping the number of brackets enough to make sure everyone has a match. The other exception is Mr. Rogers, as he won in the original song, and I am putting him in the third round to give some other fighters a chance to fight without his interference with the polls.

How the character versions were picked out:

I knew that there would be fights and questions with many of these characters if I left what version was fighting ambiguous, so I looked around for the most well-known versions of these characters, favoring the versions which are most popular in their respective fandoms. Believe it or not, I'm not in every fandom ever, so I apologize if you don't agree with my picks. Similarly, the strengths and weaknesses are gotten from the specific version's character Fandom Wikipedia page. I apologize if I got any strengths and weaknesses wrong. The exception to this 'only one version of the characters' rule is the Power Rangers, as the song specifies "Every Single Power Ranger" Therefore I did not want to exclude any versions. I got the help of a friend to understand the Power Rangers MO and try to balance their strengths and weaknesses to make sure they didn't roll over everyone else in this tournament.

What age are they?

Some of these characters are still living or quite old, and some characters' ages fluctuate throughout their media. Because of this, I am making a blanket statement that all of these characters are fighting during the prime of their careers.

Where are they?

Based on the opening line of the song, all of the characters will be fighting in Tokyo City Earth, they are allowed to leave this starting location as much as they are able.

Motivation?

There is no specific motivation for all of these characters, other than they were placed in Tokyo and have sufficient incentive to fight each other. For example, Superman could think that his opponent is a threat to Earth, Terminator could think his opponent is trying to stop his mission to kill Sarah, etc. However, characters with moral backbones will still follow their moral codes, and a character wins a fight if either A. They kill the other character or B. They convince the other character to not fight.

Poll Logistics

I know it will be impossible to make these fights truly unbiased, but I want for as many people as possible, for them to vote based on who they think would win in a fight, not who they like most. Otherwise, the final results will be based on who has the biggest fandom. What I want from this tournament is silly arguments about how these characters would fight each other, not a survey on who people like more. Every poll will last a day and each round will happen with every pairing going up against each other in the same day. However, the next round may not happen immediately after the last one. I'll try my best to be on top of it, communicate if and when the next round will be, etc. But I'm just a humble college student and I don't want to make this tournament a part-time job

Bias

I am not in all of these fandoms, but I am in some, and I also want to engage with people in the comments. However, I do not want to skew results. So I am not going to reblog posts encouraging people to vote for one character or the other, but if any cool fanart comes out I will be reblogging that. I will also be chatting with people in the notes, but not reblogging anyone to chat so it doesn't show up on the blog page.

Finally, every poll will be tagged with the characters in them, which means this poll will be showing up in a lot of different fandoms. It is not my intention to annoy people by popping up in their feeds when they just want to look at fanart or fan posts. Therefore I'm tagging every post of mine #USOUD Tournament and #Ultimate Showdown of ultimate destiny. If you don't want to see me ever again, block those tags.

Happy fighting!

[kyanako5972]

FE Echoes, Act 3 (to the sluice gates)

(With a chunk of broken sequence. I didn't go to Grieth right away.)

(As a reminder, I'm on casual mode)

With Desaix defeated, Alm's team goes to the next shrine to get some class upgrades.

I make sure to ping my friends about this. (I forgot to take a picture of Tobin's armor. Sorry!)

But speaking of Tobin, I get his A support with Kliff. Teaching him social skills ^_^

I mentioned in my last log that I went to the dragon shrine (?) north of the village a bit early. So now I'm bringing Celica's team to the village. We recruit Atlas. Cool.

Then we go back to the dragon shrine, and Saber gets a class upgrade.

I give it a night before deciding what to class Atlas as. Even though it seems he would benefit more as a mercenary, I make him a cavalier because (1) we already have two mercenaries and (2) I need the mobility.

But wait! I read later on that Atlas (and Catria and Palla) would leave if you try to go too far north. I wonder why he didn't.

Then I realized I haven't properly explored the dragon shrine, so I do that. There's a battle with three Necrodragons, and Leon crits one of them while I'm not looking. Haha.

Genny gets Physic (hooray for ranged recovery!) and Kamui gets a class upgrade.

Back on Alm's side, we get Luthier. Finally, a mage on this side! But we'll come back later. Mila's temple is ahead!

-

So the first battle with Mikhail is... terrible.

Saber and Boey run ahead, and so they get ganged up on by the arcanists. Turnwheel time.

Then Celica gets killed through the door.

...So that was half an hour wasted.

The second time, Genny ends up isolated and killed by the gargoyles. Turnwheel. But she's still too far behind, and nobody can move close enough to protect her. So I bring Leon next to her and hope she survives this time. If I can't get her to survive this battle, I'd have to restart. But she survives this turn.

Meanwhile, Leon tells Kamui once again how Valbar is the perfect man and that he could never compare. Then he tells Valbar he's fine with having an unrequited love.

This battle took three hours. Uggggh. (I probably could have benefited from recruiting the pegasus girls, but...)

Average cantor map indeed.

-

Now I go back to Alm's side to see what Luthier has got.

He gets killed by the archers in the next map. Turnwheel. Now Python is getting ganged up on. Turnwheel. Now Silque. Aaaah, I think I could use a bow knight. (Or I should have done some grinding)

Can the witches please stop ganging up on Lukas? (I forgot if he died there, but I didn't mention a turnwheel, so probably not) And can the archers leave Mathilda alone? It was cruel enough that she was going to be executed by arrows.

Sluice gate time! I send Mathilda and Luthier ahead to deal with an arcanist. Luthier dies. Rewind. So this time, I remember that Faye and Clair have unlimited mobility and can stand to attack the arcanist rather than fly in the void.

Closer to Tartarrah, Mathilda and Faye take out another arcanist. Too close to him, it turns out, because he kills Faye with a super powerful spell. So I rewind and take out a different arcanist.

Once we're in range of Delthea, she kills Tobin. But we're so close, and I can't figure out any other configuration, so I let Tobin stay dead. Sorry Tobin. (And I later learn that Alm could have used Subdue with the royal sword, except... He was still holding the lightning sword because I never bothered to give him the royal sword.)

So Kliff goes in for the kill... and I misclick and hit Delthea. With a crit, to boot. Turnwheel.

So now Kliff hits the correct target. And he crits again.

That's the end of Alm's side, then. Now for Celica...

You mean I have to do all of that?

(Little spoiler for Act 4: Luthier dies again in the first battle on Alm's side. I take that as a sign to grind.)

[ao3-anonymous]

Isn’t the data you just posted the same as the data last week?

Thank you, eagle-eyed anon! Yes, yes it was but now it has been fixed, so the newest post for 02/05/2024 is accurate.

And while I was trying to figure out why the same data showed up twice, I found a bunch of other issues in my code, so keep reading if you want to hear about the 10 other things I fixed while I was fixing that issue (thanks ADHD!)

As it turns out, it was the exact same info as last week because there was an issue in my workflow that caused it to not run properly so the data in the spreadsheet that powers the dashboard was stale.

But that prompted me to ask myself "didn't I build in a notification system that's supposed to let me know when something fails?" and when I investigated I realized they had stopped working last June and I never noticed (it sends EITHER a success or failure email every week, so I really should've noticed).

When I investigated that, I realized June was when I split the backend data sources between two Google Sheets because they were getting so big - originally I had them in separate tabs of the same sheet. However the notifications were still set up for only the original sheet, so I fixed that.

Also while I was looking at the sheets, I realized there were still a bunch of "Uncategorized" fandoms in the data, even though I removed that category from the workflow after realizing that they don't have fic counts on that Category page. So instead of pulling fic count, I was accidentally pulling a bunch of years and passing them off as fic count. I fixed that a couple weeks ago, but I didn't clear old data so I did that now.

THEN when I finally remembered the original problem I had been solving, I started trying to figure out whether the data hadn't been recorded for 2/5 at all (I save it in a JSON first) or if the sheet just hadn't been properly updated. While doing some checks, I realized that most of the categories had data for 2/5 EXCEPT Video Games & Theater?? Which honestly I still haven't fully figured out why, but I was able to manually run the size scrape for those two pages again, so at least they have data now.

Finally, while I was re-running the scripts to try to figure out why it wasn't running for Video Games, I had it start printing out various pieces in the loops and noticed it was taking forever to get through a category and seemed to go slower and slower by letter. Turns out a small error in my code had it looping through all the fandoms for a category starting with a specific letter (A) but then instead of moving on and doing B next, it was doing (A, B), then (A,B,C) etc. This wasn't actually causing errors of any kind in the results, but it was slowing the whole thing down and unnecessarily writing over the size count 25+ times for the fandoms at the beginning of the alphabet, so I've now fixed that.

The best part is even though I just wrote all of this out, I'm still not quite sure where in there I fixed the issue that caused the stale data in the first place lol. But at some point I fixed some other things, re-ran the "write_to_sheets" script (which I of course tried first thing and it didn't do anything) and this time it worked and actually updated. So hooray! And clearly this whole thing is being held together by spit & glue (it was a project I set for myself when I was learning Python) so maybe I should go back and rewrite some things now that I'm actually paid to do coding for my job and have a bit more experience. If you're still reading, KUDOS TO YOU and hope you enjoy my little project. [[Maybe leave me a heart in the comments if you do, because I accidentally spent way too long on this tonight and it's super late and I still have actual work to do (YIKES).]]

[consumable-connie]

The White Rabbit and a Fox

Content: Unwilling pred, willing prey, digestion, reformation, kidnapping, threats of murder

Description: A fox named Nick has found himself captured by an unnamed stranger, who threatens to murder him if he doesn't eat them.

Word count: ~1.2k word

-------------------------------------------------------

A gray fox slept, slumped over and tied to a chair in a basement, the walls made of concrete, cracked with age, the only light coming from the egress window. It was completely silent, except for the occasional drip of water from the leaky pipes and the hiss of steam from the metal furnace in the very corner of the room. There was a staircase along the wall straight ahead of the fox, with a wall obscuring most of the steps, and there was a plastic tarp right underneath them. The fox's feet, hands, and upper torso were all tied to the chair, constricting his body like pythons trapping their prey. Slowly, their eyes fluttered open and darted around the empty basement wearily. The fox tried to move, their chair moving just an inch, threatening to tip over. They tried to scream, but they had a rag gagging them, muting their desperate pleas.

The door to the upstairs opened, a light streaming down, with the shadow of some mysterious figure being cast along the wall. He heard the creak of the stairs and started panicking. Whoever this was would surely kill him, it was all over. Their captor could make quick work of him, with them being all tied up and unable to move. He dreaded whatever would come next. Desprately he tried to break his hands free, stretching the rope just slightly, but it wasn't enough to break it. But then the mysterious figure had made their way downstairs, a tiny white rabbit, with black fur tipped ears. He was rightly confused. The rabbit looked so innocent, yet they held a pocket knife in their paw and had the most twisted smile. The rabbit slowly walked towards the fox, taking slow steady steps, fidgeting with his knife, ejecting and retracting the blade; eject, retract, eject, retract, eject, retract, eject, retract, playing with it as if it was merely a toy.

"Well, well, well, aren't you a cute little wolf~" The rabbit said once he was stood right in front of the fox, retracting his blade once more. He reached up his paw to undo the gag,

"Don't scream, or else..." He warned, before taking off the gag. The fox panted, catching his breath,

"I'm a fox," He said as he regained his breath,

"So, what's your name?" The rabbit asked, not even acknowledging the fox's comment. The fox stayed silent.

"Talk. Now. Or else I'll slit your throat." The rabbit was stern, ejecting the knife blade and holding it to the fox's throat,

"It's Nicky. Now what do you want?" He asked, "I don't have that much money, so why did you kidnap me?"

The rabbit let out an unnerving laugh as he pulled the knife away, "You really think I want money? I couldn't care less about that! I don't want anything from you. In fact, I'm trying to help you, silly!"

"How could kidnapping me and tying me to a chair help me?!" Nick yelled. The rabbit pat the fox's stomach,

"You haven't been eating well, I wanted to help."

"I've been eating just well, thank you very much."

"Yes, yes... but you've obviously haven't been eating the right kind of food. Your diet lacks any prey. So, I want to help get you on the right track, by having you eat me." The rabbit leaned really close to Nicky's face, and he tried his best to lean away,

"W-what? Why? It'd kill you!" He couldn't wrap his head around it. The rabbit let out another unsettling laugh,

"Don't worry, I've got my own ways of coming back. Now why don't you open up?" The rabbit tried to pry the fox's mouth open, but he kept it firmly shut. "Cmon, don't be shy. You're finally going to be a predator, like you were always meant to be,"

"N-no!" He tried his best to speak without giving the rabbit a way inside. The rabbit poked the fox's belly with his knife, gentle enough to not puncture them,

"Well, I suppose I could just get rid of you. You're a lousy, useless fox anyway, you don't even eat prey when it's right in front of you, offering itself to you,"

The fox's eyes widened with terror, he tried to think of a way to get out of this. He didn't want to eat the rabbit, but he didn't have many options,

"Okay, okay! I'll eat you, just... please don't kill me." Nick begged. The rabbit's twisted smile widened, and waited patiently for the fox to open up. The fox's lips parted reluctantly, and the rabbit began to crawl inside after they had put away their knife. The fox's eyes narrowed in digust at the texture of fur against his tongue, the taste barely bareable. The rabbit crawling into his mouth made his jaw hurt, he felt as if at any moment, it would break. Then there was his throat, which struggled to get the prey down, bulging around the contors of the rabbit's body. The rabbit slinked down his throat, the fox nearly choking. He then felt the rabbit enter his stomach, now distended and bloated ever so slightly, with the outline of the rabbit becoming visible from the outside. A dull pain spreading throughout his abdomin, he let out a tortured groan, and he gagged, almost throwing up, but he had to keep the rabbit down. Surely if he threw up, the rabbit would kill him. At first, his stomach was hesitant to digest his meal, begging the fox to throw up, but after a few minutes, it finally began to start the slow, aching process. It was loud, and Nick wished he could just plug his ears, but his hands were stuck. Even then, he would still be able to hear every groan, every gurgle, every squelch, it was too loud for anyone block out. He couldn't believe someone would enjoy this, he certainly didn't, and he certainly couldn't understand why the rabbit would enjoy melting alive. He felt his heart beat with intense speeds, and his chest ached with heart burn. He just wanted it to be over, for this rabbit to disappear and for this nightmare to end, but the rabbit couldn't take longer to digest, it wasn't going to end, not quite so soon, at least.

***

It had taken hours, and to Nick it seemed days, before the rabbit had disappeared. He coughed up the rabbit's pocket knife, thank God the blade wasn't out, he thought. It dropped onto his foot and he kicked it up over him, hoping he'd catch it, and it landed right into his paw. He quickly ejected the blade and got to work breaking free, the ropes falling to the ground after he had cut them in half, his paws now properly able to move. He untied the rest of his body, rushing to get out of the basement as soon as he could, stuffing the knife in his pocket. When he made it up the stairs he found himself in what looked to be a living room. It was a decent size, with a leather couch against one wall, a television across, and a coffee table atop the wooden floor. If you looked closly, the couch and the floor had almost unnoticable red stains the rabbit had had difficulty removing. The walls were an obnoxious off-white, with a few picture frames of people who Nick could've sworn he'd seen on a few milk cartons and news reports. He couldn't focus too much on the room now, however, he needed to escape.

He saw the open door to the foyer and scrambled his way in, almost tripping as he grabbed the handle to the front door, yet when he went to turn it, it didn't budge. The door was locked.

"Going somewhere?" The rabbit asked, sneaking besides Nick, causing him to jump,

"Wha- how?" He asked, slowly backing away. The rabbit smiled, and Nick noticed the rabbit had their hand behind their back, hiding somdthing,

"I already told you, I have ways of coming back." Nicky quickly pulled the pocket knife from his pocket, thankful he kept it,

"Stay back! I'm warning you!" He said. The rabbit let out his sinister laugh,

"I came back from being digested, do you really think a knife will do anything?" He revealed that he was holding a kitchen knife, sharp and ready to cut someone open,

"Now, put the knife down. We're gonna have a lot of fun, you and I." The rabbit held the knife towards Nick,

"I think you could use a little more practice becoming a predator, so you're going to eat me again, again, and again, until you've truly earned your freedom. Unless of course," He nodded to his knife, "You'd rather have me gut you open like a fish,"

Author's note: This is the first time I've ever written a vore story and it's also the first time writing in a while so please give me your constructive criticism! I want to actually improve in the future if I decide to write any more of these

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Harry and Meghan are lovely to their staff OK? A public tit for tat has seen the Duchess of Sussex branded as just terrible. By Hilary Rose by u/Von_und_zu_

Harry and Meghan are lovely to their staff, OK? A public tit for tat has seen the Duchess of Sussex branded as ‘just terrible’. By Hilary Rose https://ift.tt/gZRE014 Hilary RosePut out more flags, let the church bells peal, the cuddly Californians are at it again. Harry and Meghan’s attempts to persuade us how lovely they are, despite some evidence to the contrary, remind me of the Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, who loses one limb after another but insists “’tis but a scratch”. It’s the same with them. The scratches started long, long ago, with the bullying allegations, and the assistants reduced to tears, and the distinguished former aide to Elizabeth II who baulked at nothing except, as it turned out, them. Now, though, we’re in the thrilling position of watching H&M conduct a public tit-for-tat slanging match in the pages of American supermarket tabloids. Hurrah!\***The couple could have responded to the story in one of two ways: preserve a dignified silence or come out fighting. Meghan hasn’t got where she is today by the former, and both prefer to sue first and look in the mirror later. As a result we have an unfolding saga full of rage and recrimination at the supermarket checkout. It’s a strategy, as Buckingham Palace once warned them, that serves mainly to fan the flames and keep the bad headlines coming — and this in a week when Prince Harry is trying to be a global statesman at the UN in New York.\***Mandana Dayani, who served 18 months in Montecito, has complained with endearing lack of irony about the “profound injustice” of having to speak publicly in defence of H&M. Why? Because “so much of the kindness, mentorship and support Prince Harry and Meghan share with others happens quietly behind closed doors”. Mandana, Mandana … nothing about Harry and Meghan has ever happened quietly behind closed doors. It happens in front of Netflix cameras or Oprah, with ghostwriters taking notes.\***“If you come for our bosses, you’re coming for us,” said one, which is possibly not the motto of the Sussex Survivors Club. What none of these people offered was the simplest, most obvious riposte: “H&M are lovely people and I loved working there.” If it’s all so great, why do so many people quit? If they cherish their staff so much, why are there so many reports, on both sides of the Atlantic, that they don’t? Apparently “they pick the best of the best from every field, and water the seeds for them to flourish”. Alas, sometimes it’s necessary to move fields to flourish, but there we are.The final irony is that we don’t actually need other people to tell us what Meghan is like, because she has told us herself. In one of her podcasts she addressed, obliquely, the Duchess Difficult label. Setting boundaries, she said, “doesn’t make you demanding, it doesn’t make you difficult. It makes you clear.” She also spoke honestly about her “natural reticence” and tendency to tiptoe and cower when she walked into a room.https://ift.tt/4ulIhEX post link: https://ift.tt/SOGclAw author: Von_und_zu_ submitted: September 28, 2024 at 03:16AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for killing a guy?

So where I grew up was like all culty, out in the woods, isolated, don’t like outsiders and such. Everyone there sucks. My whole life I tried to prove myself to them but they just weren’t having it. I was a weird little freak and they didn’t know my mom and my dad left so ig that just made me defective or something. Anyways, my big day finally came where I could prove myself without it being subjective opinion or anything. Just plain and simple black and white. Nothing complicated about it. The new second in command was going to be chosen.

How that works is anyone who wants to try to get the newly opened position can volunteer to go in the fight pit basically. Everyone who volunteers goes in at the same time and it’s a big fight to the death (or until forfeit). The only rules once you’re in there basically are: you can’t leave the pit without forfeiting, you can’t kill someone who has forfeited and must allow them to safely leave the pit, you can’t un-forfeit, and the last one remaining gets to be second in command. Very simple rules, no one ever breaks them cuz there’s so few and stuff. People also tend to forfeit rather than die and most people don’t wanna kill the people they grew up with so there doesn’t tend to be as much deatb as you’d think there would be in a “fight to the death.”

Anyways, the big day. I volunteer ofc cuz then if I win, everyone will have to respect me and see me for my skills and how much I’ve trained and everything. My two former best friends (they don’t know what the internet is so I can use their names, haha (ooc: these are ocs. Using names won’t spoil any media or anything). Python F and Leaf M. I basically grew up with them. Python stole the job I had wanted for my whole life tho so I hated her a bit and then the two of them stopped talking to me and pretended we were never friends) also volunteered for the fight. Yayyy… Also I overheard them plotting before the actual fight. Python didn’t even want to become second in command. She was just helping Leaf become second in command so he could impress his stupid mom (she sucks. And that’s not just my opinion, like she objectively sucks. Not the point tho). I feel like that shouldn’t be allowed, but the rules say nothing about it so whatever. I didn’t say anything and it’s not like anyone would listen to me anyways. I’m still pissed about it tho

Fight happens, blah blah, long story short, I dropped some big rocks that were like loose along the walls of the pit on Leaf and the person he was fighting, which would be fine and dandy except for the fact that right as I did so and couldn’t stop the rocks from falling anymore, the guy Leaf was fighting forfeitted, making it so I *technically* killed someone who forfeitted and therefore not only eliminating me, but also getting me sentenced tl the death tunnels (exactly what it sounds like) cuz I killed someone I wasn’t allowed to and yk, murder is bad and all. Then freaking Python got second in command, stealing the job I wanted for a second time, but not only that! Her role was effective immediately. She just watched as I was taken away to the death tunnels and didn’t say a word. Didn’t use her new role to even *try* to save her childhood best friend. Like yeah, I hate her guts, but I find it hard to believe that I’d just stand by and watch her get sentenced to the tunnels without a single word. And everyone says I’m the heartless one! She didn’t even want the job!! If she saved me and everything got cleared up and I wasn’t found to be guilty of illegal murder, I could have taken the job she didn’t want anyways. I could be second and everything would be fine!

Yeah, I did in fact kill two people and not feel bad about it really, but that was allowed. It was legal murder and they knew what they were signing up for. The only issue is that technically that guy forfeitted. What was I supposed to do?? Reverse gravity????? I can’t just suddenly gain magical powers to reverse stuff. If I could’ve stopped the rocks from hitting the guy, I would’ve, but there was absolutely zero way for me to do so so idk what they expect of me. They just saw a chance to get rid of me and also not have me as the second of command, so they took it.

Anyways, though, I know I’m not the asshole, but I need to prove to someone that I’m in the right so I need more people to agree with me. Thanks in advance for helping prove I’m in the right B)

[tparadox]

While I was able to use the holiday Monday at work to catch up on stuff I haven't been able to do in the last six weeks I've been doing my job alone, I spent way more of that time than I wanted to in trying to find a way around Excel breaking my labor saving spreadsheet by refusing to follow its own rules.

I help out my supervisor by turning the reports our phone system generates into a chart of call times she can analyze for coverage purposes. There are two hurdles the way it generates the reports creates. One of them is that the date, beginning time, and ending time, are all in the same cell of its line, and the other is that if there's no active call time in that span, it will more likely than not skip that span.

The easiest way I've come up with to find those times it skipped is to break up the time stamps into separate date, start, and stop cells, and then use conditional formatting to highlight the start times that are different from the end time of the line above. Originally I was using text to columns to do this, but then I decided I wanted to automate that. I set up a spreadsheet that would take the file name of the report and fetch the date and time cell from it, then an array of cells using the MID function to pull out the individual pieces of it.

It worked great! I could just tell it the file to look at and it got the data I needed. And then I'd go to add a line for a skipped time span and all of the formulas would break, because they were referenced based on the line number, and Excel ever so helpfully updates those references when your data moves. But it's okay because if you don't want the reference to be updated, there's a character for that. To keep the same line number, use B$2 instead of B2.

I worked out a fancy formula with INDIRECT, LEFT, and the new to me FORMULATEXT function to automatically assemble a new version of the formula with the crucial absolute reference for each row, since the absolute meant it wouldn't update by line if I just filled down and I was not going into over 300 cells to add one character by hand.

EXCEPT! Marking the reference as absolute only freezes the reference for pasting and directional filling! It turns out it totally ignores the $ if you're shifting and inserting! Excel broke my plans because it doesn't follow its own rules!

After like two hours of beating my head against it and reading a bunch of forum help threads where the answer was "just use INDIRECT" when I was already using INDIRECT, using COUNTIF to count only the cells above that had data in them seemed promising, but it kept giving reference errors as part of the INDIRECT, probably because the COUNTIF syntax needs you to tell it what to look for, and I think the quotation marks around the asterisk weren't playing nicely with the quotation marks of the INDIRECT even though I was using " for the latter and ' for the former. Finally I started looking into other COUNT_____ functions and it turns out that plan old COUNT does exactly what I was looking for. Where "count cells that have data" with COUNTIF needs you to specify cells containing "*", COUNT just does it. By some miracle, I found the right syntax to have the INDIRECT assemble the COUNT with a range from B1 to (current cell) in only one or two tries, and now I finally have a formula that doesn't care if I add lines which are empty in the column it's looking at.

Now I just need to automate adding the missing rows and filling in the zero values in the column I'm doing this all for, but that seems beyond what I can do with just Excel on its own. Seems like something that would be simple to execute in Python if I export a CSV, and if I could get anything to work in VBasic I could probably do a macro, but I'd prefer not to step it out of Excel and back in, and I don't think our workstations have Python, and if they don't have it, I can't add it...

[eduvantec]

How Python Handles Errors: Try, Except, and Exception Handling Explained

When you're writing Python code, mistakes happen — and that’s completely normal. But instead of letting your program crash, Python provides a way to handle errors gracefully using try, except, and other exception handling tools. Let’s break it down in simple terms.

🔍 What Are Exceptions in Python?

An exception is an error that occurs during the execution of your code. It can happen for many reasons — like dividing by zero, using an undefined variable, or trying to open a file that doesn't exist. If you don't handle the exception, your program stops running. That’s where Python’s error-handling system comes in.

🧰 What Is Try and Except?

The try block is where you write the code that might cause an error. The except block is where you handle the error if it happens. This structure lets your program continue running even when something goes wrong. Instead of crashing, Python simply follows your plan for what to do next.

🧠 Why Use Exception Handling?

Exception handling keeps your programs more reliable and user-friendly. Instead of showing confusing error messages to users, you can show custom messages, log errors, or try a different solution. It’s especially important in real-world applications like websites, mobile apps, and data pipelines.

🔁 Other Useful Keywords

finally: Used to run code no matter what — whether there was an error or not.

else: Runs if no exceptions occurred in the try block.

raise: Lets you create your own exceptions when something specific goes wrong.

💡 Real-World Examples

Imagine a program that reads a file. If the file isn’t there, the try-except block can show a helpful message like "File not found. Please check the filename." Or when users enter data, you can catch invalid input and prompt them again instead of crashing the whole app.

🆘 Need Help with Python Error Handling?

If exception handling feels tricky or you’re struggling with your Python assignments, don’t worry. The expert tutors at AllHomeworkAssignments.com can guide you through error handling, debugging, and all things Python — fast, affordable, and student-friendly.

[digitalskills-hub]

Python Basics for Students and Career Switchers in Tech

In today’s fast-paced digital world, learning to code is no longer limited to computer science graduates or seasoned developers. Whether you're a student aiming to future-proof your career or someone considering a career switch into the tech industry, starting with Python is one of the smartest choices you can make. The fundamental of python are simple enough for beginners yet powerful enough for professional development across various industries.

Python is widely known for its readability, flexibility, and widespread usage in everything from web development to artificial intelligence. Its simplicity makes it an ideal first programming language for absolute beginners and a great refresher for those coming from non-technical backgrounds.

Why Choose Python as a First Language?

Python’s design philosophy emphasizes code readability and simplicity. Unlike many programming languages, Python uses plain English syntax that makes it easier to learn and understand. You won’t need to memorize complex syntax or confusing characters to write functional code.

Additionally, Python has a vast and supportive community. That means if you ever get stuck, you’ll likely find a solution online quickly. Whether it's a bug in your code or help with understanding a concept, forums like Stack Overflow and GitHub are full of solutions.

What Are the Fundamentals of Python?

Before diving into advanced topics like machine learning or web development, you need to build a strong base. Here are the essential fundamental of python concepts every beginner should master:

1. Variables and Data Types

Understanding how to store and manipulate data is the first step in programming. In Python, you can work with:

Integers (int)

Floating-point numbers (float)

Strings (str)

Booleans (bool)

Lists, tuples, and dictionaries

Python doesn’t require you to declare the data type; it detects the type automatically, making your first coding steps easier.

2. Operators and Expressions

Python includes basic arithmetic operators (+, -, *, /), as well as comparison operators (==, !=, >, <) and logical operators (and, or, not).

These operators help you perform calculations and build logic into your programs.

3. Control Structures

To make decisions and repeat actions, you’ll need:

if, elif, and else statements

for and while loops

Mastering control structures allows you to write dynamic programs that can handle a variety of tasks.

4. Functions

Functions are blocks of code designed to perform a specific task. They make your code more modular and reusable.

def greet(name):

print(f"Hello, {name}!")

5. File Handling

Python makes it easy to read from and write to files—an essential skill if you're working with data or saving information.

with open("data.txt", "r") as file:

content = file.read()

6. Error Handling

Learning to handle errors gracefully using try, except, and finally blocks is important for building reliable software.

Who Should Learn Python?

✅ Students

If you’re a student—especially in high school or college—Python can open doors to future careers in data science, software development, and automation. Many universities now include Python in their curriculum because of its real-world applications.

✅ Career Switchers

If you’re moving from a non-tech field like teaching, marketing, or finance, Python is a beginner-friendly language that helps you get up to speed quickly. It’s commonly used in industries like fintech, health tech, and e-commerce.

✅ Freelancers and Creatives

Python isn’t just for techies. Artists and writers use it to create tools, automate tasks, and even work with AI to generate content.

Practical Applications of Python

Learning Python basics can help you move on to a wide range of specialized areas:

Web Development: Using frameworks like Flask or Django

Data Analysis: With libraries like Pandas and NumPy

Machine Learning: With TensorFlow, scikit-learn, and Keras

Automation: For automating repetitive tasks using simple scripts

Cybersecurity: For scripting and automating security tools

With just the basics, you can already build simple calculators, to-do lists, and automation tools that help in daily tasks.

Tools You Need to Start Learning

You don’t need a fancy setup to get started with Python. All you need is:

A computer with internet access

Python (available for free from the official site)

A code editor like VS Code or PyCharm

Access to online tutorials, YouTube videos, or Python programming courses

You can also practice directly in your browser using platforms like Replit, Jupyter Notebooks, or Google Colab.

Tips to Learn Python Effectively

Practice Daily – Coding is a skill; the more you practice, the better you get.

Build Small Projects – Apply what you learn to real-life mini projects.

Join Communities – Engage in forums or join coding groups to stay motivated.

Follow a Curriculum – Choose a structured learning path or course.

Track Your Progress – Keep a journal or use GitHub to track your code over time.

Final Thoughts

Python is an incredibly versatile language that offers endless possibilities for students and career changers alike. Whether you're trying to land a job in tech or looking to automate tasks in your current role, learning the fundamental of python is the first step toward building your confidence and capabilities in coding.

Start today. All you need is curiosity, consistency, and a willingness to learn. Python is ready to take you wherever you want to go in the world of tech.

[engineeringenigma]

So I work as a programmer, and the languages I use and the manner I use them in get kind of weird:

- I use python, but only to program the one robot that internally runs python. The dev environment is “here’s a box you can put text, see if you get runtime errors”. If you want a proper dev environment, you can copy-paste code from the robot program into an editor of your choice. They do have a top-level graphical interface if you want each line of code to take up 10% of your screen.

- There’s a language that’s not quite C++ that we use for a different control box. That one’s dev environment will tell you if you made an error when you try to download. Specifically it tells you the first error, and you have to fix it and try to download again to get the second error. The download process takes 20 seconds. If you try to compile offline you get separate errors.

- On the more normal side of things, we have an SQL/ajax/javascript/html thing for handling some of our internal processes. As a change of pace my problems for this one are self-inflicted, because I never figured out how to set up a proper dev environment and just edit everything in notepad++. Someone else finally showed me how to do local environment testing so I no longer take our internal website down if I miss a close bracket.

- We do a ton of stuff in .NET framework, because 20 years ago my work was using VB6 and we never bothered to migrate to C#. I actually have a real dev environment for this one with autocomplete and syntax checking, so of course it’s my favorite. My boss wants to switch this all over to javascript so we can do android/linux deployment.

- A different robot has an internal language that’s not quite python. This one also has a graphical interface that I won’t use because I want more information to fit on my screen. This one also only tells you about syntax errors during runtime, but the most noteworthy thing about it is that the command to move the robot in a straight line is bugged. I think they fixed it to the point where you can’t reboot the controller by telling it to move in a straight line, but you can make it slowly drift off into space until it faults.

- The ladder logic we use is actually normal (for AB, not Seimen’s), but I did add basically a secondary control layer built out of function blocks to handle sequencing. It is very well-documented, a fact that no one cares about when they ask what the heck I am doing with so many function blocks.

- The ladder logic was a little too normal (expensive) so they also make us use the budget version. It’s very similar except there are no keyboard shortcuts, everything takes more clicks, and instead of changing code live you have to reboot everything and wait about 30 seconds if you want to change something.

- There’s a language we use for one of our internal products that I created over about three days because I didn’t want to worry about malicious external code or figuring out a compiler. The parser is just squashed into an entirely different program so that program can control stuff in the background. It does not have arrays or loops, and I didn’t give it string handling for about a year. There’s no dev environment because it’s not a real language. Something like a quarter of the stuff we sell now uses it.

- One of the robots requires programming via menus. If you want to add an if statement, the menu shortcut is F1 -> 4 -> 8. The end if is F1 -> 4 -> 0 -> 1. The program to let you type is a paid add-on. Exponents and absolute values are also paid add-ons. You get 200 numerical memory registers and can’t have local variables. There is no else if.