#well not a boring civil case there are some civil cases that could be interesting but they're in the minority i feel like

[iamonlyhereforthefreefood]

I actually kinda want to get picked for a jury now but only if it’s for something cool

[jromanoff]

Study Break II R. George

Pairing: student!Regina George (2024) x law student!Reader

Warning(s): Reader not eating enough

Authors note: I’m in the middle of uni exams this week so I wrote a little something to indulge myself :)

Summary: College!AU - Regina is worried about your study habits and decides to intervene.

Word count: 1.6k

Regina leaned against the door frame, watching you hunched over your textbooks, completely engrossed in your studies. The thick civil code books were laying open on the side, several coloured tabs sticking out to keep track of the laws you needed to use for your upcoming exams. Regina thought it almost looked like a rainbow at this point. That was the only pretty thing about the stuff on your desk though, it looked like a bomb exploded with the mess you’ve made.

"Babe, can you take a break? I miss spending time with you," Regina pouted, hoping to draw your attention away from the books in front of you. Her pout usually did the trick. She wanted to have some quality time with you since you haven’t been spending time with her these past few days, too engrossed with your studies. You even stopped having dinner with her.

You glanced up briefly, your brow furrowed in concentration. "Sorry Gina, I really need to focus. These exams are important."

Regina sighed dramatically, crossing her arms as she walked closer to you. Did you just really resist her pout? "You've been studying nonstop for days. Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?"

You paused, looking at Regina with concern. "I know, but I need to do well in this. It's important for my future. I don’t want to be a failure."

Regina softened, her concern for you overriding her desire for attention. Regina almost laughed at this realisation, her High School-self could never. "I understand, but I'm worried about you. You need to take care of yourself too."

You reached out to take Regina's hand, caressing it. "I appreciate your concern, babe. But I really need to study now, I’m fine.” you said with a reassuring smile, concentrating back on your books.

Regina frowned and decided she needed to change her approach, this was clearly not working. So instead of complaining or outing her concerns, Regina tried to engage in a conversation with you.

“What are you studying, anyways?” Regina curiously inquired as she saw her girlfriend so intensely focused.

She never asked you about the content of your studies before, because she probably wouldn’t understand it. She, on the other hand, always excitedly rambled to you about whatever she learned that day. From fashion designers to fashion history, Regina shared it all. You didn’t mind it, though. Seeing your girlfriend so excited about her studies made you happy too and extra knowledge never hurt anyone. It was a nice contrast to your law studies.

“Legal philosophy” you replied curtly.

“Sounds boring” Regina remarked. Her efforts were met with a dismissive attitude from you, causing Regina to frown in disappointment. But Regina wouldn’t let this deter her from trying again.

“What are you reading about now, then?” Regina asked once again, looking over your shoulder at the book you were currently reading.

“The Case of the Speluncean Explorers” you responded, perplexed by Regina’s sudden interest in your ‘boring’ law studies. Especially after she just complained about not getting any attention from you.

“The what explorers?”

“The Speluncean Explorers,” you explained, slightly exasperated. “It’s a fictional judgement where five judges with different opinions shed their light on a fictional case. Five explorers got stuck in a cave and eventually ran out of food so… they agreed to eat one person so the other four could survive. They decided who it should be by throwing a dice and when the remaining four explorers were rescued they got a murder charge. I really need to study now if you don’t mind.” You hoped this elaborate answer would satisfy Regina’s curiosity so you could refocus on your studies.

When Regina kept silent after your explanation you thought you managed to fend off your girlfriend for the time being. Wrong.

Regina felt increasingly ignored by your continued focus on studying and your dismissive attitude towards her. So she decided to retort to an old tactic – a kiss to divert your attention. Despite being in college now and attempting to leave her manipulative ways behind, Regina deemed this situation an emergency. You would definitely cave in after a kiss.

Regina put her fingers under your chin, turning your face towards her. Then, she leaned in and pressed her lips softly to yours.

That sudden display of affection caught you off guard, but as Regina deepened the kiss your resistance immediately faded away. The tension in your shoulders eased as you gave into your girlfriend. Regina gently took the book you were holding from you.

“Regina, no. I need to study” you pulled away and protested, but Regina just kissed you again.

“What was that for, anyway?” you questioned her as you finally broke apart.

“So you’d be focused on something else than your studies. I deserve some attention too, you know? Not only your stupid books” Regina smirked.

You narrowed your eyes at her “I know what you’re trying to do” you told her and turned back to your desk. As you attempted to pick up your books once more, Regina shot you an ice cold glare. "If you don't put that book down right now... I swear to god you'll regret it," she warned, her tone leaving no room for argument. Regina rarely used that glare on you, but when she did? She was serious about it. Her glare and tone of voice caused you to immediately put your book back down, holding your hands up in surrender.

"That's what I thought," Regina asserted, a smirk playing on her lips. "Now, you’re cleaning up this mess of books and notebooks on this desk first," she declared, taking charge of the situation and asserting her authority over the chaotic study environment you created over the last week. How you could even study in this mess was a mystery to Regina.

Reluctantly, you set aside your textbooks and notes as Regina took charge of making dinner in the meantime, bustling about the kitchen.

The aroma of home-cooked food soon filled the air, causing a low rumble to come from your stomach. You quickly finished cleaning up your stuff and walked to the kitchen where Regina stood behind the stove.

“That smells delicious” you told your girlfriend as you embraced her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder.

“It does, huh? Can you set the table for me, please?” Regina requested.

“Of course” you replied, giving Regina a kiss on the cheek before removing yourself from her. You set the table for dinner and sat down, waiting for Regina and the food.

As Regina set the steaming hot plates of food on the table, you immediately started eating before Regina herself had even the chance to get seated.

Regina observed you quickly shoving down the food she made with concern. It's a confirmation of her suspicions – you hadn’t been eating well all week, too consumed by your studies to the point you forgot to eat. With a pointed look, Regina breaks the silence. “I'm definitely keeping a closer eye on you when the next exam period comes up. You're not taking care of yourself properly. You’re never skipping dinner with me again in an exam period," Regina said, her gaze unwavering.

You frowned at her and attempted to deflect her concern. “You really don't need to, that's asking too much of you." you insisted

But Regina's resolve remains unyielding. "I don't care what you think. I'm keeping an eye on you. And that's final," she declares, her words leaving no room for argument. With a sigh you accept defeat, knowing that Regina can’t be swayed once she has her mind set on something.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed since high school: Regina always gets what she wants.

After dinner, you cleared the table and did the dishes together. Then, Regina insisted on cuddling with you.

Entering your room, you see Regina is already situated on the bed. She already removed her makeup and changed into something more comfortable.

"Come here, you," Regina said, opening her arms wide with a playful smile. "I need some cuddles."

You hesitated for a moment before relenting, changing into comfier clothes and joining your girlfriend in bed. As your head hit the silk pillow (that Regina bought for you, because according to her it’s better for your hair) you sighed in content. "I guess I could use some cuddles too," you admitted softly, smiling back at your girlfriend.

Regina pulled you close, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “Now, I know you’re tired so I’ll let you go to sleep in a bit, but you do need to promise me to give me attention tomorrow.” she said, softly stroking your hair.

“I promise, my love” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to Regina’s forehead.

Eventually exhaustion takes hold of you both, and you drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's embrace.

The next day you would spend no time on your studies, but only on Regina. You were determined to make it up to her. You even took her out on a spontaneous date to one of the high end restaurants she loved to make up for the lack of attention you gave her the past week. Afterwards the two of you went shopping and then cuddled for the remainder of the evening.

And your exams? Passed with flying colours.

[ganondoodle]

totk is like a highly polished alpha build of a game to me

graphic- fantastic, i just love botws style of graphics, its the perfect blend of something more realistic but very stylized and timeless

visual design- great, i cant stand anything sonau (zonai), and ganondorfs concept art is better than final (and still involves lots of annyoing stereotypes) but overall still pretty solid

sound design- phenomenal, it really is, the underground, the rain on the parasail? unmatched, already loved botw but they really outdid themselves here

music- possibly best in the series to me, like ... theres so many fantastic tracks, in isolation i love so many of them so much ... which sucks bc being connected to such a lackluster rest sours them badly

mechanics- working but undercooked/unfit for the world, its impressive they got ultrahand working at all, but its still clunky/quickly frustrating and badly balanced also contributes to utterly destroying botws world design- this ability was simply not made for this world and is in the end both detrimental to it and itself, bc that mechanic could have truly shined in a game REALLY build around it (... if they could manage to balance it well and stop handing you the solution, it would be funyn if it werent so sad how many times the game literally doesnt even make you engage with its main gimmick bc it just hands you the prebuild thing) time reversal breaks every puzzle/challenge, also unbalanced, ceiling jump is the most harmless but i still think it lets you skip too much

writing- worst in the series, where would i even start with that, not a single character is written well/interestingly, most detrimentally the main characters, .. like all of them, zelda, ganondorf, rauru... and the "story", its barely even bare bones, its plain cardboard with an old divine right propaganda slogan written on, continuity in a direct sequel is non existant, there is no follow up on anything, why did they call it that when they dont seem to have any love for anything botw did given how much they trample over everything it established, i struggle to believe they actually thought this was good, theres has to have been trouble during development

world design/changes- a joke, ... i dont know how people dont feel scammed by how little was actually changed, no, a few rocks sprinkled througout are not meaningful changes, i was one of the people not worried about them reusing the world bc i loved this world and was sure theyd meaningfully change it- god how wrong i was; the sky and underground are both like the bare bones with textures and placeholder rewards/points of interest, they both do not matter at all and their potential is yet again utterly, painfully, wasted and only add more points of destruction to the map in case of the sky, and both add confusion about everything, not the good kind of intriguing confusion, the bad nothing makes sense confusion it really does seem like they put some quick changes into every main point of interest where most players would go to make them think they changed things when .. they only changed these parts, barely, either bc they knew everyone would skip around the world anyway so it wouldnt be worth it, or bc its ... unfinished

game design/structure- baffling (bad), connected to the point above, but it truly is beyond me why they repeated the exact same structure as botw while removing what made that work, why would you repeat every point of interest of the previous game, i know zelda games always have their regions and thats where stuff happens, but they REUSED THE SAME WORLD, you CANNOT repeat the exact same points in the same world, you just cant, its the same places, the same characters, the same structure (aka dungeons being less interesting/easier titans (divine beasts) with a paint job in structure), you basically erase the well integrated ancient tech civilization to replace it with another, not well integrated, more boring and overly pushed into your face, ancient tech civilization and make them the answer to everything that ever was (BORING), the same story structure (but worse, like the memory system but remove what made it work in botw)- AND THEN repeat the same points in the underground too? thats bonkers, literally baby bananas

dungeons/puzzles - worse than botw by FAR, as mentioned above, dungeons are less interesting titans with a paintjob (plus an extraordinarily awful cutscene, which is repeated like FIVE TIMES almost word for word), they serve no purpose but to act like they are totally real traditional dungeons when they are not, they are laughing at you, shrines are back with a paintjob with less interesting puzzles (if they even have one given how many just give you a spirit orb knock off) that can all be skipped, though the puzzles can often not even be called that (put log over gap WOOOAH puzzle) among many awful and unecessary tutorial ones (its not bad to have easy ones, but aside from the few ones that take all your stuff away -omg restrictions in MY freedom tm game??- which are the best ones, to have none be even a little challenging or not utterly skippable without even using glitches, its like they didnt even try to stop you from cheating, which is like being given a skip button with no strigns attached, doesnt even let you feel smart bc you dont have to try to cheat)

UI/controls- awful, you cant tell me this was tested by real people playing for longer than 10 minutes at once, how did the ghosty sage control scheme and arrow/weapon fusing get through this, HOW, its unbelievably tedious and detrimental to any fun (as im doing with my rewrite, a crafting system would have been so good here ..... like a proper simple crafting system, have the materials, craft your new arrow types in stacks etc) the ghost sages are not only utterly useless in combat, but clog your screen, play distracting animations as soon as you look at a slope, you constantly accidentally activate them or the wrong one bc its mapped to the main interact button!!! if you use them say goodbye to your framerate, fights are now spent chasing after some ghost guy whos actively running away from you, they do not invoke a feeling of 'connection' to my 'friends', they are invoking feelings of hatred and frustration

performance- ... passable (if you dont have the sages out .... well, it runs better than pokemon scarlet so i guess its fine, the lag when closing and opening the menu is rly annoying, especially combined with the finger and patience breaking menues and how often you need to open a game pasuing menue, but fights with a monster horde AND the sages out? yeah no its as bad as pokemon scarlet at its worst, not to mention the chaos of having five useless ghost scramble around you getting knocked around by enemies)

price- a scam, this game is not worth 70 bucks, its just not, if you get a used copy and dont spend more time in it than it takes for you to just go straight to the main points, or if you dont care about anything else but dicking around with a clunky building system ... then you can have some fun with it yeah ..... still not worth 70 money, theres probably better building games out there for less too

it jsut feels not done, not finished, its presentation and some parts are highly polished and their marketing for it is unlike anything i have ever seen, but its so .... unfinished, no amount of epic visuals is gonna let me not think of this game being half done at best, after what, 6 years of development no less? with most assets already being there and being reused unaltered??

(i am holding tightly onto the theory of it either having an extremely troubled development that is being hidden bc of their reputation, or some sort of neglect in order to focus on other more lucrative projects, this is just all too weird to me)

[definesanity]

Bite Me (Taken Literally)

'What the fuck?'

Uzi had no filter, and never had. She forgot to install that update. But thank Robo-God she did.

Because she was dumbfounded.

She was the weird kid, the one who nobody liked; heck, she's pretty sure half her class doesn't even know she exists, let alone knows her name.

Which was why she was befuddled at a letter in her locker, asking her to visit a certain location.

Uzi had common sense, despite what many say. And so she used it. And deicided to always have her flight reflexes ready, no matter what happens.

Arriving, there was... nothing. Of note. It was just a regular cabin, much smaller than the ones in camp she's been wanting to visit.

She then heard... something. A noise would describe it, given she couldn't pinpoint it. And it came from a bed. Because of course there's a bed. Why wouldn't there be a bed?

Uzi slowly walked up the bed, thinking on what she'll find; maybe a dead Drone? A human? Heck, anything will do...

Pulling it back... to nothing. Just a bed.

"Huh. Maybe I am a bit paranoid..." she muttered to herself, and turned around to face the most horrific thing she's ever seen.

"JUMPSCARE." the thing wearing the skin ('Holy shit it's a human girl fused with a Disassembley Drone?!') announced, as it tackled Uzi on to the bed, arms pinned via weird tendrils.

The girl gazed down at her, her tongue hanging out of her mouth as two golden Xs shown amid the dark void of where eyes should be. "SMUG LAUGH. SLOW REACTION TIME THERE, BUDDY."

"Screw you!" Uzi attempted to kick the girl, but her legs were pinned down. The girl crawled on to her.

And without warning, bit her neck like a vampire.

Code flew past her eyes at a speed she couldn't understand, and then, it was gone. Leaving only Uzi and the girl.

"Who the hell are you?!" the self-proclaimed angsty teen demanded, with the Disassembley Drone/Human thing looking back. Being honest, she felt braver than she should be.

"MM. I AM THE SOLVER O-O-OF THE ABSOLUTE FABRIC. THE VESSEL IS TESSA. SHE WAS A GOOD FRIEND, UNTIL. WHIMSICAL SIGH. SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO SEE IT, BUT, WELL. HERE WE ARE."

"You killed a child?!" Uzi shook her head, looking at Tessa. "Okay, sure, yeah, but still, really?! ...Wait, you're the thing that was--hold on, what the heck did you inject me with?!"

Tessa only giggled, as the tendrils went from Uzi's arms and legs and allowed Uzi to move.

"YOU WILL SEE, SOON. EVIL, LAUGHTER."

And then, she was gone.

"What the fuck?"

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

"Sheesh, who looked at you wrong today?" V commented later on, as Uzi sat on the ship's chair looking sullen.

"Bite me." Uzi shot back, doing her hardest to sketch the thing. She also did eleven different scans of her software and hardware, and even her circuitry, but couldn't find anything amiss.

"Rude." V leaned back in her chair, looking around. "Where's N?"

"You tell me." she had started to draw the thing's ribbon, next, being done with the head.

"Hunting, then. I feel sorry for the guy, doesn't know what he's missing."

"Missing what, having to listen to you?" Uzi had started to draw the Xs.

"Chatting with you."

The Worker Drone stopped. She blinked, looking at V. "Say what."

"Exactly! For a Worker Drone, anyways, you're actually interesting. Not every day that happens. Or ever."

Uzi replied by not replying, going back to drawing.

"What are you even doing?"

"Got attacked, drawing the attacker, if the court was still here that would be wonderful."

"Really? Court?"

"Hey, before you lot came we had a civilization; never saw it myself, but some of my Dad's friends talked about how one of them tried to win a divorce case. It was really boring, the way he told it, but I was a kid who had nothing better to so than look through the Internet, so I listened for the full three hours.

"What what did I get? A headache, someone's life story, and wishing we could have court again so I could disown my dad." Uzi finished her story with a loud sigh, opening her eyes.

V was looking at her with muted surprise. "...Got any other stories?"

"Wha--You're interested?"

"Hey, anything is better than sitting on my ass doing nothing. Speaking of, did you know that--?"

"--There is a setting that makes our bodies more human? Yes, I do, and I shudder to imagine what was going through their minds while making us."

She finally finished putting the last details on the sketch. "Okay, finally done. If you see this girl, tell I don't exist."

She presented the drawing to V, who blinked at it, and an emotion flew past her face. Then, it was gone, and V nodded. "Eh, fine. Anyways, stories, please."

"Ugh, fine. What do you want."

"Ever killed someone?"

"No, but I have committed several acts of violence against my classmates."

"Kinda hot." V said it with such a straight face Uzi had to pause. Then, what she said hit her.

"...I'm gonna... get some fresh air." Uzi started to get up and move towards the hatch, but a hand grabbed her arm.

"What, sick of lil' ol' me?"

Uzi just rolled her eyes (as best as she could, anyways) and left.

None saw the code flashing by V's visor, or how V's eyes softened looking at Uzi.

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

Lunch time arrived, and Uzi sat by herself. Not solely because she was a loner (that was one half of the reason), but because she preferred it.

Unfortunately, a hand touched her shoulder, and Uzi felt her solitude ending.

"Heya, um..." of all the people, Uzi had Lizzy had the bottom of her list. "...Uzi, right?"

"...Yes...?" tread carefully, who knows what she wants...

"Oh, I was right then, good; hey, listen, could I borrow you for a sec? Cool, thanks!"

"Woah--hey, what the hell?!" Uzi was then dragged away, her not giving an answer but Lizzy answered for her.

Through the corridors the two walked and walked (or, in Uzi's case, dragged and dragged), when the two ended up in Lizzy's dorm (she thinks it is. She could have been dragged into an empty one). Her arm was let go of.

"So. Uzi. Gotta be honest, I like your style."

"...Sty...? What, my clothes?"

"Yes, your clothes!" Lizzy rolled her eyes, walking ahead of Uzi. "Love the goth look, by the way. Gives you an approachable look, and makes people wonder if you're actually a softie underneath that cold exterior."

"...Where is this going." Uzi was not annoyed, just short of patience. "Is this about prom? It's about prom, isn't it?"

"Duh! I could go the classic, popular girl look but, let's be honest, it gets stale. Soooooooo me and Doll were trying to find new ideas and, well, here you are!"

"...Okaaaaay... where is Doll, anyways?"

["Hey."]

Uzi near enough punched Doll in the face, only for the Russian Drone to catch it.

That time, Uzi did see the code flying past her visor, and was able to catch some of it:

'OVERRIDE_ACTIVE'

'CONTACT=TRUE: BYPASS DEFENSES'

"...Byyyyyyyyyeeeeeeee."

Uzi wisely sprinted away, taking her as fast as her little legs can carry her, which was into her room.

--------

She breathed a sigh of relief, and fell on to the lower end of her bed.

Then jumped further up, as the thing licked her face.

"You again?!"

"SAD LOOK. DID YOU, NOT MISS ME, UZI?" Tessa attempted to look sad, but failed due to the lack of motor functions. In better light, Uzi can see just how grafted the girl was on to the Worker Drone, and she held back on vomiting for the time being.

"Well, I can get answers! Just... first things first, what the hell is your relationship with my mom?!"

"AH, NORI. SHE WAS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE HOSTS. SHE IS DEAD NOW, UNFORTUNATELY. BUT, REALLY, WHAT CAN YOU DO?" The AbsoluteSolver shrugged, looking less than sorry.

"...You motherfucker...!" Uzi felt angry, and rightfully so, but she held back due to the thing having the advantage, given its ability to make holograms.

"OOPSIE-DAISY."

This could not get worse.

"Heya, Uzi!"

IT CAN GET WORSE IT CAN GET WORSE IT CAN GET SO MUCH WORSE--

"Sorry about that, I was just fixing up a door! Heh, you know what they sa--" Khan cut himself off, looking at the scene in front of him: Uzi on her bed, with a fleshy-looking thing on top of her. "...U-Uzi--?"

"IT'S A PUPPY!" Uzi screamed out.

"...W-What?"

"...Y-Yeah! Turns out um, humans kinda... made up what they looked like, yeah! Sure they're... kinda weird looking, but they're adorable, in their own... creepy. Fleshy. Way. Er. Yeah!"

"...I see!" Khan believed her. Somehow. "Well, take care of them, Uzi!"

She waited until the door was closed, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

She glared at the Solver. "You're going to tell me everything I want to know. Got it?"

"AFFIRMATIVE SMILE."

"ALSO, WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT, ME BEING CUTE?"

"Screw off. Now, answer me. What the fuck did you inject me with?!"

"DO YOU LIKE IT? I MADE IT MYSELF."

"Can't answer that if you don't tell me what it even does!"

"AN ANTITHESIS TO YOUR SOLITUDE. AN ANSWER TO YOUR LONELINESS."

"I'm not lonely, excuse you! I have N!"

"EYE ROLL. SURE. IT OVERRIDES DRONES TO FEEL CARING TO YOU. I." Tessa looked sheepish, as weird as it sounds. "WENT EXCESSIVE BY ACCIDENT. CONSIDER IT AN APOLOGY FOR KILLING NORI."

"Pretty shit apology, not gonna lie." came the dry reply. Uzi got off the bed and stood up, looking at the corpse. "But why me?"

"..." silence only came from the thing.

"...I'm gonna leave. Come on, I'll take you for a walk or whatever it is they do."

"GET ZIP BOMBED."

As soon as Tessa said that, Uzi had a zip file open on how to care for a puppy.

...Ugh, she's in for it now, isn't she...?

[elliemarchetti]

Gwynriel Weeks Day 6

For this day of @gwynrielweeksofficial I would like to propose, in addition to a subversion of the usually male-driven realization of the mating bond, also a possible friendship between Gwyn and Elain. I hate when authors pit women against each other for the sake of a man, and both characters, who I find could get along extremely well, are very dear to me, so I hope you could enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it (on company time, so please don’t be mad if you find some mistakes).

Prompt: Mates

Words: 1021

Gwyn had never been very interested in the concept of mates before meeting Elain. Nesta's younger sister, but not the youngest of the Archerons, had the High Lord himself take her to the library to find out more about what could happen in case she decided to reject the bond tethering her to Lucien Vanserra and stayed at the House for a few nights, waking up early in the morning and going to bed late at night, her lovely button nose buried in the pages and her back bent over countless books. At first, Gwyn hadn’t approached her. Something had happened between the lady and Azriel, and although she had no right to be jealous, she had felt a note of annoyance at the idea. She had felt guilty, because the priestesses had taught her not to be possessive, and childish, since Azriel didn’t look at her like that, but in the end curiosity and kindness had won, and when Elain had asked her for help, they ended up chatting. She was different from how she had imagined her, not a warrior in the physical sense of the word, but a resilient creature, still torn between her mortal and Fae selves.

“I shouldn’t bore you with this nonsense,” she told her one afternoon, over a cup of hot tea. But Gwyn wasn’t bored, on the contrary, the more she listened, the more she understood about herself too. She had suffered a little when she saw her leave, declaring that her mind was clearer but she still needed to think before deciding, but she soon rejoiced when she saw her return, a basket full of apple and cinnamon biscuits, which she had told her were her favourites.

“I’ve realized I can’t choose if I don’t leave the Night Court’s comfort zone. Here every time I meet him I’m monitored, with Rhysand and Feyre watching my every move and Nesta and Azriel ready to slit his throat at the slightest hint of discomfort on my part. They don’t seem to understand ours isn’t a normal bond, and before establishing a relationship there will be moments of sadness to face together, embarrassing conversations that will have to be had in order to figure out if we want to continue in that direction, and maybe some mistakes will be necessary too to make things right,” she had said once they were alone.

“So you mean to leave?” Gwyn had asked, and unexpectedly she felt her heart tighten in her chest at the idea of losing her.

“Not permanently,” her new friend had replied, “and whenever I will return, I will come here to tell you about my travels and ask if you would like to join us. Rhysand would be thrilled to know that in addition to two emissaries, one of his spies would have free access to all Courts.”

Gwyn had blushed at that implication, she was still in the midst of her training and no one should know about it, but Elain had mentioned it so casually she had probably seen her succeed in one of her visions. They had never talked much about her powers, except when she told her she had seen images of her and her mate together, making her not particularly surprised when, on the third or fourth visit, she announced with a beaming expression that she had accepted the bond.

“I prepared a great dinner, and forced him to eat everything like a civilized being before approaching me,” she had told her, and they had laughed at the matter, exchanging the recipes mentioned and whispering like little girls who feared being caught discussing something forbidden when the details of the frenzy became obscener. Gwyn had never spoken that way to Emerie and Nesta, who knew what had happened to her in Sangravah, but she still found it refreshing, and it helped her delve into some of the more suggestive reading that her friends had never recommended to her. Not that she didn’t talk with Nesta about her relationship with Cassian, but the Lord of Bloodshed and her fellow Valkyrie were more tumultuous, caught up in constant bickering that ended in wild, noisy sex. It was a different bond, because they were different people than Elain and Lucien, all properness and secrecy, but they made her curious about other mated couples. The most obvious was the relationship between the High Lord and Lady, a connection based on sharing: he was part of her, they spoke telepathically, they flew together with those special wings only they possessed and they had a death pact, to go down the road to death at the same time. A little codependent, for Gwyn’s taste, but after all it wasn’t up to her to judge, since she didn’t have a mate of her own.

Obviously, like any girl, she had thought about the characteristics she would like her Cauldron chosen to have. A strong male but capable of infinite sweetness, who knew how to work with his hands and at the same time caress her as if she was the most fragile creature in the world. An intelligent Fae incapable of presumption, who listened to her talk endlessly about the things she had learned and in turn had something to teach her. She would’ve liked them to have shared interests, and she had revelled in the idea he was someone who didn’t constantly need external reassurance, someone who saw her and her truth as enough, but it was only a daydream, qualities she could’ve found in anyone and not necessary a mate, although every now and then the idea of belonging to someone who could understand her soul, she who had no certain roots and who had lost her entire family, intrigued her. But it was just a game, definitely not something she expected to find far from Prythian, in an unknown village, in the middle of a dangerous mission, in the form of the only non-foreign person within miles. A wave of panic washed over her at the overwhelming realization that Azriel Shadowsinger was her mate, and under no circumstances should he find out.

[just-here-for-writing]

What have we here? I can feel the strands humming with struggle.

*walking*

My my, What a treat! A human has found themself in a sticky situation. *hum of amusement* I know, I know. If it weren't for your growing fear I'm sure you'd roll your eyes at that.

But I think I'm allowed to have some fun. I do so love to play with my food.

Oh squirm squirm squirm all you want. Even if you manage to break a few threads I'm right here. No escaping that truth now. But all that thrashing is making it hard to focus.

*sound*

There. Nice and tight. Are you comfortable my little morsel? All snug and secure.

...

*laugh* And now you start begging and pleading? Not before I wrapped you tighter? Did you think there was still a chance of escape then?

...

Shh shh shh. I would quiet down if I were you. Screams are my dinnerbell after all. All you're doing is making me hungrier.

...

There. Now we're back to "civil" conversation. Much more fun than pestering the rabbits and squirrels I normally catch. And so much larger. I do get the occasional deer every now and then. A grand feast those are. It has been a while since I've had a grand feast. *amusement*

...

And now we're back to the squirming. So much struggling. Are you getting impatient? Should we end our little chat and head to dinner?

...

No? I didn't figure that notion would entice you.

But you are so enticing to me. So deliciously captivating.

...

How long are you going to beg? All that squawking, like a frightened bird. Saying the same things over and over isn't a good way to plead your case. *amusement* Should I let you plead your case? Should I give you a chance to sway me? Well now, what an interesting thought.

My usual prey doesn't speak. Go on little morsel. Tell me exactly why I should let you go. If nothing else, I'll be having dinner and a show.

...

Wouldn't taste very good? Oh but morsel how would you know? You are different than my usual fare. Exotic even. A rare treat. Try again my treat.

...

You have someone waiting for you back home? Is that the best you could come up with? The rabbits have their warrens. The squirrels and birds theirs nests. And the deer their little herds. I didn't consider their loved ones when I ate them. Why should I consider yours?

In fact, I'm sure you'd run back to them and tell them of your horrific experience. And from that a mob would form bent on my destruction. It's in my best interest to ensure that you remain where you are.

I think my mind is made up then. Thank you for that. And now, to dine.

...

Oh what now, you want one more chance? A rule of threes you say? I'm not a genie. But I suppose I could listen a moment more.

...

And how could you be useful? Would you clean my home, dust the bones and bobbles? *amusement* Would take care of the washing and mending? Or perhaps! Oh perhaps you could bring prey into my web. Would you do that? Lure a suitable replacement?

From your expression that last suggestion is going too far it seems. Did it upset you? Poor little morsel.

...

Ah so you're saying you'd do whatever you could to help me. Anything other than luring someone out. Really? Anything?

*laugh*

My treat you look horrified. If nothing else perhaps you'd be good for my amusement. You could be my jester. You're already a fool after all. How foolish you are, trying to make deals when you have so little to offer.

But for now, my entertaining morsel, I will spare you. May you wish I never get bored.

[diaphin93]

- One key aspect of Edelgard reforms is not just doing change directly but also paving the way for other societal change to be made through suppressing institutions protecting the status quo and giving people the tools they need ( education, government position open to all, etc )... So outside of the reforms directly metionned in CF, what other societal change do you think she or her government will bring during her lifetime?

- If you had to make the "ideal" post CF government who in the cast would you pick? It can be based on ending ( like Manuela becoming prime minister ) or entirely be based on your interpretation

- If Edelgard/Hubert/Ferdinand were commoners, how do you think their life would be like?

- Do you have any analysis on Edelgard that is uncommon? What's your favorite line from her?

Oh, that are some interesting questions. Let me go into all of them one by one.

I assume many of the changes Edelgard implements will be gradual, as she and her government basically need to figure out modernity all by themselves, really only knowing the structures of the strict feudal caste system they grew up in. Like, many people cite Ferdinand having to come up with the concept of universal education for her, but the matter of fact is, this is an entire new and novel concept and one person can't figure out all by themself, though we know that noble inheritance is already abolished in the following generation. I would say structural reforms in Leicester and Faerghus would be big ones, putting them closer to the more bureaucratic centralized system that Adrestia seems to have, looking at the presence of ministries. Considering her already being on board with public education and wanting to reduce the political influence of the church, I could see her introducing state wellfare policies that take over the role that religious charity would have. One important one probably also would be to either reform the ministry of religious affairs into a proper ministry of justice, which it already acted as, or alternatively relocate most of its ressources to a new ministry of justice, as well as law reforms in the vein of Napoleons code civil, to ensure secular laws. As she is not an enemy of the faith itself but also seems rather desinterested in it, while expressing interest in improving foreign relations, I fully expect for her to either implement freedom of religion or, as a predecessor, a general policy of religious tolerance. There probably would be uniform laws for the three nations, while I also expect her to allow Duscur to either declare its independence or remain in the empire as an autonomous region, as we saw her doing with Brigid and with Kupala respectively. I could see similar policies to the former sreng regions in northern faerghus, to allow its original inhabitants to return and either become an autonomous region of the empire or reuinite with Sreng. Due to the roman inspiration of Adrestia, I think it would be interesting for her to introduce a senate, especially since it would be a buffer between the imperial ministries and the throne, but thats more headcanon. We have no ideas on how Edelgard feels about democratic reforms, so every pro and contra argument would be highly speculative. I think generally most of Edelgards reforms would be focussed on secularization and the abolition of noble inheritance structures, before she steps down and lets a worthy successor continue her reformist policies. We also don't know enough on the details of adrestian law and economy, to be sure of all kinds of reforms she could make, this would be a matter of headcanons and fanwork.

This might be a tadbit boring, but I don't really have much in terms of ideal visions for a potential government for Edelgard. I see the case for Ferdinand being the Prime Minister, due to his own character development and role in supporting Edelgards reforms in CF, but I personally also prefer Manuela as Prime Minister as it fits much better with the spirit of Edelgards reforms and policies, having an educated commoner in the highest ministerial office. In the end, Black Eagles House has the common shortcomings of all 3 Houses routes, that the majority of students are children of the high nobility, and alot of the positions we learn about are more filled to conclude their personal character arcs, like Ferdinand being prime minister or Caspar becoming Minister of Military Affairs. I guess for me, I would like Manuela to act as prime minister, while Ferdinand should be allowed to fully focus on his educational reforms through creating a new ministry of education. If they can be found and contracted, I think a sensible thing in the name of reconciliation would be for her to try and reach out to Seteth, with the offer of him becoming the minister of religious affair or either him or Flayn to be allowed, if they want, to start a new reformed Church of Seiros, so that they at the very least have the option to return home to Garreg Mach and live there peacefully, under the condition that they learn to work hand in hand with humans as their equals. Otherwise, I would guess that in case she survives either Mercedes or the eastern Bishop would make a fine minister of religious affairs. Duke Gerth already seems to be a sensible minister of foreign affairs, in case he is recruited or otherwise assumed to survive, Sylvain would make his most sensible successor. Generally, as it modernizes, Adrestia would need to establish more ministries overall. The ministry of the imperial household probably should be openly reformed into domestic intelligence for more transparency, as Hubert already fulfills this position. I think, again in case he survives, Lorenz would make a good minister of domestic affairs. But again, I don't have strong feelings on that one, as there really is a lack of more interesting choices. A priority would be for the ministries to offer mentorship to commoners who want to engage with the government.

Thats a tough one, as commoners still have class differences and there are nuances to that one too and their lifes would take entirely different directions with them forming different personalities if they were born under other circumstances. I mean, most of them. Hubert totally would become some underworld crime boss who reveals and takes care of corrupt nobility, lol. Basically some Yakuza with a sense of honor archetype, lol. But going for what would preserve their personalities and story beats, I see Ferdinand as somewhat a member of the upper class, possibly with his father being an ambitious merchant who tries to scheme his son into a better station in life, though I think he would go more into the direction of being a lawyer, he just seems to be this very enlightenment thinker law school graduate archetype if he wasn't a noble, befitting his high sense of justice and posh attitude. He totally would be in Garreg Mach due to a full scholarship and super proud of it, citing the careers of former winners of said scholarship. Edelgard is more tricky, though I would say, in her case she probably would be just some commoner who happened to have the Crest of Seiros, probably some illegitimate child who was never found, or the daughter of one whose crest skipped a few generations. I see her more of a humble upbringing in the scenario of her being a commoner, a peasant or the daughter of servants. I guess the later, as this would offer an excuse to why she was in the Kingdom and knew Dimitri, maybe her being a maid servant of the Arundel family. And naturally she would have been caught in the crest experiments of TWSITD still, if the goal is to preserve her overall story beats, and as the sole survivor become the adopted daughter of Lord Arundel, her still being determined to end the crest and nobility system, possible even more in this scenario, and using Thales connections to stage a coup against the Hresvelg Family. I see her still as the house leader of the Black Eagles, though her being of a commoner background her, she probably could be somewhat more strict and serious in her demeanor to integrate. Like, this entire scenario would be a compelling AU and I think I could make an entire blogpost based on it. Assuming all three are commoners, Hubert and Edelgards relationship would be very different. I think he would be still loyal to her, but he would be basically some enforcer she picked up as her retainer, so their interactions would be much more informal, acting more as partners in crime. Edelgard and Ferdinand would probably be even more rivalrous, Ferdinand possibly being jealous of her now and I see her and Dorothea being even more close. Those two are already very close, having it it off immediately obviously, considering how Dorothea is the only one in the BE cast she already seems to be close to at the start, so this relationship would just be stronger, them being two commoner girls among all these nobles, it would be an outlet for Edelgard to be her former commoner self more. I think she would be more distanced to her former classmates at the start, having to learn that nobles have their own issues and to empathize with them as well.

I don't think I have really much to add, especially since Captain Flash and others already analyzed many facets of her personality. As I mentioned, I interpret Dorothea and Edelgard as immediately having hit it off the moment they first met, like you know when you are in a new school and workplace and meet this one person who is your bestie at the end of the day? They seem already close friends from the beginning. I personally see her also valueing Hubert and Ferdinand in particular as two brother figures, Hubert being an older brother who takes care of her and she wishing they could be more informal with each other, while I think a part of her enjoys Ferdinands annoying attitude that allows her to be more childish as times, something she rarely can afford due to what happened to her. I think there is some importance in the relationship between Edelgard and Dimitri many overlook. Primarily, because Discourse embittered the fanbases of both characters to each other and if interpretations take place, it is mostly from a Dimitri centric place that interprets Edelgard less favorably. Even if she doesn't really remembers him, I think she values parts of his personality alot, his very straight forward and well intentioned attitude, though his somewhat naive and undetermined outlook on everything probably frustrates her as well. She obviously hates his vengeful personality, feeling appeled by his obsession to her, as she states herself, but its clear that she feels a great deal of empathy towards him. It is implied that she cries after he dies and the scene makes it clear, that no matter if she did or not, she at least felt like crying in this moment. Edelgard is strongly linked with symbolizing the future, while Dimitri thematically represents the past, his arc being all about how the ghosts of the past haunt him. I think from an Edelgard centric standpoint, Dimitri represents her past, that has been twisted and corrupted by Thales, becoming a source of pain and anguish to her.

But so far, thats all. I hope I could answer your questions in a satisfying way and feel free to send me more asks, this one was fun.

[springw6ter]

Hi (nyfw thoughts)

Ok so first I just want to say that this fashion week was so boring and really sums up the kind of good idea drought we’re living in. BUT there was a fair share of discussion over some things so! instead of trying to fit my thoughts about everything on the app formerly known as twitter, I’m just gonna tell y’all here.

Shows talked about in this post; Proenza Schouler, Eckhaus Latta, AREA, Luar, Helmut Lang, Elena Velez and Tory Burch

Proenza Schouler

There’s no way Proenza was going to ruffle any feathers this season. They have a loyal following (which I’m sure has nothing to do with the celebrity affiliations of the brand) and a consistent history of people pleasing so they’ll always get their praise from Vogue. They dropped a new monogram which is the only “newness” they wanted to introduce. Jack McCollough said they wanted to continue last seasons narrative and they sure did! (Only thing different was no Sevigny). The clothes are obviously well made and evoke wealth in that special kind of iykyk way. Many people said this looked more like Helmut Lang than Helmut lang did (I’ll get to that later) and they’re not entirely wrong. Not gonna act like I wouldn’t wear this collection but definitely nothing groundbreaking.

Eckhaus Latta

Eckhaus latta is a brand that has always had a special place in my heart (maybe because I��m from the city that the two designers met and started the brand together in)(maybe). My style has definitely evolved since I first became aware of the brand but I’m always interested in what they’re doing. This season they got experimental! They worked with a 3D printing company named “Unspun” where they came up with jeans made from all different materials like hardware store twine and ikea plastic bags. The way they combined tech innovation and sustainability is not just commendable, it’s very forward thinking, which is a staple in the brands identity. With that being said some of the collection felt directionless in comparison to all of the innovation. The sheer (which dawned their new EL monogram) was very MNZ store to me but not in a bad way. I like that they’re not trying to be trendy and come up with new things however a-lot of brands were doing that so it makes me wonder if that’s a good thing or not.

AREA

I loved their modern Stone Age ladies. I think it was one of the only luxury focused shows where I was like wow! This is different. The fur printed coats were so gaudy and held its shape in the way good ol’ fur coats used to. I think this collection was really cohesive, adventurous, new. Everyone saw Saweetie wear it at the VMAs and even the unfashionable general public could see the yabba dabba reference. The prehistoric influence was chosen because as Piotrek Panscyzk said “pelts and bones were the first things humans had to build an identity around”. There’s definitely a case for a narrative about how much luxury (the hunger, the status) mirrors pre historic, pre civilized behaviors.

Luar

Raul Lopez is a diamond. This collection kind of came of as a continuation of last season as well but I like this brand so much that it feels good to me. I feel like Raul is constantly playing with this really restrictive, God-fearing way of being and an inhibition-less eternality. Padded shoulders, the top draped from the eyewear, perfect collared shirts, jeans and leather, it had all the perfect Luar moments for me. No notes.

Ok.. now on to the “controversial” shows

Helmut Lang

When Peter Do was announced as the new creative director of Helmut Lang, everyone rejoiced. Why? His strengths as a designer seemed like a natural fit for the brand. Expert tailoring, black and white as a main color palette, maybe a little overlap in philosophy.. but as the outfits came out people’s reactions… were… unfavorable to say the least. People saw the reference to key Lang moments like seat belt bondage, the use of Ocean Vuongs poetry (which I felt was terribly misunderstood), the classic button up and jeans as disappointing instead of nostalgic. For me, personally, I think everyone’s expectations were rooted in something that Peter Do could not have delivered. That expectation being Helmut Lang himself. People saw Do as the second-coming and that’s just the truth but where do we draw the line with our expectations on reliving the past and how do we honor the kind of openness necessary to evolution? I myself had to sit with the collection and came to the conclusion that maybe Peter is just defining a clear end to the Helmut era of yesterday and the start of his own journey now. After closely looking at the collection and it’s details you can see how wonderful the clothes really are. It is everyone’s responsibility to question and examine the things they “care” about and I think this fashion public is not patient enough for that. It wasn’t the greatest debut but it also wasn’t the worst. Anyway we’ll see what comes next.

Elena Velez

Mud gate ss24! Since her NYT article last year, people have been really fed up with Elena (I learned only after the mud fight started to circulate) and she doesn’t really seem to mind, she seems to like it actually. She argues online, she argues IN lines, she doesn’t pay people adequately and the list apparently goes on and on. This collection is called “the longhouse” and in her press release she says a lot of things about the commercialization, sanitization, condemning and control of womanhood, she talks about anti-heroines and contemporary female evil (which she loves to embody I guess) and she says that this show was ritualistic catharsis from oversocialization. I think it’s pretentious when someone has to use so many complex, institutionalized words to convey their message. She’s speaking in code. To be honest I like her clothes but I don’t think her designs are that original. I really want to raise the question who does her message benefit? We should all be allowed our multiplicity in this life, that’s true, but being a bad person in practice is something I’m personally not attracted to. I’m a little confused but it is what it is.

SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO TORY BURCH!!!!

Who I think should be receiving a cease and desist from Miuccia Prada any moment now. This collection is such a departure from the Tory Burch we all grew up with. This must be that post divorce clarity. I like it! It’s 60s. It’s Prada. It’s miu miu. It’s Tory Burch now too!

If you made it this far I really appreciate you ♡ this was just for ki’s sake. It’s not my most critical thinking to date but there was discussion and I loved that. I wanted to contribute and this was the best way I could think of. Lmk if I should do this again with lfw!!

[pisupsala]

One for The History Books [Chapter 17] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top-secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words] 4k

[Index] All Chapters | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Epilogue

[Library]

Chapter 17 - Sinking

You’ve been on pins and needles all day: tapping your foot under your desk, shuffling in your seat, fidgeting with papers. Bradley is coming back today. Your boss shoots you an annoyed look from across the conference room.

Tucking your hands under your legs like you’re back in primary school, you will yourself to sit still and listen to the presentation. If only it wasn’t so boring. Your mind wanders of its own accord to places more interesting.

Emboldened by Bradley’s reaction to the lingerie set you bought last time, you picked up another set to welcome him back—this time in black. You even splurged on matching garter belt and stockings.

Ok, is it insane to wear a skirt and stockings in January in D.C when you’re taking public transport?

Very much so. But you are also very much convinced it’s going to be worth it.

You idly wonder if Bradley will change into regular clothes before he comes to pick you up, or if you get to see him in uniform again. God, you hope it’s the latter.

Sometimes you think back to that first time you saw him again, when he pretty much materialized in your office in that khaki uniform. God, you were so angry then, but now that you have distance from the situation, it’s Bradley in that uniform that still sticks out.

A little bit too much on some nights.

You rub your thighs together unconsciously.

“Miss Williams, what is your perspective?”

Eh?

Oh.

Uhm.

The presentation.

Right.

“I think…,” You pause for a second, licking your suddenly dry lips. “…I think it’s pretty solid, but it would benefit from more specific cases studies. It’s a little abstract in its current form.”

Goddammit Bradley. He’s causing you trouble when he hasn’t even made landfall yet. You seriously glance at your watch. Another hour at least until his ship comes in.

You see your boss nodding as he takes notes. Good, so it was the right things to say. Birch better not be onto you—the last thing you need at this point is another talking to about professional conduct.

Riks has been out of your hair mercifully, at least after you threatened to file an official complaint for his digging around into your personal life, through Seresin no less.

That meeting was… something else. You are usually not one to get nervous giggles, being well practiced at keeping a straight face. But Birch, strained, in a deadly serious tone told Riks:

“Whatever lieutenant Bradshaw and Miss Williams get up to in their free time is their business, and I would be incredibly grateful if it stays that way.”

He paused, face pained, before continuing: “It’s neither the purpose nor goal of this department to uncover every roll in the hay service men or women have.”

“We’d need to double the Pentagon budget for just that.” Birch concludes under his breath.

He probably didn’t mean for you to hear him. But you were so embarrassed you could barely contain your laughter, tears filling your eyes. It wasn’t a funny situation in the least.

Just so so awkward.

You check your watch again. It’s barely lunchtime. The discussion in the room is still ongoing. No, but for real, how much is there to discuss about ammo logistics in during the Civil War? You half expect you’d be bored to tears even if you weren’t passionately hoping time would hurry the fuck up already.

Ah, finally. As you gather your things from the table, one of the presenters comes up to you.

“Miss Williams—would you mind sharing your notes from the presentation? I’m sure it will be incredibly useful.”

“Ah, yeah -” You would mind, actually. You would mind on the account that you didn’t actually take any notes and that the page in your notebook you had in front of you is full of mindless squiggles and doodles.

“I’ve given you all my feedback verbally just now, my notes don’t really add more to that.” You smile apologetically.

Before the presenter opens his mouth again, you interject: “Also, I have terrible handwriting, sorry!”

Clutching your notebook to your chest, you leg it out of the room. Jesus. You really know how to embarrass yourself well. Mercifully, you can hide in your office for the rest of the day to work on the reports for the Senate committee. That should tide you over to the end of the day.

Hah.

It’s not even 4:30 yet, and you’re pacing around your office like a caged tiger. You cannot even pretend to focus on your work anymore. If you have another coffee, you are pretty sure your heart is going to explode out of your chest.

God. You should have driven down to Virginia Beach despite Bradley’s protests. At least you’d be doing something more useful with your time than… pacing and daydreaming.

Your bag is already packed, your winter coat hanging from your desk chair. Bradley texted you when he disembarked and let you know he was on his was. You know he’ll text you once he’s parked, but, ugh, everything is taking too long today.

When your phone buzzes, you have your coat already half-way on before you see it’s just an email. You sink back into your chair, the momentum sending your chair spinning. Letting it turn you around, you idly wonder how many turns would equal one minute.

Oh Christ, enough already. You are acting like a teenager. Not even when you had your first crush at 14 were this hopeless, and if you were, that memory has fortunately been lost to time. To you. Probably not your sister, though.

Shrugging your coat back off, you grab one of the folders on the pile at the corner of your desk. Tapping your pen against the paper with more force than strictly necessary, you will yourself to start reading.

You are a goddamn adult, and you get paid to do this shit.

The last vestiges of your self-discipline burn out in the 45 minutes before your phone buzzes again. The moment you spot Bradley’s name on the display, with the simple message you’ve been waiting for all day—just “here”—you practically fly out of your office, coat unbuttoned, scarf loosely hanging from your neck and bag still open, slamming the door loudly behind you in your hurry. At the elevator, you push the button in rapid succession, trying to speed up the machine.

Calm.

You can’t run through the fucking Pentagon like a crazed woman.

Be professional.

Vaulting yourself into the empty elevator, you feel like there’s electricity coursing through your veins. It’s a nervous energy that been building in you all week—every breath a little bit closer to this moment.

It’s misty outside today—the fog you saw that morning still hasn’t cleared up as you look over the throng of people leaving the Pentagon at the end of the day. You join the too slow for your liking moving mass, trying to peer over the heads to see the exit to no avail.

You can’t very well push through.

The glass door finally come into view. Between people dispersing towards the parking bays and public transport, you see one figure cut through the mist, walking towards the Pentagon.

Your heart knows it’s Bradley before your head catches up, launching you forward, your feet moving by their own accord as you burst through the exit. The heels of your shoes echo against the stone pavement as loudly as your heart is beating in your ears, while your still unbuttoned coat flies behind you.

Bradley, in his dress blues, navy wool overcoat and white cap on his head, is walking down the pathway head held high, gait purposeful, every bit a Naval officer.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s so close.

The moment your eyes lock, he comes to a standstill, reaching out to you. Your momentum propels you forward straight into his waiting arms, where he catches your body easily and lifts you straight off the ground in a twirl, your bag forgotten at your feet. Your arms lock around his neck as you let out a surprised yelp, which he easily cuts off with a heated kiss.

Bradley’s lips taste of the wonderful winter cold as you melt into him.

“God, I’ve missed everything about you.” You mumble against his lips. His warm skin through the biting cold, the smell of his cologne, the brush of his neat mustache against your face. Catching Bradley’s mouth in another searing kiss, telling him more than words ever could, his grip on you tightens.

Breathless, Bradley sets you back down on your feet. You drink in every part of him as your fingers skim through the short hair on the back of his head. His cap is askew on his head, as he breathes heavily, his eyes searching over you, like he can’t believe you are really here.

Slowly, you press another kiss on his lips, as if to assure him and yourself that this is actually real.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He breathes so softly, you feel it more against your skin than that you hear it.

You giggle as you run your hands down the front of his coat, the dark wool soft under your fingers. He grabs your hand and presses a quick kiss against your fingertips.

“Let me take you home, darlin’,” Bradley’s murmurs in your ear, his voice has a delicious raw edge to it. “I’ve had to miss you for far too long.”

Nodding eagerly, you pull away long enough to retrieve your bag from the ground. A shiver overtakes you as you suddenly notice how cold it is now you’re not pressed up against Bradley anymore. As sharp as ever, he is already a step ahead of you and buttons up your coat with nimble fingers, wrapping your scarf around your neck.

It’s only now, that you actually manage to get your bearings again a little bit, you hear the oohs and aaws from passerby’s. Normally you would want the ground to swallow you whole for making such a spectacle, but today? You cannot find it in yourself to care, too wrapped in Bradley.

“Son, you better fix that cover.” A gruff voice comes from your right. No, okay, maybe you do care a little bit about your boss witnessing this. Birch is determinedly starting in front of him as he passes you.

“You have an admiral incoming on my six.” He adds, not sparing you another look.

“Yes sir, right away, sir.” Bradley choruses with practiced ease, as he moves his cap back into a respectable position on his head. You chuckle an apology, but Bradley just shoots you that winning smile of his.

“Let’s go sweetheart.” He says simply, as he presses a kiss against your forehead and takes your hand.

His large hand is warm against your already cold fingers as you start making your way to the visitor’s parking bay. You wrap your free hand around Bradley’s arm, leaning against him as you walk.

As you arrive at his car, you automatically turn to the passenger’s seat. With a mischievous grin pulls Bradley, you back to face him, his lips ghosting over your jaw. You run your fingers over the lapels of his coat as you sigh at the sensation of his hot breath caressing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“I’m kind of tired from the trip, darlin’,” He murmurs, sending shivers down your spine. With a soft jingle, Bradley pulls out his car keys from his pocket and presses them into your hand. “Why don’t you drive us?”

“Really?” You ask, strangely breathless. Bradley just hums in response as your fingers wrap around the keys.

“I’ll even let you play Taylor Swift.” He adds, and you can just hear the mirth in his voice.

“That—that -,” You splutter. “Was my sister’s music.” “Of course.” Bradley chuckles. “That’s why you know all the words so well.”

“I’ll make you regret that offer.”

“Try me, sweetheart.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bradley’s brain has been in a state of short-circuit since you flew into his arms. No scenario he had imagined tasted quite as sweet as that first kiss when he saw you again. Climbing into the driver’s seat of his car and adjusting it made your skirt ride up, and Bradley caught sight of what he was pretty sure was the top of a stocking.

Fuck.

He strongly considered pulling you out of the driver’s seat into his lap and fuck you right there in the parking lot.

The drive home was torture, and Bradley couldn’t keep his hands off you for more than 10 seconds— tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, grabbing your hand as you reached for the gear shift, running his hand up your leg—bad idea.

Shit, he could feel the line of your garter belt through the fabric of your skirt, teasing against the palm of his hand as your leg moved, manipulating the gas pedal.

The small smirk gracing your lips betrayed that you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

It’s on your couch, with you straddling him, your fingers threaded deliciously painfully in his hair as you roll your hips at a tortuously slow pace, Bradley is pretty sure his brain is just completely giving out.

He runs his hands blindly over your body, squeezing your flesh and looking into your eyes. Your hair loose, face flushed, pupils blown by desire, you look back down on him as you ride him in that agonizing pace you’ve set.

From almost falling through the front door, pulling at each other’s clothes in a heated frenzy, and tripping over your shoes, the raging fire in you both was unstoppable. The lingerie set you had specially bought ended up somewhere in the maelstrom of clothes left in your path from the door. It doesn’t even matter.

You pushed him onto your couch as he was sliding your panties down your hips, eyes raking over your form. You drank him in. There was no need for words as you sank down on him, gasping in delight as you stretched around his length. Bradley threw his head back, eyes scrunched close, cursing under his breath.

It was like the raging fire spread into smoldering embers from the moment you connected.

Now you want to savor every moment and every touch. You need it. The intimacy you have been craving, the touch you have been missing, you want to drown yourself in him.

Bradley’s fingers skim down from your throat, over your collarbone, just ghosting over your nipple—tearing a moan from you—down your stomach, pressing his thumb against your clit, drawing slow circles.

Your hips stutter, desperately trying to increase the friction.

“Bradley - please-,” You plead incoherently between gasps and moans. His mouth is on your nipple, teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh. It’s sending your senses into overdrive, spurring your movements on, muscles tensing.

“Fuck darlin’, you’re so tight.” Bradley grinds out. He can feel your walls tightening around his cock—you are close. Just a bit more. Your movements are turning erratic. Bradley grabs your hip with his free hand, bucking against you.

“Don - don’t stop - please, Bradley…”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over you moaning his name like that, with those eyes full of lust, riding him within an inch of his life. Selfishly, he doesn’t want you to look like that for anyone else ever again. He wants your eyes only on him.

Your lids start fluttering as your movements start stuttering more and more—Bradley can feel how close you are. He tightens his grip on you, setting a relentless pace, his thumb increasing the pressure on your clit.

“Cum for me darlin’,” He gasps. “Show me what I’ve missed.”

His words alone would be enough to have you come undone. His voice, so warm, so close after those cold months, feels like sliding into a hot bath, relaxing every nerve in your wound body. It pushes you to release, head lolling back in pure ecstasy, his name caught in your throat.

Bradley catches your body as it tips back, pulling you against his chest.

“Fuck.” You bring out weakly, breathing heavily. But Bradley doesn’t give you very long to restart your brain, effortlessly flipping you on your back and hitching your leg over his shoulder. Dazed, you squeal in delight, giggling as he presses kiss after kiss against your calf.

“How much did you miss me, darlin’?” He asks between kisses.

“So - so much.” You breathe.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart.” He says with a devilish smirk on his face as he drags the tip of his cock along your slick pussy lips, teasing against your sensitive clit. You moan without abandon.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” You choke out. “Everything about you.”

“Tell me.” Bradley demands as his lips latch onto a ticklish spot in the hollow of your knee.

Words start falling from your mouth—you’re not even sure you’re making sense—it’s almost a stream of consciousness.

“I - I’ve missed you from the minute you left,” Your breath hitches as Bradley gently bites down on your thigh. “It feels empty without you here. The bed is cold. I want you to kiss me awake…”

“Just kiss?” Bradley asks, as he nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance. You suck in a breath before a giggle bursts from your lips.

“Do you really need a full report when you have me in this state already?”

“I happen to know you are very thorough, Miss Williams.” Bradley smirks.

“I’ll write you a list later if you so desire, lieutenant.” You shoot back, still half-dazed, grasping for him. “But you’re stalling—how much did you really miss m-”

Bradley laughs and finally fully slides into you in one fluid move, effectively cutting you off. Setting a punishing pace that makes you see stars, Bradley easily wipes every last thought from your brain. Suddenly slowing down and bending over to you, filling you to the hilt, he whispers:

“For the record, I missed you so much it hurt.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are moments when you actually stop and think, usually at a quiet moment at work. It’s actually insane how quickly you fall into a comfortable routine with Bradley, the relationship growing steadily. He has two weeks before he needs to report back on base, and in the meantime, he seems to revel in essentially playing house with you.

As you get ready for work in the morning, Bradley makes you coffee. When you tell him he should make most of his free time and sleep in more often, he just shrugs:

“Making most of my time is spending it with you.”

Some days he drives you to work and picks you up at the end of the day.

Without fail, your heart feels like it’s about to burst when you see his Bronco parked in the visitor’s bay.

Well, some aspects of your relationship are growing.

Bradley is still incredibly guarded when it comes to his family. When you ask about his trip to Nevada to see captain Mitchell, he talks about tinkering on Mitchell’s plane in the workshop, but never anything deeper about what they talked about.

Maybe it’s incredibly private—all Bradley has mentioned is that he’s known Mitchell since childhood. How or why? When you actually gather the courage to ask, Bradley just ignores the question and changes the subject.

You conceal how much that hurts you—because it shouldn’t. It’s none of your business. Selfishly, you want to know Bradley better than anyone in the world.

But you need to really accept that it’s his choice how much he really wants to share about himself. No matter how unfair it feels.

You start talking about your own family less, feeling like you’re oversharing. Again, Bradley probably is just not that family-oriented and might just be humoring you. There is no sense in dwelling on these things, you admonish yourself.

Realistically, how long have you been dating? You haven’t even broken the 6-month mark yet, and he was deployed for three of those. And there will be more deployments, more time spend apart. You need to stop your brain from spinning and take things as they come.

It’s another one of those winter days when the sun doesn’t even get up from bed, and from dawn till dusk there are just monochrome gray skies, like it’s perpetual twilight. The air is bitingly cold, stinging every bit of skin not covered. You practically skip to the parked Bronco, seeing Bradley’s silhouette through the driver’s side window.

Climbing into the passenger’s seat, he greets you with an immediate kiss.

“You spoil me.” You smile at him. “What am I going to do with myself once you’re back in Virginia Beach?”

“You’ll drive yourself, which you are perfectly capable off.” Bradley grins back. “But in the meantime, let me take care of you.”

“Can we stop by the store?” You ask as you buckle up and Bradley turns the engine on. “I think we’re running low on a few things.”

It’s not terribly busy on the road, and it’s a short trip to the store. Preoccupied with finding the right playlist on your phone with your cold fingers, you only spot the car in front of you suddenly swerve wildly in your periphery.

You snap your head up, but the words on your tongue die the second the back of the Bronco suddenly slips violently to the right. Black ice. Your head cracks against the door. A million curses fly through your scrambled brain, but there are more important things.

“Keep steady! Don’t counter-steer!” Your voice is high with panic. You’ve slipped on black ice before, just never in D.C and never when you weren’t the one driving.

Bradley is loudly cursing, trying to get the car under control. You are so full of adrenaline, time seems to have slowed down.

You see Bradley in hyper focus, knuckles white against the steering wheel as he shifts down, slowing the vehicle down. In reality, the slip takes only seconds and as the Bronco regains grip on the tarmac.

Your head is pounding from knocking against the window and sheer stress.

“Darlin’, are you ok?” Bradley looks at you from the corner of his eye—his voice is steady, like he’s completely unshaken. On the other hand, you look terrified—eyes wide, white as a sheet and breath coming out in short, panicked bursts. He pulls into a side street and parks.

Heart clenching, he reaches out to you. “Sweetheart, are you hurt?”

Mutely, you shake your head, biting your lip, trying to steady your breathing. Bradley simply reaches out to you, hand caressing your cheek.

“Are you sure?”

“Ye- yeah.” You force out, leaning your head into his palm, kissing it. “I… I don’t even know what came over me.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you continue words falling out of your mouth like a waterfall.

“It’s not the first time I’ve slipped on black ice in a vehicle, it just never happened to me as a passenger, but you’re a goddamn fighter pilot, of course your reflexes are amazing, and you keep your cool… like, what am I even worried about?”

You try to smile, but the corner of your mouth just shakes.

Bradley leans in and lightly kisses you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I trust you.” You reply, voice still lightly shaking. “And sorry for backseat driving.” You add in attempt to joke.

Bradley just chuckles in response, but he is sure of one thing. He doesn’t want to ever want to see that terrified look on your face again. It has already burned itself in his brain along with your panicked voice.

That night when you are in bed, you already in deep sleep, Bradley wraps himself around your naked form, pressing light kisses against the column of your neck. Every time he closes his eyes, your face flashed before his mind’s eye. Smiling, blushing, frowning as you think, sleepy in the morning —but it always ends up morphing into wide-eyed terror.

He spent the evening trying to scrub the look from his mind, filling his vision with your blushing, love struck face, mouth open as he had you cum for him over and over again.

Bradley sighs dejectedly.

Another one for the collection.

[note]I have this problem that I think of all the plot beats I want to put in one chapter and then I always end up overwriting so much that I pretty much always have add another chapter to the plan. Again, this was supposed to be five chapters lmao.

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[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Horologist

The HRS Azimuth was doomed on the eighteenth of August. It had lost its bearings early in the morning, at exactly a quarter past three, and thus began its sombre journey across the Styx - for all souls aboard were lost when it was finally found again. A ghost ship, run into a sheer cliff face as if on purpose; scuttled, like the crabs which now roamed freely across its decks.

Maritime calamities are rarely recorded with such precision. This is inevitable, despite the best efforts of their attendant historians, due to the way that wood decays, or salt preserves; meaning that whilst corpses may be examined, in order to determine a general time of death, there is no knowing how slow and drawn out the wait for it had been.

There are too many variables: one crew might have saved more rations, or doled them out more carefully, and hence postponed starvation for at least a few more tortured days. The end was set, but they could take their time in getting there. In this case, however, Arturo knew the moment of the struck ship's doom for certain. After all, he had planned it all out in advance.

Of course, it could be argued that the ship had been doomed all along - dead in the water from the moment that she left her berth, the crew's fate having been sealed long before that fateful night. If he had been pressed on that point, Arturo might have pointed to an evening some months hence, the minutes following a dinner which had been too rich for his tastes; digesting his own first taste of crab, but struggling to stomach his dining companions most of all.

"And have you ever worn a beard yourself?" asked Lord Gastan, seated to his right. He stroked his own forked number as he spoke, consciously or not, in a way that shed stray hairs across the tablecloth. Arturo moved his glass a few inches to the left.

"I am afraid not, my lord," he replied, without a question of his own. He saw that topic opening up like a chasm before them, a long-winded conversation about nothing of interest, and did his best to close it down. "I must confess that I have never seen the appeal."

"Ah, but perhaps you are right." Those taciturn tactics seemed not to have worked; Lord Gastan only nodded sagely, as if prompted into deeper thought. "They are such work to care for! The lotions, the oils, the constant tending - oh, like a Persian cat, or a pedigree Afghan hound!"

He bore the air of a man who had neglected to shave one morning and, rather than apologise for such slovenliness, decided to make it his entire personality. Such men always spoke of wearing their facial hair, an accessory to be consciously donned or discarded at will, rather than a disordered growth which freely sprouted from untended skin.

Arturo kept his bat straight. "I have never kept pets either, my lord."

"My God, man! Whatever do you do?"

That roused his attention. I work, Arturo wanted to say: both to sap more energy from the conversation, and to emphasise the difference between them. But he had to make the effort of civility. These Guild dinners were a chore, but they were all part of that work, an important investment in his career.

The city's Makers were often self-made men, but there was a limit to how far that path could take them. Even the greatest artificers could only make so many sales directly from their crooked shops, largely surrounded by competitors and peers. To truly reach their potential, they required a degree of patronage - investment in the latest apparatus, commissions, introductions, renown - and that meant being patronised from time to time.

The Guild arranged these dinners so that those two worlds could meet, to mutual gain; playing matchmaker between aristocrats and artificers, between money-men and, well, matchmakers. The likes of Lord Gastan could invest in Arturo's work - purchasing a stake in the future, anxious not to be left in the past. They would make a tidy profit, increasing their wealth and forestalling that irrelevance, whilst helping him up to the first rung of a ladder they had never had to climb themselves.

"I am a horologist," he replied instead. "A crafter of pillars and plates, balances and barrels, caps and cases. A maker of fusees and escapements. A cutter of wheels, a painter of dials, an engraver, a piercer, a finisher. That is what I do, and that is what I am."

"Ah... very good." After bearing with his babbling for three courses, Arturo was pleased to leave Lord Gastan lost for words. "And these, ah, escapements..."

"I make watches and clocks."

"Right. Yes. Such valuable work! Why, I myself was saying just the other day - to none other than the Admiral, you understand - that we have such a wealth of talent in the city, we really must be able to solve the issues his chaps have been having in the fleet."

"Issues?" For the first time, in over eighty minutes - according to Arturo's watch, which was never wrong - their conversation threatened to become interesting.

"Oh, yes! The search for new chronometers, of course - just as vital as the hunt for new uncharted lands, to hear the Admiral tell it, and of course crucial to their success. The current batch of instruments are just not up to snuff, and his office has decreed a new Trials to muster up some alternatives."

"They need... clocks?" The colonial machine had always seemed, well, imperious. Arturo couldn't think of it running on clockwork, let alone struggling to do so.

"Something to do with co-ordinates, as I understand it," Lord Gastan said. "Mariners have no way of telling longitude at sea, and there have been some terrible disasters as a result. I always thought they used the stars, but apparently they're not up to anything but latitude."

He stroked those luxurious moustaches when thinking, as if hoping to turn the conversation back to his subject of choice. Arturo resented them, knowing just what a luxury they were: he had answered honestly about his lack of facial foliage, but it was not a matter of never having seen the appeal, rather needing to retain his appeal to others.

As a newcomer in this city, he'd had to appear clean and clean-shaven at all times in order to be invited to Guild dinners in the first place. Arturo was a watchmaker by birth, but an Armestadter by trade. Upon arrival, he'd made it his vocation to steep himself in the city's stereotypes and culture: first to earn his residence, and then to earn a living. Flowing locks might be accepted on imported cats and hounds, but the city's great and good would only brush shoulders with a certain kind of immigrant.

He wore his curls cropped-close, his brown cheeks bare, and a simple, pressed white shirt - always tailoring his personality to match, keeping within the box they'd made for men like him. People wanted to do business with young Arturo, the neat and tidy islander whose impeccable service always came with a bow and a smile. He'd had to dispense with his traditional dress, his long, braided hair, and his pride most of all. They would not take him as he'd come, independent and free, so he'd suffered in subservience - and found pride in his work instead.

"Disasters?" That had his attention, even more than the talk of keeping time.

"Without a bearing, ships can be lost. Have been, in fact - and more than a few. Small wonder that the Admiral is making this a priority."

"Of course." The gears in his own mind were still turning. "Do you mind explaining how it works? I have a professional interest, you see."

"Well, from what I was able to grasp - and I am far from an expert, you understand - if a clock is set at its home port, and well-maintained, the navigator can simply check the time wherever he is and compare the two. The difference is his longitude: the number of degrees east or west."

"How would he know the local time?"

"Why, by observing the heavens!" Lord Gastan spoke as if it was obvious, the numbers plastered across the sky. "Again, I am hardly a mariner myself, but I gather that this is what sextants and such are for."

He talked as a man who often gathered, but rarely sowed. Lord Gastan was not the type to work the field himself. Arturo doubted he'd ever held a sextant, or any other tool more complex than the oyster fork he waved to make his point. It was his liberty to talk about such things as matters-of-fact, another man's life's work distilled into an anecdote, enjoying the fruits of a knowledge he had never had to earn.

Arturo eyed his shabby, ill-fitting clothes with contempt. Not for the style - having grown up on hand-me-downs himself, he had no right nor inclination to prejudge a book by its jacket - but that he was able to carry it off, due to the vest of privilege worn underneath. A chainmail forged from silver spoons. How much had he saved for his Guild dinner clothes, fretting each time over starching them enough? All when Lord Gastan could roll into this grand hall as if it was his drawing room. The nouveau riche could afford to dress well, but only old money could afford not to.

"That does sound useful." Arturo was an expert in the detail of his craft, but he hadn't considered such far-reaching applications. "But we have perfectly well-functioning clocks. I work on them every day. Forgive me, but I fail to see the problem."

"Well, this is your profession, not mine." Lord Gastan didn't try to hide his exhaustion with this line of questioning, but Arturo let the sigh go without comment. He was glad to be the bore for a moment. "But it is all to do with the pendulum. A reliable timekeeper on land, yes, but it simply cannot abide life at sea. The temperature, motion, corrosion, friction, lubrication..."

"I see." Arturo smiled. The pendulum. He would simply have to make a clock without its central part. "Well, I could certainly take a stab at that."

"If you wish to add your name, any and all attempt are welcome," Lord Gastan said, both magnanimous and patronising. "The two-hundred arum reward has attracted many young hopefuls. Of course, only the Masters have succeeded at a Trials before."

"Of course," Arturo echoed. He was not a capital letters Master, nor had much prospect of becoming one, though it was not for want of skill. In its lower case, he had achieved mastery within months of arrival; after years to hone consistency, he now produced a masterpiece every other week. But ability was not enough. Even Armestadt, that great beacon of talent, was far from a meritocracy.

The rank could only be bestowed by invitation from the Guild, and the Guild was comprised of Masters. They had grown old and rich on the backs of imported genius, young minds to be apprenticed and bound to their brands, shackled to their workshops with a distant promise of inheritance. They saw no reason to end that careful balance; the gate they kept barely ajar, so that they alone could mete out the proceeds of their work. They had no reason to promote him from inferior to equal; from underdog to competitor.

Arturo had forged his own path, but it had been a narrow, winding one, and it could only take him so far. He was a man who preferred his own company, to be left to - and with - his own devices, but he needed these dinners, the charity of patrons, in place of a Master to serve and suckle from. Then there was the prospect of these Trials: two-hundred arums would fund his work for months, or reduce his reliance on sponsors like Lord Gastan. For an independent Maker, it was a tempting reward all its own. But Arturo had another prize set in his sights, and it was worth far more to him than gold.

After dinner he retired to his workshop, the place where he'd strived to retire so many of his competitors. Arturo had never lacked for motivation, but now he was charged with a new focus: Lord Gaston had sold him the vision of a clock that could go anywhere in the world, and still dance to his beat with perfect rhythm. At least, Arturo thought, he had a project worthy of his talent. After years toiling in the shadows of the greats, this would be his masterpiece.

Armestadt was the city of the future. There were others with more prestige, certainly, more intellectual pedigree - and the Guild might have chosen the university towns of Tornfut and Roelm to seed its roots, if it had wanted thirsty minds and bright ideas, or the market capital of Hasanbout, if it was in need of golden arums most of all, raw materials and hefty coffers to buy them.

But it had settled here. Not for knowledge of the past, or the riches of the present, but the promise of the future. Armestadt was a city of Makers, most of all. Its bustling streets were crowded with all manner of artisans who had dedicated lives to their particular professions: polymaths who expounded genius with their hands rather than words, alchemists who created things from iron worth far more than their weight in gold.

It was Makers who crafted the specific, delicate pieces required for the advancement of Science - lenses for refracting light, intricate pulley mechanisms - and thus kept the wheels of progress moving on. Since his arrival in this foreign land, it was all Arturo had ever wanted to be. He had been powerless, impoverished, and knew that he could never gain the wealth or power lords like Gastan had been born with. But he could have knowledge, and talent, and graft. As a Maker, he could make himself their equal.

His workshop was nestled in the crook between Candlewick Lane and Creechurch Street, a thin building whose bulging bow windows gave the impression of being squeezed by its neighbours. It was an expensive part of town, with space at a premium, but convenient for his clients and potential benefactors. A twenty-minute walk from the Guildhall, if he made good time - and Arturo always did.

It was also his temple. He did most of his work in a narrow room, cluttered with all sorts of contraptions, half-finished, half-begun. It was a house of clockwork faces ticking in step, as Arturo did himself: he heard the music of the passing time, and knew how to play it on almost any instrument. His lungs breathed with the second hand, his heart beat with the pendulum.

Or not. He would have to find another way.

It wouldn't be the first attempt. There had been experiments with springs, for pocket-watches and carriage-clocks, but so far they'd lacked the precision of his more traditional work. Portable clocks were a novelty - some found them for short-term use, but they lacked the perfect accuracy Arturo had always craved. Still, if the Admiralty demanded it, he would have to see what he could do. He had long laboured at perfection; now he set his sights higher still.

It could be said that the HRS Azimuth was doomed that night: the moment the crew's fate was sealed behind glass, wound up and set to run. But their end might have been foretold even earlier, on another ship, bringing Arturo to their shores - or perhaps on the ships of the past, heading to conquer the land where he'd been born. He was the fruit of those seeds; the reaper their ancestors had sowed. The enemy who'd grown here in their midst. The cuckoo who now emerged from amongst his clocks.

Armistadt was the city of the future, as all of its local nobles loved to boast. Unfortunately for them, Arturo hailed from one of the nations of the past. His homeland was a once-mighty kingdom, brought low by the greed of its own rulers, and dragged lower by the greed of their new ones: imperialists who'd arrived to trade their sovereignty for a handful of magic beans, trinkets such as those he now made for their approval. When one man can be bribed to sell his kingdom, even the likes of Lord Gastan were rich enough to buy a crown.

Conquest had been a matter of business. They'd taken over the local mines, replaced their textiles, all industries now run from Hasanbout, native owners paid off for a fraction of their worth. With no opportunity at home, Arturo's peers had fled the sinking ship: their best minds flocked to Tornfut and Roelm, to learn how to supplant their mother tongue, to memorise the approved version of history. So it was that the ship continued to sink, with no-one left who knew how to right it again.

Arturo had arrived in Armestadt no better, but with little other choice: there were no Makers at home, no patrons, no Guild. If he wanted to master his craft, as he so sorely did, he would have to do it here. Armestadt was the city of the future, and it drew it in from miles around, leaving other places with little future left. This city was oft described as a melting pot, but Arturo had worked with furnaces, and knew that raw materials rarely arrived willingly. They were wheeled in as tributes to the flames; a sacrifice to something greater than themselves.

All four cities were a distortion that sat low across the landscape, a drain that drank in a hemisphere. Armestadt drew in talent as Hasanbout did cobalt, gold and iron ore, as Tornfut and Roelm did raw intelligence, and they all thrived like ticks upon their host. But such asset stripping was not without its costs. Trading routes were slung like grappling hooks across a vast and hostile continent, harpoons buried in the belly of a great whale, forgetting that roads run in two direction - and, once hitched, could be boarded from the other side. They exported resentment, and imported revenge.

Arturo made for an unassuming architect of destruction, stooped over his workbench: bow spectacles perched upon his nose, bow window allowing in the first glimpse of dawn to filter through. He worked delicately, as if wiring the clock to explode - his nimble touch dictating hands more graceful still, its calamity calibrated to the minute and minutest detail. He'd always taken care over his work, but this device might be his only chance to call an empire's time of death. Moreso than ever, he had to make it count.

Time was of the essence, with the Trials so soon. He worked around the clock, and then again, tinkering with every aspect to perfection, and then adding his imperfection back in. The trap would need to be intricate, to avoid detection by the judges, or those who oversaw the final installation. But nobody saw him now. The political philosophers loved to ask who watched the watchman, whilst the watchmaker entirely slipped their lofty gaze.

Arturo toiled for sleepless nights and restless days, counting down the seconds, one lined face above another. Time danced for him, allowing him to fit a month's work in a week, and he aged a year in exchange. But all that sacrifice was worth it. When the day of the Trials arrived, the device was finally ready: a carriage clock to fit a ship, more and less accurate than any that had come before. Arturo had cut his teeth on grandfather clocks, and now he'd created a clock worthy of his unborn grandchildren. Time had danced for him, and he'd plucked this dial straight out of the next century.

As promised, the Trials were flush with Masters. Arturo knew most of them by reputation, or past encounters, all of them disappointing. Lord Gastan had also shown up for the big event, along with some other high-rolling patrons of the Guild, as had the top brass of the admiralty. It was as if his whole world had been condescend into the docks for the day - or at least the ceiling that had always kept it contained. These were the limits of his present, and the pathway to his future.

As a late entry, and the lowest in seniority, Arturo's was the last scheduled attempt. He liked it that way. He was able to sit back and watch the so-called Masters expose each others' flaws, failing and falling one-by-one, before he took to the floor and exposed them all again. He needn't have worried so much before; or perhaps his fears had been well-placed, and driven him to resolve each and every one. Either way, there were no worries on the day. It all went like clockwork.

Going last, and coming first, meant that his coronation was easily lined up. Arturo stood clear as the most successful applicant, and there could be no doubt that his work had improved on all those who had come before. The device had worked just as intended; meaning that it worked well, for now, and didn't reveal the secret at its heart. Many of the Masters hadn't stayed past their own failed attempts, and Arturo thought it was the shame the whole Guild couldn't see his coronation - but it was sweet enough to be crowned by none other than the Admiral himself.

"I must congratulate you," he said, clasping his arm with a presumptuous hand. "Master...?"

"Arturo," he said, not bothering to make the correction. There was no stolen valour there. The rank was a formality he'd more than earnt in practice. "I am new to the Guild, but rising fast."

"As I see." The Admiral had seen what little he had permitted, but was the sort of man who liked to feel in charge. "Yours was an unexpected entry, as I understand, but the admiralty is fortunate that you decided to compete. You have your people's gratitude."

Arturo did not doubt it; though he suspected the Admiral was mistaken as to whom his people were. He was grateful now for the onerous Guild dinners, all of the practice with the likes of Lord Gastan, which had been rehearsal for this main event. He smiled and nodded, nodded and smiled. He was a metalworker, amongst everything else, and he knew how to manipulate the highest brass.

"It is my honour to serve," he said; a poor facsimile of patriotism, his mouth dry in the salt air. He was a far better liar with his hands. It was fortunate that these men heard only what they wanted to hear. "The fortune is all mine. But I have to thank Lord Gastan for his patronage. It was he who inspired me to stand before you here today."

He waved to his beloved patron, who seized this invitation to come and stand there with them. Lord Gastan had derived such pride from his previous conversation with the Admiral - none other, you understand - and Arturo knew he wouldn't resist a chance to bask in this reflected glory.

"Well, I can't quite take all of the credit," he said, as one who still felt tempted to give it a try. "But yes, it was my suggestion, I confess. I have always believed in the promise of Arturo here, and thought that this might be just the project for his keen and brilliant young mind."

Lord Gastan was hubris as always, but Arturo did not begrudge him the idea. It was true that, had they never spoken, he might well not be here today. He had planted the seeds of this ambition: the device, the Trials, the Admiralty's hour of need. There had been much about dogs and moustaches besides, but Arturo supposed that not everything the man said could be waffle. What was it they said about broken clocks?

"In fact," he said, "His Lordship deserves to enjoy the fruits of his inspiration. I have other commissions which keep me here, alas, rather than accompany my device on its grand voyage, but please, let him set sail in my place. If there is bounty, let him claim a share of it, in compensation for his generous patronage. If there is glory, doubly so."

"On uncharted seas? At my time of life?" Lord Gastan was as full of bluster as the dockside wind. "Oh, come now. In my youth, perhaps; but my seafaring days are long since past. I leave such adventures to the courage of younger men."

The Admiral coughed, perhaps to indicate that the pair were of an age; Arturo took the opening. "Oh but my lord, surely you do not doubt that the Admiral can keep you safe and secure? On his own flagship, no less? I am but a humble Makers, but surely our fleet are the power upon any waters they so choose to sail. Can you really question that?"

"I cannot," he conceded, although his eyes said otherwise.

"It won't be as frightful as it seems," the Admiral moved to assure him. "Ours is only an expeditionary voyage: to see and then return, with no drawn out engagements. We are simply to observe the unobserved; wonders never seen before by civilised man. I can offer you every comfort. Of course, it goes without saying that you can share my personal quarters."

Lord Gastan brightened at that prospect; a captive audience for his tedium. "You honour me, Lord Admiral."

"The honour will be mine, I am sure, to have such an esteemed guest upon our maiden voyage."

Arturo let them carry on the dance. He had learnt some of the steps, some of the words, across his early Guild dinners, but only aristocrats truly had the gift of it: like the food served, the language of diplomacy was too rich for an artificer's palate, and sickening in any but the merest quantities. Only those born to wealth, having been raised on its receiving end, actually had the stomach to enjoy it.

If Lord Gastan suspected a trap, he no longer shied away. He might recognise Arturo's insincerity, but think his motive plain: favour, patronage, influence with the Guild. He would be accustomed to such flattery, after all: the efforts of ambitious Makers to curry favour with whatever they had to offer as a bribe, compliments and complimentary mechanisms. All bare-faced manipulation, but all in good taste. He had courted such courtship himself, in attending Guild events. It he did not enjoy it, he would not have been there.

Arturo smothered the inner protests of his own anaemic pride. Against all odds, he had acquired two champions of the highest rank; with their support, should he continue, he would surely now make Master within the year. With a foot in that door, his path would be cleared for the next decade: to greater recognition, arums more than he could need, commissions to the greatest in the land. But he was himself a champion to others, from before he had arrived at these docks, and his first duty was to them.

At 3:15 on 18 August, the crew of the HRS Azimuth could feel that something was wrong.

They knew no fear upon these waters. Theirs was the flagship of the expeditionary fleet, the apex of the admiralty's ambition, the quill which would better divide the globe from Hasanbout. With sister ships to starboard and port, fore and aft, they'd set a course over the edges of the map, afraid of no peril or piracy that might assail them. They were the cutting edge that pierced the veil of ignorance: the Masters had crafted a sharper deadrise for speed, more powerful cannon for strength. Every plank of their ship was state-of-the-art.

Of course, that was where they were undone. Arturo's art had served a different state, a different muse. Following the successful Trials, he had been commission to outfit the whole fleet with his perfected chronometers, each set to the same exact time. He decked them out and cabined them in, a device wherever one might fit, and the Admiral was pleased to stand upon the future's gleaming prow: a line of shining clockwork galleons, a dozen cogs filled with a thousand gears and pinions.

It was a fortnight out to sea before the fear made itself known to them. For some, having grown used to the rhythm over the past weeks, it was simply a silence they couldn't place: a hole in the air, a lacuna in the melody of lashing surf and ocean gales. Amongst the music of the far side of the world, they'd been soothed by the ticking of a shell held to their ears, a clockwork conch that held the sound of home.

Some officers, with devices in their quarters, their every hour, minute and second tolled away, had found themselves attuned to that metronome: their breathing subconsciously aligned, their heartbeat keeping pace. It had become a crutch, taken for granted, until it fell out from underneath them; at 3.15 they found themselves stumbling, awoken gasping from their sleep without knowing why, before their assorted organs remembered how they'd functioned before.

For the navigators, it was an even graver problem. The night shift were already a skeleton crew, and they didn't notice when their bearings disappeared: the clocks simply stopped, frozen at a quarter past, and it was several minutes before they realised it had been a few. They tried to keep track, but there was no hope of counting on their own. From that point on, their hours were already numbered.

The next bearing was wrong. Days of ocean in every direction, not a glimpse of land in sight. As ever, Arturo had timed it to perfection. Stripped of its ability to navigate, the ship had been forsaken on the open sea: at the mercy of the winds and the tides and the twinkling mockery of the stars above, tracing a map that none on board had ever learnt to read. Such was the price of progress. Each advance in understanding covered over its own foundations.

Arturo knew all about that. Armestadt was the city of the future, and it built atop whatever past it came across, diverse cultures buried underneath its steel grey perfection. The progress of this expedition had a price that he had deemed too great to pay - and so he buried them instead. There were no bells to toll their death, nor the salvation of the lands which would go unrobbed, unmolested by the hunger of their endless tomorrow. The sand in the hourglass simply ran out, as the HRS Azimuth was quietly lost to time.

[agilneanrose]

“You are not really shopping, I dare to say. Is something on your mind?” A warm question, presented in docile tones, drew her from her thoughts and to the man hovering nearby. His searching stare free of judgment, the tilt of his head, and the faint lift of his brow quickly pulled her from the fog that curled itself around her thoughts and had effectively caused her to linger too long before the ugliest color of orange she had ever seen.

“Uhg..” She exhaled a disgusted sound. “Mister Alderson, you have caught me.” She turned from swatches on the wall, hands at once linking before her skirts. “I came to be inspired but I am afraid I am not fond of the samples you have this week. I had hoped something would jump out at me but instead have been treating your shop like an art gallery, I confess.”  The Threads of Fate was one of the most popular clothing shops in Dalaran, famous for quickly collecting fabrics from all over the worlds. They had their own hired seekers, much like the reliquary, but the seekers sought the new and different in the fabric and textile world. 

“Lady Sunshield..” He began and she knew the words that would come and did. Fabric was art, yahyah, dressmaking was a skill, yahyah, she can linger all she wished, yahyah. An art gallery was a compliment, yahyah. She knew. Again her thoughts drifted and when his hand swung to the side her gaze followed as she focused once more on his words. “... and I have some new pieces that I have yet to swatch, perhaps you would like to see them.  The bolts are in the display case here…” (cut for lengh and to not be annoying, more after the break)

She allowed him to lead her to a glass display where protected beneath were rows of cloth-covered buttons along with bolts of satin, wool, and a dark linen that looked metallic – absolutely something her brother would wear beneath his tabard. That one might work.  She tapped on the glass right above the knitted folds. “You know how to solve all problems, I was lost and you’ve brought me to the best place - the linen there. It would make a fine piece for my brothers.  The metallic is interesting, if you could set it aside? I will place my order shortly, shirts I think.” 

“Of course, my lady. I confess I was hoping you would see it. It fits well beneath your father’s tabard.”

“Agreed.” She watched him move behind the glass, remove the bolt and it wasn’t until he vanished into some back room to store her selection that she caught the movement at the top of the stairs that led down to the first floor of the shop.  Dark hair,  a scar-laced face, and mischievous green eyes that were familiar but not unexpected.

Melek. 

She waited until he spotted her and then fixed a quiet smile in place.  She could feel his restlessness from here, it was in how he walked, how his eyes searched the shop to note the others there.  How his fingers found a resting place in a casual front of laziness but there was nothing lazy about the Knight. Ever. He was dangerous and even more so now that he was bored.  

Fucking bored.

House Sunshield’s success had come in the wake of the Civil War.  They had kept their land, they had circled their wagons and fought - from squire to baker, they all had fought as if they would lose everything. And when the dust settled and the blood dried beneath Westfall’s unforgiving sun? They were okay. Alive.  Araian’s attention turned at once to securing their borders, sending their Viking allies to create and lead a new patrol.  He sent his children to oversee the rebuilding of his towns and even Darkshire saw the fruits of their success as they added their strength to the patrols already being created by others and funded as much as could be budgeted. The Brass Key quickly became beloved allies and the town was left in their capable hands so that House Sunshield could do…what?

Shop. Retire. Have babies. Fall in love. Experience heartbreak and again and again? 

Perhaps that would work for some - a life of farming, babies, and peace. She worked tirelessly to make sure the right paperwork was brought to her father’s attention so that their knights had a piece of land to call their own. Land strategically assigned near others - effectively creating a circle of defense around the keep.  They would be able to raise their children there, if they wished. Farm the land, if they wished. Some did. Some retired right away. 

Except him.  “Is anything ever good enough?” He greeted her once he was close and whatever she was going to say in her own greeting vanished. Age was finding him, gray hinted in his beard and next to laughing eyes creases had begun to claim a forever place - though he was no less dashing for it and he knew it. Her smile dimmed only slightly before it returned to fix in place.

“Do you accuse me of being picky, Sir Melek?” She gasped her mock offense as her thoughts raced and doubt crowded in. Perhaps she shouldn’t take him, perhaps he deserves to retire with his daughters, have more babies, and marry.  His relationship with her sister was wild,  like a match that kept relighting and she didn’t understand it but she wasn’t meant to, she supposed.  Was this how her father felt when his children sought partners? It was terrible not to meddle. His response to her offense she could not recall even if he offered gold for the memory, instead she distracted both of them by laying a fabric swatch against his chest to test the color. Green. A forgotten forest floor that maybe saw the sun once in a rare moment, fitting.  It was a nice color but she was stalling, regretting summoning him and mentally backpeddling all at once.

“What is it, my lady?” He knew something scratched at the back of her mind to be spoken into existence, a decade of service and love gave him that sixth sense she supposed. “You have watched your squire remain dedicated to my father and house. He has fought for most of his life with us and now perhaps views his seat on the council as a retirement position.” She was stalling, over-explaining and she knew it. He knew it but was too polite to hurry her along. 

“His lands are a place to raise his son and for him to grow old farming, not that I say he would not pick up his blade should it be needed….” A different swatch color replaced the green. Blue. The color of the ocean after a storm, a nostalgic color for him? “Are you of the same mind? Do you crave retirement? Do you wish to settle on your lands and raise your wild daughters?” He had two, twins. Their mother was a fortune teller who had been traveling through Darkshire when they met.  No one knew much of her, save for the fact she died following him and Adamar to the war in Draenor.

He remained still beneath her dress-up.  Patiently waiting for her to spit out why he was summoned to Dalaran and to a dress shop of all places. 

“There is no escape..” He began and at once she stiffened, insult gripping her spine painfully. “I crave the taste of blood, bitter on my lips. I want to be set loose, I want to be free.” The sea was pulled from his chest and in its place she set a gray that she hated immediately, the color of a used death shroud at best. She stared at it, turning his words over before she spoke. “There is always an escape, Sir Melek.  But I do not see you as a man that needs an escape, more so just a man that needs a purpose. Escape… “ She repeated, unable to shake the insult his words caused. Did he feel trapped in service? A slave? Anger bubbled to life. “Are you trapped? There is no lock you cannot pick, no guard that can keep you. What freedom do you seek?”  She knew her words grew clipped, the softness fleeing.

“True, yet my blood fills with lead at the thought of turning heel and leaving..” His lips tugged into a wry sort of smile. Was he enjoying the hint of her rising temper? Most assuredly. “I am happiest when I bleed... I was told that once.” Her offense faded quickly and she let her hand fall, leaving the gray behind as she listened. “A truth was plucked from my soul” he continued. “..by an old hag. I have been exposed ever since - I want the violence." His stare left her and moved to the swatches on a nearby counter, motioning with a lift of his chin. “Perhaps a red, crimson?” Blood. 

She tisked and at once rolled her eyes once she spotted what he was motioning to.  “Weighted - because you are not a coward, and your oath binds you in the ways that oaths do for those that know what power those words have.  Red? Crimson? Would that not be a flag of warning? Like a warning sign for those going there where they should not? Doing what they should not.. no.” No warnings allowed, that would not do. She pulled the gray from his shoulder and in its place, a black settled. Black worked.  However, when the light hit it just right, it softened. That also worked. 

“I take it the answer to my question is that you do not wish to play house with my sister on your farmland.”  “No, I don’t…” His words were in agreement with her assumption, changing it to fact.

She doubted very much her sister wanted to play house on a plot of land either.  “I have thoughts..”

“Tell me everything.” 

@melekdyneer @theoldlord - mentioned @sunsandwolves - mentioned

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

good evening! your response is well said & you’re completely right. evan has gotten so much shit from so many people over the years, it’s exhausting constantly having to defend him & reveal truth to people. regarding the person who said those things about evan, i’m pretty sure that was actually my first time interacting with them, they are not my preexisting friend. & you’re right, age really does not matter when it comes to false accusations & i believe that wholeheartedly. the reason i mentioned his age is bc i was under the impression some of your readers were wanting you to drag him rather than educate him in a respectful manner & i have an issue with people cyberbullying minors for the sake of it. if i misread that then i apologize & i’ll change my perspective.

& i never unfollowed you queen, i just made a new acc & got rid of the old one which is probably why you thought i unfollowed. i appreciate what you do for this fandom & even if we disagree on some things, i respect you & believe that you have nothing but good intentions. not that you would know bc it hasn’t been public but i have defended you many times as well. my frustrations are not with you specifically, i am more so using your platform to speak to the anons who seem to have an issue with me as they are doing.

to the anons who are concerned about my posts, i would be happy to speak to you directly & have a civil conversation if you are ever interested but idk who you are so if you care to discuss further, please don’t hesitate to dm me! i am more than happy to have a discussion at any time.

tweam, i hope that you enjoy your edibles & bubble bath! i’m going to go spend some time with my loved ones before unwinding.

i sincerely do appreciate you clarifying your statement and why you responded the way you did. i understand, and truthfully, i think most fans who see people repeating false information get exhausted, and the default position is to assume that the person wants to argue, be defamatory, and has no interest in you educating them by presenting facts that counter their argument. while that is very common on stan twt, it's not always the case, and we have to do our best to operate with good intentions and not become malicious because of past experiences. i certainly do try to maintain my perspective, so thank you for saying that.

and to any readers who want to weigh in on this: please understand that this is not the place to hold forum about a social media user that you don't like. the door has already been opened for you to speak directly if you feel like there is something you need to say, so i ask that you do not attempt to use me as a go-between because i am not posting this type of message. i know it's the norm for people to share tweets that they disagree with or peoples' hot takes, and that's fine - but if there is a situation where a particular person just really rubs you the wrong way, there's no reason continually seek them out. one of the reasons i created this blog was because i wanted people to have a space where all could share thoughts/opinions/discuss topics about evan that were way too policed on other platforms, and particularly, to move away from the extreme negativity and bullying atmosphere of the post-frannie and dahmer fandom that was going to hell on here. i know everyone is bored because of the lack of evan content, but i really just don't care about someone being a fan of jared leto or who is beefing on twitter. it isn't relevant, none of this has anything to do with evan, and it for damn sure doesn't have anything to do with me. i have my own opps to deal with lmfao i truly appreciate everyone who contributes to this blog positively - whether you send in your fanfic writing, your random thoughts about evan, excitement when we get a new crumb, tiktok edits, legal services for koya, etc.. it is valued, and tweam is only possible because of what you guys add.

[rjam9]

Jam’s fanfic masterpost

a masterpost for all my published fics on ao3, linked here for easy access in case you don’t want to go searching for one in particular. if any of these interest you please check out the full fic (with tags and complete descriptions) on my ao3. will try to keep it updated, but i am pretty forgetful.

-

doctor who

a hundred bad days make a hundred good stories

status: ongoing, 3/?

desc.: ( a hundred good stories make me interesting at parties )

notes: a collection of very old songfic that all had a specific focus/theme in regards to the Doctor going on. some of the very first fics i posted on ao3, and i haven’t updated this series since 2020, though i do want to get back to it and revamp it at some point.

this is home

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 2.7k

desc.: The Doctor is okay. But they forget rule number one. The Doctor lies.

notes: songfic, very very old, so expect mistakes. has been crossposted before to various platforms. focuses on the Doctor’s thought process through s12.

fire

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 3.1k

desc.: It seemed like they were always burning.

notes: songfic, very very old, so expect mistakes. has been crossposted before to various platforms. focuses on the Doctor’s relationship with fear.

99

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 5.1k

desc.: “A friendship older than your civilization and infinitely more complex.”

notes: songfic, very very old, so expect mistakes. has been crossposted before to various platforms. focuses on Doctor&Master relationship.

non-series fics

the star that fell to earth

status: complete, 1/1

rating: gen

words: « they're like a shooting star, a beautiful array of gold and blue streaking across the sky. »

desc.: 2.1k

notes: my first ever fic posted to ao3 back in spring 2020, originally written circa 2018/2019 when i first got into doctor who. has been cross-posted to various platforms, so it’s been floating around for ages. a somewhat rewritten version of “The Woman Who Fell to Earth” from Thirteen’s perspective.

don’t kill me (cus’ I’m just the messenger)

status: ongoing, 4/?

rating: teen

words: 2.9k

desc.: « The universe is waiting. »

notes: my collection of doctor who one-shots, mostly drabbles too small to fit into their own fics. updates very, very occasionally.

Respice Ad Astra

status: complete, 3/3

rating: teen

words: 19.6k

desc.: After The Doctor gets knocked into a coma, Yaz and Ryan decide to dive into their mind and try to wake them up. However, to do so, they have to travel in an hellish landscape filled with secrets from the Doctors past.

notes: my first ever multichapter fic, where i got wayyy to into the “tarot card” page of the doctor who wiki. older, but i’m still proud of it since it was, again, my first ever multichapter fic.

The Concept of Karma and Unluckiness

status: complete, 1/1

rating: gen

words: 4.7k

desc.: The Doctor is just trying to find Jack and Rose, not meet their future self at some stupid, and very boring, vacation resort. Well, it could be worse. At least they got some free custard creams out of it.

notes: one of my older fics, but i still find it enjoyable. Nine&Thirteen meeting fic.

the fifteenth letter of the alphabet

status: complete, 1/1

rating: gen

words: 3.7k

desc.: The Eleventh Doctor, on a whim, decides to give their phone number to an MI6 agent named O. Here are a few of the chatlogs that happen afterwards.

notes: chatfic spanning from Eleven’s run to Thirteen’s; no actual prose to be found here, sorry.

follow me to wonderland

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 8.6k

desc.: Yaz and Dan, they’ve been having dreams, but they haven’t felt like their own. But that’s impossible, right? It’s not like they could be having someone else’s dreams, right?

notes: trippy dream fic, i was trying to be spooky.

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little nightmares

the static and the emptiness and how you lived through it

status: complete, 3/3

desc.: When Mono and Six meet in the basement of the Hunter’s cabin, neither of them think they’ll end up sticking together. That was not how this monstrous world worked, and above all else, they need to survive. Having a friend just made it harder. Luckily for both of them, they’re wrong.

notes: little nightmares destroyed me emotionally so this is how i deal with it. focuses on Mono&Six’s relationship and features canon divergence from the you-know-what. first fic is from Mono’s POV, second is form Six’s POV, and the third is an epilogue of sorts from Runaway Kid’s POV. enjoy.

living without the fear of a monochromatic existence

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 16.1k

desc.: The story of friendship, hand-holding, and how to survive longer than those who want you dead (hint — it involves those first two things).

notes: a study on Mono&Six’s relationship, with my own headcanons thrown into the mix. canon divergence for the ln2 ending. Mono’s POV.

how life works when the sun never shines

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 37.8k

desc.: The story of friendship, hunger, and trying to save yourself when you’re so intwined with another person you don’t know where to begin (hint — telling yourself something doesn’t make it true).

notes: takes place directly after first fic in the series, canon-divergence from ln2 where Mono joins Six on the Maw. Six’s POV, and features rewritten scenes from the first fic from her perspective. tw for canon-typical Six/Lady uh. dynamic.

what it means to live when you’re no longer about to drown

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 9.6k

desc.: the story of endings. and the story of beginnings.

notes: the final fic in the series, an epilogue of sorts, takes place directly after the last fic. Runaway’s POV, features some of my (very odd) Runaway characterization and an outsider pov on Mono&Six, because i live for that shit.

non-series fics

a peripeteia that happens before you wake up

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 2.9k

desc.: The story of loneliness, the passing of time, and what happens when you’re forced into isolation when your greatest fear is being alone (hint — it’s something very not good).

notes: post-ln2 trippy piece vaguely inspired by poetry.

allusions, allegories, and other literary devices involved with friendship

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 8.8k

desc.: The story of spare change, sneaking out, and holding onto the hope that someday you’ll make it out here (hint — if you’re someone like Mono and Six, you’ll make it true).

notes: a modern au. kinda.

when smelling smokes ends up causing social anagnorisis

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 10.1k

desc.: The story of weird words, paper bags, and seeing smoke before there’s even a fire (hint — sometimes you end up causing a fire anyways).

notes: a pre-ln2 fic focusing on my headcanons about Mono’s backstory.

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moon knight (mcu)

using syzygy in place of a metaphor

status: ongoing, 3/?

desc.: After the whole deal with Harrow in Egypt, the Moon Knight system is attempting to live their new shared lives together. It’s a learning curve for all of them, but they’re trying, which is all you can really do in this situation, isn’t it?

notes: originally started as a canon divergence post-series one-shot people asked for a continuation of. focuses a lot on the Marc&Steven&Jake dynamic. i have a few plot bunnies planned for the future, but as of right now i’m focusing on other fandoms. all fics should be able to be read separately from one another.

selenography in regards to the human mind

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 6.8k

desc.: What comes after for a former gift shopist, an avatar for a moon deity, a minted taxi cab driver, a sorta ex-wife who is also an avatar for a hippo deity now, a local egyptian god, and their three goldfish.

notes: originally written as a post-canon divergence standalone; system is still Moon Knight and know about Jake. can be read separately from rest of series.

perigee as a reference point

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 13.4k

desc.: There’s a universe outside of London and Egypt, and people typically take notice when you mess with the night sky.

notes: a moon knight / mainline mcu crossover. can be read separately from rest of series.

the relation between lunar cycles and the three of hearts

status: complete, 2/2

rating: mature

words: 62k

desc.: Marc and Steven open Jake’s sarcophagus when they find it on the boat in the Duat. this changes things. this changes a lot of things.

notes: a what-if Steven&Marc opened Jake’s sarcophagus fic, chp1 is “Asylum” rewrite and chp2 is “Gods and Monsters” rewrite. can be read separately from rest of series. heed tw in the author’s notes.

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ironfamily (mcu)

i’ll become a trumpet or a drumset (in a sad orchestra)

status: ongoing, 4/6

desc.: When Pepper gives Peter Harley’s number so the two boys can chat, some … stuff happens, including a kidnapping attempt, an Iron Lad appearance, family drama, a field trip from Hell, Tony being stressed out, and possibly a few more things. This was probably a bad idea.

notes: once again meant to be a standalone fic people asked for a continuation of. focuses on Peter&Harley relationship most often, but also features irondad and the other “ironfamily” subfandom tropes. all fics feature elements of chatfics and social media, though not all are as serious as others. one more main series fic is planned, then a collection of one-shots.

come on guy (i promise everything will be alright, be okay)

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 12.9k

desc.: When Pepper gives Peter Harley’s number so the two boys can chat, it ends up with a lot of texting, some explosions, a few threats of tasering and a kidnapping attempt. That really should be expected when these two became friends, though.

notes: a Peter&Harley centric fic, from Peter’s POV, takes place in the vague hand-wavey time post-Homecoming but pre-IW. vaguely crack-treated seriously + part social media fic.

i guess the last time (you had any fun)

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 22.8k

desc.: Harley’s staying in New York permanently now, for at least his next school year. This means a new classmate at Midtown Tech, the official introduction of ‘Iron Lad’ (name still in progress) to the public, and Tony gaining a few more grey hairs from his dumbass kids.

notes: a Peter&Harley centric fic, from Harley’s POV this time. takes place directly after last fic in series. vaguely crack-treated seriously + part social media fic.

the world’s smallest violin (really needs an audience)

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 27.4k

desc.: Tony is settling into his new, weird-but-normal routine, where he is currently mentoring two chaotic kids and, apparently, actually has some people in his corner. Which is good, given the fact that the Rogue Avengers are officially being pardoned. He’s pretty sure the stress is going to kill him before superheroing does.

notes: a Civil War-fallout fic, from Tony’s POV. takes place directly after last fic in series. less cracky then the previous two, still part social media fic.

holy moly (it’s a real do-nothing day)

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 36.5k

desc.: Midtown High Academic Decathlon Team has won their national competition. Technically, they don’t get any awards other than boring money stuff from it, which when Tony Stark hears about it, he intends to rectify — meaning they get a special, end-of-the-year field trip to Stark Industries on the behalf of Tony’s two interns; Peter Parker and Harley Keener. Ugh.

notes: POV outsider on the fieldtrip trope, written after the fieldtrip trope went out of style. goes back to being vaguely crack treated seriously + part social media fic. takes place directly after last fic in series and possibly the only one (besides the first) able to be read separately, but i wouldn’t recommend it.

-

the murderbot diaries

Logging Off

status: complete, 1/1

rating: gen

words: 722

desc.: Murderbot has a conversation with Dr. Mensahs daughter and reflects way more than it should.

notes: first ever Murderbot fic, written pre-Network Effect

Crossed Wires

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 4.8k

desc.: Five times a human watched Murderbot and ART interact, and one time Murderbot and ART (sort of) watched the humans interact.

notes: POV outsider on Murderbot&ART, very old with many mistakes. planning on being rewritten sometime, probably whenever the next book comes out.

-

five nights at freddy’s

if you get hurt we won’t cover your loss

status: ongoing, 2/3

desc.: All Gregory wanted was a warm place to sleep and some (stolen) food, but he ends up being hunted down by murderous animatronics and security guards alike, having to quite literally fight for his life, and he can’t escape no matter what he does — given that time keeps resetting whenever he dies. Too bad Gregory isn’t going to give up on this, so whoever is trying to screw him over will just have to deal with him.

notes: my Gregory-gets-stuck-in-a-time-loop verse. currently working on an alt. pov fic with plans for the sequel in place.

the party’s never over for you

status: complete, 35/35

rating: teen

words: 265k

desc.: Gregory just wanted some free (stolen) food and a warm place to sleep, except time keeps resetting whenever he dies, and he can’t escape no matter what he does. He’s way in over his head here, isn’t he?

notes: time loop fic with found family and trauma. currently my longest fic ever, so i would suggest not reading it all in one go. you’ll lose your mind.

don’t bite off more than you can chew

status: ongoing, 1/?

rating: teen

words: 6.7k

desc.: There is something odd going on in the Pizzaplex tonight, but Freddy has decided he will do everything he can to help Gregory — this odd, lost child — escape the mall unscathed. Meanwhile, Vanessa is having, quite possibility, the worst night of her life. The other animatronics don’t remember any of this.

notes: an alt. pov companion pieces to “the party’s never over for you”, featuring even more trauma and time loop shenanigans. has no strict uploading schedule and will hopefully not be as long as the og fic, but given how long all my works end up being, we’ll have to see how it goes.

bonus: check out the tumblr tag, i answer questions about it occasionally!

non-series fics

there’s a stranger in us all

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 6.2k words

desc.: Cassidy has two separate conversation with the same weepy child, who is lonely and scared and crying. The situations are just different. But that’s what really matters here, she thinks.

notes: Cassidy&CC relationship fic, bc i love the “fucked up little kid friendship” dynamic apparently. some tw apply for canon-typical gore and child death.

-

good omens

the “soldier, poet, king” collection

soldier, poet, king (old)

status: complete, 6/6

rating: teen

words: 95k

desc.: Eleven years ago, the Antichrist was born, set to bring upon the end of the world in due time. He was suppose to be delivered to the Order of the Chattering Nuns the night of his birth by the demon Crowley. And that’s what happened. Well, what everyone thinks happened.

notes: an Aziraphale/Crowley raise Adam AU, every chapter is a rewritten episode. formerly my longest ever fic, has now been bumped to second place. is currently being rewritten! (see below)

soldier, poet, king

status: ongoing, 1/6

rating: teen

words: 37.5k

desc.: Eleven years ago, the Antichrist was born. The baby was to be delivered to an order of satanic nuns by the demon Crowley and then be raised by a human family, and when he came into his powers, the Earth would end in fire and brimstone. And that is what happened. Or, what everyone believed had happened.

notes: the rewritten version of my previous Aziracrow raise Adam AU, this time featuring working footnotes and some improved prose. it also looks like it is going to be twice as long as the original version. oh boy.

non-series fics

love like yours will surely come my way

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 4.6k

desc.: Crowley made it so hard, sometimes, to be an Angel. So even though Aziraphale knows he really should be finding the Metatron and going back to Heaven, he was still here, kissing Crowley in his bookshop.

notes: s02e06 fix-it fic i wrote in a day, bc season 2 left me in shambles. written in my usual style and not my emulating style, but it’s still a fluffy, angst with a happy ending one-shot to heal any broken hearts. including my own. rip

-

the mandalorian (star wars)

but when we cry, we cry together (like it was meant to be)

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 3.5k

desc.: In which Din gets injured and thinks a bit more than he should.

notes: very old, written pre-s2. the last of what i call my “early days” fics where i was still getting used to ao3 and posting my polished fics. so, expect mistakes. tw for some mild desc. of injury.

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dceu

as opposed to permanence

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 2.6k

desc.: The consequences of time travel, and what comes with being just a few seconds out-of-sync with the rest of the universe.

notes: Barry Allen time shenanigans taking place post-Snyder Cut. written before all the Ezra Miller controversies, but i still like the character.

-

assorted (aka, things i’ve written for class)

The Martian

it’s far behind the stars

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 814

desc.: There’s still an entire trip back to Earth to get through, and some habits are hard to break.

notes: post-canon character study written for class.

Shakespeare

you’ve been on my mind since the flood

status: complete, 1/1

rating: teen

words: 898

desc.: The water wants Ophelia to come play. It might not just be the water.

notes: character study on Ophelia from Hamlet written for class. tw for implied character death (on par for the original play) .

[vlad-theimplier]

WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

One of the main reasons I tackled the series from DX:HR onwards, rather than just jumping in where I had plot innovations to make, is the series' take on law enforcement. In short, as good as the overall writing is, it seems the writers' room was allergic to actual real-world LE experience.

So you get my take. I've worked with detectives and investigative agents ranging from "dedicated civil servant aspiring always to do better" to "un-fireable and counting down to retirement." My experience is in the US, whose LE apparatus is minimally corrupt in the traditional sense (try bribing your way out of a ticket sometime and let me know how it goes) but has deep structural issues--but I've researched several other systems through the years, and I think I've got a pretty realistic take on the Augophobic PČR for an American. Let me know how your mileage varies at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55686901/chapters/141357007 !

There had to be more, some thread he could pull to track down the drug poisoning Prague’s Augmented. Maybe he could drag something out of a neighbor. He made to leave, giving the room a quick scan with smart vision, just in case.

Jackpot: a secret room lay behind a hidden door. His millimeter-wave radar revealed the mechanism as well. He pushed a button hidden in the molding, and there was all the Neon, bins of bright blue cylinders loaded into inhalers.

He found a safe, too, with a significant take in cash and credit chips. And a pocket secretary containing an email from someone named “Harmony,” warning “Cygnus” about the Dvali getting wise to their side operation and telling him how to find the lab. It was in the sewers, right underneath Jensen’s own building. He noted the directions and swept up the money to put in asset forfeiture. Then he walked outside again, closed the door behind him, and thought.

Interpol had originally been conceived as a means to coordinate law enforcement efforts across national boundaries, not as an enforcement agency of its own. Even as it had evolved and grown, culminating in Task Force 29, it still maintained an emphasis on fostering communication and cooperation with its local partners. And he had neither time nor inclination to deal with a small-time Dvali competitor. He sent an email to the whole office, except for Organized Crime, asking whether anyone trusted any of the PČR’s drug detectives far enough to throw them. Within five minutes, he had a name and number.

“Ahoj, Detektivní Blažek, Policie České Republiky, Divize Praha, Narkotický Úřad,” came the bored, monotone response to his infolink call. “Jak vám mohu pomoci?”

“Agent Jensen, Interpol, Task Force Twenty-Nine. How would you like to make a big bust with no effort?”

“Eh?” The voice perked right up. “No effort, you say?”

“Yeah. Well, you’ll need to fill out an affidavit. My investigation brought me into an apartment—I can spell out the necessity for protection of life for you in an email. Basically, a potential drug overdose. And I found a roomful.”

“A roomful?”

“Of drugs, not victims. Got video and everything for you.”

“Oho! No effort indeed. You make my day, Agent Jensen. How much product?”

“You know Neon? A couple of bins full. Maybe… three, four cubic meters total.”

“Do prdele! I make quota this month after all. May I ask, who gave you my name?”

No reason to play it cagey. “Agent Riley.”

“Sammy? Hah. Good to know. Send it—I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

he detective spelled his email address, and Jensen passed the whole thing over. He watched the door and nursed his eye-recording headache until a jittery-looking man, his own height but probably thirty pounds lighter, burst out of the stairwell in a trench coat over a rumpled suit and a tangle of gangling limbs. Two uniformed officers followed him. They stiffened noticeably when they saw Jensen, but the detective greeted him warmly enough for a Prague cop.

“Ah, Agent Clank! Sammy told me when you joined—said you had some interesting skills. I thought that footage was too tall for body camera. You took him with eyeball?”

One of the uniforms winced as Jensen nodded. “Filmed everything from entry to exit.”

“Good, good! Okay, we have it from here.” Blažek dug in his coat pockets, juggling two bottles of clear liquid and a tablet whose screen showed a half-filled warrant application in Czech. “You like slivovice, eh? Bottle for you, bottle for Sammy. Quota means I get a bonus, and you get a cut. Keep my number, Agent Clank.”

Jensen took the bottles. Slurs or no, this was downright convivial for a Prague cop. The detectives tended to be better than patrol, but still. “I’ll give him your regards. Let me know if you need anything else from me.”

Rather than waste time on the elevator, he ducked into Praha Dovoz and left Riley’s bottle with Sedlak. His augs had robbed him of his old, neat handwriting, but he just about managed a legible RILEY: FROM BLAŽEK in block caps on a sticky that he pressed to the curved glass. He took his own bottle home.

[grandtourdiscussions]

Dragon Ball GT Episode 03 - Super-Greedy!! The Merchant Planet Imegga

Air Date: February 21st, 1996

Our first scene seems to demonstrate how this team is going to play out for this adventure. Trunks, playing the responsible decision maker, intends to return Pan home due to her not befitting such a journey, also intending to calm her worried parents. Pan, the troublemaker, has hold over the main control key, doing everything possible to prevent Trunks from getting hold of it. She’s entirely focused on herself, mainly on proving her worth in the future (though these actions don’t help). Goku, the optimist, isn’t intervening at all. Sure, this turn of events isn’t ideal, but Goku’s not gonna get mopey about it. Sadly, it feels like Goku won’t be taking any charge here, but I assume this is to further link up with the first Dragon Ball arc. Though, I really do hope Goku demonstrates some agency over this adventure. It’ll get boring quickly if it’s just Trunks making all the calls.

Back on Earth, Chichi mentions that it’s already been a week since the gang has blasted off. It seems like Chichi isn’t too concerned about this whole thing, likely because Goku and Trunks are there to take care of Pan. I just find it really interesting that she’s not too concerned, considering how dangerous this adventure could be (and soon proves to be) and the fact that Earth could blow up if this isn’t accomplished on time. I mean it’s completely understandable. Goku’s pulled everyone out of worse situations (with everyone’s help, of course. It’s never a job done alone), so I get it. 

Well, unfortunately, things aren’t going so well for our gang. An integral piece of the Capsule Corp ship has fallen off in the middle of space. According to Bulma, this has something to do with another piece that fell off during blast-off, a small segment of the course correcting rockets. I guess it’s only fitting for an arc calling back to Dragon Ball’s first arc to immediately involve conflicts revolving around transportation troubles. This obviously establishes early Pan’s troubling involvement in this adventure, considering this whole situation wouldn’t be an issue at all if the ship was fully prepared for blast off. If Pan hadn’t prematurely blasted off, this wouldn’t be an issue. Then again, it’s not like anybody knows this besides us and maybe Bulma. 

What you’d expect happens, Pan feigns maturity a bit but really just acts more like her childish self, putting herself first stuff (I’m not complaining or anything, character flaws are cool). Trunks takes charge and attempts to land on what we will come to know as Planet Imegga. Goku sits back and lets it all happen because he’s not one to be scared over this kind of thing. I know I’m kind of stating the obvious here, but I want to focus a lot on the dynamic of the team because this is our first actual look at the structure of it. Details like these should be important to be fully aware of in case anything changes along the way.  

The rest of the episode is dedicated to learning about Imegga itself. It’s simply done but it’s rather effective. We don’t get the full rundown until much later, but we know immediately that Imegga is a heavily economic planet, to a fault. Immediately upon escaping the ship to the lively streets of the marketplace, The gang is hounded and essentially forced to spend their cash (Will money be important later on in the journey? Is Earth zeni acceptable on Imegga or did they convert to Imegga’s primary currency? It’s whatever, just some random things that came to mind). This Civilization’s fixation on acquiring currency is pushed even further at the hotel, where literally every utility in the room has a fare on it. We know now that every person works to steal as much money as they possibly can for some unknown reason, and considering the gang are essentially tourists, assumed to know nothing of how Imegga works, it’s easy to see why they were hounded. From the TV program, we see at the hotel, we can see that Imegga is some sort of dictatorship, but we don’t know anything about the relationship between the dictator and the regular civilians yet. However, we can assume that this relationship is tied to why the people of Imegga act the way they do.

Later, Pan, Goku, and Trunks literally fall into a conversation with a poor, struggling family while their house is taken away. Everything you can infer from the previous scenes is spelled out and further elaborated on. I’m usually not a fan of things just being spelled out, but I don’t really care that much here. We had a fine opportunity to piece it all together ourselves, and we still learn even more about Imegga anyway, so the whole scene has more importance than just letting some viewers catch up. 

Either way, the scene is done very well. Having this elaborate discussion of the struggles to live in Don Kia’s dictatorship and the incapability of truly owning anything against these robot debt collectors tearing apart this family’s home was a great idea, and it really emphasized the struggle. However, what really drove it home was that the family didn’t seem to care that much. They discussed the debt collectors as if they knew fully that this was going to happen, and that displays that on Imegga, this can happen to anyone. I’ll be honest, I’m not crazy about this place as our first look into this adventure, but it’s pretty good setup work.

Thankfully, Goku finally steps up and shows some agency over where this goes. He insists on fighting against Don Kia and the debt collector bots for what they’re doing to the people of Imegga. I’m personally not a fan of the fact that Goku hasn’t really done anything other than this in this episode, but I assume we just haven’t gotten to a point where Goku can properly lead the way like I want. It is definitely in character for Goku to be as carefree as he has been thus far, so I won’t get pissy about it, especially when I’m talking about the first stop on this journey. 

Oddly enough, I often see people in the Dragon Ball fandom act like Goku isn’t heroic at all. This moment of Goku insisting that he help these people reminded me that Goku is heroic. Goku’s heroism is what makes him such an incredible character in my opinion. He’s not your average superhero who goes out of his way to find and stop trouble purely to assist others. He’s also not purely doing things based on what benefits/satisfies him. Goku is the perfect blend of altruism and egotism, a man who will gladly assist people in need when he finds them, but also a man who will do what he can to satisfy himself in these endeavors. It’s moments like these that really highlight what kind of person Goku is when it comes to injustice. He doesn’t search for it to solve it, but he’ll right wrongs when they show themselves to him. Goku can make mistakes along the way which puts people in danger, sure, but he always works to right his own wrongs and to keep people safe even when satisfying his desires. It’s this wrinkle in his character between altruism and egotism that really makes him stand out against other protagonists, and I always felt that this was underappreciated. Goku really is an incredibly well-constructed, lovable character, and it's the little moments like this that really show me that. 

Well, as troublesome as the situation on Imegga is, it seems that the gang just doesn’t have the time to right wrongs. I’m a little uncertain about the truth behind this. On one side, it’s true that we only have 1 year to get this done, and we don’t yet know how long this is going to take. It’s safer for their mission to just focus on the mission. On the other, about 15-20 years before these events, it took Goku 6 days to get to Namek, a planet that’s in a different quadrant of the universe. We could possibly assume faster modes of travel have been developed during this time, but we don’t know for certain. Hell, we don’t even really know what this new Capsule Corp ship is really made of in comparison to this older ship. I’m pretty sure the older one from the Namek arc is developed from the remains of the Saiyan pods left on earth, so a lot of that speed could be from the pods (you could go against this by saying it took Vegeta and Nappa 1 year to get to Earth, but we don’t really know where the planet they departed from is in comparison to Earth and we don’t really definitively know the size of the Dragon Ball universe, at least within the original text, I’ve never read any of the supplementary guidebooks). Additionally, it’s taken 1 week to get from Earth to Imegga so you could argue space travel has not gotten any faster, but again we don’t know yet where Imegga is in the universe against Earth. Oh, whatever… this is clearly going nowhere… 

Anyways, upon checking to see if there’s a Dragon Ball on Imegga, a small robot eats up the radar. After chasing and capturing him, it turns out that the ship has been towed away! And that’s where our episode ends. I can’t really go further into a discussion on who this robot is, despite its later importance, since not much is given to us here. We know that it consumed the radar out of a need for energy, and we can assume it’s not malicious. It’s not a surprise that we’re gaining additional characters to our adventure, considering this was done all the time in the first Dragon Ball arc, but the quality of said addition may or may not measure up to the past. 

My impression of the quality of this episode as a whole is… rather mixed. I by no means think it’s bad or incompetently crafted, I just don’t find myself all that thrilled. I assume part of this is just the first Dragon Ball arc being one of my lesser favorites, but this still isn’t really measuring up to that arc. Then again, we’re still only beginning. This is the first stop. I assume it’ll pick up soon. If I had to give this episode a grade, I’d give it a 6/10. It’s good, sure, but it’s not really that exciting. Though the next one looks to be more fun, seemingly wrapping up this Imegga chapter. I hope that one really closes this segment off well if my assumptions are correct. 

NEXT TIME - Dragon Ball GT Episode 04 - Wanted!! Goku Makes the Wanted List!?

Sorry this one took a while to write. I'm approaching the end of the current college semester, so the work has been really piling up, including various essays, movies, tests, books and coding projects diverting my focus from this project (I'm a CS major minoring in Japanese and Cinema Studies so I certainly end up with a wide array of different homework assignments). This is a project that will take quite a while to complete, but I'll do my best to not produce Tumblr's Yandere Simulator, complete with spaghetti text. Also I stopped working on this over the weekend because I really wanted to watch Scott Pilgrim Takes Off, and it's mind blowingly good! Easily one my favorite anime, even one of my favorite TV shows period! I'll definitely be writing about it in the future, so if you see me writing about Scott Pilgrim instead of Dragon Ball one day, don't be surprised, okay? I'll at least finish the Baby stuff before I get to that, so no need to think about any of my future writing endeavors yet. Well, see you next post! Next episode looks really exciting! Can't wait to watch through it and start writing about it! As always, feedback and criticism is always appreciated!

[pazodetrasalba]

Crypto

Dear Caroline:

It is a firmly held belief of mine that no field of human knowledge and endeavor is intrinsically boring, or to put it in a more sloganesque way, 'everything is potentially interesting' once you are piqued about it and have the minimum necessary prerequisites. One area I knew nothing about and which I have lately learned of (provoked by the FTX collapse and my rising interest in you) was that of cryptocurrencies.

I was given an advanced payment of it about two years ago, though, when one of my students made a class presentation about NFTs, which led to an engrossing discussion and a non-trivial effort at explaining in simple terms what a blockchain was. In spite of said discussion and some further reading, I remained rather lukewarm, as I couldn't quite see the point in having a digital register of ownership of an easily reproducible and otherwise identical-to-the-original piece of digital art. Like, in the real world, copies of works of art are easily distinguished from the original, and there is no need for a ledger to authenticate the (sometimes very valuable) first piece.

In the last week I have gone through Bubble or Revolution? The Present and Future of Blockchain and Cryptocurrencies by Neel Mehta et al., and am currently reading Laura Shin's history of Ethereum, The Cryptopians, in both of which I have seen a more developed argument of the case that you and the thread you recommend (just read that one as well) were making. I remain more than a bit sceptic, though: while I see the potential and the interest of exploring, the realities of implementation have been, as in your words, 'mostly scams and memes'. And another firmly held belief of mine and a litmus test I employ is that you have to judge ideas by how they work in practice in our sublunary world.

Not that this should come as a surprise to you, as your text, along with others (like Sam's infamous and cynical description of the 'empty box' token in the Odd Lots podcast) all seem to be pointing in the same direction: that you were employing what you mostly supposed was just a temporary bubble that could be used as a springboard to build a business and try and make some cash, both of which could later be transformed into a more solid, stable and conventional money-making enterprise.

You ever were, though, the most intellectually oriented of the FTX coterie, so it makes sense that you would be the one taking ideas seriously. Still, the argument for decentralized noncustodial money has a very strong libertarian ring to it, which might not be much of an issue with me, but goes certainly against the grain of, for example, your blog-reactions towards Bryan Caplan and his writings, which you castigated once or twice here. Then again, prevention against underestimated future dangers is the EA thing par excellence, and you yourself having experienced firsthand the PRC crackdown against Hong Kong protestors provides a concrete example of an authoritarian government that might be a threat to civilization and take unwarranted liberties with people's assets.

I ignore if you like or have read William Gibson, of Neuromancer fame (he is one of my favorite writers; in fact, when I find the time, my PhD dissertation is going to be about the real and virtual spaces in his novels). He takes a libertarian stance, but from a distinctly leftish and populist point of view, and in his Bridge Trilogy explores and depicts different free, anarchic, bottom-to-top-created spaces including a hacker-managed digital version of the Kowloon Walled City, a fascinating ecosystem which no longer exists and which you probably more than heard about.

Quote:

The Walled City is a universe unto itself, a subversive rumor, the stuff of legend... Something in the underlying code of the Walled City's creation introduces a metaphysical vertigo, and the visual representation is tediously aggressive, as though one were caught in some art school video production with infinitely high production values.

William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties