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chewingbatmanlikeasqueakytoy · 5 months

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Okay this is actually a partial reply to another post

but my reply got so long i think tumblr literally cant cope LMAO so (context the Amity park perception filter thread with @kaidatheghostdragon which i will edit a link into after posting (X) Edit: the context link is now attached)

Honestly they might not CRASH crash the economy but I honestly think they could do some serious damage. At the very least if Amity is going to start essentially printing USD with these cards to get infrastructure and the like set up the inflation within the town is going to go crazy and they might just need a new currency. I think it's also determined by how LARGE you consider Amity to be. As I've always seen it described as a small town I've always envisioned it to have a population of around 10,000 people. AS IT TURNS OUT the wiki describes it as 'Amity Park is depicted as a moderately large urban city, reminiscent of Chicago, San Francisco, and/or Philadelphia' WHICH IS WAY LARGER THAN I IMAGINED. I don't know SHIT about American cities or their layouts apart from the fact that Everything Is Squares and also apparently the junctions are death(? Apparently America doesn't have roundabouts??? Bro??? I don't know if that was a Simpsons gag but I think about it maybe half as often as I use roundabouts), BUT the point is that google says those cities are somewhere around 800,000 to 2.6 million.

Honestly I think those are weird numbers because those are enough of a range to not be at all considered the same size imo but we'll take Philadelphia as our base bc that's the one in the middle at 1.5 million. In "Amity Park's" population statistics (X) if you take everyone from 20-44 (we're pretending people under 20 can't get one bc apparently 13 year olds can get them with special permissions and that fills me with a special kind of anguish to have learned) but if you take everyone from 20-44 that population totals something like 613,028.

We'll give an error margin of 10% to account for people who are auto disqualified for whatever reason and between that error margin and the people I'm ignoring I think it's realistic to assume you could get 551,726 people credit cards. Unlimited ones? maybe not. But look me in the eyes and tell me if Sam Manson was told 'We can fix the public infrastructure that's damaging the environment and cause serious damage to predatory lending companies' She would not use her families wealth to be backing people as some kind of collateral/co-signer to get OBSCENLEY high credit cards SO FAST. That's to say nothing of if Tucker and the Other Nerds decide it's actually completely fine for them to hack into these companies and auto approve all these credit cards. Like the towns in dire straights so why not? It's unfortunately a pretty human tendency to see the people you care about in trouble and decide you're willing to throw literally anyone and everyone under the bus so I can see him/them doing it.

So. 551,726 people, with theoretically unlimited money to spend. CONSERVATIVELY if they racked up $500,000 USD on each card, the amount of money spent by Amity would end up being $275,863,000,000 or $275.8 BILLION Now the GDP of the USA is $25.44 Trillion, which looks like $25,440,000,000,000 so it's not a LOT in the grand scheme of things but it is just over 1%, I'm not going to pretend I know what that does economically to the entire USA but consider that Beer sales in the USA accounted for $106 billion in 2022, and that amity would potentially be generating nearly three times that. (X) I have just gone on a fucking TANGENT about the economy in this silly fun times thread of ours so I apologise I will try and sum up very quickly why I think they could spend so much so quickly. Philadelphia has a total of 37 hospitals. They built a new one sometime around 2021 to the tune of $1.6 billion (X) If Amity built a new hospital for liminality care and a few new ones Just Because They Realised They Can, say they build ten new hospitals, which is a VERY LARGE amount of new hospitals to build on workforce Alone, but they probably have tireless ghost workers who are probably obsessed with construction and regular living workers who want to be paid in the times before everyone had acclimated to the ghosts properly. Split among 551,726 people that's actually a fairly reasonable $28,999.90, which, hilariously, is actually just in and around the average limit to credit cards. So they wouldn't even need Sam or Tucker to mess with credit cards yet (X) Averages typically suck as a way of measuring stuff but this isn't a Real Life Government Project so I'm willing to call that acceptable. So if it's only $30k for ten hospitals why the hell am I citing a fat $500k each? Luxury Shit. A few luxury cars and some big name watches and you've blown through that $500k no problem. That's to say nothing of all the REST of the infrastructure that needs fixing - the roads, the schools, the libraries, the replacement materials for the transport system - hell building the APDC is going to probably be another billion dollar project if they want two portals large enough to get what is probably multilane traffic through in regards to transport. Sure the cars won't be useful for long maybe but that's just one example. Jewellery, coats - hell designer shoes and collector nonsense can go for STUPID amounts and as people who are desperate to outpace their neighbours in Cool Stuff They Own realise that their neighbours are capable of getting all the same crap they are? people are either going to stop caring or they're going to start buying some Really Obscure Shit. For the others who just wanted to buy pretty things? There's literally no reason to stop. Amity might have to limit the amount of crap people can get shipped in per week/impose serious shipping tariffs just to make sure the new FTL supply chain doesn't collapse because people are determined to get their new Cashmere and Mohair coats with Gold Embroidery or what the hell ever on next day delivery. Honestly in this scenario the cards over time thing probably doesn't matter because I'm pretty sure the Amity expenditure would DESTROY the lending company, which might then actually be the thing to get Amity rediscovered or maybe they space all these buildings out over time so they keep living the sweet life.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #collaborative worldbuilding #i cannot remember if i gave this au a name lmao

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spacedlexi · 10 months

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hey same anon from yesterday!

first off, good luck with your assignments, Killin myself out here too.

And thanks for the advice! I’m trying to make it canonical while in a modern au, so since this was a mainly S1 part of the series, Clem’s parents + Lee’s wife nonsense still happens, just navigated differently. Different dates obviously happen, some characters are less prominent and others are more (i.e St. John’s useless, or Larry + Lee’s family roles/created)

For the personalities, some characters are just easier to write I think. I’ll never understand the Violet southerner thing, a telltale sight for me is if someone messes that up. (Also basically every story has Minerva as a total asshole so that’s funny)

I tried to implement game lines too, while putting it in modern context! And the end of the day you’re right, it is MY choice, just want to have it look nice. Again, thanks and good luck!

using lines ripped from the game can definitely be helpful, especially if it feels natural in the scene, i would just be careful in not leaning on it too much. adding a twist to it definitely helps. but really try to pay attention to the cadence with which characters speak. theres a rhythm to Everything. do they stutter when theyre nervous? do they use a lot of filler words? do they hesitate at all or do they speak confidently? do they enunciate? stuff like that. if you can figure that out it makes it easier to write dialogue that really feels like its coming from that character. think about the different ways multiple characters may express the same idea. how does it get filtered through their heads and mouths. its less about What the character is saying and more How theyre saying it. believability and all that. to me it feels like pulling off a magic trick

it really is just a delicate balance of behavior and vocabulary. its why i try to cut a lot of slack to writers when it comes to fic. i know its a hard line to walk, and i'll give points for getting Enough right. especially for characters we dont see much of. thats why even tho it annoys me a bit i understand why so many people write minnie as being a possessive asshole and not much else. its why i end up going down the rabbit hole trying to figure out who she was before the delta. like we Know she was a different person, we just dont know much about that person, and the experience/thought process that she had that turned her from the "didnt even like killing walkers" never mind the darkness minnie into the minnie that killed her sister. i find her to be a really interesting character because its obvious she still cares about the ericson group in some fucked up way (sans clem she just sees her as an obstacle to getting them back) and i Do wish that depth was examined more in fics. but maybe im just not reading the right ones

ANYWAY i hope this has all been helpful and good luck with your writing 💕

#when it comes to southern vi i just kinda 🙄 my eyes now and look past it #ive seen it so much at this point im becoming numb to it lol (still dont understand why it happens tho)#i had to stop reading clemvi fic for a while because the way people were writing them #i felt like i was teleported back to 2014 reading johndave fic 💀 i wish i was kidding it was giving me psychic damage. like where am i #incognito #replies with lexi #twdg

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davnittbraes · 2 years

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Eyes Open

The smut scene from Chapter Nineteen of The World Is Light, Embodied.

For context, Reader and Din are in a newly established relationship and have only engaged in sexytimes in the dark. Reader sees an opportunity to show him something he hasn’t seen yet 😉😌

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2700

Warnings etc.: smut - stripping (sans cheesy club music,) Mando’s Fingering Skills™️, squirting, one (1) nipple pinch, otherwise non-rough nipple play

Mando’a translations in the notes at the end of the chapter.

An idea flits across your thoughts.

Your lips curves into a smile, tugging on his hands until he follows your silent command, letting you move him to the storage crate beside you and guide him to sit.

You pause, just admiring how he looks sitting there, long legs bent at the knee and spread, hands resting on his thighs, all broad strength and incredible power and unmatched intuition that lets him see parts of you that no one else has seen.

Mandalorian, hunter, warrior - man. Patiently waiting.

For you.

For you to give him something you’ve never given anyone else.

The coals of your arousal flare to life so intensely your thighs clench with it.

Lifting your hands, you pull your shirt open, let it hang loose, framing the curves of your body. The chill air of the hold swirls over your skin, pebbles your nipples through the cups of your bra, the pricks of sensation shooting straight to your core.

The orange-tipped fingers of his gloves flex just slightly on his thighs.

You tilt your head to the side, running your gaze down his form. He could reach out and touch you, he’s close enough. So why the restraint?

Whatever the reason, you want to see how far he’ll take it. What will make that infamous restraint crack.

The thought is so arousing and exhilarating you have to bite your lip to stop from grinning.

Reaching up, you hook your fingertips into the cups of your bra and tug them down, breath catching as your breasts spill out and the cool air rushes over your nipples.

A hiss flows through the modulator, those gloved fingers curling into fists.

Getting there.

You trail your fingers down your midriff, back arching into the touch.

The leather of his gloves creaks.

You toe off your boots, push them aside with one foot, and slip your fingertips under the hem of your leggings.

A tremor runs through his frame, armour glinting in the light of the hold with the movement.

Closer.

Slowly, you pull your leggings down, letting them glide down your thighs. Bending to push them past your knees and down your calves, you catch the sharp intake of breath through the modulator as your breasts fall further out of the cups of your bra.

So close, now.

You meet the black visor’s gaze as you step out of your leggings, fingers smoothing over the tops of your thighs. Goosebumps break out over your skin, body bared to the air except where your shirt and underwear cover. A shiver races down your spine, pools in your core, sends a rush of arousal that clenches your inner walls in anticipation.

But he doesn’t move.

Your hands twitch with the desire to touch him, pull him close, feel him. The same need forces your feet to move, take a step toward him until you’re standing between his knees, looking down at the black visor, senses filling with the scent and the closeness of him. It only makes you need him more.

And still, he doesn’t break.

He’s staring up at you, unseen gaze heavy on yours, shoulders rising and falling quickly with obvious rapid breath. His hands are curled into fists, pressed tight against his thigh plates.

Maybe he’s waiting for permission?

Maybe he doesn’t think you’re attractive.

Pfassk, maybe he’s repulsed by what he sees, and here you are, shoving it in his face -

A pained groan filters through the modulator. “Are you done? I need to touch you, mesh’la, please.”

Your lips fall open, pussy throbbing as his words sink into your skin.

The anxiety spiral fizzles out as quickly as it began, confidence surging to take its place.

His words, the desperation in his voice - you’ve never felt more beautiful in your entire life.

You smile crookedly, playful elation light in your chest, arousal hot between your thighs. “Not yet.”

Spinning around with all the grace you can muster, you hook your fingers under the hem of your underwear and tug them down over your hips.

The sound he makes as you bend over to slide them down your legs yanks a moan of your own from your throat.

You straighten up, look at him over your shoulder. He’s nearly shaking, hands splayed over his thighs, black visor fixed to your bare ass.

Crikking hells, his reaction to your nakedness is hot.

You’re done teasing.

Shifting, you spread your feet just a bit so your pussy is exposed to his view - pfassk, you’re already so wet, the cool air rushes over your slick folds - and open your mouth to speak, tell him to touch you.

There’s a whirlwind of movement and his gloves are tugged off and hitting the floor and yes his hands are on you, one grabbing the curve of your hip while the other dives between your thighs. A moan punches from your chest, head falling back at the feel of his fingers sliding through your folds.

He groans, low and rough. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.”

“For you. I want you, always want -“ your words choke off as a thick fingertip glides over your clit.

His hand on your hip shifts, holds you as his fingertip circles your clit firmly. “I know. Me too, cyar’ika.”

He starts a steady rhythm and sparks of pleasure swarm down your body, curling your toes against the cold durasteel floor, parting your thighs even more.

Oh pfassk that feels so kriffing good -

Your hands cup your breasts, a shudder running down your entire body as the warmth of your palms envelopes your peaked nipples, hips rolling back and pleasure arcing up with the combined sensation of his fingers moving just right over your clit -

Then he stops, and you cry out, rising pleasure shuddering to a halt. But he isn’t pulling away, his hands are grasping your hips and pushing, turning you to face him, pulling you down onto his lap.

Stumbling with the movement, you manage to get your legs on either side of his, gripping his arms as he settles back against the wall, the cold of his armour biting deliciously into your inner thighs.

The helmet tilts, black visor clearly taking in the sight of you. His voice rasps through the modulator. “Want to watch you come for me.”

Oh pfassk.

A fresh wave of arousal flushes through your core. Your hands move to curl around his wrists, bringing one hand to a breast and the other to your aching cunt. “I want you to watch, too, see how good you make me feel.”

His groan bites off as his hand cups your breast, the other your pussy, fingers slipping through your slick. “Fuck, only want to make you feel good, mesh’la.”

Your hips press down into his palm, your hand curving his tighter to your breast. “Make me come for you, please, gedet’ye -“

He thrusts two fingers deep into your cunt and your back bows with the stretch, words cutting off with a broken moan. His palm grinds over your clit as his hand on your breast flexes, squeezing, fingertips digging into soft flesh.

Pleasure courses through your veins, dizzying, rocking your body with the force of it, hips rolling with each wave. Your hand lets go of his wrist, clings to his arm for balance, a whimper slips from your mouth at the feel of his muscles flexing under his clothes with every thrust of his fingers into your wet heat.

His hand on your breast slides out from under yours, shifting to pull your nipple between his finger and thumb, and cricking hells -

Your entire body shakes with pleasure, so intense it sets you reeling, both hands now grabbing at his arms to keep from falling backward.

A low hum filters through the modulator. “Does that feel good, mesh’la?”

He does it again, tugging your hardened nipple just right as his fingers curl deep inside your cunt and press against some spot and your panting breath chokes in your throat, pleasure so bright it’s blinding shooting through your entire body. “Oh pfassk yes like that - “

“Fuck, look at you.” His voice is so low, so rough it’s almost a growl. “So fucking beautiful like this, like always. Come for me, I want to see you come.”

Your orgasm suddenly looms, drawing tight across your hips and thighs and his fingers pulse against that spot inside you as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and finger and -

Words fall from you, rushed and broken, eyelids closing and head falling back as pleasure becomes overwhelming. “Please don’t stop I’m gonna come -“

A sharp pinch to your nipple makes you gasp, eyes finding the black visor in surprise and you can’t look away, gaze fixed to him.

His palm presses over your clit and his fingertips flutter inside your cunt, pulling you right to the edge. “Eyes open, cyar’ika. I want to see.”

Oh kriff.

Pleasure breaks and it’s -

Blinding white and silver and black -

A rush of hot slick heat squelches with the movement of his fingers -

It’s so much and your brow furrows with the effort of keeping your eyes open, whimper pushing from your throat -

Thighs tremble and you can’t breathe and still his fingers pulse inside your cunt, pressing against your inner walls as they flutter and squeeze and -

The low rasp of his voice breaks through the throbbing of your heartbeat in your ears. “Look at me, almost -“

Something cracks and gushes and a cry tears from your chest, your entire body shudders hard, his hand leaving your breast to move around your back, keep you there, keep you on his fingers as pleasure shatters over you.

Wet slick throb heat -

Then there’s the release and you’re falling, crumpling against his chest and it’s too much, so much still, waves of pleasure sending tremors through your muscles and pulling another rush from your cunt and everything narrows into that moment, the feeling of his fingers still inside you as you flutter and clench and hot slick pools in his palm, engulfs your throbbing clit and it feels so good -

A high-pitched sob - yours, muffled in his cowl as you scramble to pull him closer, needing an anchor, a final wave of pleasure ripping through your body and stealing every ounce of strength you have left.

Your lungs gasp for air, filling for the first time in who knows how long, catching once as he gently slips his fingers from your pussy. Quiet words are falling above you, Mando’s low rasp full of something like awe.

“So beautiful when you come, fuck I could watch you forever…”

Your heart skips a beat, squeezes tight, so tight it hurts and tears sting in the corners of your eyes. Thoughts still scattered, you pull together enough words to say what you want him to hear. “Want you… inside me please… want you to see what you do to me…”

His moan is soft and broken through the modulator, a large hand cupping your cheek to gently pull your face to look at him. “What I do to - fuck, tionas, you destroy me and heal me in the same breath.”

The warm bright thing in your chest shoves a needy cry from your throat.

You push yourself up right with your hands pressed against his breastplate, shifting forward so you straddle his hips closer, moaning when your naked pussy presses against the hard length of his cloth-covered cock. His hands grasp your waist, holding you there as his hips flex under yours, push his cock against your cunt, sparks of arousal flexing back to life with the grind of fabric, rough and soaking wet with your release, on your sensitive clit.

Your gaze flits over the helmet, catches on the black visor, sees your reflection there - features contorted in pleasure limned with something like need but deeper, a primal desire for connection. For him.

His hips arch up under yours again and echoing groans fall in the small space between you.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

You paw at his cowl, tugging as if it would bring him closer, thoughts so clouded with need it’s hard to focus on anything but the emptiness of your cunt. “Need your cock inside me now, gedet’ye.”

His growl is deep even through the modulator and a strong arm bands under your ass to lift you up for a moment, his free hand fumbling beneath you, then there’s the press of his bare cock to your folds and your hips rock forward to pull the smooth head to your entrance and he bites out another groan as you push against the hold of his arm to sink down onto his cock.

The stretch is everything, slick walls easing the way, the thick of his cock divine and you stop breathing again until your thighs are flush with his once more. He’s deep - so deep - and your pussy pulses around his length and pfassk it’s so good -

Then his hips flex and the arm under your ass lifts and your eyes widen in shock at how good that feels, the weight of his cock pulling slowly along your inner walls before he lets you slide back down into him again.

You want more, more of this and more of him.

Your thighs strain with the effort but you find a rhythm, his arm aiding your movements, and you lose yourself in the drag and thrust, the repeated empty and full, pleasure thrumming through your veins.

His hand cups your cheek, draws your gaze to the black visor - when had you closed your eyes? It fills your vision, blends with your pleasure until the sight of him becomes a physical sensation itself, stroking a part of you that you didn’t know existed.

A calloused thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “Can you feel it, mar’eyce?”

You know he’s talking about that, the source of that strange primal need, the thing that’s been pulling you toward each other since your first meeting, always there but now brought into the open, glimmering under the warm light of the hold, evidenced there in the glint of his armour and the faint tremor of his golden-skinned hand and the open, vulnerable expression on your face, reflected in the black visor.

As his cock sinks into your heat once more, words drift from your lips. “Yes I feel it, I feel you, and me, right here where we belong.”

His cock throbs inside you, an answer pulse of your pussy pulling moans from both of you. Pfassk, your thighs are screaming for rest but you can’t stop, the need to feel him come inside you driving your movements faster.

His hand falls from your face to grab desperately at your hip. “Fuck, yes just like that -“

“Please come for me need to feel you -“ Your voice cuts off as his hips suddenly drive into yours, head of his cock pressing tight against that bright point of pleasure-pain, tearing all ability to speak from your thoughts.

Again he draws out and back in and there right there oh pfassk -

Again and again -

Your core flexes and squeezes and you’re going to come again -

His voice stutters with every thrust. “Do it, come again for me, let me see you come on my cock.”

It blindsides you, pleasure rips through your body out of nowhere and your cunt pulses around the thick of him, drawing his cock deep to shove against that spot and it’s so much -

He grunts once, twice, again and his cock throbs against your walls as he comes, fingers digging deep into the softness of your hip.

Bright wet heat and then -

The drop and you’re sobbing as it finally releases you, reeling, but he’s pulling you close and tucking you into his chest and you’re safe.

Time passes quietly. The only sounds are your slowly steadying breaths and the hum of the ship’s engines. Nothing moves while you hurtle through hyperspace together, embedded in this moment, just the two of you.

***** Mando’a translations:

Mesh’la - beautiful

Cyar’ika - sweetheart

Tionas - question, Din’s nickname for reader

Gedet’ye - please

Mar’yece - something wonderful discovered, a state of heaven

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x f!reader #mando x female reader #no y/n #reader insert #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the world is light embodied

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savelonkar · 2 years

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MY TRUTH IS MY STORY.

This is my truth. This is my life. This is my story.

If you are reading this right now, it is time for you to hear the truth. For those that know me, you know I've always been a good dude. The nice guy. Well, like fellow Phoenician rocker Alice Cooper sang, "No more Mr. Nice Guy." I've barely seen my six kids in the last two years. Could you imagine your kids being taken away from you? Could you imagine missing out on their childhood? Chances are, you cannot. But, that's my life. There is no end in sight. There isn't even a court date to review custody, which per our divorce agreement should be 50/50. There is no court date to for the $20,000+ my ex owes me either. But that is another story. back to my story. It's time for truth, people.

My ex wants me dead or in prison. I can't blog in either, so it is high time for truth. You see, I was married for almost 20 years. If you were my friend on FaceBook, you probably thought I had the perfect life. FaceBook life is not real life. It is what people WANT YOU TO BELIEVE is the truth. It's only a shadow of the truth, just like most people's photos these days with ridiculous filters. When my 20-year marriage ended, I was alone, with only a backpack to bring into my new life. My ex kidnapped our kids for two months, before a judge finally said, "WHAT? You have NOT seen the kids in two months? They are coming to your house today!" Could you imagine your kids being taken from you for two months? It gets worse. But first, something real shitty and crazy and real happened. You see, two days before our wedding, on April 2nd, 2004, my ex's mother called me while I was on a smoke break, in-between my double shift at the Phoenician, a 5-star hotel in Scottsdale. That was me, working just two days before my own wedding. When her mother called, she was clearly mad. She said, "Whatever you do, DO NOT MARRY CHERRIE! It will be the biggest mistake of your life!" She didn't give me any context, no details. I felt like a kid that gets called into the principal's office that has no idea why they are being summoned. "Why don't we talk about this at the wedding in two days?" I had asked. Her mother told me she would not be there, as her daughter disinvited her to the wedding. She hung up. I had no words. I could not even stomach what had just happened. I did not even mention this call to my soon-to-be bride. 20 years and 6 kids later, I reached out to this same lady, the one that had been disowned by her daughter two days before our wedding. The one lady that, even though I had tried over the years to get my then-wife to reach out to, to mend whatever had happened, pick up the pieces of yesterday's life. Reluctantly, her mother spoke to me. Immediately, I booked a flight to San Diego, and spent two days finding out something that I may never have known if I did not take a leap of faith, and contact the mother of my ex-wife. Here's what I found out: I was married on a bed of lies. Everything, EVERYTHING my ex had told me when we met, when we were shacking up in a small 2-bedroom apartment in Scottsdale, while I supported the young lady that would eventually be my wife for 18 years, EVERYTHING she told me was a lie. Have you ever met a pathological liar? Have you ever met someone with a specific type of Munchausen (Factitious Disorder now in the DSM-V) called "malingering?" Look it up. When I finally found out the truth, my younger brother laughed and said, "MAN, she's GOOD! You're a psychologist and it took you 20 years to figure this out!" He was right. Here are a few examples of the stark contrast between what she had told me back then, and what I have come to find out is the real truth:

LIE: Cherrie told me that she had been homeless, living out of a car, and then a small studio with her mother after her mom divorced her dad.

TRUTH: she was never homeless. Her mother worked very hard and brought Cherrie and her brother into a home in a middle class neighborhood, even got a nanny to help out. The reason her mother got a nanny, was because Cherrie used to terrorize her younger brother.

LIE: my ex Cherrie said she went to a private performing arts school, similar to the one in the movie Fame.

TRUTH: she went to a big public high school in California, and took one fucking drama class.

LIE: my ex Cherrie said she lived in London for a year. She described with detail the flat she stayed in, with a couple of twenty-somethings that were trying to make it in the world.

TRUTH: Cherrie visited London for a week maybe two, as her mother bought her a ticket to visit and stay with a family friend, in their nice house.

LIE: my ex Cherrie told me she graduated high school at 16, explained that she was like a Doogie Houser.

TRUTH: Cherrie barely graduated high school. She ended up completing some work at home on their computer, as she was humiliated by some drama amongst peers, and refused to attend campus.

LIE: Cherrie told me that when she moved to Arizona, she was considering her options for graduate school. She told me she completed a unique program in California where she earned an accelerated Bachelor's degree.

TRUTH: Other than to get her beauty certificate, Cherrie never went to college before we met.

LIE: Cherrie said that she had worked on the set of General Hospital.

TRUTH: Cherrie never worked on a set in LA as she claimed.

LIE: Cherrie says she was an international flight attendant that did military flights.

TRUTH: Cherrie was a regular flight attendant that might have done a few flights where the airline contracted with the military, to take soldiers to overseas airports, then they'd get transportation from there. The only reason she "picked" the airline she worked for, was that they were the only ones that hired 19-year-olds at that time.

LIE: Cherrie told me that she "circled the globe" three times as a flight attendant. She may have done a few flights back-and-forth overseas. She was only a flight attendant for less than a year before 9/11. She could not have "circled the globe" even once in that time.

These are just a few of my less-than-favorite things I have come to find out about the woman I dedicated 20 years of my life to. Could you imagine being with someone for 20 years, and finding out that everything you thought you knew about that person was a lie?

This is just the start of my blog, and I am planning on also doing a documentary (for my music and songwriting), also I am starting a book about my life, and eventually will be doing a movie of all the treacherous horrors I have come to find out about someone that was supposed to have been my one and only. Well, she was my one and only for 20 years, but now she is dead to me, a walking contradiction, a Medusa that lives to make my life a living nightmare. This is my story.

Oh, and one more thing: she NEVER HAD CANCER.

If you'd like to find out more, keep an eye on this blog. I also have a GoFundMe. Do not feel obligated to fund me, but do feel obligated to support me, in mind and spirit, as I am in the fight for my life and for my rights as a father. I welcome your support.

#veteran #parentalalienation #fathersrights #divorce #fathersmatter #truthmatters #munchausen #munchausen syndrome

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rachelminetti · 1 year

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harkive 6.20.23

yesterday and today have been the same day, alone and not in the mountains. still reeling from bonnaroo, i still feel it it my legs. i need to wash my hair and unpack my car. i didn't realize i could stay up that late, fully sober and fully alone, guided only by a tentative schedule and unrestrained impulse. i just wandered around for 3 days, dirty and hydrated and thinking only about what was immediately happening and sitting in the grass and applying sunscreen often enough. there were no barriers between me and the environment i was interacting with, just me and the place.

i was mainly blown away by just how much incredible music i heard over the three days, like truly just top notch quality musicians. i get so used to small diy shows, lo-fi recordings (which has extreme merit! and is brilliant and genuine) that i am taken aback when i see musicians perform their craft, expertly. rina sawayama, cory wong, STS9, my morning jacket, etc. listened to a great podcast interview with alana rocklin, the bassist for STS9 on the drive home on monday, like truly such a talented musician. that show fully changed me, i was hypnotized and extremely awake. looking forward to getting into their discography and live performances, to hopefully see them again at 4 in the morning.

i wasn't sure what to listen to right away, if it would be overkill to relive that music immediately. but it's what i ended up wanting, so i leaned into that. drove to work yesterday listening to photo id by remi wolf twice. she is going to change pop music. i listened to some of her other songs, which i enjoyed so thoroughly live.

once i got to work i picked a random playlist i had saved on spotify and landed on stereolab-ish by andrew corbett. whoever you are, you did great.

enjoyed the phenomenal handclap band, queued up some dip in the pool. found a cool website (https://www.fondsound.com), read the retinae review, the o boy by salon music review, then listened to it on youtube.

youtube

put my june 2018 playlist on shuffle during lunch, i'm ready to listen to it again. it exists in an entirely different context now, outside of tampa, outside of 21. so much of it is so tied to that time, i was back at the stoplight at westshore after getting off the howard franklin during an afternoon storm again listening to earth by giraffage. in the backseat on the way to san luis obispo while listening to the right thing by james supercave.

i was working through some open tabs back at work, reading about STS9, hexstatic, ambient pop music, music from memory, the siket disc by phish. accidentally landed on that phish album while searching for quadraphonics on spotify (which i read about in a youtube comment on the salon music album). ambient phish forever.

proceeded back to rotation 24 on spotify, i've set myself up with quite the mix.

added dyslectic by amber #2 from the these are testing times compilation by 555 recordings to my suuuuuuuper lowkey playlist, only song they have on spotify, let's see if i can find anything about them online. found this album on discogs and youtube and not much else.

been listening to thalia zedek and her band. debbie friedman core, very dykey and safe. like driving through the vermont countryside on an overcast evening in september. that 2002 camp counselor turtleneck kitchen island type feeling i only know how to describe in those terms. reunion, redemption, an event planned via a months long email chain. her cover of you're a big girl now is very much worth a listen. like waiting in the parking lot after whitewater rafting, a long bus ride back.

i flipped through june 2018 and rotation 24 for the rest of the evening and then ended the night with dryfruit by sugar plant, a delicious summer evening record to seal off the day.

i'll be going through this rotation playlist for the next few days, diving deeper into minimum chips, color filter, god street wine, and sts9. enjoying this post bonnaroo connection to music again.

#harkive #stereolab #sts9 #salon music #thalia zedek #slowcore #my return to jam bands is approaching

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hareefluffs · 2 years

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Happy Onam!!

Two years I made these patterns for my Color Design class in a clumsy attempt to reconnect with my mallu Syro-Malabar roots. Made some sun pieces in the progress! They’re in three colorways:

The Marum-Amma

Halwa

(The third pattern of this has been made into a fabric that I am currently building a blouse out of - pics of those will hopefully come later!)

Soft Jungle Light

These patterns aren’t available for sale or personal use at the moment.

#creations #happy Onam #desi #art #patterns #organic #malayali posting #sometimes i wonder if my relationship to my mother culture is purely for show and i am incapable of authentically connecting for it #everything for art #everything for consumption.#what i end up getting is filtered and sans-context #what i end up with is this shit #but atleast it looks nice <3

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savagenutella46 · 4 years

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boy was my face red (2/2)

Part 1! DICKINETTE

Marinette sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

Dick had sent a text message, and while the gesture wasn't uncommon, it was the context inside. The vague, two-worded message that settled unprecedented worry deep in her bones.

Dickie: It's Barbara.

She hadn't responded. Of course she hadn't, because, why would she? How would she respond to something like that other than dropping everything at her part time job as a barista and come barreling home?

Especially when it's about Barbara Gordon.

Barbara Gordon was everything she wasn't and more. Barbara was tall, red-headed, and beautiful, while Marinette continuously fell on the literal short end of the scale compared to her.

Barbara Gordon was exactly Dick's type. Smart, cunning, and played an important role in society.

And Marinette liked to make dresses.

—But, they had been having relationship problems, hadn't they? She'd witnessed the dismayed look on Dick's face he'd often had after hanging out with the red-haired woman. The slam of the door that so often abruptly broke the comfortable silence of their dorm when he'd come home after a fight.

"Don't think like that." She whispered to herself. Marinette was standing idly outside the heavy door that led to their dorm, stalling.

Do it. Go inside. He's waiting.

Marinette placed a shaky hand on the brass doorknob and waited for a sign. A text, or a tell-tale noise from inside the dorm.

Nothing.

She swung the door open and immediately, muffled sniffles from Dick's room filtered through her haze of disappointment, shaking the undertone of guilt-ridden excitement as she stalks down the hallway to his bedroom.

"Dickie?" No answer, just sniffles that continued to float through the air and thoroughly continue to crush her heart into tiny pieces. Her throat squeezed in anticipation, and her face crunched up.

Marinette knocked on his bedroom door hesitantly. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Dick's voice cracked pitifully in the middle of the word, and Marinette tightened her grip on his doorknob and swung the door open, quickly rushing to his side.

Dick looked like a mess. His long hair that was usually swept in place stuck out all over the place, some of it looked a little wet, as well. Dick was laying in his bed under rumpled sheets, clutching a blue striped pillow to his chest tightly, his face buried into the top of the tear-stained covering.

Marinette sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair as his body shook with muffled sobs. "Dick, I'm so sorry." Dick let out a slightly more audible sob when she started to rub his back.

He looked up, and, shit. Marinette's heart lodged itself in her already constricting throat.

There were dark circles the size of California resting under Dick's eyes. He peered up at her through red-rimmed eyes, and tears that quickly spilled over his eyelids when he blinked fast enough to rid them.

Worst of all, there was no spark of joy she always saw on his face, nor his eyes, nor his body language. There was not a single trace of warmth or recognition in his eyes, and it chilled her to the bone to see her best friend so affected by Barbara Gordon.

She wanted to strangle the red-haired woman in that very moment. Her throat squeezed with both hatred and guilt for letting such a woman break her best friend's heart.

"She—she broke up with me, Marinette-" Ouch, what did she do to deserve her full name? "—she left me." Dick squeezed his eyes shut again, and crumpled into himself, his body rattling and shaking like a leaf from unrestrained sobs.

Marinette bit her lip and wrapped herself around Dick, squeezing her arms hard around his middle and burying her head into the crook of his neck. "She's a fool. You're amazing, Dick." Marinette whispered, almost inaudible.

—but he heard, she was sure, because he froze, and for a moment, she felt almost felt it was the wrong thing to say. Marinette had nothing else to say, so she tightened her arms around him, but, he turned around in her grip, loosening it slightly.

Dick stared at her, almost too intensely, and Marinette felt a flush rise to her neck, his sobs minutely subsiding, but not completely, tears starting to absently roll down his face, and hiccups fighting their way up Dick's throat.

"You—" Dick swallowed a hiccup, "You really mean that?" He stared at Marinette, with such a newfound intensity that almost made her choke, and it would have if it wasn't for the hurt lingering in his expression and the fat tears still racing down his pale cheeks.

Marinette floundered for a response, cornered by his hopeful, yet hurt expression. "Of course, Dickie. You—someone like that isn't worth your tears. You—" She smiled awkwardly, and reached for his limp hands, and squeezing. "Dick, someone like you...you deserve someone who knows your worth."

Because Dick was worth everything. Barbara was truly a fool to break up with him.

Dick audibly swallowed. He looked down at their hands, conjoined tightly, soft against one another, sans the permanent calluses on Dick's palm from acrobatics as a child.

Marinette rubbed his palm absently, humming to awkwardly break the stretching silence that seemed to envelope them at her words. Her stupid, stupid words; a sentence that surely made him internally scoff at her obvious pining.

But, suddenly, Dick was hugging her again. Her best friend's arms were wrapping tightly around her middle and squeezing just about the life out of her, murmuring to himself incoherently.

"—ank you, thank you, thank you, you don't know how much that means to me." He was muttering to her.

Marinette's eyes widened at the warmth soaking into her shirt and realized he was crying again. "Oh, you're welcome, Dick."

"I love you."

Words so silent she'd forgotten to actually understand them instead of just hearing them, continuing to stroke his back softly.

The worst part about when your best friend gets their heartbroken, is the sudden extra person constantly clinging onto your arm and using all your hair appliances; and with the passing months, Dick had become her other half, quite literally.

"You're going to fry your hair at this rate." Dick grinned and shook his head, his alarmingly stubborn soft hair swinging around with the sudden motion and settling behind his neck, a tad overgrown so that it sat under the nape of his neck, but it was nice to run her hands through.

They were sitting on the couch, almost like conjoined twins with how their legs and shoulders seemed to plaster themselves together. Empty ice cream pints and various fast food takeout littered the coffee table and couch around them as the television blared Hell's Kitchen in the background.

"If that means my hair looks good, then so be it." It really did, but she's hate to see the notion of his luscious locks last less than a millennia. Especially with how the moonlight currently reflected off of it, making him look almost angelic.

Yes, her bestfriend was beautiful, and, yes, she was jealous. And what about it?

Marinette chose to remain silent instead of quipping back; the bastard was not going to laugh at her again.

No, because when Dick laughed, angels sang, and when he laughed, she was reminded of her big fat crush on Dick Grayson.

She reached for his hand, and squeezed it tightly, stubbornly training her eyes on Gordon Ramsay yelling at a blue team chef for undercooking scallops instead of looking for a reaction in Dick. Marinette felt as if she would actually combust if she even looked in his general direction, her face flushing a deep red from the sheer silence to her left.

A few minutes passed, each one with a growing intensity in silence that lodged a heavy lump in her throat and squeezed the air out of her. Hell's Kitchen continued to drone on in the background, each scene providing a different tinted glow to their faces in the dark of the night.

Marinette was sure Dick could feel the damp sweat soaking her palms, the heat soaking through her hand to his. She was so sure he would pull away out of disgust—then his hands went slack in her hold.

Marinette stopped breathing. She turned her head to the side, slowly. It was hard to make out the details of his face underneath the absence of light, but his expression was calm, naturally relaxed.

Dick was sleeping.

She swallowed harshly, the heavy ball of saliva easing its way down her throat and a symphony of relief flooding her nerves, flushing the red-hot embarrassment out of her system.

It would be so easy to tell him right now. To lift the heavy weight off her chest so she could breathe properly for the first time in two years. Marinette could tell him anything she wanted to and he wouldn't know. She ran her free hand through his hair slowly, relishing in the silky smooth glide of her hand in Dick's locks.

"Love you." She opted for, instead. It could be seen as painfully platonic, though her tone was thick and wavered at the end, the meaning of her words breaking through the seems of her poorly placed disguise.

She's in class, picking out a few fabrics on the rack for a shirt she so meticulously designed when he called.

Or, called out to her. In the middle of class.

Dick sprinted into the room, narrowly missing a full on concussion to a heavy clothing rack on his way in, bracing his hands on red knees to catch his breath once he had caught up to her.

Marinette cleared her throat, taking a sweep of the room with her eyes, and, yep, they were all looking at her and Dick; some with a knowing look on their face—damn you, Steph—and ones with utter curiosity.

"Uh," Marinette turned her attention back to the man crouching before her with wide eyes. "Dickie? You okay?" Dick wheezed in response, clutching his knees even harder.

"I," Dick gasped. "I ran...three miles—" Another wheeze. "To get to your class." He rushed out, straightening up with one last deep grasp for breath before fully opening his eyes at her, and, woah.

An unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes told a whole different story. Staring intensely, deeply into her own, they conveyed a message so strong it almost had her gasping for air.

(Not that she'd ever do that. What an overplayed cliché.)

An undertone of apology, although underwhelmed by the sheer amount of excitement and happiness that stretched his mouth from ear to ear in the perfect grin, she hadn’t seen this since—

(“Nettie!” The dorm door slammed with Dick’s arrival, the noticeable octave change in his voice giving away his rattling happiness.

Marinette smiled from her lazy perch on their brown, holed up couch, spurred on by her best friend’s good mood to wash over her, too. “What happened, Dickie?” Dick bounded over to her, bright blue eyes shining even more with an unprecedented gleam, his shiny hair bouncing as he plopped down in front of her, bracing his hands on her shoulders.

“You’ll never believe it!” Dick grinned toothily, squeezing her shoulders periodically as he stopped to laugh boisterously with his head hung low, hiding his expression.

Marinette could feel his excitement seep into her, and grinned. “Tell me, Dickie.”

“I asked Barbara out, and she said yes!”

A static noise filled her ears. Marinette stopped breathing as Dick’s words hit her full on, momentarily stopping on their way past to slap and laugh at her face before continuing on their journey. She could feel the aggression climbing up her shoulders where Dick’s hands rested, beckoning to rip them off and tear him a new one.

She couldn’t. He was so—)

Happy. Dick looked so happy, and for a moment, Marinette had almost forgotten how to speak.

“...Dick?” Had he found someone new, again? Did he come over all the way to design class Three miles away from their dorm to come and break her heart for the second time in the past two years? She’d waited to tell him, damnit, and it was slipping away again.

Just like last time. A shadow started to creep up on Marinette again, looming over her with words of doubt and uncertainty, clawing at her carefully sewn seams, tearing holes in her polyester resolve.

“Marinette, I—“ This was it. He’d tell her he was moving on again, and again would begin the vicious cycle of her forlorn feelings never being able to see the light of day.

“I love you.”

She’d never—

“What?” Marinette gaped dumbly.

Dick straightened up even more, if that was possible, and gripped both of her hands in his own, staring at her intensely, and repeated himself.

“I’m so in love with you.” And just like that, a cacophony of emotions flooding through the gate, beckoning the dark shadow that looked over her, and, instead, a glimmer of hope, happiness.

She was aware her face must look somewhat similar to that of a fish, because Dick carried on, somehow gripping her hands even harder.

“I can’t believe I never realized, I—I’m so dumb!” Dick laughed, and it was the drop of a hat to unload an avalanche.

“You...love me?” Somewhat of an avalanche. Marinette couldn’t convey emotions as well as Dick could.

“After last night, I felt this—this type of way. I was thinking so hard this morning about you and, and—“

“I love you, too.” Marinette let herself grin with him, picking up onto his sheer stellar grip on her hands and squeezing back equally as hard.

And, yes, it felt amazing to openly admire his hair while Dick stared at her with the force of a million suns. She’d earned this, damnit. Isn’t it nice to bury your hands in your new boyfriend’s hair while he kisses you with the force of a thousand suns?

permanent taglist (open): @tbehartoo @nathleigh @officiallydarkgeek @stainedglassm

#dickinette #dick grayson #maribat #mlb x dc #marinette dupain cheng #i had to edit this thrice because it kept deleting hah

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illogicallyinclined · 4 years

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Hey idk if my last ask got eaten or if you just didn't answer, which is fine don't worry!! I got laid off from my dream job and i'm really upset (Still lol). Could I get some headcanons? I don't even care what the context is. I just need some serotonin boost.

oh, word. not sure if tumblr didn’t send it or if it just got buried in asks, but i’m always happy to talk about soft boys bein soft and/or stupid and/or petty

tws: cursing, Sibling Violence (it was consensual tho so no worries)

once, some asshole nearly ran D and Logan off of the university crosswalk with his bike, so D took a bike lock, hunted that dude’s bike down, and locked it onto the stand it was at before throwing the key into the nearest gutter he could find

Roman and Remus made a TikTok where Roman tried to smack a Willing Remus without looking directly at him while using the swirl filter until he landed a hit, and the first time Virgil saw it, he wheezed with laughter for like five minutes straight

no one knows who exactly started it, but there’s a corkboard hanging up in the Aces locker room that’s dedicated to nothing but Incredibly Cursed Photos of everyone on the team (sans Remy, who is objectively flawless)

David: i need new reading recs, tell me the last book that made you cry; Myles: University Physics with Modern Physics 14th Edition by Hugh D. Young, Roger A. Freedman; Logan: no doubt, tears of joy

sometimes, at the beginning of the school year, Remy will stand near the checkout register at the university library and, upon seeing someone stress over how much their books cost, step in to just pay for their books himself

every time someone on the Aces is going to be late to team practice, they’re encouraged to send a Fake, BS reason for their tardiness to the groupchat (i.e. “i walked into a spider web on the way out the door and couldn't find the spider, so i had to go inside and shower,” or “my legs fell off again”); at the end of the season, Joan picks the funniest excuse, and said player earns a lil trophy as well as a $20 gift card to the restaurant of their choice

Logan made and posted a template on the team groupchat outlining how to respectfully write Adult Emails (asking professors for extensions/following up on job interviews/etc.) after being asked How to Do That by like seven teammates within the span of two weeks

#hockey au #hockey hcs #hockey fluff #cursing #violence tw

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theteej · 4 years

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“You need to take serious time for yourself, do self-care, or something,” my best friend Mark said to me, uncomfortably earnestly.

“I’m serious. You haven’t been letting anything in, and you just have to sit and stop running. Go process, or feel, or just let it sink in that you did things and you surprisingly don’t suck.”

Fuck, he’s right.

And so that’s what I’m doing. Last week I booked an Airbnb in La Jolla, a tony coastal enclave of San Diego near where I went to undergrad. I pretended I was on vacation, but in a pandemic. I booked a small studio near the water, and planned to spend these next few days reading, reflecting, walking along the ocean, and staying otherwise indoors and trying to wrestle with this whole semester. I pulled up to the studio last night, unpacked my bags, and cried. Like cried a lot. I felt lonely and scared, but also so numb. I felt a sea of blankness all around me, and a sense of trepidation.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do about all of my stupid feelings.

Where to start?

I feel like I’ve been anxious nearly my whole life. It’s absolutely something that developed as a kid with a violent, drunken father. You learn to live in between heartbeats like that, always testing what’s about to happen, trying to think of the next thing to plan in order to stay safe. Sure, your brain says tauntingly. Things are OK right now, but what if they’re not in a few minutes? Or even worse: Things ARE terrible—what are you going to do if they stay that way forever? These are the gifts Tyrone Tallie Sr left me, along with an unoriginal legal name and a stubborn widows peak visible whenever I grow my hair out for a few weeks.

Couple that with a natural tendency to think quickly, and you have the birth of a personality that masked my calculating self-security by turning those constant permutations into clever moments for interaction or comment. Like many people, my wit is born of trauma; the ability to process things in quick time is born out of needing to feel safe, and frequently gets deployed to put others at ease. That’s one of the weirder contradictory things about being me. I am simultaneously witty and clever and in control, and I am also always quietly freaking out, or at the very least, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Which is why this has been….a damn semester. Teaching two classes fully remotely with panicked, overwhelmed students in the shadow of an ever-worsening pandemic that stretches on and on without end and feeling daily gaslighted by the endless selfishness of your fellow citizens—what a gift for the anxious. Ironically, anxiety helped to a certain extent because I didn’t have the shock of falling into a new world of uncertainty or fear that so many non-anxious folk did this year. But that’s hardly a gift, is it? Congratulations! You’re already living as if a bomb can go off at any moment, so you’re not struggling to adjust to the new horror show of life!

Teaching this semester has been…just without any context. I’ve taught online, but not in this same planned way and with everyone panicking, and the looming threat of pandemic and election. And yet we did it. We pulled ourselves together, and my students were honest about their needs and their breakdowns and I tried to model humility and grace and confusion and rage as well as they did. We didn’t fuck it up. Or, we all fucked up, and it was okay. We learned things. Students surprised me, and it was glorious. I got to be broken and I didn’t die.

It was an intense semester of overworking as well. I was on a bunch of committees, formal and informal, and we managed to get a new minor—African Studies—passed. I’ll be heading a new program on campus next year, and that’s exciting and terrifying. And on top of all of that, I couldn’t stop volunteering for stuff, or talking about things I cared about. In addition to teaching, I gave fourteen different presentations or talks this semester, an increase in expectations or agreements on my part thanks to the ubiquity of zoom. It grinds on you: the whole, get up, trudge to the back room, power up a personality for the zoom camera, and pour yourself digitally into a screen, only to feel yourself broken into little packets of light and data and scattered across the universe.

The talks went well. The student evaluations went well. Honestly, both were fucking great. And I haven’t let myself feel a goddamn thing. I let it slide off me like rain on a waxed deck, the droplets beading on the slick wood before slipping away into the darkness. I cant let it sink in, because then something good might be happening, and the very skills that have made me capable—the whip-fast reflexes, the self-deprecating humour, the rapid analysis—are also tied to the very deep-seeded anxiety. Everything has to be calculated and understood and prepared for, because at some moment a dark curtain is going to fall over the face of a man with my same name. He will smack me so hard I will go flying out of a chair and hit the wall with a soft, sickly whump, a particularly unpleasant of me at seven that I carry sewn into every cell of my skin and fiber of my being.

I can’t stop and let it sink in because I have internalized the worst calculus of overachiever life—push harder, don’t stop for the good, that’s normal. Stop only for the bad to learn from it, take in its horror, and let it never happen to you again. And so I found myself at the end of the semester holding a bag of relative joy like a party favour, looking around anxiously for bullies to come snatch it out of my hands.

And then Jeopardy fucking happened.

I got to be on television. I got to talk to Alex Trebek, the same man who held my grandmother’s hand on Classic Concentration and saw that her for the beautiful, formidable queen that she was. I got to turn silly trivia knowledge into cash—and I got to do it while being me. And to my confusion—people liked me. It went well, they felt I resonated with something inside of them, and they liked it.

I do not, in my own skill set, have the tools to deal with that. I am supposed to be clever and fast, and witty, and engaging and lovable—but I do not know how to actually think of receiving goodness. I know how to process being witty and clever and delightful—I did what I was supposed to do, good job, next—but I don’t know how to actually take that positivity in.

I keep waiting for all of this to fall apart, for everyone to hate me in the reassuring ways that I distrust or marginalize or disbelieve myself. And yet, I know that’s not helpful. Hence, overachiever’s therapy: forcing oneself to prematurely trade on prize money and spend a three day love/relaxation retreat, less than fifteen miles from my own apartment.

I woke up and cried a little. I then tried to mediate or at least focus on the positives of late. Nope. Nothing came. I decided it was time for coffee. I drank some that I made in the Airbnb, but realized I needed to get outside for a walk. I changed into a bright yellow caftan and an extra-dramatic face mask, and went for a walk on the streets of La Jolla, the bougie and strange bubble by the sea.

La Jolla can double in weird ways like other parts of the world I frequent. It feels sometimes like I’m in Durban (if you’re more partial to Umhlanga Rocks or Durban North) or Wellington (if you love Mount Vic or Oriental Bay), or even Vancouver (if you feel like West Point Grey or the haughtiest parts of Kitsilano are your thing). It’s a rich place, one that I don’t belong in, but one that I can feign a few hours of enjoyment and sun.

Today I walked down palm tree lined streets in the perfect weather, the breeze pushing through my still-short hair with a strange urgency. I picked up a cold brew coffee and a freshly caught and grilled halibut sandwich that my therapist recommended (we decided to briefly be pescatarian for a day and chalked it up to the ‘medical advice.’), then I turned toward the coast. I sat for a long time looking at the waves—unsurprisingly—with a bit of anxiety.

What if I relaxed WRONG? What if I couldn’t let myself feel joy? What if I just wasted the day by…eating this sandwich and not fully appreciating the beautiful ocean waves, golden sun, or nature all around me. After a while I realized that sounded ridiculous, and just forced myself to sit.

And as the old Zulu language dance song “Unamanga” by the late Patricia Majalisa started to filter to my headphones, as I stared out at the sea and the sun, something shifted. I felt something like, I don’t know, a failure in the sealnt around myself, and some drops dripped in, slowly. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to do this in a grand gesture. I could enjoy myself and the small joys I’d found in life so far.

I could be grateful and quietly glad for the little things that happened. It wasn’t about deserving it, or about it being worthy of me. I could imagine for right now, that this was a thing that I could have. I could sit and marvel that some great shit happened to me, and it was OK. Let’s not get it twisted—I didn’t have an epiphany, there were no turnbacks on the road to Emmaus. But I did find a little quietude in my soul for a second and stopped frantically Teflon-ing my heart from joy for a second.

I survived a hell semester, and did well. I got a wonderful opportunity and it went well. I could just let hat happen and also not ignore that it happened, to focus on negatives in an outsized way. I could, in this single afternoon moment, be delighted that things had gone okay. And not worry or strategize about the next disaster, which would happen on its own anyway. And…that’s all I can do right now.

Also, I’m going to work on this more, this whole letting people love me and letting it sink in. I usually avoid it because I feel like it keeps me off my game from the inevitable disaster to follow. But that’s not how I want to live. I’m going to try to think about what it means that some of you all tell me you love me, and then to show it. I need to reconcile the nonstop whirligig of my mind also turns menacingly in on itself so often, and that acknowledging the gift of calculated wit and mirth also means I have to cultivate love and joy.

So tomorrow, I’m going to go for a brief run, I’m going to drink some lovely coffee, and I’m going to walk along the ocean again. (And then I’m going to keep staying in this Airbnb so I don’t catch or spread this plague.)

What a fucking semester, y’all.

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thisyearingaming · 4 years

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1997 - This Year in Gaming

Muggins here was born in ‘97, and can’t really remember much of it, natch. But there were some good things released this year - I’ve played every one of these, and have missed so many more.

Diablo - Windows, January 3rd

We start with dungeon-crawl-em-up and well-loved out of season April Fool’s Joke, Diablo. I’ll be totally honest - I don’t like Diablo that much. It’s absolutely fine, I just can’t get into it. The writing, setting and characters are all very good especially since this year only marks the beginning of games being seen as a bit more adult and intelligent. Check out this gameplay from Hour of Oblivion on YouTube, and marvel at the faux-Scottish accent on Griswold the blacksmith.

youtube

Mario Kart 64 - Nintendo 64, February 10th

Compared to its more recent versions, Mario Kart 64 is a veritable bloody relic of the past - solid controls and a quirky style mean it’s still a crowd pleaser to this day, but you’d be hard pressed to find anyone right now that would die on the hill of it being their favourite single-player racing experience. It’s also got some of the deepest, impenetrable lore in any medium known to the human race - why exactly is Marty the Thwomp locked up here?

Blast Corps - Nintendo 64, February 28th

February’s position as most boring month of the year is shaken up a bit by having a uniquely designed Rare game slammed into its 28-day long face. Blast Corps is the puzzle-action game where you take control of several vehicles to destroy homes and buildings in order to prevent a nuclear warhead exploding in the coolest incarnation of Cold War politicking ever seen in a video game. Calling Blast Corps a “hidden gem” these days is like calling Celeste a hidden gem - it impresses nobody and makes you look like a dick.

Turok: Dinosaur Hunter - Nintendo 64, March 4th

The N64 was home to a surprisingly large number of above-average shooters despite its muddy graphics and small cartridge space - Turok is one of these, a great FPS game where you shoot the SHIT out of dinosaurs. Brett Atwood of Billboard said it was like Doom and Tomb Raider mixed - Doom Raider, if you will. I say it isn’t - there’s no demons, and there’s no polygonal breasts to poke dinosaurs’ eyes out with!

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night - Sony PlayStation, March 20th

What is a retrospective? A miserable little pile of opinions. I’ve only recently played through SotN for the very first time on a TOTALLY LEGITIMATE copy with a CRT filter. Bloody good (geddit?) game, that takes the repetition of its predecessors, improves on it in basically every conceivable way, and combines it with special effects and graphics that even 23 years later had me going “ooh, that looks quite good!” Symphony’s music and audio design are wonderfully paired with a deeply enjoyable experience that’ll have you saying “mm, maybe just one more room?”

Tekken 3 - Sony PlayStation, March 20th

Also releasing from the Land of the Rising Sun that day was Tekken 3, which many believe is still one of the best fighters ever made. Tekken 3′s combat is so fast and responsive that it’s better than some games made today. T3 is also the best and easiest way to knock seven shades of absolute shite out of your friends without risking a massive head injury or a trip to the headmaster’s office... where you could also challenge him, but only if he plays as my favourite Not-Guile-or-Ken character in gaming, Paul.

Sonic Jam - Sega Saturn, June 20th

The moment Sega realised that re-packaging old Mega Drive games would net them serious cash - although unlike later collections, this is a strictly Sonic affair, and has a neat little 3D world to run around in as a sort of hub world. Sonic X-Treme proved that Sonic Team would have to work hard at getting the fastest thing alive into 3D space properly: Jam is the sort of test ground for it too. It features some genuinely good emulation work for 1997, although it’s basically the gaming equivalent of going round to your grandparents at Christmas only for them to give you the exact same gifts you got in 1991, 1992 and 1994 but wrapped in a bow to make you think it’s different. What are you lookin’ at, you little blue devil?

Star Fox 64 - Nintendo 64, June 30th

So there’s this German company, right, called StarVox. Nintendo look at Europe and say “shit, we don’t want another lawsuit... after all, we’ve done three this year!”. So they give us in the PAL region the exciting title of Lylat Wars which as far as I know means absolutely fucking nothing in the context of the game. They’re still called Star Fox in-game too so what was the point? Anyway, fun 3D shooter with graphics that’ll make you do a barrel roll off the sofa and onto the power button to make the brown and green blurs a little easier on the eyes. Hello 2007, I’ve come back to make old references with you!

Carmageddon - Windows, July 30th

The game so scary it was BANNED in the UK! More like the game so fucking shit it was banned. Carmageddon is so deeply boring to play on PC that I can only imagine that Stainless Games made it tasteless by 90s standards simply to ramp up demand - much like another game we’ll be covering soon.

Herc’s Adventures - Sony PlayStation, July 31st

“And they said Kratos was the best hero? Shish... they got it wrong, sister! Hercules is clearly better... he even has a coconut weapon.” A surprisingly fun overhead action game that most people only know for... well, I’ll just embed it.

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Mega Man X4 - Sony Playstation, August 1st

A few years ago I tried playing every Mega Man game there is - I gave up at X3 because I was getting bored. Even still, Mega Man bores me - but at least the level design is good. Stay away from the Windows port. Pictured: me in the background yawning.

GoldenEye 007 - Nintendo 64, August 25th

The name’s Intro. Overused intro which I also managed to fuck up twice through the deeply editable medium of text. GoldenEye is like the Seinfeld of console shooters - playing it nowadays you’re unlikely to be amazed but holy shit there’s some absolute greatness in this game. Every sound and every piece of music in GoldenEye is permanently seared into my brain - sometimes I’ll just hear Facility or Frigate in my head alongside the door opening sound and the gentle PEW of the PP7. I mean come on, fucking listen to this and tell me Grant Kirkhope isn’t cool as all hell.

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LEGO Island - Windows, September 26th

The first open world experience I ever had was LEGO Island. It’s still quite good today, utterly deranged animation from the likes of the Infomaniac and Brickster - a cautionary tale for children that giving pizza to high-profile criminals is disastrous for the human LEGO race.

Fallout - Windows, October 10th

War never changes, but franchises do. Fallout’s legendary status in the industry is exemplified in how different it feels. Yes, we had the game Wasteland nine years prior, but until September 97 there was nothing quite like Fallout. From the chilling introduction sequence showing the ruins of the United States to the tragic ending, Fallout is an exercise in pure human misery with the brightest spots of hope it can possibly muster thrown in for good measure. What begins as a tedious isometric point-and-click RPG ends as a minigun-wielding power fantasy, before your entire worth is stripped from you at the finish line. You have 500 days to find a water chip before it’s too late, but you’re constantly being fought by terrifying Super Mutants, irradiated animals, and the biggest monster of all - humanity. See what I did there? If anything, humanity in Fallout’s setting would be the greatest unifying force possible against the horror of the outside world. But how is it? It’s dull, it’s sluggish, and it’s really hard to get into even if you’re already a fan - but push through that and it’s worthwhile to see exactly how far the series got before Todd Howard said “eh fuck it” and had the whole thing dipped into an FEV vat.

Grand Theft Auto - Sony PlayStation, October 21st

To put it simply, the first in the GTA series is now nothing but a novelty. It has an irritating camera, wonky controls, poor graphics and deeply repetitive gameplay. But thank fuck it exists, because without it the Rockstar story may have been very different indeed. It’s quintessential cops and robbers gameplay, spanning across Liberty City, Vice City and San Andreas in one game, but with maps so far removed from their modern incarnations they may as well be named “Not New York, Possibly Bristol and Orange Town”. People really fucking hated Hare Krishnas in the 20th Century, didn’t they?

Crash Bandicoot 2: Cortex Strikes Back - Sony PlayStation, October 31

A hard one to talk about, honestly - it’s more Crash and better than the first one. It looks great, and Crash controls so well compared to his first outing. It’ll also keep you playing for 100%, fiendishly addictive and unashamedly difficult. Had a weird cover that moved with your head.

PaRappa the Rapper - Sony PlayStation, November 17th

Type type type the words into the box! (Type, type, type - uh oh - the box?)

PaRappa is a gorgeously stylised rhythm game about rapping to steal the heart of the girl of your dreams - which involves learning karate, getting your driver’s license, selling bottle caps and frogs, making a cake, desperately trying not to shit yourself, and finally performing live on stage. Every one of its segments is so well-produced that they’d genuinely sell like ghost cookies in this era of shite rap. Notable for producing the greatest Jay-Z backing track ever made.

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Sonic R - Sega Saturn, November 18th

Sonic R is absolutely FINE with vibrant textures, interesting levels, neat gimmicks and decent controls. But I’m gonna talk about its fucking AWESOME soundtrack by Richard Jacques and T.J. Davis, an eclectic mix of Europop and New Jack Swing - even thinking about it is bringing tears of absolute joy to my eyes hearing Super Sonic Racing in my head. You’ve got the main theme, Living in the City, Can You Feel the Sunshine, Back in Time, Diamond in the Sky, Work It Out and Number One - all of these are absolute club bangers and genuinely wouldn’t be out of place in a 90s disco.

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Tomb Raider II - Sony PlayStation, November 18th

Lara Croft returns to single-handedly endanger every species on Earth. TR2 is really good, the exploration and puzzle-solving aspects of the first game expanded upon here and the gunplay remaining just as punchy. Lara’s got a fully-functioning ponytail which absolutely boggles the fucking mind - a lot of work went into Lara’s hair for the 2013 reboot, so I can’t imagine the amount of man hours it took to get fluid(ish, come on, it’s the PS1 we’re talking about) hair movements in 1997.

And really, that’s all I played from 1997. I’ve left out big hitters like Quake II, Gran Turismo and Diddy Kong Racing, but I simply haven’t formed an opinion on them yet. Maybe in a future post.

Thanks for reading.

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nyndelion · 4 years

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共感 - empathy -

MP100; Serizawa & Reigen centric fanfic

SFW, general audiences, no pairings, AU

Wordcount: 2058

AO3 link

“Reigen-san… Why don’t you relax and take a break for a bit?”

The blonde looked up from his laptop to the man sitting across the room, feeling his facial muscles stiff and tired, especially around his eyes. “You don’t know how much I literally can Not do that right now without my business to collapse before my very eyes, Serizawa” Even as exhausted as he looked – and sounded -, he still conveyed his words dramatically, punctuating every other expression with his usual wild gestures, achieving to make Serizawa’s mouth corners lift slightly. “This is serious business, after that quite problematic case we had this week, I really got to work my ass off so we don’t get sued, and also I am late with taxes, which is the last thing we need after all that” He returned his eyes to his laptop screen. “Doing taxes correctly could be the sole difference between a running, successful business and a sinking one”.

Serizawa stayed silent, but kept looking at his boss. Reigen’s face was being illuminated by the computer screen, adding a creepier and sick looking glow to it, intensifying by the minute as the sun started to set outside, darkening the already closed Spirits & Such office, where the two men kept working on different kinds of paperwork. He looked down to his hands, fidgeting absentmindedly; Serizawa knew he couldn’t really help his boss with what troubled him right now, given he was extremely inexperienced in all this ‘serious intimidating adult stuff’, as he prefers calling it, and suggested Reigen to take a break in the first place as it was the only thing that he came up with after at least 20 minutes of being the only witness to the greatly unpleasant vibes he was letting swarm all around the office.

The truth no one else knew yet is, after his first encounter with Shigeo Kageyama at the stairs of that building in the center of Seasoning City two and a half months ago, Serizawa got a new power off of Shigeo’s display of empathy towards him when he returned the ball of energy that was tossed at him by accident, resulting in Serizawa to be able to sense other people’s most intense emotions, even if they weren’t ESPers themselves. He was able to sense, and even sometimes clearly see how that intense emotional energy spread in the ambient, and how it interacted with the energy of animals, plants, minerals, and other people.

He had to admit that a couple of weeks after gaining this new ability, and after getting used to it and recognizing the similarities in the more usual emotions and the way different people used to release the analogous energy, it was very useful in everyday life. He could prevent himself from interacting with angry strangers that might lash out on him simply because he wanted to know where the soup aisle was in the convenience store, or be more mindful and kind if interacting with someone that was trying really hard not to let out an especially dreadful sad energy. So yeah, for someone that struggled reading new circumstances and that tends to overanalyze everyday social situations to the verge of anxious breakdowns, it was a very useful tool at trying to be more independent and navigate casual human relationships more confidently.

However, these new ‘empathy powers’ could be perplexing in other circumstances, such as interacting with someone every day. And even more perplexing if that someone was, well… Reigen.

Serizawa wasn’t complaining, not at all, but he also couldn’t really lie to himself about this. If social relationships and being able to ‘read the mood’ successfully were a mystery to him back then in grade school, and even more after being a hikikomori for so long, existing around Reigen and being able to sense his many fluctuating, often contradictory and usually intense emotions without enough verbal correlation that served as an explanation or context for such sudden changes made their time together at the office – that is, while not doing any exorcism job- a hell of a ride for him, as a certified anxious overanalyzer he was.

So, even is this has been a rather calm day at the office and he could finally get some school assignments done before going home, at some point of the evening the dreadful energy emanating from the self-proclaimed Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century started to distract him from his task, and also to slightly upset him. He could sense stress, fear, a little bit of anger, and something else there he couldn’t really place, that he didn’t sense before he tried to talk Reigen into taking a break. It was something bittersweet that seemed almost out of place in the mix, but that was surely filtering all the energy and spreading in every direction, circulating viciously as if made out of thick smoke, hovering the plants that Reigen kept there and tried to take care of, slowly infecting their faint pale green auras.

Serizawa decided he needed to do something, even if it was a small gesture. Now Reigen had started to stamp his feet rhythmically, adding more frustration to the emotional soup, in pumps that mixed extremely well with the prevailing anger, enhancing it. He thought he better change his strategy; he had already tried talking to convince Reigen he needed a break, and he had been around long enough to realize insistence didn’t work well with him, given he could easily turn the tables around in any kind of debate. So he stood up and went to the kitchen.

He started by boiling some water, and reaching out to the assorted tea box from the counter cabinet. He then saw the dark brown box that was hidden behind the other, more colorful one, and remembered the time Reigen told him to keep it a secret from the teenagers that used to frequent the office a couple of days every week, since it was his preferred dark chocolate he kept for special occasions, such as when he had an unusual sweet tooth day. Serizawa connected the dots and realized that the ‘sweet tooth days’ were those when Reigen released more of what seemed sad energy all of a sudden, which perplexed Serizawa because he didn’t have almost anything to work out the reasons that could have triggered those sad emotions waves. He could only guess it seemed to be something unpleasant he saw on his computer.

Suddenly, he thought… maybe that out of place emotion he sensed that beamed from Reigen after he told him to go take a break was sadness? No, it was clearly something else, but it was quite similar. Maybe it was a complex emotion that had sadness into its mix.

By now, the water he put in the electric kettle had finished boiling, so he took the box that was hiding at the end of the counter and proceeded to make some chamomile and honey tea for his boss. He realized the chocolate box was halfway eaten already, and doubted if it was ok to bring it to him all of a sudden, without him asking to… But then he sensed another frustrated / anxious / angry / bittersweet unplaced emotion wave reaching him and he knew it was the right thing to do right now. Didn’t Reigen tell him more than once to trust his inner voice more and make decisions by himself in order to learn how to be a fully functional, contributing member to society? Maybe this was a good way to practice.

After taking the tea mug and the chocolate box in his hands, Serizawa stood in the kitchen for some seconds before going out to the main office room, breathing deeply through his nose a couple of times to relax and think about the exact words he was going to say. This was another technique his boss taught him, originally to be used before talking to customers, and he has been using it to any other occasion that seemed to get him nervous, since now that he didn’t have his umbrella he realized he needed all the help he could get to get a hang of how unpredictable and chaotic adult life could be.

Finally, he could gather himself enough to come out of the kitchen and approach Reigen’s desk determinately. He didn’t seem to realize he was heading to his desk until he was handing him the mug and the chocolate box. New –and old- emotions were now pumping from him, adding to the soup… Surprise, confusion, that bittersweet emotion again. No anger though; good to go, then.

“Hey, Reigen-san, I thought I should bring you something to help you, and given I couldn’t really help directly with the task you were working on, I figured that maybe I could help with the relaxing part a bit… I hope that’s ok” He turned his eyes away from Reigen’s, not being able to maintain eye contact for much longer as he realized the other man’s gaze was getting more intense. He sensed the surprise to give itself way further into the atmosphere, tuning down the more intense stressful emotions, but also giving more space to the bittersweet emotion to intensify. It was a little different than before, though…

“Ah, Serizawa! Did you suddenly become a telepath?” Reigen’s tone of voice and teasing attitude was very off tune with what his emotional energy gave off, as usual. Serizawa got stiff after the last part. “Hey, that was a joke! Everyone knows telepathy is a bunch of bullcrap, remember you don’t have to take everything so seriously” Reigen finally took the mug and chocolate box from his employee’s hands, letting out more of that weird bittersweet emotion as he put the chocolate box in his desk and proceeded to open it. Now that Serizawa was getting more familiarized with this emotion, he could sense it was morphing to something… warmer? “Y’know, I guess it’s time for a well-deserved break… Hmm?” He screened rapidly at Serizawa, “You didn’t make some tea for yourself? Aren’t you taking a break too? It won’t contribute to a good break atmosphere if you just keep stressing over your homework” he stated, matter-of-factly.

“Yes, sir!” Serizawa went back to the kitchen and prepared himself some green tea with mint. When he stepped back in the office he could sense how the energy changed drastically, now everything was tinted with a warm kind of drowsiness, an energy that surely was fainter than the last stress emotion soup they were being affected by, but that was effective enough to almost wipe it out completely, only a vague sense of nervousness and that bittersweet morphed feeling fluttering around. Also now there was a calming classical music video Reigen was playing on his computer, while sitting on one of the armchairs, across the coffee table Serizawa was using as a desk. He was sitting with his legs crossed, fully supporting his back in the armchair, while taking one chocolate square from the open chocolate box that now was placed in the middle of the coffee table. It seemed he was taking this break very seriously.

Serizawa sat across Reigen in the other armchair. The later coughed a couple of times before talking in a nonchalant way, as if sharing a random thought “I just remembered, I read the other day a quote from this very successful businesswoman on FriendBook, that it’s important to remember any time you apparently are getting stuck into a problem that seemed unsolvable to not let it fool you, no problem in life is unsolvable. You just need to take a break, do something that helps you clear your mind, and look at it in another perspective. Y’know Serizawa, that could really help you in your studies if you find yourself in a seemingly dead end. Remember this advice next time you feel like you need to take a break, and let me now, ok? I’ll try to do the same”.

“Yes, that seems very reasonable” Serizawa held his mug with both hands, staring down at his tea with a soft smile in his mouth, feeling the much calmer atmosphere that surrounded his boss, and realizing the new warm feeling that emanated from him could be placed as gratitude. His new Reigen-convincing technique was officially a hit.

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #fanfic #serizawa #reigen #serizawa katsuya #reigen arataka #mp100 fanfic #not serirei per se but can be read as pre-serirei #empath!Serizawa #nyn.doc #pls give me feedback if u can!

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forever-rogue · 5 years

Text

Unintended Consequences - Part 4

Summary: Y/N and Ben had been best friends since the day six year old Y/N dropped her ice cream in front of Ben and he had offered her his. The rest is history. Until Ben went to Hollywood and disappeared for five years, before suddenly waltzing back into Y/N’s life with one simple request.

A/N: You. Guys. Are. The. Best. Thank you so much for all your support on this story! I hope you guys continue to enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it! Taglists are open! Please let me know what you think, or if there are tag issues! xx

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: slight language

MASTERLIST

“Stop.”

Ben’s face fell as she gently put her hands on his broad chest and pushed him a few steps back, shaking her head in a mixture of both confusion and anger. She was annoyed at him, ever so slightly, but mostly herself. She had given into him so easily, a few looks from him and she all but become putty in his hands.

Just a few minutes prior they had been arguing but just as easily she had given in to her ever desire and kissed him. And the worst part was that it had felt so right, so perfect. His lips had been the perfect combination of rough and smooth as they meshed with hers, moving in perfect harmony like they had meant to be.

“Y/N-”

“I shouldn’t have let you kiss me,” her voice was a whisper, barely audible to his ears. But he could hear loud and clear the message she was trying to get across, “this was a mistake.”

“W-why was this a mistake?” his voice had a saddened tinge to it, cracking slightly as he desperately searched her face for any sign that she was joking. He wanted there to be an ah-ha moment, but the torn expression on his face suggested otherwise, “my love, please just-”

“No,” she couldn’t let him get a word in edgewise, knowing she’d have a complete breakdown if he did. This was what she had waited for, desperately wished, even prayed for, for years; and while it felt so right, she knew it was wrong. She hadn’t kissed her best friend Benny, she’d kissed budding Hollywood star Ben, a boy she didn’t know.

“Give me one good reason for why that was a mistake,” he steeled his gaze and practically forced her to look at him. His stomach felt like it was it in a knot, as he struggled to come to terms with that fact that she might not feel the same as he had always about her. Y/N opened and closed her mouth a few times, seeking for the right words to properly explain the gravitas of the situation.

“Because I’m in love with you,” she blurted out suddenly, and Ben’s jaw dropped at her confession, almost hitting the floor. Her hands flew to her mouth as she realized just how effortlessly the words had come out, like it hadn’t even taken a second thought.

“Y-you’re in love with me?” there was the familiar shy tone and quality she had always known him to possess. A little bit of Benny was coming through his Hollywood persona and bravado he displayed.

“I mean...I should rephrase,” she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, hiding her face in her hands as her cheeks turned a bright crimson, “I was in love with you. I loved you, Benny, since we were kids. I always thought it would end up being us together. But the day you walked away from me and never looked back changed it all. You’re not the same person anymore. I don’t love this Ben.”

“I-I’m still the same me,” he grew despondent as she stepped away from him, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. Ben tried to grab her hand, but she pulled out of his reach, “please, Y/N, I love you too. T-the feeling’s always been mutual. Don’t just run from this. W-we can make this work. It’s you, it’s always been you.”

“There’s nothing to run from,” she sighed quietly, gnawing on her lower lip, “there is no us, there never has been and there never will be.”

“Y/N, please just listen to me-” he was ready to get on the ground and beg, but she remained so distant that it was enough to cause him to remain rooted in the spot.

“I’m going to go to bed, Ben,” she gave him a nod and turned on her heel before he could say anything else. It was still light outside, but an overwhelming sense of exhaustion set into her bones. This day, and everything it contained, was more overwhelming and tiring than she could have imagined. And that fact that she had found out that her pining for Ben had mutual was nothing short of shocking.

But it meant nothing at this point. What was done was done, and the past was just that - the past.

She closed the door behind her, taking care to lock it, hoping he didn’t have a key for it. Looking around the large room, it was much more space than she could ever need, she felt so out of place. She felt like a pauper in a princess’ room. Everything was brand new, sans for the few items that had been brought over from her apartment.

A picture that stood on the cubed nightstand next to the bed caught her as the last remnants of sunlight glinted off of the frame. Instantly recognizing that it wasn’t one from her own collection, she padded over to it and picked it up, tracing a finger over the ornate golden frame.

Contained in the glass housing was a photo of her and Ben, caught mid-laugh, as he looked at her with the most adoring expression on his face. Her stomach churned and she slammed the picture face down. After thinking about it for a few more moments, she hastily scooped up the frame and threw it on the floor, smashing the glass into hundreds of tiny shards. A tinge of regret clouded her senses as she crouched down on the floor next to the mess.

“Is everything okay in there?” Ben knocked on the door before jiggling the handle and tutting when he realized it was locked, essentially closing him off from her in a literal and metaphorical sense. Groaning, he closed his eyes as he rested his hand against on the cool wooden, “I heard something break. What happened?”

“Please just go away,” she mumbled through her hands, attempting her best to fight off the sobs that threatened to rack her body. The only think that echoed in her mind was regret, regret, regret.

Regret for letting him go all those years and not fighting harder to get him back.

Regret for letting him back into her life after he had abandoned her.

Regret for agreeing to this silly arrangement.

Regret for confessing she had ever loved him.

“Why won’t you let me in?” Ben wasn’t quite sure the context of the question himself. But however she would let him in, into the room and back into her heart – he didn’t care her. He just wanted her.

She remained silent for a long moment, trying her best to search for an answer. Why? Well there were a million different reasons.

“Ben, I don’t want I do this right now,” her voice cracked as she looked down at the smashed picture. She began to use her bare hands to push the glassine shards into a small pile. The small bits pricked the delicate skin of her hands, threatening to draw crimson blood as she carried on her wanton attempt at cleaning up the mess, “just let me be right now.”

“I’m not moving from this spot until you talk to me,” he sighed, but before she could rebut what he had said, she heard him slide down the length of the door before he met the floor with a dull thud. She had known him for so long, he wondered why she hadn’t realized just how serious he was.

“If you love me let me go,” her hands were filled with the fragments as she stood up and scanned the large expanse for a trashcan. Luckily, she located one in the corner of the room and dumped everything in the bin, gingerly attempting to rid her hands of all the bits. It was no use though; her hands became littered with small bits of red as blood bubbled to the surface.

Going back to the mess she had made, she retrieved the gilded frame and photograph, giving them only a quick glance before shoving them into the bin as well. Pausing, quietly as possible, Y/N found that she could still hear Ben’s ragged breathing from the other side of the door, “listen, Ben. Just leave me be, and tomorrow we can start off fresh. It’ll be like we met each other for the first time. You’re my boss, technically, and I’m your employee.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he pinched the bridge of his nose with his calloused fingertips, trying to comprehend why she was making this so much harder than it needed to be, “how are you supposed to let go of someone you love so deeply?”

“You can learn,” she hung her head before sitting against the door as well, mirroring his actions even though he couldn’t see her. Mulling over her next words, she closed her eyes and let out a long breath, “I’ve had to let go of people I’ve loved before...several times.”

“Y/N,” it was a meek soft sound, and he was trying to hold back his own tears. Few things in life managed to move him this much, even though he had a gentle heart. That heart had hardened a lot over the last couple of years, but he was forever soft for her. He quickly made it up in his mind that he would oblige her and do whatever she wanted - if it meant the possibility of winning her back he would do it. Tapping his lips with his finger thoughtfully he finally agreed, “okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Oh fuck,” groaning at the soreness in her hands and the stiffness in her back, Y/N surveyed her still unfamiliar surroundings. She pulled herself up from her slumped over position on the floor and stretched to alleviate the stiffness in her bones. Maybe sitting in front of a door all night, listening to Ben’s even breathing, entwined with the occasional sniff, wasn’t the brightest idea in the world. She thought she might feel better after a night’s rest, but she only felt worse, having not been able to rest much at all, her mind fraught with tons of different thoughts.

There was early morning light filtering in through the sheer curtains, a sight which normally would have cheered her up and started her day off right, but today it was a sad reminder that it was the start of a new reality.

Going through the dresser that had been meticulously filled with her clothes. Everything had been folded and color coordinated, which annoyed her for some reason, so she dug through it, deliberately making a mess as searched for something, anything to wear.

Finally finding something suitable, she grabbed the clothes and slammed the drawer shut before trapezing to the door. Praying that Ben wouldn’t be there anymore, she slowly opened the heavy door, she stuck her head out and swept the corridor, relieved to find herself alone.

Padding silently to the bathroom that would be hers, she noticed that his bedroom door was open, but there was not a single sound echoing throughout the empty apartment. He must be gone she shrugged to herself before stepping into the spacious bathroom, shutting and locking the door.

The bathroom was large and brand new, the surfaces practically glittering. It was all too much and she almost didn’t want to use anything. But the soft smell of all the expensive looking soaps, shampoos, and conditioners ended up winning her over and gave in, pulling a fluffy towel down from the rack. She turned on the shower, letting it get to almost scalding, as hot steam filled the space.

Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower, closing the glass behind her and admiring the beautiful tile. She could never even dream of this luxury and yet where she was in the midst of it.

The hot water felt like heaven against her skin, like it was washing away all her sins and leaving her anew, pure and innocent. Closing her eyes, she stood under the steady stream, letting the spray work out all of the kinks in her sore body.

After a few quiet minutes, the most peaceful she’d had in a while, she decided to actually wash her hair and body. Reaching for the shampoo bottle, ready to pour the lightly scented liquid into her hand to massage into her scalp, a knock came at the door. Y/N almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden intrusion, not having heard anyone else come into the apartment.

“Hello?” she chanced, wrapping her arms over her chest as if whoever was on the otherwise of the door would be able to see her. There was a moment of odd silence before whoever it was cleared their throat.

“Ms. L/N?” the voice was familiar, too familiar, and she made a sound of discontent upon realization that it was Ben. Ready to sigh and tell him off, he interrupted her, “I’m Mr. J-Hardy. Your new boss. I just wanted to let you know that I was home. I’ve brought breakfast if you’re hungry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. But please, take all the time you need to get ready.”

The words lingering in the air for a bit as she tried to picture out what exactly he was playing at. The conversation from last night flooded back to her and then it hit her - he was just respecting what she had asked for. A new, fresh start. They were no longer Y/N and Benny, lifelong best friends, no, now they were just Ms. L/N and her employer, Mr. Hardy.

“Okay,” the word rolled off her tongue and left a bitter taste in her mouth. Was this what she had really wanted – to play strangers and pretend like nothing had happened between them? There was a beat of still quietness before she heard his footsteps walking away, only audible for a few moments before they disappeared completely.

She held her hands up to her face, wiping away the salty tears that had slid down her face and mixed in with the hot water. The little cuts all over her hands stung, but it was almost nothing compared to the sting in her heart. It seemed like no matter what decision she made the situation ended up worse; but she was so deep in, she didn’t know how to begin to remedy the situation. Considering walking away from the whole thing, calling it quits or tapping out early, appeared to be the most practical solution.

As always though, practical and conventional had never been her strong suit, and she came to the conclusion that she would need to stick it out. The old her would never have been a quitter, Ben would never have allowed that. Besides all of that, it would be an easy gig – a life of jet setting and glamorous events, getting to sit, quite literally, the lap of luxury.

A familiar pang of guilt settled into her stomach, but she pushed it away - a job was a job after all, and she would be performing a service of sorts. Maybe it was time in life that something nice was handed to her. She had been through a lot in the time since she’d had to face the world away and isolated from Ben, and a small light seemed to be appearing at the end of the tunnel. Taking advantage of the opportunity was nothing to be ashamed off, and plenty of other people would have eagerly jumped at the even the slightest chance to be in her position.

“This is fine,” she said aloud to herself, her voice reverberating against the tile of warm shower, almost echoing slightly. She grabbed some of the fancy looking apricot scrub and start to smear it on her body, working it circles to get rid of all the dirt and grim she thought was there, not stopping until her skin was red and shiny, “this can work. This will work. It’s just a job.”

Taking a deep breath, trying her best to keep herself calm and collected, Y/N stepped out of the bathroom and into the coolness of the long hallway. A light clanking of utensils came from the kitchen, and as she peeked to see what was going on, she spotted Ben sitting at the counter, his face hidden behind a newspaper as he absentmindedly ate his breakfast. Raking her fingers through her still damp hair, she walked over to him, focusing on the spread of food he had returned him with rather than him.

“Good morning,” there was an almost cold tone to his voice, and It felt out of character for him. Not rude per se, but the gentle persona he had always had with her. He was playing it all up, whether or not intentional, he was doing it well, ever so the actor. There was a moment of pause before he set the crinkled paper down and looked at her. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin had an almost sallow quality to it. He extended his hand across the counter to her, a slight tremble to it, “I’m Ben.”

A small, shaky breath escaped her lips as she took his hand in her own, grasping it firmly and giving a good shake, “Y/N. It’s…nice to meet you, Ben.”

“You too,” he chanced a small smile as he set let go of her hand, somewhat reluctantly, “tell me, are you a breakfast person?”

“Never been much of a fan of breakfast,” she admitted, feigning as though he didn’t already know the exact answer, “but I had this old friend who would always bring me something in the mornings. He knew that my stomach would be in knots all day if I didn’t eat.”

“Sounds like a good friend,” there was a coy nature to his voice, and he appeared more relaxed as she pulled a plate from one of the cabinets after searching for a few moments. She surveyed the spread: jams, cheeses, toast, muesli, fresh fruit, yogurts, bacon, before piling her plate high with a little bit of everything.

“He was a good friend,” she said before moving to sit down next to him, keeping a small bit of distance between their bodies, making sure there would be no accidental brushing of limbs, “I dunno what happened to him. But it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“No,” he rested his chin in his hands, thoughtfully stroking at the tiny bit of stubble covering his jaw, “I suppose it doesn’t. Tell me, Y/N, what do you want out of this experience?”

“That is a good question, and I suppose a logical one,” she took a bite of some cheese on toast and chewed thoughtfully. What did she want out of this? Sure, it had been mostly about the money in the first place, but now she wasn’t so sure anymore. Was she just trying to prove a point – but what was that point? Or was she just in it to get her best friend back, missing the closeness and intimacy they had shared for years. All of it the little voice in her mind screamed at her. She swallowed the bite, “money. I could really use the money. I’ve…hit some rough patches recently and it helps out a lot.”

“W-what’s happened?” his sage eyes softened as he tried to figure out exactly what had happened with her. It was a weird sensation, being next to someone you used to know better than anyone else but have them be an almost complete stranger. He used to know every detail of her life inside and out, and he just concluded that he hadn’t even realized what she started doing after university.

“I lost my job not that long ago,” she admitted after a few beats of awkward silence. She wasn’t sure if she should confess everything to him in earnest or just put a façade and play the part of the fake, bubbly girlfriend. But the look in his eyes told her that he cared – he was asking as Benny, and not anyone else, “I used to work at one of the local hospitals, as an overnight nurse. A small group of people didn’t like me there, for whatever reason, and more or less made it out that I was stealing narcotics. Which I wasn’t, but they were, and for whatever reason my boss decided to believe them over me, and they fired me on the spot. It’s been a little hard to get a job with that looming over me.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he angled himself so he was facing her, “if I would have known- “

“How would you have known?” she flicked her eyes downward to the plate in front of her, “we’ve only just met. And you’ve already presented me with an amazing job opportunity. I think you can imagine why I took it.”

“Yes,” his first clenched slightly at his side as the corners of his mouth pulled into a frown, “well, either way, I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. I hope you’ll be much more comfortable working with me. I’m not going to fire you for something you didn’t do.”

“I hope you don’t plan on firing me at all,” she almost laughed in spite of herself, but stopped once she noticed his eyes drifting to her hands, raking over all the little cuts. She coughed and pulled the sleeves of her sweater further down in a vain attempt to cover them, “I plan on doing everything in my power to make sure you’re happy and satisfied.”

“I have no doubt,” he said quietly, and a sort of comfortable silence fell over them. It was the most calm and cordial they had been since they had reunited, and for some reason it felt okay. It was no where near what they used to be like, but it was a start as they slowly became reintroduced to one another, “I have…another question. And this is just for business purposes, of course…”

“Go on,” she cocked as eyebrow as she popped a few fresh, sweet grapes into her mouth. He nodded before twiddling his thumbs nervously, “Ben?”

“A-are you currently seeing anyone?” ah, there was the question that had been lingering in his mind. She set down the fork she had been playing with before looking at him pointedly.

“No,” she swore it seemed like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, “I haven’t seen anyone since…my last relationship with the complete scum of the earth reached its’ conclusion.”

“What exactly happened?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she wasn’t ready to cross into that territory just yet. Not with him or anyone else, “that’s for another time. When we’ve gotten better acquainted.”

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his cheeks turning a light pink as he tried to rebound, “it’s not my place to pry into your personal life.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, “but it’s no matter. So, tell me, boss man, what’s on the agenda for today? Anything we need to do?”

“Not today,” he said as he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his calendar that he kept meticulously updated, “nothing until tomorrow, and at the end of this week we’re leaving for LA.”

“LA!?” she almost slid out of her seat with excitement. She’d never been to the famed City of Angels before, and to say she was thrilled would be putting it lightly, “that’s amazing! I’ve been wanting to go- “

“For ages,” he finished for her, the smallest of cheeky smirks appearing on his face, “and then it’s off to New York, and a couple of other spots. I’ve got some friends I want you to meet.”

“Friends, huh?” she couldn’t hold back the sly little comment, and noticed a little flicker across his face, “w-well, I’m looking forward it.”

“It’ll be nice to get away and get a fresh start somewhere,” she finished off the fresh orange juice in her glass, before heading over to the sink to deposit everything in there. She stopped for a moment before turning to him, “please tell me you don’t have a maid for this…”

“I won’t tell you then,” he gave her a sheepish grin and she rolled her eyes.

“Okay, how about this,” she sauntered over to him, “I’ll accept your lifestyle, the one you lead now, if you’re willing to make some concessions to me.”

“Shoot.”

“No maid, no laundry service, no chefs, nothing like that,” she proposed and he tilted his head as he fought back a smile. A little bit of the girl he had always known was creeping back into her, “we live like normal people because we are normal people. This isn’t like us, Benny...we can be ourselves. Okay?”

“Okay.” Benny. Us. He liked the sounds of those words. Those words meant she wasn’t completely done with him, and he clung onto to that little bit of feeling as tightly as he could. He would win her heart back, whatever it took.

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#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #au #fanfic #imagine #reader insert #uc #unintended consequences #fake dating #borhap #queen #bohemian rhapsody #gwilym lee #brian may #joe mazzello #john deacon #roger taylor #rami malek #freddie mercury

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magioftheseas · 5 years

Text

Take Me Back, Back, Back

For @bidoofgodofdestruction

Summary: One minute he's failed to convince Hinata Hajime against the Kamukura Izuru Project. The next, he's in a hospital bed with Hinata Hajime leaning over him. In a scene that he could've sworn already happened months ago.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Violence both implied and explicit albeit minor and not super graphic. Also this entire thing circles around a time loop so there are implicit character deaths in it, too. And angst. Lots of angst.

Notes: I got commissioned to write time loop KomaHina where Komaeda tries to prevent Hinata from signing up for the project! It’s set, however, in bidoof’s Ultimate Despair fic so you need to read it for context. It mentions band stuff. The band stuff is important. It’s also super angsty. This and that fic because...obviously. Wheeeeeeee.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He first remembers a dead phone line. The ground rippling and sinking below. It’s cold. It’s dark. He still can’t move. His heart pounds on the inside of his chest.

Let me out, let me out!

It’s screaming. Inside, it’s all just screaming.

Let me out! Let me see him! Please! Please! It can’t end like this!

“It’s not use,” Matsuda Yasuke had told him. “He’s too far gone.”

Hinata-kun.

He laughs. His trapped heart sobs between its screams.

Hinata-kun!

And he wakes up, jumping as Hinata yelps.

“H-Hey, easy, easy there!” Hinata grips his shoulders as he thrashes, squeezing and frantic. “Calm down, it’s just me!”

He stills. He’s panting. He’s in the bed of the nurse’s office. There’s sunlight filtering through the window, catching onto Hinata Hajime’s worried face. His furrowed brow. Komaeda stares.

The next onslaught of memories leave him limp and breathless. Hinata exclaims something. Is quick to embrace him so that he doesn’t slip. Quickly spills out bland reassurances. Komaeda’s heart is still pounding, but it’s not asking him to be let out.

“Hinata-kun.”

Hinata rubs his back awkwardly, nearly choking out his response as if he were shaken up, too. “Y-Yeah?”

“What just happened?”

“I-I don’t know,” Hinata stammers. “I mean, we were having band practice. You were swaying. Mioda thought it was to the music but you looked a little paler than usual and then—uh. You fell. Tumbled off the stage, too. How hard did you...?”

Not being an Ultimate, Hinata’s hand groping his skull for the implied bruise was uncomfortable and awkward. Komaeda still leaned into the touch. It hurt like hell, but he’s been through worse. So much worse.

“Aw, jeez.” Hinata quickly retracts his hand. “Yeah, that’s a bump. Don’t think we can continue practicing like this.”

“Ahaha.” Komaeda remembers, now, and just like before, he shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine enough to sing. I can just sit down while I do if you’re worried about my balance.”

“Are you sure? There’s no shame in taking a break while you’re injured.”

“There is shame in disappointing others, especially when they’re Ultimates.”

They’ve had this conversation before. It’s all familiar.

When his feet touch the ground, he feels the rippling.

Was that—all really just a dream?

Hinata’s expression is strained and conflicted. It’s clear he wants to argue. Komaeda remembers being irritated with him. Bristling and telling him off.

He feels different now.

“I’ll be fine. It’s fine.”

“If you...say so.”

He says all that and when Hinata pulls away to let him stand, his heart thumps in protest.

No, no, no.

“A-At least help me up,” Komaeda mutters lamely, raising his hand. Hinata shorts, but he doesn’t hesitate. He takes Komaeda’s hand. He smiles just a bit.

He squeezes, and Komaeda’s heart soars.

There were more moments of familiarity. Conversations and banter that he had been through once before. Flashes of the future pushing at his skull before they’d happen in front of him. Building and building until a fateful, undoubtedly significant moment.

It was Hinata’s birthday. He showed up to give him a present. He hadn’t seen anyone else in weeks. It hadn’t been any easier the supposed second time. He felt a little sick, honestly.

And then, Hinata Hajime asked him—

“If you had the opportunity to be gifted talent...would you take it?”

“What on earth are you saying?”

His initial response was the same, but his heart was pounding in his ears.

“You’re fine as you are.” The words spill out before he can stop them. “You don’t need talent, you’re already worthwhile.”

“H-Huh?! That’s a complete 180 from your usual behavior.” Hinata straightens up, but he seems attentive. Komaeda wonders. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

It occurs to him, then, that he’s gripping Hinata’s hands tight. Tight enough that his own might break.

“You’re fine as you are,” he presses. “You don’t need any sort of talent! So, just—forget it! Forget all about it!”

“H-How the hell am I supposed to forget?! Oi, Komaeda, let go!”

“Hajime, don’t go—!”

Hinata shoves him away. The words keep spilling and spilling.

“Hope and talent still can’t be manufactured—no matter what they do, no matter what you do, it won’t matter. All you’re doing is killing yourself. What’s the good in that? You’re reducing yourself to a husk for—for what? For just the idea that you could be talented?!”

“W-What are you—you don’t know what you’re—argh!” Hinata clutches his head, and he screams. “Shut up! Just shut up!”

“Hajime, I-I’m just saying...”

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!”

“H-Hajime, please—!”

Hinata removes him forcibly. He threatens to call the police when Komaeda bangs on his door. It’s an empty threat. The police won’t care, especially not the campus cops. But Komaeda freezes, seizes, and then—

Through blurring tears, he wakes up again. Hinata is by his side again, fretting over him.

“W-What’s wrong, Komaeda?! Komaeda?”

“I-I... I... A-Aha... Haha... How...!” Throwing his arm over his eyes, he wheezes in grief and euphoria. “How lucky—! To get not just a second chance, but a third!”

“Komaeda!”

That’s the delight about his luck, you see. Luck is when something happens in spite of the odds. As long as there’s that non-zero-percent chance, there’s a way. And his Ultimate Luck worked that very way.

Wasn’t that wonderful? Wasn’t that amazing?

No matter how many times he tried over and over and over and over and over and over again, as long as there was a chance of success—none of it mattered! None of it at all!

Even when—

“Look, Komaeda, I know you mean well, but—I’m not in the mood, I’m sorry. I don’t think—I can talk to you anymore.”

And when—

“Y-You’re getting kinda creepy, so like...can you just leave it alone...? I don’t need you patronizing me.”

Especially when—

“I don’t know who told you about the project, but if it gets out, it’ll be bad for Hope’s Peak. Sorry, Komaeda-kun, but we just can’t take the risk, even if it’s with you. But you’ll understand, won’t you?”

When—

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, open your eyes! Komaeda! Komaeda! NAGITO!!”

“Hey, can you hear me?”

He wakes up, dazed and dizzy. He still remembers the cold stream of blood running down his temple. Hinata shakes his shoulder a bit.

“You with me? That fall was—pretty bad.”

So bad it killed me, he thought drearily. But it’s okay. I’m still here. I still have—a chance. But what should I do this time? What’s even less? How should I—?

“Maybe I should get you ice?” Hinata wonders, almost idly. “Komaeda, how are you feeling?”

I’m so frustrated.

“Like shit.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s blunt. Guess you did hit your head pretty hard.” Hinata shrugs it off. He goes to the freezer to fetch an ice pack. “Yeah, I’ll tell Mioda that we’ll have to stop band practice early today. And I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

What can even be done about you?

He does come up with an idea. One that’s sure to make Hinata Hajime hate him. He knows going to Hope’s Peak staff is a dead end, figuratively and literally—he supposes, then, all he has left is burning the bridge entirely.

“Actually, Hinata-kun.” He manages his usual smile as Hinata hands him the pack. He doesn’t feel the chill seeping into his skull as he presses it to the bump there. “I’ll just tell Mioda-san that the band isn’t an option anymore.”

Hinata Hajime blinks at him rather dumbly.

“You...don’t think you can recover at all?”

Aha. You’re so cute.

“I can’t accept it. You in a space for Ultimates. Associating with Ultimates. Reserves like you—that level of cockiness should be considered a crime.”

Hinata Hajime blinks again.

“...seriously? This again? You’re going to throw another tantrum now? Y’know—you’re just going to upset the others. Mioda, Saionji, Tsumiki, like—they don’t deserve this shit. Just rest. Recover. But if you want to drop out, I’m not going to stop you. It’s your own damn problem to deal with.”

“Ahaha. You make me sound so selfish.” Maybe I am. You’re just one person. The loss of someone like you shouldn’t be significant. And, yet. I want to prevent it. “It’s not just me, I swear. It’s you. All you. Hinata-kun, I—think you should go back to your last high school.”

“Well, I refuse. Sorry.”

Right now, Hinata Hajime looks at him as if he were the scum of the earth. He should be used to that.

It still hurts. But, compared to everything else—this meager self-centered pain is—

“Haha. Hinata-kun, you’re such a piece of work. You’re so pathetic, trotting after every Ultimate’s heels. You’re even latched onto someone like me.” He laughs. It hurts. It’s cold. “Do you think that if you cling hard enough that you’ll be taken in? Like a stray dog?”

“That wasn’t why!” Hinata exclaimed. “You—I just got dragged into this from the start!”

“I doubt it’s that.” The ice is set aside. Komaeda swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I really do believe you think it’s that easy to be accepted. Just to wiggle your way in. Like a naughty cuckoo. But, don’t you know? Birds aren’t all fools. They can spot the fakes. They reject them. It’s going to be the same with you. So.” He pokes Hinata’s sternum. There’s a flutter. “It’s best you just leave before you’re dropped, Hinata-kun. It’ll hurt less that way.”

Hinata slaps his hand away.

“Fuck you.”

Komaeda slaps him across the face. The response is immediate. Hinata seizes the collars of his shirt, pulls him close, and—

Komaeda screams.

The response is immediate.

Hinata drops him in surprise. A passing teacher rushes in. Komaeda points. Hinata pales.

Hinata tries to stammer out his name. Komaeda doesn’t look at him.

“Teacher, this reserve attacked me.”

Hinata shouts at him before he’s yanked away. It could’ve been out of rage. Confusion. It could’ve been a plea. Komaeda doesn’t really remember that part—but he does remember Hinata Hajime’s expulsion soon after.

The days pass.

The world still ends.

Komaeda Nagito can only laugh until he bursts into tears. He passes out soon after and hopes he doesn’t wake up again.

#KomaHina #HinaKoma #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #bidoofgodofdestruction #Magi fics #Ngl I did want to write the scene where Komaeda gets offed by HPA faculty but like I didn't want to bog the fic down #with Komaeda just losing that little bit of faith he had left in HPA lol #........along with his life #HPA Bad kids #it's bad for kids

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thesinglesjukebox · 5 years

Video

youtube

SNOW THA PRODUCT - BILINGUE

[6.12]

Today's controversy is brought to you by the letter 'J'...

Juana Giaimo: Snow Tha Product has been bilingual for years now, and that's why "Bilingüe" is so genuine -- instead of being just another track that follows the Latin American boom. The chorus is a little bit weak, but her extremely fast flow is powerful both in English and in Spanish and she always has the most witty lines -- "Ja Ja con J/ Ja Ja with the J" is a amazing punch. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Very kind of Snow Tha Product to begin the song with a warning: "I really cannot rap." In all seriousness, her rapping is competent but there's nothing noteworthy here because it's a song that lives and dies on its central conceit of being delivered in two languages. I hate when Korean-American rappers do this unimaginative bilingual shtick too. Part of this is how it's an unhelpful reminder that minorities aren't given a platform, so we're out here making songs about the fact that we can speak two languages instead of simply using this as a tool to enhance songs with more interesting subject manner. Even more, having these thoughts is a tiresome act in and of itself. [2]

Jonathan Bradley: "I really cannot wrap my head around the fact it's," is an opening line that has almost no content: these are words that stall and fill space and end with awkward enjambment setting up a slant rhyme for "fantastic." Snow Tha Product's delivery is ungainly too, failing to find the pocket. This awkwardness extends to the song's theme: I have heard rappers switch languages many times before, but they generally don't do it in service of a song about switching languages. Snow does want to make a point about the coexistence of anglophone and hispanophone cultures in the United States, but it is a point that better rappers have shown and not told: spelling it out like this -- almost literally, when it comes to the "jajaja with the j" part -- reduces the song to didacticism. [3]

Will Rivitz: Snow Tha Product, in her inimitably vicious delivery and deathly seriousness, is one of maybe five rappers who can almost sell the lyrical mess that is "Bilingue." "Almost" included as a qualifier because the Sesame Street inanity of "Bitch, I 'jaja' con jota / 'Hahaha' with the 'J'" is both nigh-unlistenable and also the fifth-worst line in the song at most charitable. [5]

Tim de Reuse: I have a soft spot for bilingual pop that's about how it's bilingual, but it can be pretty hokey in the wrong hands. This tune nails it on two levels: firstly, it's got enough playful code-switching and cross-language rhymes to dazzle and confuse any poor monolinguals in the audience (the line "tú eres cheapy" against "beep beep beep beep" is particularly audacious), but it also recognizes that language is a marker of identity, and having two languages gives you two identities to play with. Caught with ties to two countries that don't seem to want her around, flitting between two languages is an act of defiance and self-affirmation -- nobody tied down to a single nation could ever keep up! I, too, am from two places, but growing up in suburban Texas I never made an effort to learn the mother tongues of either of my parents, which I profoundly regret. This tune stings because it really makes me wish I knew just enough Tamil to confidently shut down anyone that might question my authenticity. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: Bulky, pulsing bass drums buoy filtering synths as Snow pulls glaciers over the Arctic and Antarctic. [9]

Katherine St Asaph: Those lamenting the death of technical skills at the hands of The Kids, The Algorithms, The SoundClouds, or whatever is today's designated scapegoat, could (but probably won't bother to) find it here. Snow's skills are buoyed by a healthy, Tkay Maidza-ish amount of goofiness -- the only context in which half these lines would work, from the wordplay to the first non-clunky "fuck Trump" lyric I've heard since the descent into hell. [7]

Iris Xie: I am deeply amused that my queer college party scene, which was into "ratchet music" for a few years, has helped contribute to this review, but the first few bars sound akin to Lady's "Twerk." Considering Snow Tha Product is making music out in Atlanta, I'm not surprised if she picked up on a few sounds from there, and this beat, knife-like and buoyant, is quite welcome because it has the same fun and free-wheeling fierceness. But significantly, what calls out to me about "Bilingue" is that it literally sounds like it could have come from some of my friends, who are really fierce Chican@s. When I hear Snow Tha Product switch between Spanish and English and ride that beat, it puts me back in a place of appreciation and acknowledgment for how much Chican@ feminism really impacted my world-view and attitude towards loving others. My friends are effortlessly cool and wonderful, but it came from them learning to be unapologetically fierce, analytical, and loving in honoring their histories and families and all the heartbreak and pride that comes with it. Looking up Snow Tha Product's history, she's a Chicana from San Jose, San Diego, and Los Angeles, and that energy runs throughout the track and reminds me of the unapologetic attitude about how some of my friends move effortlessly (and not so effortlessly) between speaking Spanish and English. I was enormously privileged to be able to listen to a lot of their stories, and I get reminded of frequent, late night convos of trying to figure out our personal lived experiences between growing up Asian American and Chican@/Latinx American while being nonbinary/women of color, and our specific intersectional feminist differences. For some of those conversations, like in "Bilingue," the topics would turn to the role of the mom, the cousins, the families, the machismo/toxic masculinity, the micro-aggressions, and the relentless need to prove yourself and be taken seriously, and those experiences are in spades here. Just because you need to dance doesn't mean you forget about your politics. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Snow tha Product #pop #music #music review #writing

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nautilusopus · 6 years

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AU where FF15 is good but FF7 is really bad

15 was so so close to being good and understanding what made VII/IX/whatever work. Like, they looked at it and went, “roadtrip friendships. Got it.” And then just threw in exactly that without actually writing any of the stuff that would normally go with a friendship or a road trip.

Like, have you ever read a fic where five chapters in, a couple just kinda turns up? And not even one of the well-established couples, either – some off the wall shit where the characters don’t even know the other exists in canon. And the author just dumps this on you out of the blue, and then proceeds to act as though of course this pairing makes sense, and thus doesn’t explain a goddamn thing about what’s going on as they continue to exchange sweet nothings and pecks on the cheek as though nothing is out of the ordinary. You, not giving a rat’s ass about ships in general and having clicked on the fic in the first place for its premise, try not to let it concern you too much, but as the ship starts eating up more and more screentime, you start getting a little frustrated that you’re not being given anything to justify it. And I don’t mean justify as in “BUT IN EPISODE 30 IT WAS CONFIRMED THAT BUTTERCAT/SENTIENT COFFEE FILTER WAS CANON, EVERYONE KNOWS HE VIEWS CRABCAKE-KUN AS A SIBLING FIGURE” nonsense, I mean justify as in, since this relationship’s kind of whipped up wholecloth, how did these people meet? What drew them to one another? How did they realise they loved one another? (And no, “her smile lit up the whole room and they knew she was the one” does not fucking count.) The whole point of shipping with something like this is to explore all these what-if questions and actually getting to directly create this dynamic themselves. Why would you make the ship and then not do that? What are you even doing at this point? Just slapping two people together for the aesthetic? That could have been interesting, why are you avoiding what seems to be your own premise? Maybe I wanted to see what led up to all this, XxX_stephanie_ff_luvver38_XxX! Maybe I wanted the dirt on Buttercat/Empty Gum Wrapper-san and its development within the context of the story! Did you ever think of that? Huh?

Final Fantasy XV is like this, but for an entire game.

They go to the trouble of writing these four guys implied to have a lot of history with each other that led to them being as close as they are, but that’s just it – it’s only ever implied. It’s so much easier to just imply than it is to go through the trouble of having your protagonists meet, and grow fond of one another, and take the audience through an emotional arc with them as we see them change and grow with each other for the better, AKA all the good parts of seeing a cool friendship roadtrip. And it’s worse than it would be if it were just a fanfic, because if you have a well-established enough relationship, whether it was romantic or not, then at the very least there you can get away with not fleshing anything out, because whatever it’s Cloud and Zack, we know who they are and why they like each other, let’s fast-forward to the part where they’re making out. XV is an original property and everything that the audience is going to know about it is going to be in the game. You can’t fast-forward to the good part because there’s nothing to fast-forward from but a shitty-writing-because-this-game-was-in-development-for-over-a-decade-and-it-shows-shaped void. They sell their game on Friendship Roadtrip Back To The Basics, and then just skipped to the end result because they didn’t want to have to actually resolve any arcs that they started, because they couldn’t start any arcs, because aaaaa shit this game ships tomorrow and it’s already November and we’re two months overdue just push it out we’ll put the backstories in DLC they’ll never notice shhhhhh – and more importantly, because they’ve learned they don’t actually need to, because the fans are happy with basically whatever and have collectively switched off their quality relationship filters since they’re just gonna write fic filling in the blanks anyway. Just look at Crisis Core, or literally any Kingdom Hearts game after Chain of Memories. It has all the grand gestures and emotional beats of something important happening, with no actual payoff. Prompto’s “surprise I’m a clone now let’s never speak of this again” is the most egregious example of this, with Luna’s “romance” and Ignis going blind offscreen and being whatever about it being close contenders as well. All “ clever speshul plot bombshells”, no actual significance towards the characters themselves or even the narrative in general. And don’t even get me started on the female characters, you assholes had this figured out all the way back in FFV, this isn’t hard.

So basically what I’m saying is that Final Fanatsy XV was written by Steven Moffat OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#asks #fifteen #and i get that not ALL of this is tabata's fault #square's upper management is kinda awful iirc #but christ this thing is broken on a much deeper level than something a better development cycle could have fixed #Anonymous

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