#danger tomorrow

[chloeplayz]

“Deer in the headlights.”

Guess who finally decided to post on tumblr… ME!

Character design and au idea to @isjasz

[redeemed-wren]

I might regret this but rogue squadron I am challenging you.

For every fifty notes this post makes I will dedicate half an hour to working on a Hobby Thing.

Hobby Things include:

Writing

Reading

Watching a TV show or movie

Knitting/crochet project

Cosplay/sewing projects

Walking/exploring

Baking/cooking

Playing a video game

These are fun things I want to do but struggle to start because I'm bad at letting myself relax, so if y'all hold me accountable it might help.

I may turn notifications off for this post but I will keep a record of how many notes it has and check it often.

You're free and welcome to suggest which of the above Hobby Things I should dedicate that particular half hour to.

Godspeed

💜💙💛

Now with added Spreadsheet so you can see what I've been up to!

[m1d-45]

wandering eyes

summary: wherein he's not sure what's going on between him and you, but he knows that he definitely shouldn't be thinking like this...

word count: ~2.5k

-> warnings: minor sumeru AQ spoilers ?? author very clumsily uses no name for wanderer . reader is a scholar of unnamed darshan and author handles that clumsily too .

-> gn reader (you/yours) ++ unspecified traveller (they/them)

taglist: @samarill || @sarienic || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

there are many scholars in the akedemiya. thousands of scholars across six darshans, collected under the akedemiya’s flag, differentiated only by the emblems on their uniforms. tens of thousands of people walked through the front doors, searched the house of daena, roamed the halls and chatted and laughed with their peers.

you were not one of them. you rarely were. it seemed, as time went by, you were more fond of lingering in his office rather than the established gathering places for students and staff alike.

how you found it, he didn’t know. it wasn’t marked with his name, nor that stupid nickname given to him by the rest of the scholars, nor any name at all. it wasn’t even a proper office, more so an abandoned classroom that he’d claimed as his own. and yet, one day you’d opened the door and sat in the chair across from his makeshift desk, and he’d never really had the mind to lock it after you left.

the wanderer did not often say what he was thinking. it was far easier to allow others to run their mouths in attempt to fill the silence, usually giving over more information than they meant to. buer used to chide him for it, but he thinks she’s gotten the message by now; casual conversations were reserved for a very narrow selection of people. her, of course, when he sat in the sanctuary and rattled off the list of tasks that comprised his day. he didn’t think there was much important about his day to her, but that had of course changed. she told him about his, and maybe he found something from a tavern to bring up to her, letting her try the fruits of her labor. he never ate much. he didn’t need it, and sumeru food was far more… complex than inazuman cuisine. he’s never been able to move past that simplicity—at nobody’s fault but his own, of course.

the second spot on his inch-long list was reserved for the traveller and, somewhat irritatingly, their companion. they made good company, though he hadn’t seen them in a while now… and as such, his list had effectively shortened to two.

if asked, he would not give a name to the tentative bond between you two. both because anyone that didn’t already know certainly deserved no stake in it, but also because it felt wrong to do that without knowing what you thought, and he’d not be asking that question any time soon. you were first a colleague, approaching him despite the gap in your darshans, and then… he didn’t know. he wasn’t familiar enough with the intricacies of human relationships to name it.

you weren’t an acquaintance. he knew more about you than he cared to admit, which his mind already reminded him of often enough. you were not a friend, nor anything else close to it. you were not a companion, that was too close a word for his liking. you were not a confidante, as you surely were not privy to the dim paths his thoughts often wound. more than an associate, less than a comrade. even if, say, the walls of the akedemiya had turned into the plains of battle, he could not call you a warrior in arms, for not only would he be far from the bloodshed, but you would surely be just as distant.

you were a strange character. maybe that was why he had allowed you so close—and it was only on his terms that this had happened, he told himself, because he would not be so foolish as to allow you near him of your own volition. when you spoke, he could almost hear your will threaded into your words, a silent determination to do… something. he hadn’t figured out what yet. you had no research projects you were uncertain on, no assignments or tasks you did not know how to complete, and yet you spoke with all the tenacity of a detective on a cold case.

you had walked into his life and he was too curious to let you leave. just curiosity, that’s all. there was no other reason to entertain someone so… intruiging.

that wasn’t the right adjective. he could spin a few hundred, if he wanted, but he had a feeling that even if he had recited them all, it would still fall flat. why was it that he had no problem summarizing others with the snap of his fingers, but his tongue always lingered over your name?

you didn’t seem to care that he didn’t talk. you spoke more than enough to make up for him, going into gratingly deep detail about how your day had gone and what research you were struggling with connecting, to the point that he’d began to keep books on your subject permanently in his “office” just to push them over to you whenever you started complaining. it didn’t matter that the time before he did so began to stretch longer and longer. he just knew you better, and as such needed to decide which text would be better. nevermind that he could give you both. why did he both welcome and shrink from the sound of his door clicking closed?

this problem, among others, drifted lazily through his mind as he skimmed the various proposals on his desk. for being gifted a name such as “hat guy” by the people of sumeru, a shockingly large amount of them wanted his time or approval on some project or another. he always denied them, and usually wouldn’t give them any mind… but he needed something to keep his eyes busy.

today was a day like any other. he had retired from his lectures with a weight on his shoulders like he was the one forced to memorize half a century in an hour, hanging his hat and sighing in his chair. he had sorted the mail that made it onto his desk—despite being across campus from the other staff offices, he still managed to receive letters—into a neat bucket called his trash can and had set about grading papers, which never took very long. when he was done, he began flipping through the textbooks stacked on his desk, waiting for the tell-tale click that would herald your arrival.

he used to go for walks during this time. he wouldn’t even bother with his hat, quickly scrawling over mistakes in thick red ink before leaving just as fast. he usually went for a walk outside the city to clear his head and get away from the noise, and maybe stop to buy some trinket for buer while he was out to make up for the fact that he “didn’t socialize enough” for her liking.

he doesn’t do that anymore. his routine had shifted, and the idea of you coming back to an empty office… well, he didn’t want you bothering anyone else with your inane inquiries anyway. he’s not sure anyone was as familiar with your research as him, and he’d rather not gain a reputation for annoying his coworkers by forcing them to keep up with you. no, only he was fit for that task.. and so he waited.

you had walked in with all your usual fanfare, sitting in the chair he never moved, starting to ask pleasantries that he had parried as soon as they left your mouth. his day was fine. his work was fine. his students were annoying. your day was good? good. what did you want and how could he give it to you?

from the moment you began to talk, he knew what your problem was. he was reading about it as you spoke, actually, tracing the arguments on the page as your words filtered through his mind like coffee through paper. perhaps if he was the divining sort, he’d sift the grounds and read your fortune.

he wasn’t. he read, occasionally looking up so you knew he was listening and continued, eyes flicking over your expression. you seemed more irritated than usual, the softness wrapped around the steel cord of your demeanor shedding away. it, like you, was interesting. that was the only reason why he was staring.

your hair was out of order, like you’d been fussing with it on the walk here. your uniform was out of place, as if thrown on without your usual care. your brow was set tight, though it softened when he’d snapped the book in his hands shut without a word, waiting for the truth you knew he held.

why was it, he wondered, that you bothered with small talk? why was it, as he pushed the book across to you, did he put up with it? why had he wanted to hold onto it longer, and why was it your exasperation that had made him cave?

curiosity. that was all. for when you took it into your lap with a smile he ignored, you did not leave. you stayed, launching into a spiel about the house of daena’s lending practices. did you know he was the one with all the books you needed? the house was short on such a niche subject as yours, and he didn’t like the idea of you going without the materials you needed—it would only cause more headaches, after all.

even if you did know, why tell him? this was not a problem he could fix. he looked to the remaining books on his desk, but found no answer. you had pulled the topic away from research, and he was at a loss for what you wanted. back to you, his eyes wandered, searching for some other indication. he would not say he was the smartest when it came to human emotion, but he still knew how to read one’s intentions; spending decades stuck in a palace of ice would teach anyone how. yet, despite all of this experience, he kept getting caught on one detail.

curiosity. that was all. your lips were dry, just so, and he was wondering why. had your stress caused you to neglect yourself? that happened often among scholars, to his understanding. were you without water? or had the heat gotten to you? if you were flushed, he couldn’t tell. you spoke without a rasp, the same voice that had haunted him since you had first called his “name” from up the hall, lips the same shade of pink he always knew.

curiosity. intrigue. novelty. he pulled his eyes away with an odd feeling pooling in his fingertips, willing himself back in line. and yet, the moment he looked back at you, his gaze was weighed down. dry, yes, but seeming so soft between the cracks. or was he just seeing things?

with a groan and a harsh shake of his head, he reached down, pulling the old proposals out of the trash. you had stopped talking, so he waved his hand to lead you to continue, pushing his eyes across the lines of text instead.

a lecture he was bored by from the name alone. a subject he held no research on. a lot of those, actually, people seeking his help from across darshans either instead of or after going to their sages. in fact, he had received proposals from everywhere but vahumana, it seemed. it was ridiculous. maybe only those he dealt with knew how futile sending a letter his way would go. should he give the relevant letters to you and say he had sent you in his stead? some of the subjects looked like something you would be interested in… it would never work, but he took the excuse to look back at you anyway, currently elbow-deep in a story about the last time you went to puspa café.

what did you drink, he wondered? was it why your skin looked so rough? perhaps the next time he went by the shops, he should find you some sunsettia juice.

it was that thought—and assuredly not that you had caught his eye with confusion—that had snapped him out of his thoughts. he dropped the stack in his hands on the desk and again pulled his synthetic eyes from where they should never have strayed, gesturing to the book in your lap with some snappy quip he didn’t think much about. there was little reason to put thought into insults he didn’t mean, and calling you poorly-read would only reflect back on him and his help.

which was fine. because he wasn’t helping you for his reputation. he was helping you for his own selfish…

you stood, giving thanks that slipped right off his shoulders, as easy as the breeze on a hot day. you “pushed in” the chair that had nowhere to go, leaving it where it would stay until you returned, like a dog by the door.

“don’t come back,” he called, voice holding no bite as the door latched shut. it was useless putting effort into things he didn’t intend to happen anyway.

[yeonjune]

The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY - Tracklist

Heaven Composed by: YEONJUN, TAEHYUN, SOOBIN

Over The Moon *TITLE

Danger Composed by: YEONJUN, TAEHYUN, BEOMGYU

Resist (Not Gonna Run Away) Composed by: BEOMGYU, SOOBIN, TAEHYUN, HUENINGKAI

Forty One Winks

Higher Than Heaven Composed by: TAEHYUN

[dangerdazee]

me wanting to do a full in-order rewatch

vs

my list of favorite episodes

[rikkivoid]

winter kiss

[feroluce]

So I'm well aware this is probably a case of "it isn't that deep" but I love looking at all the fiddly little accessories and bits and bobs of Hoyo designs and trying to justify them. Sampo's is particularly funny, because. What even is all that dkkxjdkd

His outfit has so many straps wrapped around him, like they're restraining or holding something in to keep it from bursting at the seams, and not all of them look like they're even connected to anything! But I'd like to think they are useful in certain situations, like if Sampo takes a hit out in the Fragmentum from one of the monsters.

He's hurt, his arm is bleeding, but he is ALMOST done, he just needs a couple more things to fulfill his quota to Natasha and he doesn't want to turn around and go back now. So Sampo frees a strap from his shirt, winds it around his arm above the cut, pulls it tight with his free hand and his teeth. He'll treat it properly in a minute, once he's done scavenging.

There's also the strange chains that resemble snake spines. Given how they're way longer in his splash art and the way they wind around-

I'd like to think they can extend somehow, and Sampo can use them to scale heights. Firefly clocks him as a covert fighter without even being within 20 feet of him, so it would make sense for Sampo to have ways to get around that don't involve usual/obvious methods, like stairs. Think assassin skill sets.

He's also the only one known to be able to get between the Underground and the overworld, and while he's pretty tight-lipped about his method, having some sort of device to help traverse vertical heights is probably insanely helpful there.

And the little metal ornaments across the backs of his wrists! You can see it a bit better in his reference sheet (everyone say thanks @/dragaliareferencearchive!) as opposed to his splash art-

they aren't flat, they stick up a bit off his arms. And so I wonder if Gepard has ever gone to arrest Sampo, and found that they interfere with his handcuffs haha

The ornaments don't match, the one on his right wrist is actually shorter and doesn't extend down to the back of his hand. Which probably doesn't make it nearly as annoying for handcuffs as the left one, but it would make sense for Sampo to have them like that, since he seems to be right-handed! I think a certain proficiency in being ambidextrous is necessary to dual wield daggers like he does, but. Sampo uses his right hand to

hold his blade in his splash art

throw his blade in his skill

play/show off with his dagger in his idle

lob smoke bombs in his technique

cross over his heart when he bows

and to flip his bangs during the cutscene where he saves the trailblazers from Bronya

So a shorter guard on his right hand would help him keep his wrist's flexibility to be able to do all that unimpeded (loving the thought now that Sampo is naturally right-handed and still better with it, but he practiced constantly with his left until he could do things passably ambidextrous).

I also love them because I wonder if they're in the perfect place to help block a hit, along with the chain wrapped around his left forearm.

Like I love the image of a hired killer soundlessly sneaking up behind Sampo in some shady dark alley, knife sloooooowly raising, and then all at once, they strike!

And instead of feeling the blade sink into his back, they get the unpleasant resonating of metal-on-metal shivering up their arm and rattling their bones, because Sampo has turned around at the last second and raised his crossed his arms to let the knife glance off the guards on his wrists.

And the mercenary is left to realize that oh, they are fucked.

[spadesncrows]

good morning chat

[future-crab]

Thinking about how MCR is constantly inventing bad endings for themselves. And, yeah, some of it is the "we all flame out and die young" youthful self-destruction you might expect from a rock band (and when they do it, they do it well, good God do I love Desert Song) but so often, the worst fate they can imagine is selling out and succumbing to creative inertia. What if the band doesn't die? What if we spend the rest of our lives coasting off the things we wrote that used to have meaning? What if we only exist to sell shit? What if the system we're rebelling against sands down our art and makes it palatable so it can sell an empty simulacrum of that rebellion for a profit? What if we tainted everything we've already created by using it to serve existing power?

[clonerightsagenda]

Ok I swear I will go to bed after this and I have made basically this same post before but while people talk a lot about Vimes' possession by a spirit of vengeance, I love the storyline of Tiffany getting possessed by an entity of desperate desire. She spends the whole book out of her element, struggling to fit in socially, wanting something to hide behind, and the hiver feels the same way. It's formless and helpless without a body to wear, and all it wants is to accumulate whatever will keep itself safe. It doesn't realize what that does to everyone around it. It's our id. It gives us what we want, even when it's not what we need.

And Tiffany gets her body taken over and watches herself threaten and steal and kill, forced to acknowledge that these actions stem from what the hiver sees in her, and when she gets free she pities it. She understands what it means to be scared and alone and ruled by your worst impulses. She gives it a name. She takes its metaphorical hand and helps it through the door. (And then accidentally gets stuck in the land of the dead and has to get dragged back, man Tiff what is it with you and underworlds). God I love her.

[hurlumerlu]

Okay okay, I am not gonna launch a passionate defense of the movie Cabaret at a poor internet stranger who didn't ask. They don't need that. But also *if* most audiences walked out of the theater thinking "wow, nazi germany sucked" and not "wow fascism truly can creep up on us until it's entirely normalized and not all of us will be able to just leave the country when that happens", it was a goddamn skill issue because the movie is very, very clear about its themes.

[nyx-thedragon]

HEY HI HELLO HUH ?!??!!?!!! SOLANGELO STANS WAKE UP !!!!!

[synthaphone]

her domain

[sixteenthtry]

Hugging my mcr merch real tight tonight

[xxshotgun-weddingxx]

the urge to make killjoy kandi is strong right now