#everything feels alien and typing this and posting it is a strange thing too but questioning doing anytninf is what led me to where i am

[darsynia]

The Smoke That Roams (post-apocalypse AU Bucky/Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | lmk if you want to be tagged for Bucky fics!

Summary: You and Bucky find each other after the world almost ends

Length/Warnings: 3,080 | sex, allusions to violence

Notes: I tagged this on AO3 as 'romance and survival soaked in metaphor,' lol. It's post-apocalyptic angst. Stop typing, Darsy.

Excerpt:

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

The Smoke That Roams

You used to compare him to a solid, cold hunk of metal. Non-reflective but uncorroded, with a metaphorical melting point so high it’s practically unreachable. A weapon when thrown but otherwise safe, foundational, inexpressive.

That was before he touched you.

Bucky Barnes is not safe. He is expressive, though. Just not with words.

now

The world isn’t destroyed. There are still plants, there are still animals, and there are still safe places to spend time. The planet may actually be better off now than in the last few hundred years, because the humans who were in the process of ruining things just barely failed.

There are no regulations, no government-enforced exclusion zones, only good- and bad-intentioned people living day to day. You figure humanity has around twenty years of 'every man for himself' to realize how difficult it is to grow crops and sustain life. Until then, everyone’s subsisting on canned food and shelf-stable meats while hating every second of it.

Boredom is an unexpectedly dystopian pandemic, post-apocalypse. Books still exist, so there’s that. Unfortunately, even if there were experienced people to keep the electrical grid going, it’s completely unsustainable without an accompanying society. When you’re really depressed, you picture various survivors all around the world hunkering down to read Jurassic Park or Gone Girl next to pine-scented candles or last year’s Pantone table tapers. Once, you imagined a group of miserable assholes warming their hands next to a bonfire of Live, Laugh, Love wall hangings outside of a Cracker Barrel. It helped. You doubt any Karens survived the apocalypse to object.

then

You survived out of luck, if you could call living in the aftermath of a failed nuclear response ‘luck.’ 

Given the honest-to-fuck alien invasion, those nuclear strikes should have taken out the whole area. Instead, a strange golden dome repelled the worst of the damage, but you knew better than to assume it would stick around. After gathering some important provisions (including a gun and all your ammo), you spent some time bundling up your lawnmower’s spare gas can. You'd read The Stand. There's no way you're strong enough to pilfer gasoline from an underground tank.

That was when you found a leather-clad warrior man standing beside your motorcycle. He didn't seem surprised to see you. “You know how to ride this?”

“You after parts or gas?” you asked, hand on the butt of your gun. You were high on survivor’s guilt and low on bravado. He noticed both.

“A bodyguard,” Bucky told you sardonically.

He eventually told you the real reason, but at the time you’d pulled courage out of the sulfuric smell of danger in the air and suggested you watch each other’s backs.

now

“Still awake?”

You roll over to see Bucky’s familiar shape standing at the window, outlined in moonlight.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet.” Yesterday the two of you had retreated further into the mountains, judging your previous temporary home too close to the river after seeing two small groups using it for through travel.

“Never thought I’d like the quiet this much,” he muses.

Getting up, you move to stand beside him, still dressed in multiple layers to ward off the colder elevation. “That’s because it matters why it’s quiet.”

He doesn’t look over, but his smile is gorgeous in the dim light. “That’s a war reference.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching the shadows of the nearby trees play in the wind until he speaks again, gruff and oddly defensive.

“I was right about the shelter.”

“There’s a radio? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah. Months worth of food, too.”

You’re embarrassed at how excited you are at the thought of MREs. “That’s great,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. It’s sopping wet. Turning to look at him more fully, you see that his hair is wet too. He’s been dripping the whole time he's stood there; there’s a halo of wet, dark spots on the floor around him that feel almost symbolic.

“Most of the food was untouched. Ghosts don’t eat much.”

“How many?” You have to dredge to find enough moisture to rub your vocal cords together.

“Just one. Buried him in the woods pretty far out, washed up in the river.”

Bucky leaves so much unsaid, but you’re good at decoding him by now. This new cabin is miles from the river. As a good ‘bodyguard,’ though, you have one more clarifying question. It’ll matter, if you want to stay here for longer than a week or two.

“Was there evidence of-- did someone else--”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” you sigh, pushing away the guilt of relief.

then

You learned him slowly.

Bucky didn’t need a bodyguard as much as a body, or more accurately a second person to help carry the items he was gathering. It made sense; even a loner like him wouldn’t separate from the other Avengers without a reason. Their version of ‘strength in numbers’ was too complicated to understand and he didn’t really explain, but it had something to do with scattered communication, whatever that meant.

The parts he needed were in military bases, abandoned (and guarded, which was fucking terrifying) high rises, and one notable item was in a corn field. Eventually he gave you his motorcycle and upgraded to one with a sidecar.

You didn’t ask why it was wet when he showed up with it, but you had an idea of why he might have needed to clean it off.

By then you were used to sharing a room with him, dressing and undressing when he was out of the room or faced away. He didn't seem to mind, but you couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t say. 

You were more like coworkers than anything else, to the point that he barely spoke once one of you started readying for bed, like an unwritten boundary. Not that night. He’d broken into a hotel with two beds, one for each of you. That night, instead of his usual steady rhythm of breaths that eventually lengthened into sleep, there was just pensive silence.

Silence was the worst part of your new life. Silence allowed doubts and fears to creep into the gaps between breaths, clawing out space for larger worries. Bucky was quiet, but he was rarely silent.

“It’s not cold,” he finally said, almost accusatory.

You didn’t know how to respond. You weren’t cold, you were in shock. Death was everywhere and nowhere; either you fought for your life or saw the evidence of those who’d lost that battle. Each choice came with terrible necessity. Had that sidecar been a necessity? 

The flashlight clicked on. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold.”

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

now

“I need to build it as high up as I can,” Bucky says.

“Not ‘we?’” you ask, nowhere near as breezy as you hoped.

“I need you to be here, safe.” He reaches out and grabs your hand with his smooth, river-damp metal one, squeezing just too much. It’s as calculated as it is unintentional, like your relationship. “This time, ‘safe’ is not with me.”

He can run for days, heal his own wounds, kill in so many ways it would take a week to list them all, and you still don’t want him to go alone.

You don’t say that, though.

Instead, you tuck yourself against Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around his drenched torso. There are no dryers, no radiators to hang your wet clothes on, no fireplace to dry them by. It’s a message.

He holds you close in the moonlight, his river water soaking into you, your unspoken love seeping into him.

then 

Bucky learned you fiercely.

After begrudgingly joining you the first time, he slept beside you from then on, handling it the same way he handled everything: with little explanation and an air of inflexibility. Suddenly you were two people who slept (slept, mind you) together, the metal plates of your lives shifting perfectly to fit that new reality. 

You didn’t fully understand what it all meant until the night Bucky went for a walk instead of getting into bed. He’d killed a man right in front of you that day--brief, brutal, and bleak--and you'd waited for him to come back, alone with your own brutal and bleak thoughts. Had survival destroyed your morality? Why had he been beautiful as he’d ended the attacker’s life? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were? You didn’t ask for this!

Then it hit you.

Neither did he.

You got to travel with him in 2019 because someone did things to him in the 40s that he’d never asked for.

Bucky came back, but that didn't help you purge those horrible thoughts, not until he sighed in obvious annoyance and threw an arm over your hip, dragging you back against his chest like it was an obligation.

Only then could you sleep.

And so could he.

now

The moon is too high to shine through your borrowed window anymore, so Bucky leads you back to the bed in the dark. He guides your clothes over your head and down your hips as unerringly as a marksman who knows the specs of his weapons. When he kisses you, it’s sloppy and imprecise, like he doesn't have time to come up with a plan other than 'must touch, now.'

He drops you onto your back on the bed and straightens up, stripping off his shirt. You figure that out by the sound the sodden fabric makes on the hardwood floor, a wet thunk followed by the metal pinging noise his belt buckle makes.

A strange realization hits you: for the first time since everything went to hell, you don’t want water stains on the floor. This could be your place, yours and his. The thought warms the places where you’d pressed up against Bucky’s wet clothes, but soon his kisses do that for you, furnace-hot yet gentle as the curl of smoke from your frequent campfires.

You burn for him, and you have since before he touched you with intent and looked at you with desire. 

then

Post-apocalyptic isolation was finally getting to you.

The warehouse was cold, impersonal, and dangerous enough that no one lived there, despite being a single building surrounded by miles of possibly-fertile fields. Back when it was operating, that had protected the county population, and now that it was not, its position could best be called strategic. No one could sneak up on you if you were diligent, but the monotony of guard duty was wearing on you. So was the wind coming off of the unrelenting central plains.

You'd never seen Bucky that frustrated before. He came to bed each night tense and sullen, even angry, and instinctively, you’d done your best to give him space. It was only in the last few nights that ‘space’ had included sleeping separately, despite the chill of early autumn that seeped into your bones from the concrete floor.

Day five of that singular brand of loneliness happened to be day thirteen at that location. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Let me help you.” Your tone was wounded, but you didn’t raise your voice.

“You are helping.”

“There’s no point in me watching for nonexistent scavengers when whatever you’re doing isn’t working down here! Especially since--” Your words turned to ash in midair. You’d been about to say ‘especially since you won’t sleep with me anymore,’ which made your relationship sound vastly different than what it actually was.

Bucky smiled for the first time in days. “Go on.”

“No way. Mad Max himself couldn’t drag it from me.”

“I think I saw that one,” he said, swiping a precious candy bar from the special stash and sitting on a stack of pallets. “Sand and cars?”

You choke out a laugh. “If any of the filmmakers are still alive, can you even imagine--”

“They probably murder anyone that brings it up.” Bucky wrapped up the rest of the candy bar and held it up like he was about to toss it to you. “Tell me.”

Your chest felt like you’d swallowed lighter fluid. He looked happier than he had in days, and you had no idea if telling him the truth would toss a match or douse it.

Well, you lived with enough fear as it is.

“Fine,” you said with fake annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s hard to sleep without you breathing on my neck and hogging the blanket.” The plan was to be flippant, to avoid seeing his response, but an arsonist can never look away from their own blaze.

Bucky was still sitting the way he had been before, but you could see the tension ebbing from his shoulders. His metal hand relaxed its grip on the pallet with the same slow relief as the growing smug look on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, impudent and inflammatory.

“Yeah. Give me the candy bar.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky grinned. He stood up with the kind of confident menace that had sold many an action movie ticket.

“Oh my god, turn that off!” you yelped, poised to run. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sand,” he said. You bit your lip as he continued, “I can use it to shore up-- Never mind.”

Bucky’s gaze was intent as he started walking in your direction. It was the same kind of focus he used to defend your lives, with only difference being the impudent light in his eyes. You backed away (never turn your back on a predator) as swiftly as you could, heart pounding in your delighted chest.

Seconds later you realize he’d herded you against a dividing wall and he was still advancing. It was absurd, sexy as hell, and the aforementioned lighter fluid had completely replaced your blood volume. One touch and you’d be aflame. 

Bucky didn’t touch you.

He stopped mere breaths away, leaning his metal forearm on the wall. Bucky brought the half-wrapped candy bar up where you could see it and then ripped away the wrapping with his teeth, his eyes glittering with challenge. Holding your gaze, he brought it to your mouth.

You were breathing so heavily your breasts grazed his chest, sparking brushfires each time. Still, this was a contest of sorts, and you had precious few chances to go toe to toe with this man. You waited until the heat of your mouth smeared the chocolate on your lower lip, and only then did you move--shoving his hand to the side and arching up to kiss him.

His groan ignited something in both of you. He pulled you close with a rough hand at your thigh, curving your leg around him and taking charge of the kiss. It was exhilarating, full of the heat of something long-desired. You grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, dug your fingernails into his hair, your other hand skating over the bare metal of his arm.

Suddenly he pushed back on the wall behind you with enough force to shake the cinderblocks, eyes wild, hands at the hem of his tank top. You nodded, scraping your elbows in your haste to strip off your clothes. It took just seconds before you were on each other again, Bucky half carrying you to the corner of the warehouse where you’d piled up your bedding. He was already pumping his fingers in and out, sucking a brutal kiss on your neck even as he knelt on the pile of ragged quilts.

“You are so fucking strong-- yes, like that,” you gasped out with your eyes screwed so tightly you saw a spray of sparks. The white-hot pleasure practically rang in your ears, and then he was there, splitting you apart and putting you back together, with the taste of him healing the gaps.

“You smell just like every morning I wanted to do this,” Bucky growled into your skin. The pinpoint pain of his fingertips digging into your hip was so real, so him that you were speechless. All you could do was drag your lips across every inch you could reach, arching your back to drive the two of you toward the wreckage of your former selves.

When release came it was a second nuclear event, him panting into the join of your neck and shoulder, your hands buried in his hair.

now

There is a luxury to darkness and patience, one you never would have guessed at in the Time Before.

Bucky doesn’t have to see the ecstasy on your face to know his expert caresses are sending you skyward. You don’t have to watch him throw his head back to know he’s about to come apart inside you.

He’s seen the silhouette of your body backlit by the sunset as you ride him.

You’ve watched the lethargy of pleasure-bought peace lift months of his guilt.

Things will never go back to the way they used to be, but just as you’ve learned to navigate the chaos of the current world, you’ve also learned the comfort of being truly known.

Tomorrow, Bucky will head up the mountain to build one piece of a larger device various Avengers have been constructing across the world. Stark had called it a cosmic smoke signal, a last-ditch effort to call for rescue. After all this time, you’re not sure your heart is in it anymore. It’s engaged elsewhere; you haven’t just learned to adapt, you’ve learned to thrive with Bucky at your side.

Still, the others are counting on the two of you, and it’s all about balance. Whether the next mission is a fiery trip to the stars or the steady puff of a hand-built cookstove, you’re ready for what comes next.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

[cmdr-h-of-the-woods]

One month in the Pleiades

It has now been a month since I arrived in the Pleiades Sector and the Pleiades nebula and what a learning experience this has been! I’ve met Thargoids (and survived), I’ve successfully landed on high-gravity bodies without even damaging my shields, I’ve found new types of life I had never seen before, I’ve visited a number of abandoned settlements, I’ve found large Thargoid surface structures, I’ve helped rescue people, I’ve seen several black holes, and of course, I’ve been enjoying unique views of the nebula from all kinds of distances and angles.

For the most part, I’ve actually been spending the month following the trails hinted at by the listening posts scattered throughout the place. Finding the listening posts is fairly easy, but finding what system they refer to is another matter, and it’s been a lot of trial and error. It’s not all bad though; this gave me the opportunity to visit some systems I might not have stopped at.

The Thargoids are everywhere here. Overall, it almost seems like this area has now found some sort of balance between human and Thargoid spaces. The ones I’ve met were mostly indifferent towards humans, unless we get too close to their space -- I suppose that’s what happened to the burning megaships and capital ships I found drifting in green clouds. I’m not always sure how to interpret their intentions when they turn around to face me and do that thing with the green tendrils. (Some sort of scan?) They do seem to be pretty secretive and not enjoy being probed or approached too closely.

I did visit some abandoned settlements dating back to the war and the Thargoid incursions though, and they often had heart-wrenching stories to tell. So many people killed, forced to evacuate, or even left for dead. Sometimes it seems the Thargoids were only reacting to what the people had been doing and were angry at humans; other times it seems the settlements were attacked just because they happened to be there. There was a story of a merciful Thargoid who just turned around and left, though. I’ve read that they probably have some sort of a hive mind, but I wonder how individual decisions come into play.

One time, I visited an abandoned penal colony that had been attacked by Thargoids. Everything was empty as I listened to the voice of the probably long-dead Chief warden on the logs I downloaded, but then I must have accidentally restored power and the automated settlement defences came back to life and started shooting at me. I managed to dismiss my ship before she was damaged, and escaped, full throttle on, with the SRV. That was terrifying. My heart is still racing as I am writing this.

There’s something else, though. Coded messages hidden here and there. Whispers about men in black and paramilitary groups shutting down operations. Strange ships appearing out of nowhere, guns out and ready to shoot down anyone without asking any questions. I don’t want to get in too much trouble, but I must admit I feel tempted to go and stick my nose in there and figure out what the hell is going on. The bad guys might not be the octagonal aliens themselves...

I don't know how long I am going to stay here, but there is more to find in this area, so I am going to do my best to follow all those trails before moving on. (The question then is, will I go back to the Bubble, or deeper into the Black? That remains to be seen.)

Bark mounds! These were surprisingly difficult to find.

A Thargoid Basilisk.

A bioluminescent anemone in Taygeta. The gravity on the planet was too high for me to walk around and I had to stay in the safety of cabin of my SRV.

[gone-fish-mode]

so the latest post regarding gargoylekin was four years ago, which means I am once again drawn to some pretty small communities. None of the posts in the tags really clicked with me either. The one that went into detail was more mythical, whereas I am feeling this towards literal hunks of rock with water spewing out of their mouth.

I am hesitant to call it a kintype because as much as I respect polykins and polytherians, it's just a little too sporadic for me? I don't know, I have a bit of trouble understanding how multiple kintypes can coexist (despite being an alien and a gillman and therefore a polykin).

I don't completely like the term hearttype for them, though. It keeps the issue of my struggling with multiple kintypes, but I'm very picky with what terms I use and things that get more specific tend to drive me away. I'd really have to think about where I think my connection with them is coming from and how it interacts with my gillman and alien 'types.

I know my alien type is very abstract and why it is the way it is, and I also understand the origins of my gillman type. I know how those two interact very well, and I have for years! But all of a sudden this potential realization comes in and I don't really know how to fit it in with everything else.

I know that all three of these spawn from a sense of isolation and loneliness and act as a way to help me accept my otherness, but they all exist on different levels of my brain and emotions. I think gargoyles are used as a very shallow, surface level expression of my everyday life. Because of my lived experiences, I relate to them on a level that really shocked me. I don't experience phantom limbs for them or shifts, but I know how they feel and they know how I feel.

they may just be a hearttype, but I'm just not sure. It exists with the same intensity as my other 'types and I think its strange.

[crediblebombthreat]

Tumblr Day 5ish De-Brief

I wanted to post this here so I can look back on it in disgust or curiosity later, not necessarily because I think anyone needs to read it. This is a bit of a long post, by the way. Consider before clicking.

It's very strange coming back here after seeing glimpses of it in the mid 2010s and seeing that it's basically the same. There's less porn and the overall post quality seems to have gone up slightly -- but the fundamental soul of the site is still the same one it was before metrics, engagement, and algorithms started to define what the internet was on a metaphysical (for lack of a better term) level. Ironically, the only other places I know of like this are the boards on 4chan too niche or pretentious to assimilate the flood of low-quality posts from rightoids that are either 16 or 47 years old. Everywhere else on the internet that people spend time on has an invisible coating of unreality over it.

This isn't to say that tumblr is immune -- you have things like Blaze -- but spending real money for notes isn't the point of the site.

If I find something fucked up and weird on YouTube, for example, it's like when an AI lets you win at chess. YouTube's algorithm knows I like weird videos, and this video has been determined by a network of keywords to be weird. The same (or very, very similar) applies to TikTok, Twitter, Facebook, and Reddit (although the userbase is delusional and denies this -- go figure, they're redditors).

If I see something fucked up and weird on tumblr it's a result of the ever-churning slurry of content organically burping up a post from 2013 because a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend reblogged it a week ago. There is also a possibility that the person posting a sped up .gif of a caterpillar eating a leaf with the caption "ummm sh eis my fukcign sister!!!" payed upwards of $150 for me to see it, which is surreal in its own, different, way.

Because of this (and despite the culture of detachment), everything feels a bit more sincere. Which is definitely sometimes a weakness -- tumblr twee creates some of the most cloying garbage I've ever seen -- but it also sets up situations where (unlike everywhere else on the internet) the news that travels fastest isn't always bad news.

I imagine most users of tumblr are either aware of this or just take it for granted, but for a relative outsider it's a it's a good control on the direction the rest of the internet is going. Or, more accurately, where it is right now. I notice a general feeling of unease and dissatisfaction coming from a lot of people who use the internet for something other than a continuous stream of entertainment. Even dedicated internet trolls mourn for the days when you could dissolve the social fabric of a forum by using "(:" instead of ":)". As opposed to now where every online argument is a different flavor of the same three topics; all soaked in self-important moralism, and often framed through a reductive political lens -- the worst impulses of the 2010s internet concentrated and refined.

This isn't to say that the process of something gaining popularity and losing some of the quirks you appreciated about it, or the slow erosion of a medium is unnatural or anything. It's been happening since the dawn of time. It is, however, strange that it's happening to people in their teens and twenties rather than people in their forties and fifties.

The bad news is: as things reach new heights of profitability in capitalism, they are further alienated from a human element. The good news is: literally everyone is acutely aware of that, even if it's subconscious. It's why we still watch competitive chess between two people and why I believe AI art is nowhere near as catastrophic as one might think (among a few other reasons).

And because of that good news, tumblr will probably stay the correct type of shitty in the long-run. I don't see a world where there exists a corporate entity competent enough to algo-monetize tumblr while still retaining a userbase. And I DEFINITELY don't see a world where that hypothetical corporate entity would willingly buy tumblr.

I have other thoughts about the possible futures of the internet, but that's more applicable to a Substack article rather than a musing tumblr post. Additionally, all outcomes other than "capital snakes its way deeper into the processes of communication and we are helpless but to watch" must take into account that "capital snakes its way deeper into the processes of communication and we are helpless but to watch" is the most likely outcome considering nothing crazy happens.

But hey, something crazy usually happens.

[kerink]

like i dont talk about my medical hx here any more really but i want to more, esp if i think itll be helpful. but like, i got formally dxd and got accommodations for the first time in grad school and it was so strange. talking to someone and having them list all the ways you're struggling and different due to both negative symptoms and positive symptoms (i mean those colloquially not the way mental health means them)

like being told you're so depressed you should actually be hospitalized BUT also so resilient that you're doing okay? weird conversation to have. being told i'm so smart (over 130 IQ) but lack focus and motivation to do anything with it? made me cry for days. my neurologist literally described me as "a car with the greatest engine ever built on the worst tires ever made." it made me feel trapped in my body, makes me wonder every day what i COULD be doing if i wasn't so disabled. miserable honestly

BUT also. look at what ive done DESPITE being so disabled. this isn't always a comfort but it often is

it's strange being resilient and coping well, it's hard being gifted. connecting to others is so challenging for me, i always feel different and othered. ever since i was in grade school i've felt like an alien who's only here to observe not participate and that feelings never really gone away. my mom tells me i'm too smart, my brain tells me i'm too broken, my neurologist says it's something in between

anyway this isn't meant to get sympathy im fine, just that last post kind of got me musing and i've been talking to the taskforce all day about it so i had the words to articulate it

i like that the conversation about including giftedness in ND identities is happening, it needs to. we're told we're different from a young age and removed from our peers to do things differently. it changes you, changes the way you think and relate to others. but since society sees this as A Good Thing it's not treated like the significant event it is. i barely remember any autobiographical information but i remember sitting there at age 7 or 8 being tested. i remember being singled out, i remember being given different work, i remember the shame of being 11 and my depression was so bad i couldnt Do the gifted thing any more and had to drop out. everything comes easy to me when it comes to work and school so i never feel accomplished i always feel like i'm not doing enough or i'm doing it wrong, but that's just because it's easy. i do more than my peers i just don't feel it. and if i do things at "my level" the mental health issues paralyze me. it's a constantly losing battle

i'm putting off studying for licensure to type this, case and point

[yoshimonster]

Blog Post #3: Me vs. You (but keeping your eyes open is the most important thing)

Hello world! It’s been a pretty steady but very strange ride today. I think today started off not so good with repetitive arguments which has been a recurring theme for me lately. It’s very weird that without university or a trip planned things get messy and super confusing in such a short period of time. Between yesterday and today, I’ve somehow managed to simultaneously anger but also resolve conflicts in my life with various people in my life. It’s all in a very in between place at the moment.

So unfortunately, I think I have this tendency to be way too direct if you talk to me for long/often enough and a habit of not reading the room well enough aka gaging what others are feeling moment by moment in real time. It sometimes feels like I’m still sort of hanging in outer space looking down at Earth or maybe on the FM radio station while the rest of the world is on AM. This is a very out of body experience which happens semi regularly and I don’t know how to control it, if at all, and is probably the reason why I’ve always enjoyed parallel universe fantasy type scenarios. Things that are real but perhaps not fully formed.

Anyways, was having a pretty horrible start to the morning but it did get semi-resolved because of a very clear directive I was given. But I assume the overwhelming sadness got to me and I remember it being hard to move past what had happened even though technically I did somewhat complete something that needed to be done. It can be really difficult surrounded by extremely aware and competent individuals when it feels like my head is in the clouds a lot the time. Just daydreaming about a better life.

I think past lunchtime things did get a little better and I did get some maths revision in, which I have a lot more to do off. I have only barely managed to be slightly less than average holiday-productive. I also did virtually catch up with a friend who I’d annoyed a few days ago and didn’t realise it until the end of our original interaction. But yes, I think following that I have annoyed this friend once again – please refer to the second paragraph – pretty soon after this virtual catch up. I think I’m back to being hated again (EDIT: maybe, this is a TBD).

But all this made me realise how fickle things can be, which I did know of already what with a not so stellar university track record, but when it starts effecting all the different parts of your life … that’s when things get really bad and generally out of control. It just hit me why I’ve historically kept all my friends at such arms’ length constantly and when you get close it really brings out the truer parts of your personality – some of which aren’t the prettiest. It’s so hard to grow up live/in real-time when you don’t see the world or when everything feels so alien. I have no clue where to go from here, I reckon autopilot seems like my most viable option right now, which is quite similar to how I’ve actually been dealing with university. Just get stuff done and move onto the next thing… with an added dose of present-ness.

-yoshimonster-

[feverinfeveroutfic]

flowers for alexander | chapter one

yet another one of those stories that i’ve always wanted to write. much akin to like blood from a stone, i started writing this one in secret, except this one is something else, though.

i’ve always wanted to write a full-on steampunk story, as well as a harlequin-type romance. i also feel like i suck at writing both. it’s the main reason why i started writing this one (and like blood from a stone) in secret because for me, romance is just a thing that exists: i see it advertised everywhere i go and yet it feels so alien at the same time - and the times i have been in love, instead of being congratulated, i catch hell for it. and i’m good at world-building but for some reason, steampunk has always eluded me.

don’t let the title fool you, by the way: it’s a nod to the sci-fi story “flowers for algernon” but... it’s not *completely* about alex, though.

i’m posting a week before alex’s 54th birthday, too - happy birthday, my love 💜

Late September 1988

It was a rather unusually rainy day in San Francisco and the petrichor embedded in the soil followed her all the way to the heart of the park near the gilded spires of the Golden Gate Bridge. Leaves had already fallen upon the grass in a thick blanket of red and gold: barely fall, and yet the leaves were shedding off in droves; but she had very little interest in what lay around her. The low grating of the steam in the distance hummed under the pattering of the rain in a strange comfort of sorts. She had tucked one hand into her black coat pocket and all the while she carried a rainbow umbrella over her head. With a slight twirl of her umbrella came the memory of his laughter, in how the colors seemed so cartoonish and comical against the silver and pale bricks that made up the city, and right as she recalled it, she was met with a wave of melancholy.

Florence kept her eyes fixed on the slight trail in between the leaves: the best she could do was avoid the sidewalks so no one could see her tears: the trees protected her from the weather airships overhead. No more tears. She begged for no more tears, but the floodgates had opened at that point.

If there was any silver lining to walking along the leaves through the darkness, it was that no one could hear her quietly crying to herself.

Florence reached a ponderosa pine right smack dab in the middle of the grass, the sole green in a sea of fallen leaves and a gilded world: the spiked green needles on the branches protected her head from the rain. What began life as a fine mist courtesy of the bay waters escalated into a stout, heady rain to create a fine veil of steam all about the neighborhood streets before her. The most she had seen since she had lived there in the Bay Area.

The inky black sky and the blinking lights of the silent airships only made her think of his inky black hair.

His black hair, as soft and smooth as silk. The way his neck smelled. The gentle way in which he kissed. Those brown eyes which glimmered even in the darkness.

She shook her head as she thought about the two break-ups, one of the worst things that she had done as she thought about the look of absolute pain on his face and she went away with him. She was sure that she had made the right choice and she had been in this relationship for nearly two years, but the regret couldn’t be more obvious to her, however.

And then she ended this one.

Too many memories as she headed into the late Eighties and the environment around her drastically changed.

But even with the advent of everything, those two boys had their fingerprints, their scent, the shape of their bodies, everything, all over San Francisco, Oakland, and Berkeley.

Florence lifted her head and she peered across the grass, to the coffee shop across the cobblestone street. The memory of both of those boys confessing to her over a cup of pressed coffee, especially the second one: through the rain and her tears, she could still taste him on her lips. 

She turned her head and her eyes wandered over to the other end of the grass and as far as the trees extended into the night. Dìa de los Muertos was coming soon, and that cemetery would be alive with grievances. A part of her yearned to find a spot and lay down a bouquet of those golden yellow marigolds on a gravestone as a moniker of burying their love. 

Florence held onto the handle of the umbrella with her left hand as if to steady herself. A thick cloud of white steam emerged from the street before her as the rain pattered across those pipes.

It felt so strange to not have her wedding band on anymore, even if it had been a whole three weeks. To think they had married up on the hill overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and the vast bay waters: all of it for naught.

She lowered her gaze down to her waist, and all the while, she rested a hand upon her lower belly, right beneath her navel. It seemed impossible to tell him about it, about his baby. And of course, everyone would have to know about the child, too.

Her first boy with his hand around a new girl as she had heard through the grapevine, and of course, his lips upon those of another girl. Two loves, one of whom she had married, slipped away through her fingers.

She curled her fingers into her coat and let out a loud, frustrated groan up to the pine and the black sky. It felt better right then as she lowered her head for a gaze straight ahead to the trees before her. Even with the cold metal and the steam, the trees always remembered, even in the darkness.

And then she remembered that it was a Friday night: Francine was over at the Presidio social club, about a block away from the park. As long as she could remain in the shadows for the time being, then she knew she would be fine.

As long as Francine never mentioned anything about the break up, either, or the affair or Alex’s new girl.

Florence reached the pavement which formed a loop there on the eastern side of the park. The rain persisted all around her as she traversed the blackened pavement with the wispy clouds of steam at her back: a little break away from her job as a starting mechanic at the trolley station not too far from there. It paid modest in the way a mechanic’s grunt would but it stood at an interesting spot of the peninsula, right in the heart of a cozy neighborhood revamped from an old Army post, complete with the views of the bridge as well as Alcatraz and Treasure Island. Not too far from there was Haight-Ashbury and the Conservatory of Flowers: she lifted her head for a look down the neighborhood and the point of Sutro Tower over the flat tops of the buildings. Though it was far before her memory came within form, she swore that she could hear the sounds of Crosby, Stills, and Nash down by the base of the tower against the thick, low-sprawling clouds of pure white steam.

Francine was a double major at the university nearby there, majoring in art history and French literature: Florence meanwhile still couldn’t understand as to how she and Alex never sparked between them given her desire to learn and study, and he had his exorbitantly intelligent parents, both of them collegiate professors. 

But the Presidio club was always right there within walking distance of the school, and Francine could go in as long as they served food until midnight.

When Florence stepped inside, she shook her umbrella out from the doorway and closed it. Not a very superstitious woman, but she needn’t risk seven years of bad luck after all that she had experienced before then. She ran her hand over the crown of her mousy brown hair only to find it completely dry.

The social club was particularly cozy, especially on a night like this, complete with the soft, ivory white walls decorated with old black and white photographs of the days of the military, and timeless black leather couches and chairs strewn about the wooden floor. Though a social club centered in this singular neighborhood by the Golden Gate Bridge, anyone could come in if they so wished, and Florence much obliged. A few people were in there away from the rain, but she recognized Francine at the far corner of the room, complete with the red bowler hat and the black rose broach on the base perched atop her jet-black hair with blonde streaks. She gestured for Florence to join her, to which she scurried over the polished floorboards and took her spot on the couch cushion next to her.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Francine confessed to her. “How are you?”

“Comme çi, comme ça, I guess you could say,” Florence replied.

“Très bien, but may I ask why, though?” Francine paused for a moment, and her brown eyes locked onto her. She nibbled on her bottom lip out of nerves. And Francine ran her tongue along her top row of teeth.

“I saw Eric on the way to school earlier,” she stated, to which Florence sighed and shook her head.

Francine tilted her head towards her, complete with a stern expression on her round face.

“C’mon, Flo,” she scoffed. “I’ve known you for years. Whenever you say you don’t care, it’s obvious you do. You care enough to say you don’t.”

Florence closed her eyes and sighed again.

“Okay, fine. How’s he doing?”

“Not good,” Francine replied without a moment’s hesitation. “He didn’t have to say a word, actually. I know how he feels.”

“But he cheated, Frankie,” Florence insisted, albeit in a low voice. She rested a hand upon her belly. “He cheated on us.” Francine raised an eyebrow and then she gaped at her.

“Have you told him?” To which Florence shook her head. “You have to tell him, Flo,” Francine insisted. “He has to at the very least know about—“ She gestured to the middle of her body. Florence leaned back into the couch but Francine stayed before her: the rose upon the bowler hat glittered under the wrought iron lamps suspended from the ceiling.

“Be like the Luddites as much as you want, Flo,” Francine insisted. “He’s gonna know at some point with your big pregnant belly out before you. He’s going to ask what happened to you.”

“I’m aware, Frankie,” Florence assured her, albeit rather curtly. “It’s just—finding the gumption to tell him, is all.” She closed her eyes and bowed her head yet again, and that time she could feel the tears burgeoning from within.

“Well…” Francine started again. “Take it slow. Speak from the heart. Matters of the heart can and will heal with time. You know, when my parents split, my dad swore that he would never love anyone again, especially after how much he loved my mom. Look at him now: he’s got a good paying job over in Reno, he bought himself a house, and he got engaged last month. He told me he would always love my mom, though. I’m not saying a full split will do justice, especially not with a baby on the way, but—it’s something to consider, however.”

Francine dropped her gaze to Florence’s waist.

“Definitely something to consider,” she repeated, that time in a softer tone of voice, which in turn trailed off for a second.

“Their new album is doing fantastic, by the way,” Florence quipped in an abrupt change of subject.

“Oh, yeah?” Francine’s face lit up at that.

“Eric wrote a lot of the riffs at home—him and Chuck both, and Alex had a great deal of input as well. But I’ve heard Eric’s music more than anything…” Florence’s voice trailed off right then. Francine sighed through her nose.

“Would you like something to drink?” she offered her, to which Florence shook her head.

“No, thanks, I’m… not feeling it right now.”

Francine padded over to the counter for a cup of fresh-pressed coffee for herself. Florence stared off into space: maybe she should have a talk with Eric, especially since he was going to be a father in the not-so-distant future. She never considered children with him, especially since they were both still so young, with Eric at twenty-four and Florence herself looking at twenty-two come Christmas. They were going to be on tour again in the future and with technology making serious headway throughout the world, surely her life would be upended in a way that would be far more than she could bear. Such a position brought a pounding in her chest, which in turn shortened her breath as if she had been running a mile.

Francine soon returned to her with a steaming hot cup of coffee in hand and a look of concern graced upon her face.

“Flo, what’s the matter?” she asked her as soon as she sat back down on the couch next to her. Florence rubbed her chest so as to soothe her heartbeat, but it was futile.

“I just got—really anxious all of a sudden,” she confessed, and she let out a low whistle. The warmth and aroma of the blonde coffee welcomed her, and more so as Francine held the cup closer to her. Florence let out a long low whistle and inhaled deep through her nose. That seemed to ease things in her chest.

“I went to the doctor today,” she finally managed to say out loud. “The baby’s heart is beating fast, and my hope is that it doesn’t beat so fast that it stirs another anxiety attack.”

“Doubt it,” Francine assured her with a sip of her coffee. She then licked her lips and set the mug down on the table top before them. “Are you still getting morning sickness?”

“A little,” Florence confessed. “It comes and goes in waves, but it hasn’t done anything to affect my energy, though. If anything, I’m as energetic as ever.”

“My mom was like that when she was pregnant with me,” Francine told her. “According to her, she loved being pregnant because she was on her feet all the time and nothing about the dead weight in her belly would slow her down. It was like right at the end when she began to slow down.”

“Is that why you have oodles and oodles of energy?” Florence teased her, to which she laughed out loud.

“I have no idea, to be honest,” Francine confessed. “I’ve always taken good care of myself. I’ve often wondered what would happen if someone as energetic as me would hook themselves up to one of the steam machines and move it along like a hamster wheel, but that seems pretty far off, though.”

“You say that as if it’s in the realm of possibility,” Florence pointed out, slightly alarmed.

“Anything is possible, though, Flo. I had no idea the steam would come as far as it did in twenty years. My parents sure didn’t know and they’re as concerned as I am with it.” She bowed her head and adjusted the brim of her hat once more: the petals of the rose glittered under the iron light as if they were comprised of diamonds. “Anyway, do you have a name picked out?”

“I like Sebastian for a son,” Florence replied. “And Alison and Sophie for a daughter.”

“I like Sebastian, too,” Francine said. “Call him ‘Seabass’ for short.”

“No son of mine is going to be named ‘Seabass’,” Florence scoffed. “I also like Nellie for a daughter, too.”

“Nell-Nell to the nell-nells,” Francine teased with a straight face, and then she burst out laughing, but Florence rolled her eyes at that. “C’mon, I’m trying to make you feel better about things!”

“I know, it’s just—“

“Right,” Francine said with a raise of her eyebrow and another sip of her coffee. A voice in the back of Florence’s mind that envied Francine, a double major and a powerhouse of a young lady. She was going to go places in life, and without the worry of having a man’s seed in her belly, either. But then again, Florence had to welcome her child with open arms come the end of the nine months. No margin for the error of resentment, especially to the fledgling life within.

“Do you know how you got pregnant, anyway?” Francine asked her out of the blue. Florence had to stop herself from laughing.

“Is that a serious question,” she sputtered out. Francine shrugged and sipped on her coffee rather loudly. Florence rolled her eyes at that. “I ran out of pills and I couldn’t get to the drug store in time. Eric and I got into an argument and I just lost track of time. I headed out and I saw they were closed. I came back home and we—made up.”

“I gotcha,” Francine replied with another loud sip of her coffee.

“Shhh!” Florence hissed, and the rain picked up outside.

“Jesus, when’s the last time it rained like this up here?” Francine asked aloud.

“A while,” Florence replied, nonplussed. “It’s almost like the steam is adding to it, too, like the clouds are accentuating the fog and rain flows.”

“Don’t think that’s how it works,” Francine pointed out, as she sipped on her coffee some more. “It’s plausible, though. If there’s anything I can take away from the rise of the steam, it’s that anything in this world is plausible.”

“Do you think getting home in one piece is plausible?” Florence asked.

“Oh, absolutely. We’re close to the ocean, sure, but I think it would have to manifest into a category five hurricane for it to flood like hell, though. And the Pacific Ocean is too cold for a regular hurricane this far north, let alone a cat five storm.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Florence teased her.

“Hey, we nerds have brought us into this world and we’re gonna dig you out,” Francine promised her; one final swig of her coffee and she set the mug down on the table before her. She adjusted the brim of her hat again and she stood to her feet, and scooped up her long black coat. Florence followed suit: where she had her umbrella, Francine had long copper lined evening gloves that covered her arms all the way up to her elbows. She spotted the umbrella in Florence’s hand and cracked her a shy little smile.

Florence sighed through her nose again and she led the way out of the the club to the torrential rain.

She opened the umbrella in a cover of rainbow over their heads and gave it a couple of twirls.

“Aruba, Jamaica, ooh, I wanna take ya,” Francine chanted over the rain. “Bermuda, Bahama, c’mon, pretty mama. Key Largo, Montego, baby, why don’t we go?”

Florence chuckled at that.

“Don’t know why I just thought of that,” Francine confessed. “But when I looked at your umbrella, it started playing in my head, though.”

“It’s kinda everywhere, Frankie,” Florence pointed out. “Anyway, call me when you get home?” She extended an arm for her.

“Only if you call me first,” Francine declared, and they exchanged hugs before they parted ways. Florence stood under the awning for a second before she doubled back to the trees and the trail she had taken. A lot more water surrounded her at that point, all in the form of small rivers about the pavement, including a particularly large one in the storm drain before her feet as she reached the curb again. Francine’s energy gave her a strange sensation within her, between the jokes and her singing to The Beach Boys: she gazed down at the flowing dark water in the drain with a little smile on her face. With a glimpse both ways, she gripped onto her umbrella and took a leap of faith over the small river.

She nearly lost her balance once she set her feet down on the pavement but she caught herself in time. She glanced about the street with a smile on her face, the first time she had been smiling in what felt like forever. Florence gave her umbrella another twirl, a whir of rainbow against the iron lights and the pillars of steam. She began to hum the song to herself as if she and Francine were down on the boardwalk in Santa Cruz on a warm summer day.

“Florence!”

She stopped as his voice sliced through her moment of childlike euphoria and brought her back down to earth again.

“Florence!”

She knew the sound of his voice from a mile away. She closed her eyes as she strove for that moment once again but it was useless.

His footsteps over the patter of the rain and she kept on walking across the way to the grass.

“Florence! Florence!”

Not those brown eyes. Not that gentle voice. She couldn’t take it at the moment. She bowed into the trees right as he caught up with her.

“Florence, listen to me,” Eric begged her from right behind her. “Please, listen to me!”

Florence persisted over the grass and into the trees with Eric by her side. He scurried around her and nearly slipped on the leaves in front of her. Florence stopped and doubled back, but he clasped onto her shoulders.

“Stop, please stop,” Eric begged her.

“Let go of me,” she commanded. “Eric, let go of me!”

“Stop! Please! Listen to me! Okay? Stop.” He steadied her in place under the grass, still with his hands on her shoulders. He was face to face with her. She gazed into those big brown eyes, watery and placid like the very river she had jumped over a minute before. Those brown eyes, contrasted with that milky white complexion and those wavy tendrils of black hair wetted down to the crown of his head. “Stop.”

Florence stopped right then and there before him, and she held the umbrella over his head. Eric fetched up a sigh.

“Okay. She was nobody. I promise you that. We chatted and we had a little wine but that was as far as it went, though. Never any hanky-panky, and if anything, I stopped it before it went any further than the glasses of wine.”

Florence sighed again.

“You have to believe me,” he pleaded. “Florence Catherine Blackwood, I promise you that there was never anything of that nature happening. I, Eric Stanley Peterson, do solemnly swear with my hand on my Abuela’s ashes—“

“Stop,” Florence held up a hand. Eric pursed his lips together at that. “Just—stop it.” He held still there, and she moved her umbrella away from the crown of his head: the rain fell through the branches and onto his black hair and his shoulders.

She fumed at him. No matter how much he resembled to a puppy, she had to stand up away from him. She adjusted the lapels of her coat and wheeled around, away from him. No sooner had she returned to the sidewalk when a massive pillar of steam emerged from the over-soaked storm drain, right underneath her foot.

“Holy shit!” Eric’s voice penetrated through the rush of the steam. Florence jerked back away from the storm drain but the steam appeared to billow closer and closer to her, such that she lost her balance and she fell back on the sidewalk. Pain seared through her left foot and for a second, she wondered if the steam had burned through the rubber sole of her boot.

“Florence!” Eric skidded right in front of her and he crouched down before her face. “Oh, god, are you alright?”

“I don’t know—I can’t feel my foot!” she exclaimed. Pain throbbed at the base of her spine and into her hips. “Ah, god, my back hurts—so do my hips. I can’t get up.”

“Shit!” Eric exclaimed, and he raised his head. “Help! Somebody help!”

Voices emerged from the darkness behind them.

“Call an ambulance!” he shouted over the roar of the rain and the steam column. A pause, and the man said something. “Yeah, yeah, she burned her foot and fucked up her back, too. Call an ambulance!”

Eric returned to her, his face twisted in concern and fear.

“God damn it, let’s get you out of the rain—“

A woman reached Florence’s left side: she asked him something.

“Yeah, grab her umbrella,” Eric told her. “I’ll carry her—“

“Carry me!” Florence exclaimed, but Eric already put his arms underneath her body. He scooped her up from the sidewalk with a grunt and a long, low groan from the back of his throat.

“You got her?” the man asked him from across the street.

“Yeah, thanks, man!” Eric groaned out: he clasped one hand to the side of Florence’s head and the other under her knees. “Thanks to you and your wife—“

He carried her past the steam and he and the couple hurried across the drenched street, now a nascent lake of sorts. The pain blocked out everything else, such that Florence could feel herself drifting in and out consciousness. She couldn’t tell where he was taking her.

And yet, through those moments of fluctuating awareness, his voice still found its way to her.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I gotcha. I got you. I always got you.”

The rain faded away and she was met with a bath of that warm iron light all around her in the form of a bright haze, and all the while, his voice persisted into her ear.

“I got you,” he whispered into her ear. “I have always got you…”

[patpranism]

patpran marvel cinematic universe au

listen i know i still need to post that patpran star wars au but somehow this happened. bear in mind that i'm not a writer and it's been years since i write so please ignore the grammar errors :"D or any other errors since i haven't proofread it yet. anyway, let's go! pls be nice to me my feelings are fragile </3

Patpran mcu au (ignore the canon timeline please haha)

Patpran mcu au where Pran is the tired insurance agent working at an insurance company under Stark Industries, the Guardian Insurance and Pat is the unluckiest guy in the city who is always the victim whenever the Avengers save the day.

And somehow Pran will always be the guy who answered his call (Pran used to hate this Pat Napat Jindapat guy because why is he always calling when the working hours is about to end, it annoys Pran even more that he has A LOT to claim so he will be one of the unlucky agent who leave the office after working hours and listen, he might be tired but he’s not that heartless to ignore the calls. He knows how tiresome it is when your car suddenly gets thrown to the space by the Hulk, he has experienced it first-hand. It’s not fun).

The keyword is he used to.

“Thank you for calling the Guardian Insurance. My name is Pran Parakul and how can I help you today?” Pran picks up the call, activating his insurance agent voice tone. He winces when he hears things crashing in the background of the caller. There’s also a roar- ah must be the Hulk then.

“Hello there Pran!” The caller sounds oddly cheerful but it’s not a surprise. He's always happy. “It’s Pat again and I want to file claims under the Avengers Coverage please. My new car doesn’t look like a car anymore- I just witnessed Hulk using it to fight these flying aliens- he threw it at them and they’re somehow still alive. What do they eat in space-”

He then heard Pat winced.

“Shit. Thor just fried my car with his thunder. It’s toasted now.”

“How come you are always there Pat?” Pran sighs as he types in Pat’s policy number. Yes, he can already memorize it by now but it’s the first time where he doesn’t ask Pat for the details. “The last time you called was 4 days ago, it was about how your apartment was destroyed because a rocket blasted through it and now this? You’re so unlucky that I would advise you to take the new insurance package- we cover everything there. The Avengers have new members now with a much higher risk so the premium would be higher but hey it’s worth it.” He says seriously as he fills in Pat’s details.

“I love it when you talk about insurance. You really sound like you know your stuff and that is so attractive to me.” Pat replies cheekily. “It’s working by the way. I will sign up for the package later. Better safe than sorry.”

Pran has to bite his inner cheek to prevent himself from screaming. If he has a crush on Pat, a guy whom he has never met before- they’ve only talked on phone! when he’s working! then no one has to know. “Pat, it’s my job. I have to know my stuff.”

He ignores the butterflies in his stomach.

“Okay so I have filled in your details and the claim will start processing tomorrow since it’s already so late when you called.”

“Awww Pran.” Pat coos. “You remember my details? You didn’t even ask this time- I was honestly waiting for it.”

Pran rubs his forehead and lets out a sigh. Pat really needs to stop sounding so cute over the phone. It’s testing Pran’s sanity. “Pat, you’re our regular customer and let me remind you, somehow it’s always me who answers your call.”

“Magic isn’t it? How is it always you huh? I guess I can thank Dr. Strange for that.” Pat giggles. “All that wizard stuff.”

“Yeah and don’t forget to thank him too for cutting your car in half when he closed his magic portal 6 months ago.” Pran rolls his eyes. “and when he dropped the dead alien's head in the middle of the road, right in front of you which gave you a heart attack and you fainted a year ago. You’re lucky your current package covers the medical part.”

“You remembered that too!” he heard Pat gasping loudly, hurting his ears.

“Shh! Talk slower.” He hushes Pat as he waves awkwardly to his coworker who’s leaving the office. He cranes his neck to look around the office and guess what. He’s the only one left and it’s 30 minutes to six. He remembers complaining to Wai this evening, moaning about how tired he is since Loki decides to bring in even more aliens today- and the calls were nonstop. Apparently, the Eternals are also busy today dealing with the Deviants so that means more calls from people to claim their insurance under the Eternals package.

But talking to Pat makes him feel so refreshed. Pat is actually the only customer who never gets mad or lash out his feelings and tiredness at him whenever he wants to file some claim. He is always so cheerful when talking with Pran- unlike the other customers who give him a headache. He understands why they’re mad but there’s also a limit when they can’t stop lashing out at him- especially when they find out their package doesn’t cover certain claims. It’s not Pran’s fault! He tried explaining to them before about their insurance package but they would just ignore him.

“Of course I do.” Pran mutters slowly. “You called here asking if a handsome guy in a red cloak that can also fly on its own is an Avenger because you have never seen him before. You didn’t sound that mad either that you ended up at the hospital for the alien head.”

“Why would I be mad? They’re too busy saving the city to care about these details but they really should care more about it by the way. The insurance cost a lot and I’m fortunate enough to have extra money for the monthly premiums.” Pat complains. “I have to pay for my sister’s insurance too since she’s still in college and I’m just grateful she’s not as unfortunate as me. The only time she had to make a claim was when Captain America’s shield dent her car.”

“You were not mad when you called here too. Believe me, you’re the only one who calls and doesn’t start screaming when we answer.” Pran laughs quietly. “That makes you very memorable.”

and adorable, but Pran keeps it to himself.

“Huh? Why should I be mad at you? You’re just doing your job and you help me with my claims. People should be more grateful actually.”

God, Pat really likes- no scratch that, he’s really in love with Pat and it feels so ridiculous.

“Well then let’s pray more people are like you Pat Napat Jindapat.” Pran sighs, praying for it to become a reality one day. "It will save me from this unnecessary headache."

They stay quiet for a while after that but it was a comfortable silence. There’s no awkwardness here and Pran wants to drown himself in the comfortableness. He doesn’t even hear the fighting in the background anymore- either Pat has walked away from there or the fight is taking place somewhere else now.

Pat is the first one to break the silence.

“Hey Pran.” He calls out- he sounds nervous and Pran takes notice of it. “Are you.. perhaps free tomorrow night?”

Pran’s eyes widened. He can’t be asking-

“If you’re free then would you like to have dinner with me? It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it. I know we’ve only been talking through the phone during your working hours so-“

Pran cuts him off. “Are you asking me out, like, like on a date? Is this a date?”

“Yes. Like a date.” He heard Pat exhales nervously. “I’m asking you out on a date with me tomorrow night. So…. would you like to?”

Pran really can’t believe this is happening to him. Holy shit.

“Yes! Of course, I would love to!” he answers too excitedly for his own liking but who cares! Pat is asking him out!

“Great!" Pat heaves a sigh of relief. "Just text me your address later- you already know my number, so I can pick you up tomorrow but I’ll use Paa’s car because well. You know me, I’m very unlucky today.”

“Sure Pat. I’ll do that later.” Pran lets out a laugh before telling Pat he actually can’t wait to meet the most unfortunate guy in the city.

“Are you sure I am THAT unfortunate?” Pat teases Pran. “Hmmmm because I’m feeling pretty lucky today that the sexy and attractive insurance agent Pran Parakul actually agreed to go out on a date with me tomorrow night.”

This guy-

“You’re so annoying you know that right?” Pran chuckles. “I’m ending the call now. The company will kill me if they find out I’m using the company’s phone to talk to you. It’s almost 45 minutes.”

“Well, tell them I’m one of the reasons your company is still relevant. Without me, who’s a very cursed person, the Guardian Insurance would be out of business by now.”

Pran can’t stop grinning from ear to ear as he bids his goodbye to Pat, promising him that he will text his address tonight.

As he packs his things, he thinks- he really has to send gifts to Dr. Banner and Thor by the way because without them destroying Pat’s car today, he would never experience this. Heck, he might even have to send gifts to the whole Avengers- he doesn’t know if he can send gifts to Asgard, but he swears he will find a way. For once, it’s a good day to live in this chaotic city. The Avengers really save the day today.

[thed4rkhand]

planets through the first house

Planets through the first house

Ready for yet another astrology post? We’ll be covering the results of different planets when placed in the first house of a birth chart. Remember that astrology is super fickle and changes dramatically with sign placement, aspects and conjunctions. So without any further delay, lets get into it! Do reblog and like, it took me a lot of effort to compile my observations! Feel free to leave feedback!

Trigger warning- too many, these are just my observations. Also i didn’t proof read, so spelling mistkes could be there.

for Rahu, look at the saturn part. (north node)

for ketu, look at the mars part. (south node)

Sun in the first house-

When sun is in the first house of a birth chart, the person may be heavily influenced by their father. They may look like their father or have a similar personality. Such people tend to be perfectionists, its their way or the highway. They may have a tendency to gain weight easily, however if its in scorpio then they’ll dramatically shed it and gain it, in a loop. They are extremely magnetic people. They may deal with foreigners on a regular basis, or speak a foreign language. They may deal with the government very often and may work for the government as diplomats. They may obtain their higher education abroad. They can remain quite childlike till much older. They can be very protective of their community, traditions and religion, and aim to spread awareness about it. These people are actually rarely concerned with someone’s exterior, because often times such people have such good intuition and spiritual powers (some are literally called mystics because of this), they can literally see through someone. For this reason, they actually don’t like associating with too many people, despite having a very charming personality. These are the kind of people that keep searching for ‘the one’. People may approach them regarding projects first, and they may work for the government. They may have extremely powerful enemies, but they shall defeat them. They may be closer to their mother’s family and culture. They may have a peculiar accent when talking, and many people will compliment their speech. They may have frizzy and big hair. They’ll have heavy acne in their younger years. They’ll have small squinted eyes, often accompanied by crows feet. They’ll appear much younger, and so will their mother. Their mother might be very short. They hate being indebted and like paying off loans quickly. They’ll have beautiful hands, and they have a habit of growing their nails. Many of them like to sing. Their father could’ve been a teacher or worked in heavy research based fields, maybe even a musician or doctor. Their life may go through rapid ups and down throughout. They may be extremely fond of cattle and horses, and hate flying. They may interject and cut people off in conversations. They will fall for married people or people in relationships, they will be good cooks and feel alienated by their mothers. They may wear glasses early on, and also they’re into fire rituals or fire. (pyromaniacs?). you will critique people and say terrible things you don’t mean when angry. You will have a large forehead or a receding hairline. You’ll have nightmares and premonitions about death and illness. You might be very very fond of gold or golden colours. You will be argumentative.

Moon in the first house-

When moon is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by their mother. They may resemble their mother or have a similar personality. Such people are extremely moody and are always preoccupied with other’s opinion of them. They may have a tendency to fluctuate between their body weight, and are likely to have body dysmorphia. They have short necks and generally are short in height too. They’re very critical and over-analyze everything and everyone. Sometimes, even unconsciously, they manipulate people to suit their needs and whims. They get side tracked too often and have difficulty focussing on one task at hand, often amounting to laziness in other people’s eyes, even if the native is extremely hardworking in reality. However when in comes to personal care, they tend to do things in a very half-hearted manner. These people are also prone to isolating themselves from others, especially when things get hard. Such  people tend to be famous or popular in friend circles, or at the very least well known. They can be extremely picky people and often can be obsessive in their thoughts. They may follow their mother’s footpath professionally, and may want to pursue fields related to law, beauty/architecture and biology. Their mother’s were very involved in their life. Such people are always on the internet trying to look up astrology posts, tarot, etc. They like knowing whats going to happen and like to be prepared for it. They can be extremely manipulative when they want to be. They may see a lot of prophetic dreams, and their mother or them often have pressure buildup in their ears or can hear random sounds or voices. They enjoy looking at stars and the night sky. They enjoy a strange fascination for water and looking at people’s eyes. They could be into massaging people or have ‘healing hands’, or their mother could.

Venus in the first house-

When Venus is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by their colleagues, significant others, or their families. They’re extremely swayed by people’s opinions of them, and often because of this are very unsure in their abilities. Big doe-like yes are often seen with this, and an inmate ability to gain beer-blotches on their face. They attract people to them. They may have bad relationships with their families, and their mother could have had a miscarriage just before them. They can be hyper sensitive regarding taste, smell and sound. They may be excellent singers or play musical instruments. They dress up glamorously for parties, but when at home or alone, they’re usually roaming around like they’re homeless. They suffer depression if they’re not looking their best even, heavily into working out and grooming. They may be extremely religious or spiritual and may mediate a lot. They explain concepts very well and can be some of the best teachers around. They usually attract female friends. They love the smell of musk and love digging deep and researching, even stalking. They could be into ancient civilizations and history, photography and art, gardening and plants, fascinated with concepts of violence and death. They sit on their bed and work, they love the sound of fire crackling and fireplaces, they gain when in relationships and love asmr sounds. The most competitive people ever and so very possessive of their own goods, also back and forth with morality (eg. One day spiritual and the next they love material goods, one day vegan and then back to being a non-vegetarian)

Mercury in the first house-

When mercury is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by what extended family or acquaintances think of them. Such people are also very concerned about their health, and can be hypochondriacs. They may also at all times think that people hate them, without any reason. They could be great speakers or orators or writers. They can have a great imagination, that is extremely vivid and unique, especially as a kid. They may want to pursue careers related to beauty with such a positioning, or even theatre or music. They may have a very unique appearance, and may appear androgynous. For women, they could look like their fathers, and for men, they can look like their mothers. They may be into research and like getting to the bottom of a matter. They may always have this appearance of half-closed eyes, they never open them fully. This gives them this drowsy look. They love making spread-sheets and calculating their expenses. They could have liver or kidney issues. They may get into occult due to their siblings. A lot of transformation comes into their life due to their family and pets. They may want to live abroad. They may have addiction issues to substances like alcohol and drugs. They may have troubles with their father. May cause rifts between your mother and your father too, causes them to have a love-less marriage. They may be called snake-like, dream of snakes and walk with a very purposeful walk, they kind of sway alot. They may be extremely secretive in life. You may have lactose intolerance, and may be envious of other people’s success. You or your parents have a lot of unaccounted wealth. Such people could hear voices in their heads, see prophetic dreams and have fears of the deep water. This could make someone very tall as well. May be fond of children and old people. Either extremely thick eyebrows or no eyebrows. Dimples are very common. Long necks and dark circles, deep sunken eyes. Very cutesy appearance. Skin is discolored and if the position is afflicted, skin diseases are common. Long hands and loves instruments like the piano. You can separately raise your eyebrows and the most, I mean the most, theatrical ones.

Mars in the first house-

When mars is in the first house of a birth chart, they’re very conscious of their own opinion, or are always thinking that someone may be watching them, like paranormally. Also, they’re largely confident in themselves, for they don’t really pay that much attention to others. In fact they’ll go out of their way to rebel. They could have suffered through acne, heat boils and other skin diseases. They have frizzy or curly hair, and very reddish complexions. These are the people who blush so easily and prominently. You may have skin scarring with this, as simple as acne marks and freckles, to larger scars and burns. So expressive, the type of people who can separately raise their eyebrows. They tend to be the type who change their appearance so very often, from weight fluctuations, to piercings, to hair colors, wardrobe rehauls, and all. They can have an element of looking foreign or different. They may have huge eyes and they’re almost protruding or absolutely sunken, massive cheekbones or hallowed out cheeks. They may have this mysterious look to their eyes, and this always sad or lost look. Eyes are very red, and often they have issues like sinus or nose is always blocked or watering. They may have hidden wealth, also the type of people to have the type of personality where you would never suspect they’re into occult. They are very close or have some karmic relationship (could be negative) with their father’s brothers. They also always think about escaping, largely to forests and retreating there for a bit. Very into finding cures and deep research. Also love dears, might worship shiva and are addicted to coffee. Also fasination with the moon. People might attract stalkers with this. Hoarders and so critical everything and everyone, especially hoarders of photos. Photographs memory and love for photography and art. Love for music and music instruments, and may own one and keep it in their room. Fidget by tapping pens or feet, have to make a sound. Can be argumentative and terrible tempers. They love garlic and onion and root vegetable stuff honestly. Also weird affinity for horses and speed. Also they love seats with hand-rests, the comfy sink into ones. They’re the types who go for the head of the table seat. Also we’re you born via a c-section and not natural birth? Something is off about your birth, could be the only child.

Saturn in the first house-

When Saturn is in the first house of a birth chart, it makes people extremely unconventional and almost a social outcaste. They can sometimes have these half shut lazy eyes, where their eyelid is heavy and big, and they always appear to be drowsy. They may be alarmingly fond of animals, especially large wild animals. Also they’re absolute perfectionists, they just get up and destroy the things they created and don’t like. Also rain or thunder ASMR. They’re also neat freaks, they like their stuff kept a particular way and don’t go around cleaning their room or touching stuff. They are usually influenced by their mother and are quite close to them, unless you’re born in the evening or night time, then you’re absolutely like your father, resemble him and act like him. They may hear a lot of sounds very regularly, in their head. Could be schizophrenic or just hear loud thumping sounds. Possible love having musically instruments in their house and could play one, or they know a lot of musicians. They may be the youngest in their peer groups or colleagues, sometimes oldest. They do have old-soul personalities though. They love doing volunteer work at shelters and looking out for the underprivileged. Their upbringing could have been strict. They make friends from around the world, you’ll actually notice that they might have a lot of middle-eastern friends or be intrigued by their culture. They could have problems with their backs and legs. Further, they may be very no-nonsense strict teacher kind of person. They can also alternatively be the life of the party person, or both really. They could either be extremely happy and jumpy in public and really broody in private, or the other way around. They work so hard yet rarely get results. They suffer through a lot of ups and downs in life. Usually this gives an innate ability to lose weight and appear rather slender, also tall. This usually gives some kind of unique features to the face, large eyebrows, pointy cheekbones, small mouths, exaggerated features and this kind of drugged up look in their eyes. For women, this gives a curvy look to the body, with great breasts (in relation to proportions). People love cheese here, also they are great with children. They get blamed for cheating or other issues when they haven’t done it. You go against dogmatic thinking. You may attract men and women. Great looking feet and omg the obsession with shoes? Stop it already, you don’t need more. Also stop looking at the watch and making schedules, stop being obsessed with time, or really stop procrastinating.

Jupiter in the first house-

When Jupiter is in the first house of a chart, one is usually undeniably lucky in life. People with this placement tend to be tall, and if not then they have a big bone structure. They will have beautiful feet. They gain weight easily. They are heavily influenced by their fathers and spouses. They like scholarly debates and discussions and dislike arguments. They are fond of foreign cultures and the other dimensions, they believe in religious interventions and god. They can be a bit conservative in nature. They were either born in a comfortably rich household or will have it later. They or their parents own more than one property. Their mother has bad health, and could’ve fallen sick after giving birth to them or never had children after them. Their mother is spiritual. They could obtain higher education abroad. They could be into fields of liberal arts, especially law and academics (like wanting to become professors), they could alternatively also be musically inclined. They will have an enchanting speech and aura, and people will commend their oration. They can be into writing. They could enjoy traveling a lot. They keep looking for love, it is one of their priorities even from a young age. They feel connected to spirits or gods, and often feel that there is something off or unique about them. They may have clairvoyant abilities and may practice activities of the occult or astrology. They usually have on and off relationships in life. You chase people you like. You need intellectual compatibility in a relationship. Very choosy about clothes, friends, vacations and all. Don’t wake them up from sleep, they love sleeping, or alternatively never get enough sleep. You do things smartly, not with hardwork. You may be interested in real-estate. They get into spirituality very young, around 16 when Jupiter matures. They pretend to be more knowledgable than they are in certain areas, might fib. They’re proud of their occult knowledge. Their is a polarity in their personality that everyone sees and what their close friends see. Maybe they’re extroverted outside and very introverted inside. Or maybe they have family issues and never speak about it. Could be anything. Also a polarity in wanting material gains like status, success and money, and wanting liberation and wanting to become spiritual. They keep going back and forth. Also they keep changing their opinions on things. Notice they have good hands too. Also acne and scarring. Terrible tempers, and can be asexual or aromatic, or just don’t like to show that side to themselves. The letter ’t’ may be relevant to them, either in their name, their family, or their spouse. Don’t invoke spirits of the dead please, don’t keep trying to shift realities either, chill. They keep their nails long. People usually don’t know that a native is into occult, as they have a very different outside persona.

[greenreticule]

Dexter Jettster’s Entry In The Smuggler’s Guide (Canon)

Context: The Smuggler’s Guide (2018) by Dan Wallace is an in-universe Star Wars book. Pirate Queen Maz Kanata wrote down locations of several treasures hidden throughout the galaxy into this logbook and sent it out into the underworld, to see where the Force might take it.

The book is a collection of various entries, anecdotes, and adventures from different people in the Star Wars underworld, starting somewhere in the early Imperial Era. Characters will make notes in the margins of other’s entries, making the entire world feel lived in.

Dex’s entry is written in the early Imperial Era of the galaxy, sometime between Revenge of the Sith and Solo.

Full transcript under the cut:

Transcript of the pages, which are weathered, the letters written out in blocky all-caps, indicating the personality of the writer as someone blunt and confident:

Well what do you know! Maz Kanata.

That does me good, seeing that name again. Wasn’t so long ago that I called myself her boyfriend. Four armed massage was my specialty! I’ve still got her letters inside an old ammo box. Dexi Jet is what she called me. Still warms my heart.

[[”Still warms my heart” is underlined and given a note in the margins: “And people say I’m charming - Lando”]]

Ah. Who am I kidding. It was so long ago. When you get as old as me the years seem like they’re not worth so much. Memories either feel like a century ago or yesterday. No in between.

I found this logbook in a box of reading material, tucked between The Biography of Master Thief Makuta and The Field Guide To Trammic Reptavians. Maz Kanata’s name on the first page drew me in. And that’s why my pocket book is fifty credits lighter.

A younger Besalisk might go after the treasures, but just keeping her name close is good enough for me.

[[line break]]

Since I wrote the above I’ve ditched Pashvi and booked passage for the Stellar Skirt of the Tingel Arm. Heard about strange things out there: illegal cyborg mods and bodies grown to fit buyer specs. To name just two.

Cloners, maybe, plying their trade for private clients? There’s plenty of work out there for those types, now that the syndicates control the Outer Rim.

The star-steamer made port on Athus Klee this morning. The passengers poured out and melted into the Spacers’ District. But me, I don’t move as fast as I used to. By the time I made it down the ramp, every single inn had no rooms.

So I walked out into the underbrush and found a rise that wasn’t too damp, and then I splayed out under the stars.

[[A painting of Dexter Jettster -- a four-armed, fat, and muscled alien with a wattle under his chin and a bony crest on his head -- sitting in adventuring gear beneath a purple, star-studded sky as tree silhouettes reach up behind him]]

I can’t blame all those hopefuls for heading out this way. Crimson Dawn posted big-money contracts for laborers. “One year,” they all think. “I can make it one year.” Most of them will be dead before then.

My favorite part of traveling is how the sky always has new stars. I guess some of them are probably the same stars, but everything looks different from a new angle.

[[line break]]

Four days into the jungle now. Plenty glad I brought that vibro-machete.

I’m close to what I came here for. I can feel it in my gut. And who can argue with a gut like this?

Six days, two viper bites, and more gnat nips than I can count. But sure as you’re born, that’s a Crimson Dawn ore hub down in that valley.

Rock haulers heading out and passenger shuttles heading in with more workers to feed the machine.

Had to do some sneaking, but on the far side of the processing plant, I found a cluster of hexagonal silos, like a hive. That’s a gene-mod chop shop.

I recorded some macrobinocular scans. Poor bastards. Hands turned into shovel blades. Noses and mouths switched out with biomesh for filtering toxins. Eyes as big as plates to collect the light that makes it all the way down to the depths.

[[In the margins is written “Not my best work, I confess. But why waste my genius on syndicate moneymen? - Dr. Evazan.”

Below is one of Dex’s macrobinocular scans of the laborers altered by Evazan’s experiments.]]

Even the Kaminoans had some pride in their work. But Crimson Dawn only wants to build more efficient miners and then work ‘em till their dead. Fates only know what kind of butcher they’ve got on their payroll.

I can’t save them all. I’m just one person. I can’t even save one of them.

[[line break]]

Okay, okay, Maz was right. I’m soft in the head. I’m heading back to the starport with my recordings. But this time I’m bringing a buddy.

[[A painting of a Rodian laborer with the experimental alterations to his face]]

He can’t talk -- at least not clear enough for me to understand -- but he knows what happened to him just the same. I know stealing one worker won’t make different to Crimson Dawn. But I figured it’d make a difference to this guy.

Last night we just lay on our backs for hours, staring up through a break in the canopy. He likes the stars.

Made it to the port this morning and commed my buddy on Coruscant. As politicians go he’s one of the good ones. He’s sending a ship to collect my new pal along with my surveillance data, then taking everything before the Senate Council of Labor Abuses.

I’m not so raw to think this’ll shit down the syndicates or anything -- not when they’re the closest thing some sectors have to a functioning government. But it might put a stop to those laboratory horror shows, and that makes today a pretty good day.

[[In the margins is written “This is ringing a bell. Should probably show it to-- Nah. She doesn’t want to talk to me. - Han”]]

End Transcript

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

ok i agree w/ everything you said about those ladies besides, lwaxana gives s*xual pr*dator vibes and that is why i dont like her.

I can see that reading for sure and all things are subjective. I do strongly disagree, but hey, fandom is a space for that! Super chill.

to go a little more into this though, since it's not really so much about what any of us feel, but more about how we engage with female characters (and I'll use your example of why you don't like her - not to drag you, your dislike is totally fair, she's fictional, she won't mind, but just because it's a single line that kinda puts her in a box. And not a very nice box to be in, that's for sure...)

a little tw for mild references to some of the shadier writings of star trek vis a vis sexual assault and otherwise sexist and/or strange relationship dynamics

okay so you know how Riker has like. two? episodes that're suuuper shady in terms of his treatment of women and the rest of the time it's pretty chill. and he's one of my favourite characters, but I have gotta skip those episodes, because whatever they were trying to do, they Did Not Succeed - and there's a reading of him that incorporates those elements and if you do you've gotta contend with the character being quite probably someone who's assaulted women.

or how Worf at times espouses sexist shit that makes me roll my eyes outta my head and you're either gonna say "I don't fucking like this character" (and again, totally fair, I've seen people who don't Vibe) or you've gotta find a way to make this work for you if you want to explore that character - or both of those things, you can dislike a character and want to write about them

Or some of the weird shit the writers have Geordi do (which, Geordi is my favourite character in TNG, but sometimes ya gotta breathe and go "the writers are fucking dumb, the writers are fucking dumb")

or - the spiritual successor of Geordi, Julian Bashir (my favourite character from DS9 - clearly I have a Type). You've gotta go: This is stupid writing. I can make it work with my own read of the character, but first and foremost The Writing Is Dumb!

Or hell, Q - since we're talking about Lwaxana and I assume her interactions with Picard and Odo, let's not forget to mention Q, both in TNG and on VOY with Janeway - some of the more urgh-inducing scenes between Q and Janeway are, I think, meant to be charming and funny? And I'm a massive QCard shipper here, okay, I actually vibe so hard with him as an alien who doesn't get shit about boundaries (this mostly with Picard, with Janeway I have gone: "Hm. This doesn't feel good" a fair few times).

or how the writers of DS9 had Garak be in a very uncomfortable relationship with Ziyal, who was a teenager, then not a teenager within much too short a span of episodes (and actress changes)

or Quark. Remember the episode in which Quark tries to get Kira's likeness so he can put it in a sex-fantasy roleplay that she did not consent to? or how there are two cold opens where his female employees are told they have to sleep with him to keep their jobs

or like... Neelix (okay, I am not a fan of Neelix anyway, but for people who are fans, there are times when you've gotta wonder what in the heck the writers are thinking - not the character, the writers)

what I'm trying to say with the post I wrote is that this same graciousness isn't offered to female characters - especially female characters of colour, but in the case of Lwaxana

she's older, she's an ongoing female guest star, she's very (sometimes uncomfortably) sexual towards especially Picard and for a short while Odo, before they become really good friends.

she's also in-text several times in positions in which men are trying to control her (the episode where she gets kidnapped, the episode in which the guy who's married her is a misogynist) and she uses or tries to use her "wiles" to escape these situations.

She's really more of a faded beauty who's putting a pressure onto her daughter (in a rare interesting, complex, fraught mother-daughter dynamic that I loooove) and refuses to let go of the past, because (and here we get into my read, but mildly supported by canon) it's the only way she seems to have learned how to be loved and have relevance. She's terrified of letting that go, because where does she go next, without everything that's defined her? which is why her final episode with Odo is actually so powerful to me.

Picard is never threatened by her in-text. He's not massively fond of her (at first, she grows on him... like a mold), he would prefer to avoid her, but he's not in a powerless situation here. She undoubtedly makes him uncomfortable at times in a way that - like some of the above examples have made me go "mmmmokay" but certainly not the worst example of this in the writing.

With Odo I also don't like how some of her interactions with him go in the first episode they're in together. But once they're friends and you see how easily she accepts him ("I can swim" is always going to be one of my favourite little chuckle lines) that no longer applies. He clearly likes her and enjoys her company. There's something incredibly lifelong platonic partners in their easiness with each other.

You can argue in both cases (and argue well) that there are scenes that are kinda sus. But there are lots of scenes that offer you depth of character. She's not one-note. She's got off moments.

Some of these guys (and others - I haven't watched as much TOS and Voyager so I don't want to misrepresent anyone, but I feel sure that Tom Paris has made me squint once or twice + I've not seen Enterprise yet) have whole episodes that make me shudder.

It's really - within this fandom for sure - open how we interpret characters and I'm not saying anyone needs to read Lwaxana like this or change their minds and like her.

The point of the post is not to say you have to like any of these characters. Or even to say you have to engage with them regardless of how you vibe or don't vibe with them. It's just... I have listened to several up-until-then-enjoyable deeply analytical podcasts where at some point one of the (guys... always guys... I'm guessing white) makes a sneering comment completely dismissing their value within the series.

My point is that Lwaxana (since we're on her) has value as a character within the Trek universe. She added something important. She's not everyone's cup of tea, but it's a big series, we're not all guaranteed to like everyone.

and in the original post I used "shrill" and "cringy" on purpose, because those are descriptors I've heard. And they are absolutely rooted in misogynist dismissals of female characters no matter what shape they take (Keiko, Lwaxana, Michael, and Ezri are radically different from each other and yet all easily brushed aside regardless of screentime, personality, show, age, role/job).

I'm not making points about having to engage with or like characters. I'm just saying we need to be aware of how easily we specifically look down our noses at female characters (and specifically female characters of colour - apologies, this was just because we were talking about Lwaxana, but some of the shit I've heard about especially Michael and Keiko have made me want to bang my head against a wall... or other peoples heads against walls... you know, for a nice change)

so how much sympathy or analysis of behaviour is afforded to female characters vs their male peers. What judgements are we making and how do they compare to our readings of their male counterparts?

sidenote: I hate using male and female about star trek, my brain is just like "why anyone gender? why do this? you're in space? there are aliens? y'all can't chill with the binary for two fucking seconds?"

different post

[badapricot]

Lovely Writer: Special 1

This is a rough translation of the first Lovely Writer special. There are 8 in total and other side stories that the author compiled. I’ll try to post 1 a week since they do vary in length, and some are a lot lengthier than this one.

This special is from Nubsib’s POV and it’s about Nubsib remembering his feelings for Gene after seeing him on Facebook, and becoming fixated. Nubsib is 15 at the time and Gene is 20.

At that time, I was in the ninth grade.

Since middle school, my parents had sent me to study abroad with my brother. Because of the wealth of my family, this was never an inconvenience. But living alone in a place that wasn’t your home country required a lot of adjustment, mainly doing everything on your own. You had to learn things that you’ve never seen and known. 

This was one of the methods of teaching the sons of the Thanakitpaisan family.

It was their luck to have a son who was mature since childhood. It didn't take long for me to get used to the culture there, where I went to parties, attended sports clubs, worked a part-time job, and even had typical American teen sex. Being Asian did give me some advantages, when it came to distinguishing myself from the others.

I could only smile when talking to the many blonde women who bragged about our experiences in bed, amongst their group of friends. After some time, I felt differently about it.

"Sib.”

"Yes?" I leaned back on the sofa, and raised my head from his screen when I heard my name.

Neung came downstairs. He was wearing a thick gray cardigan with a scarf. "I’m going to go meet a friend. You're not going anywhere today, right? "

"Hmm."

"Okay, I might be coming back late. Please get my package when it arrives. You’re not going out with your girlfriend, right?”

"We broke up.”

"Huh?” Neung frowned. "You dumped another one? Again? You know, you don’t have the face of a womanizer.”

"…"

Neung opened the door of the house. For a moment, the cool outside air blew in, until the hot air from the heater disappeared. I didn’t care much about either, and stayed looking at my phone screen.

I’m not a womanizer.

It’s just that every time I got together with a girlfriend, something felt wrong. I knew I wasn’t in love with the first girl. The others, I didn’t like particularly much. Sometimes the girls didn’t like me much either, and only wanted a partner themselves, so we’d eventually separate.

It was true, that I was only in the ninth grade. But sex here was too normalized. It had become so normal that I’d become bored. When sex became so commonplace, all excitement was lost.

Mom: (send picture)

Mom: I’ve sent you Thai ingredients that should be delivered soon. They’ll be waiting for you.

Mom: Today, I went to see Aunt Run, do you still remember the house next door? Today is the Aunt's birthday. All of her sons have come home.

Mom: I saw it and I missed you and Neung.

I looked at the message that popped up, from the other side of the world. It was dark here, but over there it was probably in the middle of the day. It was time for them to eat.

Mom: Do you remember Gene? Gene and Jap are all grown up.

Gene?

After reading my mother’s message, it was natural to think of the past. I missed it. During my childhood I would run and play with him everyday, and just the same, Gene would play with me almost every day.

I still remembered “P’Gene” clearly after all these years.

We were five years apart. But we somehow became closer than me and my own brother. Since I moved out of the house, we never saw each other again. We didn’t have any more contact with each other.

When my mother talked about that time, I felt nostalgic.

I moved my finger to type to ask for a picture from my mother. In the end, I sent a simple sticker. I sat on the sofa in the living room for awhile before retiring to my bedroom to shower.

In my warm bedroom,  so different from the night air outside, I picked up my phone again. I went to Facebook to catch up with everything back home. My finger kept scrolling through my news feed, my face blank. I started to feel sleepy, but before I could fall asleep I saw a status.

I wasn’t friends with the person who posted. But I was friends with his mother, who was tagged in the photo.

Jap Jarernpipat posted a picture.

This year, my mother has lost another year, haha.

In the picture was a group of six people. The background was a wide garden and a long table. Both of my parents, and Auntie Run and Uncle Teep were there. But the one that most caught the eye was the man in the lower right corner.

The other person grinned until his eyes were crescents. His hands were raised, flashing a peace sign. His hand held a cake tray with a delicious golden egg. The corner of the mouth was stained with white cream, like he was teasing someone. He was smiling, which made his cheeks round and full.

I couldn't take my eyes off of him. For a second, there was a strange numbness in my fingertips and toes.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me who that was.

P’Gene.

He was still wearing a white uniform shirt. It had been many years since we’d met, if counted by age. Gene would have been in university for three years.

Usually, I was the kind of person who didn’t care about the people around me, or anyone else. But this time, I couldn't control my fingertips. I clicked onto Jap’s Facebook page.

Chasing him down, I found a status posted with the person I was looking for tagged.

Jap Jarernpipat posted a picture

My brother brought me to the movies. What kind of crazy alien movie is this? I might puke, but maybe you guys on Facebook will like it.

The post was from three days ago. One was a picture of a cinema ticket on the top floor of a department store in the heart of Bangkok and the other was of P’Gene in a T-shirt and jeans. He hugged a bucket of popcorn. His hand was holding a large glass of water, lifting it up to his lips and sucking. It was a funny candid photo that many of his friends on Facebook commented on to make fun of him.

...but for me, the only word that came to mind was “lovely”.

I didn’t know why I was doing this but I pressed “save that image”.

Jap Jarernpipat posted a picture

My stupid little brother, you make the whole house look bad.

They were in a garden in the corner of the house that felt familiar to me, but was a little fuzzy. They were in front of a flower bush that had been trimmed into a square. Gene was sitting down, with his butt on the ground. A blue hose fell next to him, the hose spraying in another direction. It made him wet all over soaking his shirt, the thin material clinging to his body.

Both of his arms were behind him, to support his body. Therefore, his shirt and body were stretched, so I could see two small nubs contrasted and poking through his white shirt.

My eyebrows furrowed together, and I frowned.

I cursed when my body immediately had a strong reaction, just from the one picture.

I pressed the comment section, when I saw the high number of comments.

Jiranon Jarernpipat: Jap stop posting pictures of other people.

(Reply) Jap Jarernpipat attached video clip.

I clicked play immediately.

"Ow, P’Jap!”

“Hahaha, why would you say you’ll help me water the plants? You can help if the grass is dead.”

“Can you turn off the water for me first? Why are you recording?”

P’Gene raised his white hand. He wiped the water from his face, and pushed himself off  the ground. His shirt clung to his body, so I could see everything. He had the voice of a man, but he was still so cute.

Finally, the clip ended.

There were still a lot of other videos that Jap posted pranking Gene, all of which stopped me from becoming bored. I saved all of them to my phone and computer. In the end, when more and more accumulated, I created a whole separate folder.

That night when I fell asleep, my brain was filled with pictures of the boy next door, who I hadn’t seen in years.

Another morning, days later, I woke up frowning, and I had to gently breathe out. I’d dreamt of P’Gene again. Since seeing that picture that night, there hadn’t been a day where I could go without seeing his face.

I knew Gene’s Facebook. But he didn’t update much, except to change his avatar or cover photo. But Jap’s Facebook page had tons of pictures of Gene. So I was still able to look at Gene’s pictures and progress in life everyday, like some kind of psychopath.

Even when I closed my eyes to sleep sometimes, I still saw his pictures.

I didn’t want to be this way, but I couldn’t control my subconscious.

I always saw Gene lying in my wide bed. He would smile at me, his cheeks soft and reddish. His hands would hold on to me, and his mouth would gently say, “Sib.”

It was a fantasy that any teenage boy would have. But it wasn’t a woman. Instead, it was the boy next door, who always loved and saw me as a brother.

I circled back to look at his pictures every day. In the end, the feeling accumulated like a huge mountain of snow.

I want to meet him in real life.

I want to hug him.

I want to smell him. 

I want to kiss his mouth. I want to do to him what I do in my dreams.

Since the day I saw his picture and until today, my thoughts and feelings had become more and more intense. So intense, that sometimes I was afraid of myself.

I’d already decided how I’d deal with this.

“Will you finish school here?” Neung had packed all his bags and was ready to go because he finished his studies. I leaned against the door frame, looking into his room.

“Actually, it’s nice here too, you know.”

"No, I'm going home."

“So you’ve changed your mind then?”

I nodded.

“Well, our house is nice and of course, our parents miss you too.”

"…"

"I'm not going to be here anymore, don't bring any women into the house...but you're not dating any girls lately. So it's fine."

I sent off my brother, who took a taxi straight to the airport to go back home to Thailand. Personally, I still had a year to complete my studies.

In the past, I had never thought or worried about how fast or slow time would pass. But now, I felt jealous of my brother.

Back at the house, I picked up the phone. I was still for a while. Maybe it was because Neung had returned to Thailand, but I felt like chasing pictures wasn’t enough anymore. My fingers moved before I could decide to send a message to someone.

Nubsib tanagijpaisarn: P'Jap.

Nubsib tanagijpaisarn: Do you remember me?

I wanted to talk to someone who could tell me everything about P’Gene. 

I wanted to learn everything about him.

[ot3]

i watched red vs blue: zero with my dear friends today and i was asked to “post” my “thoughts” on the subject. Please do not click this readmore unless, for some reason, you want to read three thousand words on the subject of red vs blue: zero critical analysis. i highly doubt that’s the reason anyone is following me, but hey. 

anyway. here you have it. 

Here are my opinions on RVB0 as someone who has quite literally no nostalgia for any older RVB content. I’ve seen seasons 1-13 once and bits and pieces of it more than once here and there, but I only saw it for the first time within the past couple of months. I’ve literally never seen any other RT/AH content. I can name a few people who worked on OG Red vs. Blue but other than Mounty Oum I have NO idea who is responsible for what, really, or what anything else they’ve ever worked on is, or whether or not they’re awful people. I know even less about the people making RVB0 - All I know is that the main writer is named Torrian but I honestly don’t even know if that’s a first name, a last name, or a moniker. All this to say; nothing about my criticism is rooted in any perceived slight against the franchise or branding by the new staff members, because I don’t know or care about any of it. In fact, I’m going to try and avoid any direct comparison between RVB0 and earlier seasons of RVB as a means of critique until the very end, where I’ll look at that relationship specifically.

So here is my opinion of RVB0 as it stands right now:

1. The Writing

Everything about RVB0 feels as if it was written by a first-time writer who hasn’t learned to kill his darlings. The narrative is both simultaneously far too full, leaving very little breathing room for character interaction, and oddly sparse, with a story that lacks any meaningful takeaway, interesting ideas, or genuine emotional connection. It also feels like it’s for a very much younger audience - I don’t mean this as a negative at all. I love tv for kids. I watch more TV for kids than I do for adults, mostly, but I think it’s important to address this because a lot of the time ‘this is for kids’ is used to act like you’re not allowed to critique a narrative thoroughly. It definitely changes the way you critique it, but the critique can still be in good faith.  I watched the entirety of RVB0 only after it was finished, in one sitting, and I was giving it my full attention, essentially like it was a movie. I’m going to assume it was much better to watch in chunks, because as it stood, there was literally no time built into the narrative to process the events that had just transpired, or try and predict what events might be coming in the future. When there’s no time to think about the narrative as you’re watching it, the narrative ends up as being something that happens to the audience, not something they engage with. It’s like the difference between taking notes during a lecture or just sitting and listening. If you’re making no attempt to actively process what’s happening, it doesn’t stick in your mind well. I found myself struggling to recall the events and explanations that had immediately transpired because as soon as one thing had happened, another thing was already happening, and it was like a mental juggling act to try and figure out which information was important enough to dwell on in the time we were given to dwell on it.

Which brings me to another point - pacing. Every event in the show, whether a character moment, a plot moment, or a fight scene, felt like it was supposed to land with almost the exact same amount of emotional weight. It all felt like The Most Important Thing that had Yet Happened. And I understand that this is done as an attempt to squeeze as much as possible out of a rather short runtime, but it fundamentally fails. When everything is the most important thing happening, it all fades into static. That’s what most of 0’s narrative was to me: static. It’s only been a few hours since I watched it but I had to go step by step and type out all of the story beats I could remember and run it by my friends who are much more enthusiastic RVB fans than I am to make sure I hadn’t missed or forgotten anything. I hadn’t, apparently, but the fact that my takeaway from the show was pretty accurate and also disappointingly lackluster says a lot. Strangely enough, the most interesting thing the show alluded to - a holo echo, or whatever the term they used was - was one of the things least extrapolated upon in the show’s incredibly bulky exposition. Benefit of the doubt says that’s something they’ll explore in future seasons (are they getting more? Is that planned? I just realized I don’t actually know.)

And bulky it was! I have quite honestly never seen such flagrant disregard for the rule of “show, don’t tell.” There was not a single ounce of subtlety or implication involved in the storytelling of RVB0. Something was either told to you explicitly, or almost entirely absent from the narrative. Essentially zilch in between. We are told the dynamic the characters have with each other, and their personality pros and cons are listed for us conveniently by Carolina. The plot develops in exposition dumps. This is partially due to the series’ short runtime, but is also very much a result of how that runtime was then used by the writers. They sacrificed a massive chunk of their show for the sake of cramming in a ton of fight scenes, and if they wanted to keep all of those fight scenes, it would have been necessary to pare down their story and characters proportionally in comparison, but they didn’t do that either. They wanted to have it both ways and there simply wasn’t enough time for it. 

The story itself is… uninteresting. It plays out more like the flimsy premise of a video game quest rather than a piece of media to be meaningfully engaged with. RVB0 is I think something I would be pitched by a guy who thinks the MCU and BNHA are the best storytelling to come out of the past decade. It is nothing but tropes. And I hate having to use this as an insult! I love tropes. The worst thing about RVB0 is that nothing it does is wholly unforgivable in its own right. Hunter x Hunter, a phenomenal shonen, is notoriously filled with pages upon pages of detailed exposition and explanations of things, and I absolutely love it. Leverage, my favorite TV show of all time, is literally nothing but a five man band who has to learn to work as a team while seemingly systematically hitting a checklist of every relevant trope in the book. Pacific Rim is an incredibly straightforward good guys vs giant monsters blockbuster to show off some cool fight scenes such as a big robot cutting an alien in half with a giant sword, and it’s some of the most fun I ever have watching a movie. Something being derivative, clunky, poorly executed in some specific areas, narratively weak, or any single one of these flaws, is perfectly fine assuming it’s done with the intention and care that’s necessary to make the good parts shine more. I’ll forgive literally any crime a piece of media commits as long as it’s interesting and/or enjoyable to consume. RVB0 is not that. I’m not sure what the main point of RVB0 was supposed to be, because it seemingly succeeds at nothing. It has absolutely nothing new or innovative to justify its lack of concern for traditional storytelling conventions. Based solely on the amount of screentime things were given, I’d be inclined to say the narrative existed mostly to give flimsy pretense for the fight scenes, but that’s an entire other can of worms.

2. The Visuals + Fights

I have no qualms with things that are all style and no substance. Sometimes you just want to see pretty colors moving on the screen for a while or watch some cool bad guys and monsters or whatever get punched. RVB0 was not this either. The show fundamentally lacked a coherent aesthetic vision. Much of the show had a rather generic sci-fi feel to it with the biggest standouts to this being the very noir looking cityscape, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like something from a batman game, or the temple, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like a world of warcraft raid. They were obviously attempting to get variety in their environment design, which I appreciate, but they did this without having a coherent enough visual language to feel like it was all part of the same world. In general, there was also just a lack of visual clarity or strong shots. The value range in any given scene was poor, the compositions and framing were functional at best, and the character animation was unpleasantly exaggerated. It just doesn’t really look that good beyond fancy rendering techniques.

The fight scenes are their entire own beast. Since ‘FIGHT SCENE’ is the largest single category of scenes in the show, they definitely feel worth looking at with a genuine critical eye. Or, at least, I’d like to, but honestly half the time I found myself almost unable to look at them. The camera is rarely still long enough to really enjoy what you’re watching - tracking the motion of the character AND the camera at such constant breakneck high speeds left little time to appreciate any nuances that might have been present in the choreography or character animation. I tried, believe me, I really did, but the fight scenes leave one with the same sort of dizzy convoluted spectacle as a Michael Bay transformers movie. They also really lacked the impact fight scenes are supposed to have.

It’s hard to have a good, memorable fight scene without it doing one of three things: 1. Showing off innovative or creative fighting styles and choreography 2. Making use of the fight’s setting or environment in an engaging and visually interesting way or 3. Further exploring a character’s personality or actions by the way they fight. It’s also hard to do one of these things on its own without at least touching a bit on the other two. For the most part, I find RVB0’s fight scenes fail to do this. Other than rather surface level insubstantial factors, there was little to visually distinguish any of RVB0’s fight scenes from each other. Not only did I find a lot of them difficult to watch and unappealing, I found them all difficult to watch and unappealing in an almost identical way. They felt incredibly interchangeable and very generic. If you could take a fight scene and change the location it was set and also change which characters were participating and have very little change, it’s probably not a good fight scene. 

I think “generic” is really just the defining word of RVB0 and I think that’s also why it falls short in the humor department  as well.

3. The Comedy

Funny shit is hard to write and humor is also incredibly subjective but I definitely got almost no laughs out of RVB0. I think a total of three. By far the best joke was Carolina having a cast on top of her armor, which, I must stress, is an incredibly funny gag and I love it. But overall I think the humor fell short because it felt like it was tacked on more than a natural and intentional part of this world and these characters. A lot of the jokes felt like they were just thrown in wherever they’d fit, without any build up to punchlines and with little regard for what sort of joke each character would make. Like, there was some, obviously Raymond’s sense of humor had the most character to it, but the character-oriented humor still felt very weak. When focusing on character-driven humor, there’s a LOT you can establish about characters based on what sort of jokes they choose to make, who they’re picking as the punchlines of these jokes, and who their in-universe audience for the jokes is. In RVB0, the jokes all felt very immersion-breaking and self aware, directed wholly towards the audience rather than occurring as a natural result of interplay between the characters. This is partially due to how lackluster the character writing was overall, and the previously stated tight timing, but also definitely due to a lack of a real understanding about what makes a joke land. 

A rule of thumb I personally hold for comedy is that, when push comes to shove, more specific is always going to be more funny. The example I gave when trying to explain this was this:

saying two characters had awkward sex in a movie theater: funny

saying two characters had an awkward handjob in a cinemark: even funnier

saying two characters spent 54 minutes of 11:14's 1:26 runtime trying out some uncomfortably-angled hand stuff in the back of a dilapidated cinemark that lost funding halfway through retrofitting into a dinner theater: the funniest

The more specific a joke is, the more it relies on an in-depth understanding of the characters and world you’re dealing with and the more ‘realistic’ it feels within the context of your media. Especially with this kind of humor. When you’re joking with your friends, you don’t go for stock-humor that could be pulled out of a joke book, you go for the specific. You aim for the weak spots. If a set of jokes could be blindly transplanted into another world, onto another cast of characters, then it’s far too generic to be truly funny or memorable. I don’t think there’s a single joke in RVB0 where the humor of it hinged upon the characters or the setting.

Then there’s the issue of situational comedy and physical comedy. This is really where the humor being ‘tacked on’ shows the most. Once again, part of what makes actually solid comedy land properly is it feeling like a natural result of the world you have established. Real life is absurd and comical situations can be found even in the midst of some pretty grim context, and that’s why black comedy is successful, and why comedy shows are allowed to dip into heavier subject matter from time to time, or why dramas often search for levity in humor. It’s a natural part of being human to find humor in almost any situation. The key thing, though, once again, is finding it in the situation. Many of RVB0’s attempts at humor, once again, feel like they would be the exact same jokes when stripped from their context, and that’s almost never good. A pretty fundamental concept in both storytelling in general but particularly comedy writing is ‘setup and payoff’. No joke in RVB0 is a reward for a seemingly innocuous event in an earlier scene or for an overlooked piece of environmental design. The jokes pop in when there’s time for them in between all the exposition and fighting, and are gone as soon as they’re done. There’s no long term, underlying comedic throughline to give any sense of coherence or intent to the sense of humor the show is trying to establish. Every joke is an isolated one-off quip or one-liner, and it fails to engage the audience in a meaningful way.

All together, each individual component of RVB0 feels like it was conjured up independently, without any concern to how it interacted with the larger product they were creating. And I think this is really where it all falls apart. RVB0 feels criminally generic in a way reminiscent of mass-market media which at least has the luxury of attributing these flaws, this complete and total watering down of anything unique, to heavy oversight and large teams with competing visions. But I don’t think that’s the case for RVB0. I don’t know much about what the pipeline is like for this show, but I feel like the fundamental problem it suffers from is a lack of heart.

In comparison to Red vs. Blue

Let's face it. This is a terrible successor to Red vs. Blue. I wouldn’t care if NONE of the old characters were in it - that’s not my problem. I haven’t seen past season 13 because from what I heard the show already jumped the shark a bit and then some. That’s not what makes it a poor follow up. What makes it a bad successor is that it fundamentally lacks any of the aspects of the OG RVB that made it unique or appealing at all. I find myself wondering what Torrian is trying to say with RVB0 and quite literally the only answer I find myself falling back onto is that he isn’t trying to say anything at all. Regardless of what you feel about the original RVB, it undeniably had things to say. The opening “why are we here” speech does an excellent job at establishing that this is a show intended to poke fun at the misery of bureaucracy and subservience to nonsensical systems, not just in the context of military life, but in a very broad-strokes way almost any middle-class worker can relate to. At the end of the day, fiction is at its best when it resonates with some aspect of its audience’s life. I know instantly which parts of the original Red vs Blue I’m supposed to relate to. I can’t say anything even close to that about 0.

RVB is an absurdist parody that heavily satirizes aspects of the military and life as a low-on-the-food-chain worker in general that almost it’s entire target audience will be familiar with. The most significant draw of the show to me was how the dialogue felt like listening to my friends bicker with each other in our group chats. It required no effort for me to connect with and although the narrative never outright looked to the camera and explained ‘we are critiquing the military’s stupid red tape and self-fullfilling eternal conflict’ they didn’t need to, because the writing trusted itself and its audience enough to believe this could be conveyed. It is, in a way, the complete antithesis to the badass superhero macho military man protagonist that we all know so well. RVB was saying something, and it was saying it in a rather novel format.

Nothing about RVB0 is novel. Nothing about RVB0 says anything. Nothing about it compels me to relate to any of these characters or their situations. RVB0 doesn’t feel like absurdism, or satire. RVB0 feels like it is, completely uncritically, the exact media that RVB itself was riffing off of. Both RVB0 and RVB when you watch them give you the feeling that what you’re seeing here is kids on a playground larping with toy soldiers. It’s all ridiculous and over the top cliche stupid garbage where each side is trying to one-up the other. The critical difference is, in RVB, we’re supposed to look at this and laugh at how ridiculous this is. In RVB0 we’re supposed to unironically think this is all pretty badass. 

The PFL arc of the original RVB existed to show us that setting up an elite team of supersoldiers with special powers was something done in bad faith, with poor outcomes, that left everyone involved either cruel, damaged, or dead. It was a bad thing. And what we’re seeing in RVB0 is the same premise, except, this time it’s good. We’re supposed to root for this format. RVB0 feels much more like a demo reel, cutscenes from a video game that doesn’t exist, or a shonen anime fanboy’s journal scribbling than it feels like a piece of media with any objective value in any area.  In every area that RVB was anti-establishment, RVB0 is pure undiluted establishment through and through.  

[yoursecretmuse]

My Perception On No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai

🥀 This year has brought me many joys, that have left me with melancholy victories. I have been venturing out of my usual book genres and I've found a selection of well to do books that I simply cannot live without. How I've existed this far without them, I will never know. There are many different types of literature out there and of course I only focus on English and European Literature. Not because I'm bias  in some way. But I've always found American and European culture very interesting. Despite ignoring my very own culture. It had never occurred to me, that until now, I have never heard of Asian Literature. It's like an unknown phenomenon that no one speaks of. When I think back of my studies in school, I've never even heard of my teachers mentioning Asian writers at all. It was like they didn't exist or people found Asian culture not important enough to read about. Which is odd because in Asian countries they have liberties filled with European novel and American novels. Is it safe to say that Asian people find European and American culture interesting, though we do not share the same feelings toward them. Nevertheless, I stumbled upon Osamu Dazai after reading a mutual friends post about Vincent Van Gogh. It was a silly meme that consisted of Van Gogh and Osamu talking over their depression. Which is not something to joke about but I must confess I found it humorous. Through that humor, I decided to research Osamu and the rest is history. So, here is my thoughts on the exceptional book, No Longer Human. I want to give an in-depth review without giving the book away too much (if at all). But I must warn you that spoilers may become a possibility. No Longer Human is broken into three parts, including an introduction in the beginning by Donald Keene, as well as a Prologue & Epilogue by Osamu Dazai himself. So, to make things easier to understand, I'm going to review each part individually.

The Introduction Normally, I would skip this part of the book because at times it can be very boring and bland. But after reading The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johaan Wolfgang Von Goethe, I found it important to read book introductions because they can have valuable information about the writer. In this section, Donald Keene noted how under appreciated Asian writer are in literature. For some odd reason, American & Europeans cultures specifically seem to feel like we cannot learn anything from Asian culture. Perhaps it has something to do with our history with going to battle with certain Asian countries. Yet, that did not stop countries like Japan and China from filling their liberties with American & European literature. Which upsets me. Had it not been for Van Gogh, I would have missed out on an extremely talented writer. I'm not sure who is to blame for this but I find the idea of not representing Asian writers outside of manga is shameful and sad. There is more to their culture than just that. However, as a whole our world only views Asian people in a small and certain light, that barely gives them any kind of positive recognition outside of the obvious stereotypes. In short, I really urge everyone to take time and read the introduction and share your thoughts on Keene's and my views. What do you think and why is Asian literature so lost and underrepresented? Why do Asian writers rather be on the bottom of American top writing lists, than the top of Asian writer lists? It is very interesting.

🥀

The Prologue In this section, you learn of how Ōba Yōzō (aka Dazai himself) feels alienated and very much of a misfit. He tells you how all of his life he has worn a mask to hid his true sensitive and self destructive self. He harshly criticizes himself and informs you of how he feels about the nature of "humans" and how he never felt like one, thus making him believe that he is not. I like this part of the novel because I can relate to it in so many ways. Many things he explained and said is how I felt (and still very much feel) about myself. Not only of my appearance and state of being but also without people. We both share the same reflection on our confidence or lack there of as a child. I shared his thoughts on normality being ugly and being bland and not standing out is worse than being ugly or beautiful. He even goes on to explain that death has more of a soul or an expression than him. The ugly/void he felt as a child (as well as his whole life) has manifested into a visible void, that crept from his inner darkness and it carries a bland look. Which to me speaks volumes. 🥀

The First Notebook Unable to cope with the world around him, Ōba begins to become a jokester and class clown, in order to mask away the alienation that he feels. He engages in planned fails and acts as if he has no clue as to what he does. He tells us of his environment at home. His father always being gone on business and his mother he did not mention much. He speaks of his maids/servants mistreating him, but he never reported them because he sees it as pointless. We also learn he views a "human" as someone who is happy and hopeful. Perhaps, attractive in some way and could possibly have a great deal or comfortable amount of money. Which is strange because his family were quite wealthy and well known. He speaks of how he feels his life is a shame and the life of a "human" was not cut out for him. There is much more to be said here but I do not wish to spoil everything. I still want readers to get a wow factor from this book, without knowing every details and topic. 🥀

The Second Notebook A very key factor in this part is that Ōba is caught by another student named Takeichi who suspects and confronts him on faking his fall during "gym" class. This sends Ōba into a manic behavior and he somewhat becomes obsessed with Takeichi and fears that he will expose him for being a fraud. I found this interesting given Takeichi had no intention on exposing Ōba or telling anyone about his opinions on his stunts. Certain things happens and the two become somewhat of friends and Takeichi began to mention things to Ōba that were predicting and in a way life changing for Ōba. Ōba also finds an strong interest in art, which leads him to start painting. Ōba also becomes apart of a communist group and becomes a respectable member. Though, he does not share their same views and is only there because he views them as misfits. In this section, a young man now, Ōba meets someone by the name of Horiki. Horiki is also a college student but exposes Ōba into an unfortunate and dreadful life cycles, that pleasures and destroys him further. He also tries to commit suicide with a woman named Tsuneko, who dies but he does not. This even tears him apart and causes his family to the verge of disowning him. 🥀

The Third Notebook: Part One Ōba begans to have multiple affairs with different women, from different walks of life. He becomes a heavy drinker and is expelled from college. He becomes too focus on self destruction, he was not able to create or focus on his artwork. He tries to quite smoking and drinking. But struggles terribly. He marries a young girl, who tries to encourage him to stop drinking and for awhile it works. And for a moment Ōba is happy. The two both marry and move in together. 🥀

The Third Notebook: Part Two Working as a cartoon and sober, Ōba feels somber toward marriage life. He thinks of his wife as native and innocent. But he falls into bad habits once he is visited by an old friend named Horiki, who (with Ōba) witnesses Ōba's wife being sexually assaulted by an associate friend. Ōba begins to blame himself, as well as his wife and becomes manic and fills himself with alcohol and is committed into a mental hospital. After leaving his wife for another woman. This parts ends with him being brought to a home that his brother purchased for him and given the money he needed for living and personal interest. Ōba is left feeling empty and recounts his choices and views of hisself. 🥀

Epilogue We are then given the prospective of an outsider, who wanted to meet Ōba but fails. He then meets a friend of Ōba and she gives him the three notebooks. The man is intrigued by the notebooks and decides to publish them. We are left with a reflects of Ōba's friend telling us that he was a kind and gentle soul, who made everyone laugh and smile. 🥀

My Final Thoughts I believe this is one of the greatest books that I have read. I love the rawness of this book and I adore how the events were true. I feel that Osamu Dazai was a great writer and his death is very unfortunate. I find the way he told his life very interesting and beautiful and poetic. I wish I was able to meet him and praise him for being an amazing artist and writer. But the result would probably remain the same. There is so much that we can learn from Osamu and his life. His perception on life and people is very interesting and a very rare viewpoint on life. I highly suggest that everyone checkout this novel and spread the works of Asian Literature. Thanks For Listening. -𝓒

[mamahersh]

The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions)

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, blood, gore) <--- later chapters, this one’s clean.

Welcome to my first attempt at Ethoslab angst! I wanted an nHo-centric fic with a heavy dose of Etho angst. I have nowhere else to post this, and fair warning I am terrible at characterizations, so everyone will probably be a bit OOC to some extent; but for sure EvilX will be very OOC in how evil he is in this one. The Rating for the later chapters is a solid M, so be warned about that. If y’all have suggestions or feedback, feel free to come and say hi! P.S. I got my inspiration for this fic from this fic over here! Give them some love too.

Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

Chapter 1 (below the cut)

BDoubleO was worried. 

Now, it wasn’t often he worried, particularly about Etho. Especially after the shenanigans from Season 5 with the nHo, and their many years of collaboration after that, he was well aware that Etho had a habit of disappearing for weeks on end. Even when he was supposed to be helping with a bit of collaboration work like the Horse Course, he was infamous for suddenly disappearing for a week, and coming back acting like nothing had happened. But even still, Etho usually left a note, or told someone about where he was going so they at least knew when to approximately expect him to show back up. This time though, Etho hadn’t even left Iskall a note, and so far this season he had made sure to at least leave a note for Iskall since they were sharing a base. (BDoubleO had asked Iskall 3 days after the last time he had seen Etho to ask if he knew where Etho was. Iskall didn’t know, though he had seen him 2 days previously puttering around their shared base as normal.) He had asked around the other Hermits, seeing if anyone had heard anything. The only one that had seen anything was Beef, who had said he had seen Etho lurking on the edges of his territory heading toward the top of BDubs’ mountain with a spyglass about a day and a half ago. Doc had mentioned that while he hadn’t seen Etho recently, he had heard that Etho had been busy in talks with Xisuma and Evil Xisuma over something. However, when BDubs questioned Xisuma, he said he hadn’t seen Etho since the last major server meeting. (It was always disconcerting when Hermits’ stories didn’t match up, as that usually meant there were shenanigans afoot. But BDubs couldn’t figure out why there would be shenanigans afoot, because this was just Etho.)

A whinny from Lulu beneath him startled BDubs out of his worries. Looking around he realized that they were already staring up at Xisuma’s lighthouse and general base area. Why were they there you might ask? (A theoretical from a theoretical, truly meta of him, aha) WELL, Xisuma had sent out a message to the server that everyone should come and gather at his base for an important something. BDubs was confused, and very concerned, that Xisuma was insisting on the meeting being in person. After all, any news could be dispensed through the Server messages, and all their bases were known, so boards could be placed at bases for Hermits to see as they came in and out. Meeting in person was never technically necessary, though it made it generally easier to talk with each other since they didn’t have to type everything out. The point stood however, that unless it was an emergency, Xisuma never called a general Hermit assembly outside of their regularly scheduled monthly meetings. 

Looking around, BDubs was able to see that Beef was already there, along with most of the Boatem Crew, and surprisingly enough, the Horsehead Farms guys were there as well. Of course, Doc was on his way, and last he heard, the Big Eye crew was following up behind him since they both had been busy when the announcement had gone out. The rest of the server would be on their way because of how far out they were. (Part of BDubs wondered if those who were coming in later were the lucky ones. The rest of him wondered why he was so filled with anxiety and so certain this meeting was only going to be terrible.) Deciding nothing good would come of dwelling on the negatives, he made his way over to where Beef (who was looking more unrecognizable by the day as the alien contamination overtook him) was standing alone, seemingly keeping his eye out for someone or something.

“Hey Beef!” BDubs called out, smiling and waving as he approached. Beef looked over at the sudden shouting of his name, and instantly relaxed as he saw BDubs approaching. “Hey BDubs!” he called back, something alien layered under his normal voice. (It spoke of void and distant stars, though Tango had recently been saying it reminded him more of sulfur and brimstone). “You know anything about why Xisuma’s called this meetup?” asked Beef before BDubs could ask the question himself.

“Not a clue,” BDubs replied, allowing his concern to show through as he stood ill-at-ease beside his friend. “He just announced he had something he wanted to show or talk to us about I guess, though I can’t imagine what it could be about.” Well, BDubs had a guess or two, but none of them were generally pleasant topics of conversation, outside of some surprise announcement for the next server update to 1.18.

“Darn, I was hoping you would have heard something…” said Beef, his own unease easy to read. BDubs shrugged, looking around at the other groups of players standing outside the Lighthouse. It looked like even in the short time they had been greeting each other, the other Big Eyed Crew had arrived on his tailwind. An awkward pause settled between the two of them, both having been so tied up in their own shenanigans to really know what the other had been up to. BDubs debated bringing up the obvious, but it seemed like one of those things you don’t necessarily bring up. But then again… 

“Yo Beef,” said BDubs, turning to look at Beef again. Beef startled out of his momentary reverie. “You’ve been looking pretty, uh… green recently. How’s that been treating you?”

For a moment Beef looked almost confused, before he seemed to connect the dots and snorted. “Oh yeah, it’s been treating me great, as you can see.” They both chuckled a bit at his sarcasm before he continued. “But in all seriousness, I hadn’t really been noticing it. I mean, I definitely notice that people have been giving me a wider berth this season, which hasn’t been great for business since I have a great idea for selling specialty cat food I can make on my alien ship. I haven’t personally noticed too many changes outside my appearance thus far however.” After a moment Beef said, “So how about you? How have Keralis and Tango been treating you this season?”

BDubs chuckled. “Would you believe it if I told you it’s been going great? I have a mountain already, and we have a small bay town we’re building up to serve as a shopping district for our Big Eye Crew. Plus, we got Tango to actually make his eyes big, so it’s a win all around! Though I’ve been noticing more Derpcoin sneaking into our shops…” 

“Hey now, what’s wrong with Derpcoin?!” exclaimed Beef, looking vaguely offended. BDubs was startled by this, completely not expecting such an outburst from Beef of all people.

“I mean, there’s nothing necessarily wrong with it, it’s just I have no idea what the conversion rate is on the stuff, so I don’t know what people are paying in my shop for the items they’re buying,” replied BDubs. “Plus, there’s nowhere to use it.”

“But there is a place to use it! You could use it at EX’s Evil Emporium. Plus, with more people signing up for Derpcoin, it seems like a lucrative market to sell in,” countered Beef, a strange gleam in his eyes. “EX was nice enough to give me an in into his Derpcoin shopping district, so I’ll have a storefront through the Evil Emporium.” 

"Evil Emporium huh?" BDubs made a considering noise. "Heard a little bit about it back when EX was doing a little sales pitch in our neck of the woods. Seems pretty fishy to me, but if you think it's a trustworthy establishment, I'll definitely give it a second look."

"Attention everyone!" called out Xisuma, suddenly standing in the center of the gathered Hermits. "Your attention please!" BDubs looked over to where X was waving everyone over. He noticed that X seemed abnormally forward, though that could be attributed to his paranoia. Afterall, X wasn’t one to cause problems! Sure he had been trying to get people on board with this Evil Emporium thing pretty hard, but X couldn’t hurt a fly even on a good day, so BDubs wondered if this wasn’t about Derpcoin.

He had been hearing from the other Big-Eyed crew that tensions between Boatem and the Derpcoin empire had been slowly escalating over the last week or so. Plus he had been hearing about more of the unaffiliated Hermits beginning to create close ties with EX’s brand, embracing Derpcoin as their main currency even! On the other hand, he’d been hearing from some of the Boatem people about how they were getting sick and tired of finding Derpcoin in their shops, and seemingly some people were beginning to refuse to pay for items with diamonds… There was a mess brewing for sure in the background this season, it just seemed like an issue that could wait till the next monthly meeting is all.

With a jolt, BDubs was brought back to the present as Doc bumped him in the shoulder. “How are you doing BDubs? Looking pretty lost in thought there, big guy.” 

“Well, doing pretty good if you must ask!” BDubs puffed up with the compliment on his height, despite knowing it was more than likely meant in a sarcastic manner. Between Doc and Etho, BDubs never really could catch a break. “You just get here then?”

Doc let out a rumbly hum in agreement. “Yesss, though I have no idea why Xisuma called the meeting. Know anything?”

BDubs and Beef both shook their heads. “We’re in the dark as much as you are, it seems,” replied Beef, moving towards the other Hermits to try and get their little group to walk and talk.

“I have a theory though!” continued BDubs, leaning in to act somewhat more conspiratorially. Doc leaned in a bit more than he needed to, getting a friendly bump on the head from Beef. “See, I’m sure you’ve both heard a bit more than I have about Boatem vs the Evil Emporium. I think things might be heating up enough between the two that X might be forced to intervene soon.” BDubs rubbed the back of his neck. “Admittedly, it still seems like the kind of thing that he would bring up in the monthly meeting instead of an impromptu meeting like this.”

“Looks like we don’t have to wait long to find out in any case.” Beef gestured at the surrounding Hermits and Xisuma himself still standing at the center looking official as usual. (Though BDubs thought he looked a little dazed, but he shoved the thought aside.)

“Thank you everyone for taking time out for this meeting!” called out Xisuma, his face still disconcertingly empty. “I’ve called you together today because EX had a stream he wanted us all to watch, and I agree it is most imperative we all watch it together.”

BDubs did not like the sound of this one bit. “What’s the stream about?” called Joe from the opposite side of the crowd.

“Yeah, why’s it so important we all have to watch it?” asked Cleo from beside him. BDubs realized that those two had had to travel across the entire continent to come to the meeting, and Joe was still renouncing wings, so taking long trips was a distinct hassle. At the very least, it was far more time consuming than everyone else’s trips had been, minus potentially XB and Hypno’s trip.

Xisuma seemed to stand there taking it silently, which was not necessarily outside of the usual, but his response certainly was. “With that out of the way, I’ll get the screen set up, and then we can watch EX’s stream!” ‘That was strange,’ thought BDubs as he looked around the circle of bewildered Hermits. Normally X would try to answer questions, or at least let them know things precisely before he did them. It was incredibly out of character that he would just ignore Joe and Cleo like that… Particularly Joe and Cleo if BDubs was to be brutally honest. Those three had been closer than three peas in a pod since Season 2, and Joe and X had known each other pretty well since almost the start of Season 1. To have those two brushed off by Xisuma struck a wrong chord.

BDubs was pulled back to the present as Xisuma rapidly typed into his communicator, and a holographic screen projected just beyond the circle of Hermits behind where Cub was standing. Almost as one, the Hermits turned to look at it, curiosity overpowering any potential feelings of lingering confusion and discomfort.

Xisuma’s expression was blank as the large screen buzzed to life in front of them. However, BDubs’ watched as he seemed to come back to himself just as the static on the screen cleared and the assembled hermits gasped in disbelief and horror.

‘Well,’ thought BDubs to himself, dread rising like a wave about to swallow him whole. ‘Now we know where Etho went.’ For there on the screen, looking the worst BDubs had ever seen him, was a restrained Etho beside a seemingly gleeful EvilXisuma.