#having 7 hundred thousand people see your work

[bluepandadraws-log]

Twitter's so fuckin' rude y'all. Like... saw comments like "just draw p0rn already enough with the shitty borderline stuff"... you want me to post or nah?! Either ask nicely or request it on my donation sites! Otherwise, fuck off!!

[thatdeadaquarius]

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

[houseofanticipation]

It's impossible to count the number of times you've imagined this moment. Late at night, under the covers; in the bathtub, and the shower; on slow days at the bookstore, the summer before senior year; during Mr. Madrigal's long, droning lectures. You fantasized so vividly you could see each scene on the back of your eyelids, hear each sound between breaths. Many a time your hand migrated southward, almost of its own volition. If you were in public, you'd hold it against your crotch, pressing it into yourself with the force of your clenched thighs. In private, you'd be far less subtle.

In all those fantasies, you never imagined it would look quite like this.

The hallway smells like cigarettes and industrial cleaner. The haphazardly patterned carpet is coming up at the edges. The yellow tube light overhead might be attempting morse code, the way it flickers. Paint peels from the door in front of you, and one of the metal digits in the room number has been replaced with one that doesn't quite match: room 233. You raise your hand, your knuckles inches from the door, and then you pause. You're not sure if you can go through with this.

Before you can decide, the door opens anyway.

You started posting pictures in your first year of college. It was just your tits at first. You'd been quietly following those subreddits and tumblr blogs for a while, and you thought it would be a bit of fun, a little thrill. You didn't expect the response you got: dozens of people telling you how much they'd enjoyed it, asking for more. So you posted more, and the people asked for different things. Post your ass. Post your cunt. Post your fingers in your cunt. Post audio of you moaning as you came. The more you revealed of yourself, the more attention you got, and the more attention you got, the more you wanted to show. People wanted to send you tips, so you set up a Cash App address. You never got much, a few dollars here and there, but it was nice to get a free coffee now and then.

And somewhere along the way, apparently, you let slip that you were a virgin.

The message came late last semester, from a Cash App user whose name was just a string of numbers. It read, "I will buy your virginity for $100,000. So you know I'm serious, here is $7000 for you to keep, deal or no deal. Let me know if interested."

It was like one of those hypotheticals you talk about with your friends at the dinner table. Would you work nonstop for a year if it meant you never had to work again? Would you cut off your hand if it meant you never had to die? Would you let a stranger from the internet take your virginity for a hundred thousand dollars? You thought about it for weeks. The 7 thousand in itself was a windfall you never could have imagined. It was the new laptop you needed, four times over. It was a large iced coffee ever day for three and a half years. After graduation, if you were smart, it could be your living expenses for the better part of a year. But a hundred thousand might be a house, or a car, or a few years of freedom to pursue your goals. And when you asked how you could trust him to pay when he'd gotten what he wanted, he told you he'd be happy to pay up front.

So here you are, in a dingy hotel, face to face with the broad-shouldered, potbellied older man in front of you. "I saw you through the peephole," he says. There's something impish about him. Maybe it's the toothy grin, or the way his ears stick out from his head, or the obvious glee in his voice as he looks you up and down. "My, you're much better in person. Come in! You got the money then?"

You nod. You didn't leave the Lyft until it was there in your account.

"Good," he says, throwing the dead bolt. "Let's get to it then, shall we?"

"What should...I mean, how do you want to..." you feel yourself talking strangely. Breathing in the wrong places, words tumbling over each other. "Maybe we should...talk first? Get to know each other?"

"No need for that," says the man matter-of-factly, unbuttoning his shirt. His chest is smooth, his skin a mottled pink. He waves a hand at your body. "Go ahead and get those off."

Back in high school, one of your recurring fantasies involved Jason Meier having his way with you in the back of that beat up convertible he used to drive. That old thing used to get you so wet. It was a piece of junk, but something about the exposure of it...In the fantasy, he's driven you out to some secluded spot outside of town. Cicadas drone all around. The night sky shines bright with stars. He cups your face with one hand, strokes your cheek with his thumb, asks you if this is your first time. He kisses the side of your mouth, then your jaw, then below your ear, then down your neck. As his hands undo the top button of your blouse, he tells you he'll be gentle.

The man is watching you expectantly. With his shirt on, he looked like a portly old man. Without it you can see that every inch of that stocky build is hard muscle. That pink skin strains against his mass, muscle rippling beneath it as he moves. "What are you waiting for?"

Your legs tremble. Your knees feel like they're about to buckle. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your body has never done this before. You didn't know you could feel this kind of fear, and yet there's nothing to fight, nowhere to flee. You agreed to this. You decided this was what you wanted. Slowly, you pull your shirt over head.

He groans in the back of his throat, a long, growly sound. His face is a mask of focus, the impish joviality gone, his eyes fixated on your breasts. "And the rest."

You kick off your shoes, pull off your socks. An inch at a time, you slide your shorts and panties over your ass, down your legs, past your trembling knees. You step out of them, and now you're completely exposed. You cross your arms over your chest, then lower them when he grunts disapproval. Almost urgently, he unbuttons his pants, pulls out a long, rigid cock, and begins to stroke himself.

You didn't discover internet porn until your senior year, and before then the only penises you'd seen were a few drawings in your health textbook. In the fantasy, you unbutton Jason Meier's pants and fig. 7.5, "The penis becomes engorged when in state of arousal," pops out of his underwear. You take it in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the girth, and look up into those beautiful brown eyes of his.

This cock is much...realer. It has bounce, texture, even a sound as his hand slides up and down its length. It's longer than the one in that old fantasy, too, and it leans slightly to the left. For years you've wondered what it would be like to see a cock in person, and now that you're here it terrifies you.

"Come here," says the man, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Get on your knees."

You falter. "You didn't...I mean, we didn't agree to that."

"I bought your virginity," says the man. "You ever suck cock before?"

You shake your head.

"Then your mouth is just as much a virgin as your cunt. Get down here."

It's almost a relief to get off your legs, the way they've been threatening to give out. Close up, you can see the purples and blues of the veins under his skin. The head of his cock pulses with anticipation as your lips part, your tongue extends...

You don't think you can do this.

Then his hand is on the back of your head.

You always imagined Jason Meier whimpering as you took him into your mouth. You were never quite able to picture what he would feel like between your lips, on your tongue; the movie camera of your imagination always panned up at that point, to focus on his face. He would let his head fall back in pleasure, eyebrows knit with sensation, lips slightly parted. Now, though, there's no camera to pan. You are here. This is real. And his powerful hand is pushing your mouth onto his cock.

A sound you can't control comes out of you. Your back arches, your hands flail, and then by pure instinct they're on his belly, pushing against him, away from him. Spit runs down your chin, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you say, looking anywhere but at his face. "I'm sorry, I can't, I thought I could do this but I can't."

There's a horrible darkness in his voice. "I already gave you the money."

"I know, I'll give it back, I'm sorry." The words trip over each other on the way out of your mouth. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have, I just, I thought I could..."

His hand is on the back of your head again, and this time his fingers are curled tight into your hair. He jerks your head back, forcing you to look at him, and his eyes are cold and predatory. "I'm not interested in returning what's already bought and paid for." He jams himself back into your mouth.

You always imagined yourself savoring it, taking your time to explore every inch of Jason's length with your tongue, but there's no time for that now. The veiny, throbbing thing in your mouth bypasses your tongue entirely, forcing past your uvula. You gag, then gag again. Your stomach churns and you convulse as your body tries to remove the foreign object, but the man just pushes harder. Your eyes water as he slides deeper, deeper, making your throat bulge, your limbs spasm. As his balls touch your chin, you close your eyes and try to relax your throat.

He holds you like that. You gag for a third time, and thick saliva explodes through the gaps around his cock, dripping down your chin and collecting in a long, dangling rope. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to acclimatize to the feeling, try to convince your body that nothing is wrong. You think you've got it, and then he moves slightly, and you're gagging again. He groans, grips your head tighter, and in the back of your throat you feel his cock swell slightly. He likes it when you gag for him, says a voice in the back of your mind. The motion is pleasurable for him.

You've got another problem rearing its head. You can't breathe. It was fine at first, but the man shows no interest in freeing up your airways, and in all the gagging and crying, you haven't exactly been conserving your oxygen. You pat his leg, trying to signal to him, but all he does is clap you on the side of the head. Your ear rings, you gag again, and his cock throbs. Black walls are closing in on your vision. The effort of struggling against him becomes too much, and your arms fall to your sides. Your eyelids flutter. You're going to pass out. You're going to pass out, and then what will he do to you?

But just before the world fades to black, he pulls your head back again. You feel every inch of his cock as it slides out of your throat. He lifts your face, and your eyes struggle to focus on his as you take lungful after lungful of glorious air. Drool spills across your lips, but you don't care. You're alive.

The man slaps you hard, leaving a stinging impression of his palm on your cheek. You whimper. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, pushing on the back of your tongue. Not knowing exactly why, you close your lips around them and shut your eyes.

"That's better," he says.

The first time you saw a male sex toy in use was in an ad before a porn video you were watching. You were taken aback by the way the performer had pounded it over his cock, barely more than an extension of his hand. You're reminded of that image as he parts your lips again, and the rape of your throat begins in earnest.

You haven't thought about Jason Meier in years, but at this moment he's the only thing keeping you sane. As your face rams up and down, up and down, you retreat to that beat up convertible, and Jason's soft, thoughtful face. As the man tightens his grip, Jason runs his fingers through your hair. As the man grunts and growls with pleasure, Jason coos your name. With each stroke of his cock down your throat, each spasm of your body, you focus on a different part of Jason's body: his large hands, his long fingers, his shoulders, his jawline, his liquid brown eyes. By the time the man finally releases your hair, you can barely feel your body any more. The convertible is far more real than the squeaky motel bed. The hands on your body are Jason's, soft and tender.

He climbs over the center console straddling you. You lock lips, feel your tongues in each other's mouths, kiss so deeply that it feels as though you share the same breath. He pulls the lever to lay your seat back, and then he's over you, on top of you, lifting your skirt, pulling your panties to the side.

This is the part where, in the old days, you would have slipped a finger or two inside yourself. But this time you don't have to. This time you can feel him inside you, really feel him, and he fills you up like your fingers never could. There's some pain—they told you there'd be pain, didn't they, your first time—but it falls away to the thrill, the lust, the pleasure. Jason whimpers as he slides into you, deeper, deeper, and you moan into each other's mouths as his pelvis meets yours. You take a moment to savor it, breathing each other in, and then he begins to thrust.

You feel drunk. It's exactly like you always imagined it, and somehow better than you could ever have expected. Each movement of his hips brings another sensation: a spasm in the arches of your feet, a hitch in your breath, a churning, swirling need in the depths of your abdomen. Deeper you tell him, harder, and he obliges, pulling you into him, and him into you.

You can feel the orgasm building, but it isn't like any you've had before. Every time you've ever cum, you've been in control. This time, Jason is in control. Jason decides when you cum, how you cum. One hand supports his weight as he leans over you, and the other slides up your belly. You used to watch those hands obsessively. The way he held a pencil, the way he bit his knuckles when he was thinking. Now that hand slides up, caresses your breast. Now that thumb brushes your hair out of your face. Now those fingers close around your throat.

You know you're safe with Jason, but the pressure on your throat triggers some animal fear response in you. You try to squirm away, but his arm is strong, and his hand his firm. Your hands go to his wrist. "I don't like that, stop." He just smiles. It isn't his usual sweet smile, either. This one is cruel. Predatory.

Your face feels tight. Your eyes bulge. You're beginning to panic for real now. "Jason, seriously, stop!" You beat at his arm with your fists, but he easily takes both your wrists in one hand and pins them over your head. You try to kick at him, but he's already past your defenses, between your legs, pushing them uselessly apart. His grip tightens, his rhythm increases, his cock swells inside you. He's getting off on this.

All at once you're back in the hotel room. The man's sweaty red face is inches away from your own, and the lust in his eyes is obvious. His cock seems to push deeper with every thrust, and the horrible thing is that the orgasm is still coming. It's close now, you can feel it, and it's like he knows exactly how to bring it out. You feel floaty, tingly, and that awful pleasure is welling up inside you, a pot about to boil over...

"That's right," he says, his eyes locked on yours. "That's what I was waiting for. That perfect mix of...pleasure...and...fear." He punctuates each of these last three words with a long, deep thrust, and it's these that send the orgasm spilling over. A choked moan pushes itself out of you as your back arches, your toes curl, your legs wrap involuntarily around his waist, tears roll down your cheeks. That floaty feeling has combined with the orgasm to create something like how you imagine heroin must feel; a wave of mind numbing, soul deadening ecstasy. Your insides feel hot, and at first you think that must just be what it feels like when you cum from sex, but then you see the look on his face and realize that he's cumming too. His grip relaxes and he pounds away a few more times at your now-limp body. You stare at the ceiling as he moans, buries his face between your tits, pumps round after round of his warm, thick cum into your cunt, your womb. After one final push he collapses onto you, his cock still inside you, his bulk crushing you into the bed. You don't move.

He strokes your cheek. Fondles your nipple. Kisses your neck. Then he kisses your mouth, his tongue pushing your lips open, his breath like damp earth. You barely see him.

It must be almost ten minutes before he finally gets up, his limp cock sliding out of you at last. You can feel his cum dripping from your cunt as he puts on his underwear, then pants, then shirt, then shoes. "The room is paid for the night," he says with his hand on the door handle. "Thank you for struggling. Taking someone's virtue is so much better when you actually get to take it.

You don't respond.

You don't know how long you lie there, motionless, dripping cum. Oddly, the man who just raped you isn't the one burned onto your mind's eye. Try as you might to return to that sweet teenage fantasy, all you can see is Jason Meier as he held his hand to your throat, and that cruel, predatory smile on his face.

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you ever used a thermal camera? It's one of those cool diagnostic tools that lets you see with your lame human eyes just how hot something is. And it costs like a thousand stupid dollars. So unfair. Cats get that for free, probably, and they don't have to go to work either.

Life is full of all kinds of great industrial tools like that. Stuff the professionals use every day, to solve real problems. And if you could just get your hands on it for thirty, forty seconds, while their backs are turned, you could finally get this stupid hobby project back on track. It's not like you were using it 24/7, there, Stanislaw Lem.

There is some good news. AliExpress has been great at democratizing this, because giving weirdos access to industrial-grade equipment at home that they have to finish building and repairing first is a good way to make some quick cash. For three hundred bucks, you can buy either a used Xbox, or a pretty good binocular microscope for doing your own microbiology at home. At this rate, I fully expect to be able to 3D-print an entire living raccoon for about seventy-five dollars in 2040.

Will you be able to identify the brand? Absolutely not, and that worries some people. Here's the thing: I have no idea what "brand" the sidewalk outside my house is. I just trust it to be there when I have to drive on it during the winter because my tires are getting a little bald from all these burnouts. Think I'm getting a little off-topic here.

What I'm trying to say is, when someone offers you a chance to set up your own stellarator at home, you take it. What is a stellarator, you ask? I have no idea either, but it says here that I can get one ordered for about $1800, and I will probably need it eventually, right?

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[eriexplosion]

Tech Lives: An Ungodly Long Essay

(AKA: Turns out that my Tech Lives compilation post comment was actually a threat.)

There have been hundreds if not thousands of posts since Plan 99 aired wondering if Tech might have made it after his fall - it's probably been brought up more than any other hanging plot point, even after season 2 scooped up Omega and left us on a massive cliffhanger. Now that season 3 has started, though, Omega and Crosshair are home (for now) but we have received an almost aggressive lack of Tech info. So, I've gathered up some of the stronger Evidence for why Tech might be fashionably late but still on his way back from The Void!

THE LEAD UP

So to start, let's go back to what came before the whole Incident. This will focus mostly on season 2, seeing as that was definitely Tech's season to shine, but with bits about plotlines in season 1. Which brings us to our first bit, that's not really evidence so much as some gentle push-back on a common argument.

Doomed By Character Development?

We've all seen this particular situation before - a character is slated for a tragic death, so just before it happens the writers gives them a little extra relevance to the plot to make sure the audience really feels it when the time comes. The Clone Wars was especially good at this, giving characters like Fives an arc of his own that ended in his tragic death. Season 7 gave us a better look at Jesse, first in the Bad Batch's intro arc and then again through the Siege of Mandalore, all to bring us to the chip activation that led to his ultimate death.

When season 2 started off with one of the two intro episodes spotlighting Tech and our first breather episode of the season also spotlighting him, people started to get worried. So is it fair to say that his spotlight in season 2 was setting him up for a permadeath?

Looking at it, I don't think so, for multiple reasons. For one, Tech didn't just get a spotlight episode, his development dominated a good chunk of the whole damned season, often taking priority over the other characters that wouldn't be dropped into the mists. While giving a little bit of character development to a doomed character can be a good move, giving ALL your development to a doomed character ends up feeling like a good portion of your season was actively pointless.

The Bad Batch is not an open ended show. It seems to have been planned for the three seasons it got, and they would have gone into it knowing they had a set amount of time to work with. Dedicating so much time to developing Tech in preparation for a character death takes away all of their opportunity to develop, well, anything else.

But, along with the amount of time that was dedicated to Tech as a character through season 2, they also didn't develop him in the ways that most often get used for a doomed character. Namely...

That Sure Is A Lot Of Open Plot Lines

And not one of them got tied up. Currently, Tech has two open plot lines to himself, both started in season 2, as well as a key place in the overall show narrative arc. As the overall show narrative arc takes precedence, we'll start with that.

The Bad Batch sets up a few different narrative arcs very early. One is if clones can be more than soldiers - this is the central thing that we see them struggling against from the start, they've been created to be soldiers and don't know much else about how to function in the world. Theoretically this arc can be fulfilled with one or two of them still dying as soldiers, as long as a few of them make it to find a new life for themselves.

The arc that can't be fulfilled without everyone though is the ongoing thread of reuniting the batch. Much of the show is geared towards making the viewer want this specific end result, as soon as they talk about Crosshair, Omega says they'll just have to get him back and complete their family. The end of season 1 teases us with this only to pull it away at the last moment, then season 2 teases us with it again only to yet again pull it away, this time seemingly permanently.

Ending one of your key narrative threads you've been using to draw audiences in only 2/3rds of the way into the show and without ever resolving it... well it would be a choice. If Tech is gone for good then the last time we saw everyone together would be the end of season 1. Rewatches would lack impact because something that was made to seem so vital ended up going nowhere, and the series finale would never quite reach the height that hearing the full batch theme kick in over the team fighting droids together did. It absolutely destroys the central narrative to leave him gone without ever having reunited the family.

And then there's his personal plots.

Let's start with the obvious one. Tech got a whole potential love interest this season and they absolutely did not resolve a damn thing about it.

Again, this takes a trope that we all know - the young army man that's going to go home and finally marry his girl, who has his whole life ahead of him, but dies tragically in his final mission - and seemingly intentionally subverts the beats. Because what makes the trope work is that the plot line is resolved as soon as that young man decides how he's going to move forward. He can't die uncertain of if he's going to marry his girl, he has to make a decision, and the longer we spend on the relationship to his girl the stronger the decision has to be to consider the narrative line resolved and free him up for some tragedy.

Tech/Phee is a tentative little 'will they or won't they' romance. They're flirting, they're feeling each other out, they're seeing if they're compatible. To tie up this narrative line we would have to find out if they are or not, get a yes or a no on the question. Will they or won't they? We simply don't know because the writers didn't put a resolution in.

We do get the traditional pre-mission scene with them, which would normally be when we get the first kiss or perhaps the promise of a date, either of which would have had me digging Tech's grave for him to fall into from the second it happened. Or even a 'we can't do this right now, but maybe some day it will be the right time' which would have been a kind of lukewarm resolution but would have at least represented a decision.

Instead we get a scene that almost aggressively refuses to resolve anything. They have an awkward interaction, but not one that says they won't get together, no promises are made for the future, no decision point is reached, and the plot line is still dangling wide open when Tech falls to his supposed death. If we truly leave it off here, well, what was the Tech/Phee subplot for? Why did we spend precious time on it when it could have been spent on something else, if it was meant to make Tech's death hit harder why did it not go further?

A second subplot with Tech is that he certainly made the most progress on seeing options outside of the Empire - it starts early on in Ruins of War when he meets Romar and gets his eyes opened to the idea of cultures that existed unconnected to the war. Serenno existed before the war and before the separatists, and Romar introduces Tech to that idea of an ongoing culture. He gets a taste of racing in front of a cheering crowd, leans further into his teaching of Omega and gets new insights from her regarding their lives as soldiers, his relationship with Phee picks up right when he finds out that she is interested in the preservation of cultures. It's a quiet little subplot, but Tech was seeing the full scope of what the galaxy contained beyond being a soldier in a war.

But, like the Tech/Phee, it never resolves. He never decides to settle down, he never chooses to stop being a soldier or even openly discusses the idea of what life will look like after. Rescuing Crosshair isn't positioned as a final mission that they have to complete in order to give up their lives as soldiers. Without that decision point being reached, the plot stays open, we never find out what he Would Have Done so we don't get a sense of the future that he would lose by dying, which is what the purpose of these types of plots is for a planned permadeath.

The Kaminoans don't create without purpose and writers working on a three season timeline don't typically write without it either. So if we spent the time on Tech/Phee but Tech is dead before it ever went anywhere, if we spent time on Tech's relationship with being something other than a soldier but he never really pursues it, what is the payoff?

Too Much of a Survivor To Die?

There's also the matter of how they chose to build Tech's character this season. Namely they beefed that man's skills up incredibly high making it intensely unbelievable that he's dead without seeing some sort of concrete proof. Things we know about Tech as of the end of season 2 include:

Incredible pain tolerance - Tech fractures his femur in Ruins of War and seems shockingly unbothered by it. The femur is frequently listed as one of the most painful bones to break. This is not a broken toe the man is hobbling around on, he fractured the strongest bone in the body and kept going through the woods. He physically fought and killed a man with that busted femur.

Lightning fast mental processing - this is of course on display nowhere so much as Faster where he's put up against droids and wins by taking calculated risks that no one else is willing to try.

A cool head in stressful circumstances - this one is hilarious because he outright says it, but Tech does demonstrate time and time again that when it comes down to it, he's able to keep calm no matter the circumstances.

Essentially, we spend the entirety of season 2 setting up why Tech is the perfect person to drop out of the sky and have him survive. He has the ability to keep calm and come up with a plan in seconds and he has the grit to keep moving even if he's grievously injured once he hits the ground. When you set a character up like this, you can still kill them, but you have to work harder to do it convincingly. Leaving Tech not at the moment of death but with probably at least a minute to act in and then not showing us the body is the exact opposite.

We have a moment in The Crossing showing us Tech's precise aim, and it comes up again to brutal effect when he shoots out the connection on the rail car. If moments through the season were used to set up that particular instant of the finale, then we can't discount the numerous scenes demonstrating his survival skills as being irrelevant to his chances.

Plus, looking back at Ruins of War - one of the big moments in the episode is towards the end, where Romar tells Tech, "I'm a survivor. Remember?" The camera then lingers on Tech for a long moment. It's not the kind of action that demonstrates his capabilities as above, but it works to associate the words with Tech in the viewers mind. Romar is a survivor, and Tech is a survivor too. And when you intend to kill someone off, it's kind of an odd choice to spend that whole season setting them up as a survivor.

THE FALL

Which brings us to the scene itself. Plan 99, implied to be one of the last ditch plans that they have. It's absolutely a heartbreaking scene, and one that can be tough to analyze when it's so well done, because it's rough to watch repeatedly. But, it's worth doing, because the scene itself is FULL of questions, some structural others more based in the visual presentation.

What is Plan 99?

Well, that's just it, we don't actually know.

We know what it's implied to be, a self sacrifice plan where one of the batch gives their life for the others to get away. But in show it's never actually defined, leaving the full meaning of Plan 99 up to interpretation. It could be as simple as what it's implied to be, but that brings up questions like 'why not provide any lead up or foreshadowing for it?' and 'does killing yourself actually count as a plan?'

Removing the assumptions from it gives us room to speculate. Is the plan actually that they leave him behind, dead or alive? Hunter ordered them to do so without a plan number in season 1, but he is the sergeant, so plan 99 could easily be something that bypasses his authority - if a batcher calls a plan 99, you go and you don't question his decision. It's certainly closer to a plan if there's something they are supposed to be doing from their end rather than just an announcement of intent.

It's not strictly evidence one way or another, but it is something of note when Tech's entire sacrifice is based around a plan that we're not privy to the details of. TBB has hidden its twists in ambiguity before, so it would not be the first time that it let us assume something only to pull the rug out later. But ambiguity is not the only thing that makes this scene stand out in the raising questions department.

Pacing Goes Out The Window

Generally speaking, a self sacrifice is the climax of an episode. Think Kanan, Hardcase, Gregor, Hevy, etc - Even a minor character sacrificing their life tends to make up the most climactic portion of any given episode, let alone one of the characters from the title squad. It gets to be the big central moment, the big rush of music and feeling, the pinnacle of the viewers attention.

Tech's sacrifice is not. It happens around 5 minutes into the episode, is rapidly moved past with barely a moment to think, and then the actual climax is Omega's capture on Ord Mantell. They even repeat the music when Omega is captured, except much stronger this time, making it clear that this is the emotional crux of the episode, this is the scene that is supposed to stick with you.

The opportunity to make it the climax of an episode was certainly there. The storyline could have been adjusted to put Tech's fall at the end of The Summit, allowing more time in Plan 99 for processing his loss and making it feel final. The pacing choice is one that doesn't allow the viewer to process the loss, only giving us maybe a couple minutes of time with actual emotional reactions before we're barreling off to the next plot point. Why was Tech's death de-emphasized within the episode if it is indeed our last moment with this central character?

Tarkin, Eriadu, & Saw Gerrera

A lot goes into the set-up for Plan 99. We have Tarkin's base on Eriadu as the setting they're working within, going up against Tarkin for the first time since early season 1. This is the big leagues, and something that's come up in multiple interviews is that when going into the den of one of the franchise's big bads we have to have consequences, something to demonstrate that Tarkin is not to be trifled with.

Sounds reasonable enough. Except Tarkin doesn't actually do anything in either of these episodes. The thing that actually threw them off was Saw's planning mixing in with their own.

All Tarkin does upon finding out that the batch is stuck on the rail is order an air strike and ignore that this would kill many of his own men. This is certainly evil, but it's standard Imperial evil. Rampart would have given that order. Hemlock would have given that order. The guy in Tipping Point that we know for 5 minutes before he fried himself would have given that order.

So if the point of this finale was to demonstrate Tarkin's power, then bringing Saw in both complicates the plot and devalues what they're claiming they are trying to show. So is the point to get them to Tantiss? No, because they fail in that. They don't plant the tracker, they're no closer to finding Crosshair than they were before.

By all accounts the point of the whole endeavor is in fact just to drop Tech off a sky rail for reasons unknown and injure Omega to force them to go back to Ord Mantell. These two things could have happened anywhere in any way of course, so why choose Eriadu and why choose to complicate the plot by introducing Saw rather than letting Tarkin handle the job?

They're questions we don't have answers to yet, but they're very hard to get answers to if Tech is dead and completely out of the picture. Having a dead body on Eriadu is fairly useless to the plot, having a living Tech on Eriadu though? That has potential to move them huge leaps forward in a very short amount of time once we bring him back in. Especially given his conversation with Saw prior to everything going downhill - Tech was in favor of gathering intel from the facility rather than destroying it.

And what about Saw, anyway? If he was genuinely there to cause problems and fly away, again, that's a plot wrinkle that isn't needed and took time away from everything else. If he's there because they needed someone to pick Tech up though? There's potential there.

Did Tech's Sacrifice Mean Anything?

In universe, Tech's sacrifice means everything, of course. It's a decision made in the moment to risk everything to save his family. It's a noble deed and one he does without hesitation. But pulling away from that narrow scope of an in universe perspective, what did we accomplish narratively with his fall?

Well... not much actually! They got over the bump in the road that they encountered all of five seconds ago and promptly crashed headfirst into another, different bump in the road. Tech's dramatic sacrifice didn't allow them to escape unharmed, it didn't allow them to find Crosshair, it just allowed them to move a few steps forward, after which Omega is almost killed and then captured, which is a fairly weak reason to sacrifice a whole major character.

But not every character death is exclusively about narrative, sometimes it's about the character arc itself. So does this close out anything for Tech's character development? Again, not really. Tech has always been completely loyal to the squad and would have risked anything for his family. He never had a choice not to fall, it was either just him or the whole team, and he is an endlessly logical actor. The action would have played out the same had it happened in the series premier or the season 1 finale, or any other time in the show. If anything it's a backtrack on his character by putting him solidly back into the soldier box that the show is trying to let the clones grow out of.

Maybe it's not about Tech's character though, maybe it's about everyone else's! Does his death change anyone's trajectory? Again... no, not really. We'll get into season 3's lack of mentioning Tech later, but in the immediate aftermath of his fall, no one's course or actions is majorly changed because of his loss. Hunter wants to go back to Pabu where it's safe, the same thing he wanted to do before they ever left for this mission. Omega puts herself in danger to save her brothers, which has been one of her defining traits since season one. Wrecker is following Hunter's lead, same as he always did. (We get very little of what Echo hopes to do, but the opening of season 3 reveals that they went back to work with Rex, exactly like they were doing before.)

So narratively nothing required him to die, the character's arc isn't completed, and the other characters aren't motivated to change. If Tech dies here, it's the picture of a shock value death. It doesn't complete or inform his character, it doesn't need to narratively happen in order to put Omega on the path to being captured, and thematically it exists just to give the viewer an unnecessary gut-punch when just the failure to rescue Crosshair and the loss of Omega would have been enough.

Framing is Everything

In a death scene there's nothing more powerful than our final shot of a character. The very last we'll ever see of them, the image that will linger in our minds when we think of that character from then on. This is especially important in animation where everything has to go through several iterations before deciding on what that final look will be. You want it to be impactful, you want the audience to have one final connection to the character before they're gone for good.

So why does Tech die with his helmet on?

If there's one thing TBB is good at, it's their expression work, and a death scene is a perfect place to show off their full range, which is why most deaths meant to have a heavy impact occur with faces unobscured. Crosshair loses his helmet and takes Mayday's off so we can see both of their faces as Mayday dies, Slip, Cade, even Clone X and Wilco, all die helmetless. Looking into older series you have Kanan dying without his mask, Fives, Hardcase, Waxer all dying helmetless with one last good look at their faces and expressions.

And while Tech's helmet gives us a good look at his eyes, the rest of his face goes unseen, and Wrecker's face as he watches this happen is completely obscured. We're denied a look at a lot of their expressions as the decision is made and Plan 99 is executed, rendering it less personal than it otherwise could have been. Tech could have lost his helmet in the blast that knocked him from the rail, Wrecker could have had his helmet knocked off at some point to give us a good look at his expression. TBB isn't known for pulling its punches, so why leave our final look at Tech's face back in The Summit and not here?

Then there's the framing choices. We get some absolutely amazing shots of Tech during the fall, from taking the shot to falling backwards towards the cloudy cover - but here's where some interesting choices are made. Rather than letting our last shot of him be a face up shot that keeps eye contact with the camera as he falls, they make the choice to have him flip over, and we hold the shot as the rail car goes down after him, partially obscuring him.

Which means instead of our last glimpse of Tech being something like this.

We end up with something closer to this.

Which, while we all love those Tech crotch shots is somewhat less impactful emotionally. These frames go through multiple departments and get multiple eyes on them before going through final animation, and no one thought that leaving him face up and unobscured until he disappears into the fog would stick more firmly in the viewer's memory?

The Flip Might be Intentional

And I don't just mean out of universe, as every detail of animation is often intentional, but in universe as well. If you look closely at Tech as he falls, he seems to roll his shoulders back in order to begin flipping over. It was a specific enough detail to send me searching for a reason and I found it in instructions on how to survive a long fall - the first thing that you're supposed to do? Get into the arch position like a skydiver to slow and control your fall.

The flip was important enough to not only include but to include the small detail of Tech intentionally flipping himself over into said position. It's not a confirmation but it's an interesting detail, and one that has very few other reasons to exist.

THE AFTERMATH

Image chosen because even thinking he's alive I didn't want to pull from Omega reacting to the fall on Ord Mantell. Looking at her makes me Sad. So the fall has happened, the rail car has rushed forward and crashed, and Omega fades in and out of consciousness until finally waking up on Ord Mantell to the bad news.

"What if he's hurt?"

Omega is our POV character for the show. We may sometimes see things she doesn't, but emotionally she remains the center of the narrative, the character that the target audience will see themselves in. Her ultimate thoughts on a situation are the closest we have to a clear indicator of our intended takeaway.

So it's interesting that the first thing we hear out of her, having heard that Tech 'didn't make it,' is a firm denial. He can't be gone, he might be hurt, he needs them and they need to go back for him. And, despite Hunter continuing to talk with her about it for a bit, we never actually hear Omega explicitly take it back or verbally acknowledge Tech as dead. The closest we get is 'lost' which she also uses for Echo in The Crossing.

Now, here's where the interpretation between the adult and child audience will likely differ. From an adult perspective, this is a reasonable reaction for a child her age. It comes off as very natural that she doesn't want to accept it and that she doesn't have time to really process that it's true before the scene moves on. It makes sense from an in universe perspective.

However, the main audience is still children who actually are Omega's age and who are being presented with her as their window into this world. And their takeaway, seeing that same scene, is likely to be that Omega is correct. They don't know that Tech's dead, just because an adult says it doesn't make it true and just because Hemlock says it DEFINITELY doesn't mean it's true, they have to go back and check.

If they wanted the main audience to think that Tech is dead for sure, they could have had Omega be the one to say that he's gone, with Hunter simply confirming it for her. Alternatively, Omega accepting it when Hunter tells her would also function in the same way - ultimately, as the POV character, if Omega doesn't accept it there's a strong possibility much of the audience won't accept it either, especially without other evidence.

No Body?

And, as we all know, we simply don't have other concrete evidence. Not only are the batch given no time to look for Tech's body or any confirmation that he died, but we get a whole scene with Hemlock and the goggles where he also confirms verbally that he doesn't have a body either. There's very little reason to have him say this outside of putting a bug in the viewer's ear that he might not be gone for good.

Not only do we have that verbal confirmation, but we have multiple places where a body could have been included or implied without adding much to the runtime.

Easiest place would probably be when Omega passes out - there's a trooper's corpse right there in front of her, and it would have been very easy to make that identifiable as Tech. Have one of the boys check his pulse like Crosshair did with Mayday and then be forced to leave after confirming he's dead. Would it require a little bit of fudging the details of how he landed so close to them, sure, but it would have been narratively streamlined and easy.

Have Hemlock bring his helmet rather than his goggles (and damage it in a way clearly incompatible with survival) or confirm that he did find a body but has no use for the goggles.

Put the body in Hemlock's lab when Omega is brought there at the end of the episode. Have a sheet covering him even if you want and just one of his hands hanging out, especially the one with the distinctive light on the back of it. Give us her reaction to that.

These are just the ones that don't involve adding scenes or making major changes - instead, in a franchise known for bringing back everyone and their grandmother especially if there's no body, they chose to leave it extremely vague.

Reused Score

The soundtrack for Tech's sacrifice is fantastic, I don't think anyone can argue that. In fact it's so good that it's used occasionally used as a reason for why he's dead for real. If it's a fakeout, why go so hard on the music?

It almost sounds like a reasonable argument, except that the music isn't even unique to Tech's fall. We get the same motif later in the episode with Omega's capture, and it actually comes in even harder and more impactful there than it did with Tech falling.

Reusing bits of the music has two results. It lessens the impact of hearing it with Tech if it is in fact his Death music, because it makes it clear that he is not the central feeling of the episode but rather, Omega's capture is. As mentioned before, deaths are usually the climax of their own episodes partially to avoid them being upstaged by any other plot points, but here Omega's capture is fully prioritized over the loss of one of our central characters.

The second result is that it changes the meaning of the music. It's no longer meant specifically to underscore a tragic death, but rather a more general one of loss and separation. And if it's simply about that separation, then it no longer requires Tech to be dead to have that same impact. They're apart from each other, and that's painful enough.

SEASON 3 SO FAR

Which of course finally brings us to season 3! We're five episodes in as of the posting of this, so a full 1/3rd of the season down, which gives us a good idea of how they're handling the whole grief aspect of this scenario.

They Aren't!

That's right, we simply have not directly acknowledged or dealt with the whole 'watching your squadmate fall to a presumed horrible death' thing even once in five episodes. Tech has been mentioned by name twice, we've seen his goggles once, and Wrecker makes one sideways reference to him having not made it back.

In universe, there is a several month timeskip and it seems to be implied that the majority of the grief milestones happened in that gap. For example, we don't see Crosshair finding out from Omega, we don't see Omega grieving her brother, we don't see Phee finding out (more on her in a bit) despite her fledgling romance. Months of grieving and processing skipped over and what comes out the other side is single line mentions that go by in seconds.

This is especially apparent after episode 5, where we got something to compare it to. Crosshair has a long, painful moment of grieving with Mayday's helmet when they return to Barton IV. It's deep, personal, and intimate and we take a minute with him gathering up the helmets of Mayday and his men to set them up on the crates the same way that Mayday had honored them.

Mayday is a one episode character that was important to only a single character, Crosshair - Tech is a core member of the team present through two full seasons and shown as close to every member of the squad. Yet the single scene grieving Mayday is longer and more emotionally gripping than every short mention of Tech so far in season 3.

Narrative Grief

Seeing characters grieve their loved ones onscreen is about more than just the characters themselves. It's also part of the viewer experience - through the characters' grief, we're able to process our own grief at the loss. It makes it feel real, it makes it feel personal, and the amount of grieving needs to be proportionate to the character's importance in the story.

This is especially true in a show written for children like The Bad Batch. Kids don't typically have the same experience with death as adults, and a well written main character death within a children's show will need more time and energy spent towards making the loss feel real. We see this with deaths like Kanan's; it wasn't Jedi Night that told the viewer that Kanan was really, truly dead, it was Dume, where the characters mourned him and dealt with the aftermath.

Currently, with Tech, we do see holes in the team that make us miss Tech but they remain completely unaddressed by the characters. We see Tech's goggles, but Hunter isn't looking at them, he's looking at Lula. Omega mentions Tech having taught her all the plans, but without any real sadness on her or Crosshair's part. The closest we get to actually bringing it up are Wrecker saying 'not everyone came back' and Echo mentioning the datapad would be difficult without Tech, and both of those are only seconds long before moving on. They don't serve as any kind of catharsis for the viewer, relying more on gut punch impact and keeping the wound open rather than allowing it to heal. The difference between the treatment of Tech's death and Mayday's just makes it more stark.

How Do You Like Yearning?

Interestingly, though, it strongly resembles the writing team's handling of another situation: Crosshair's departure from the team in season 1 vs Echo's in season 2. The show even drew a lot of flack for the lack of discussion on Crosshair's betrayal, as outside of a couple conversations the matter often went unremarked on. Echo leaving, on the other hand, got a whole episode dedicated to processing the loss immediately after it happened.

So what was the difference? Crosshair's departure is part of a long term plot point. We're supposed to want him back, we're supposed to want the team to talk about him, anything that would ease the tension. The writers on the other hand want that tension to remain until it's time to actually resolve the plot. So we get those slow drips in between bigger encounters, we get opportunities for Crosshair to come home that he doesn't take, and we don't get the catharsis of the team actually talking about any of it. We're left to want and imagine it, using the yearning to keep it on people's minds more than anything.

If Crosshair had been discussed on screen long enough for the characters to actually come to terms with his absence, though, that would have made the plot feel more settled and resolved early on. It might be conversations we want to see, but it doesn't keep the viewer on edge and craving a resolution. Best case scenario we're just not as desperate for Crosshair to come home - worst case scenario we accept that he won't be returning and find the fact that he eventually does to be unrealistic.

Echo on the other hand gets their absence processed immediately, because their absence from the team is not meant to be a huge plot point. It's something the team has to deal with, yes, and the viewer wants to see them again just like Omega does, but Echo returning isn't meant to be a maybe, and it's not supposed to keep the viewer wondering and worrying. It's a when, not an if.

Similarly to Crosshair, Tech has never felt like a resolved plot point. We don't get confirmation on his death, we don't get any long term grieving, and we get drip fed acknowledgements that pry the wound back open. If we actually see the team discuss and come to terms with their grief and loss, the plot point closes, the wound closes and we begin to fully accept a team without Tech in it, which makes it harder to reinsert him into the storyline if he is in fact alive.

If he's truly gone for good, what is the point of denying closure to the audience? We know that they are capable of writing an intense mourning moment that feels completely in character for otherwise emotionally repressed men such as Crosshair, so why not give us that with the team mourning for Tech? A memorial, an intimate moment with the goggles, a short scene of Crosshair finding out about the loss, or anything at all really? Once again it's something that makes sense if he's alive and we're simply not being shown yet, but makes very little sense to not capitalize on if he's dead.

What's to Come

We have ten episodes of season 3 to go, and a lot to cover. Reviews have indicated that Tech is not explicitly brought up in the first eight, so the earliest we could possibly have a survival reveal is in episode 9. Will it actually happen? Maybe, maybe not. Though interestingly episode 9, The Harbinger, is almost exactly one year after Plan 99, just like The Return aired almost one year after The Outpost. Could mean nothing, but they do enjoy their anniversary dates.

One thing we do know for sure is coming up is Phee's inclusion - she's seen in the official trailer, as well as briefly in a recent twitter spot. This is interesting as Phee is, of course, Tech's teased love interest, and her connection to Tech has been emphasized multiple times, including on her Databank entry and the official 'what you need to know about season 3' guide. When she comes onto the scene, it's very likely that more information about Tech will too.

MARKETING, INTERVIEWS, & SOCIAL MEDIA

I wanted to keep this mostly focused on what can be seen within the show itself, but it's impossible to talk about whether or not Tech is alive without pointing to the absolutely bizarre messaging from the cast and crew, as well as the marketing choices surrounding his sacrifice. (Example: the Instagram Mourning Filter they layered over him in the official trailer, as seen above) I won't get quite as detailed here as in the above, but it does have to be mentioned.

Constant Focus

In between the end of season 2 and the posting of the season 3 trailer in late January, there were several posts on various official Star Wars media. The majority of them were about Tech and Plan 99. In fact, I don't think I ever saw anything mentioning the giant 'Omega's been captured' cliffhanger, just Tech. Over and over again.

Once a character is dead, marketing generally stops caring about them. They're forward focused after all, they want you coming back for what's to come not lingering on what won't be relevant again. So why the constant focus on Tech?

And it wasn't just the social media either - a huge portion of the trailers and reels included old footage of him too. For the most part this was from Plan 99 and bringing up his fall again to rip open those old wounds, but in one case they included action footage from The Summit. This was an interesting case, because the majority of people watching wouldn't have recognized it immediately. Fittingly, the entire comment section was full of nothing but 'Was that Tech?' style comments, which they would have known was going to be the case to start with.

So why are we so focused on a man that's supposedly dead? If he's genuinely never going to show up again why keep putting him in? Everything? While not even bringing him up all that often in the show? If he's dead, this is a truly bizarre marketing decision.

Never Say Die

In interviews or in official material. For several months the word 'dead' was never used for Tech anywhere, not in interviews, not in official material, nowhere. It took until January 23rd for all of the databank entries to be updated, and among all of the main cast he's only referred to as 'killed' once, and it's on Hunter's page not even his own. Then, the Friday before the premier, an interview came out referring to him as dead - on the part of the interviewer, not the creators themselves.

Everything else seems to use a variety of euphemisms. His sacrifice, his absence, his loss, he 'plummeted out of sight', he 'fell from a tram car', he did absolutely anything it's possible to do except outright die apparently.

It's an odd choice when there's known controversy over if he's dead or not. The standard operating protocol of course, in a planned comeback, is to refer to them as dead anyway and allow fandom to fuel its own speculation, but with a fandom as devastated as TBB's was, it's quite possible that the odd behavior had to be introduced just to keep speculation going. The only interviews that sound remotely final came out right before the episodes started coming out - if they had done that from the beginning, the chances of people outright refusing to come back to the show likely would have been higher.

Much like the marketing, this is not necessarily proof of anything - but in combination with the multiple odd things in the show itself, it's certainly suspicious. Speaking of suspicious...

What an Odd Thing to Say

The cast and crew themselves have not been skimping on making strange comments when it comes to the Tech situation.

There is of course the well known Joel Aron (lighting director for the series) tweet that came out the day of the Celebrations panel (AKA when the Tech trauma was at an all time high) and in direct reply to a fan that was having a hard time with Tech's death. It's hard to take it as anything but a reference to Tech given the timing, and it was certainly taken as being about Tech in the quote tweets. If it's not about Tech, why tease the fandom with it? And the specification for it being a mid s3 episode as well...

Also from the day of Celebrations, and from the panel itself, we have Michelle Ang saying in front of God and everybody, that Tech "doesn't come back... in this episode, at least." At the time there was a possibility she didn't know and was just leaving it open, but with that only being ten months ago and the extremely long timeframe of animation, it's almost certain that she would have been done with all primary recording by that point. If you know he's not coming back, how do you accidentally imply that he is with no one correcting it?

Dee Bradley Baker, when asked for a farewell message from Tech at a con, came out with "the life of a soldier is fulfilled by fulfilling his mission and supporting his brothers. And this was the end of mine. And that's a good thing." Which was a perfectly serviceable goodbye right up until he said that the end of Tech's (life? soldier's life? mission?) was a good thing.

During an instagram interview we have Deana Kiner, one of the composers, in response to the interviewer talking about the final episode containing a major loss, saying, "It's kind of a loss... It's complicated." The claim on twitter was that this was about Omega, because everyone knows that when someone mentions the major loss in Plan 99 they're definitely talking about Omega.

So is Tech alive? Is Tech dead? We still don't know. But while one or two of the above might be a coincidence, having all of them at once coalesce around this single character death is a lot to chew over. The Bad Batch team has shown willingness to address grief and loss prior, as well as a willingness to show us death onscreen and front and center. So why, with such an important character, sidestep it all in order to keep it vague? Why keep it from sounding final for so long, if the intent the entire time was for him to be dead for good?

We won't know until he either shows back up or the show ends. If Tech's alive, all of the above starts to make sense. If he's dead... well a lot of things will just never quite add up. I feel that this team has shown enough willingness to follow up on their trailing plotlines that they've earned my trust. Fingers crossed for a satisfying resolution for all of us, and for our boy Tech, whatever that resolution may be.

[arisuworld]

| CLEARING SOME DOUBTS + MOTIVATION FOR VOID AND MANIFESTATION |

DISCLAIMERS:

1. Strong language (i swear a lot), sarcasm ahead, tough love typa shit. This is meant to be helpful and reassuring but I'm not going to treat y'all like you're made of sugar and talk like I'm from 50 years ago. Deal with it or not.

2. English is not my first language. So, there can be many grammatical mistakes.

So, lately I see a lot of people questioning law of assumption and void like "is this even real?" "I saw this post on reddit and they say manifestation is not real" "void isn't real, it never worked for me"

well guys, rather than sending hundreds asks to bloggers, just try to manifest once in your life? It's not like you're doing this for someone else. You're doing this for YOU, for YOUR OWN SELF. THEN WHY THE PROCRASTINATION?

Secondly, use your own fcking mind okay? Why do you even listen to people who are judgemental and just always shittin around? Do what benefits you!! If reddit doesn't benefit you then delete it.

Thirdly, VOID IS REAL!! 100% tested and proven by hundreds and thousands people but you still chose to believe one of those who don't believe in void. Great, right? Also, just because you failed to enter void once or twice doesn't declares that 'void isn't real'. It's okay to doubt after a failure, it's human nature but get your shit together alright? Get right back on track because IF YOU WON'T, THEN WHO WILL DO IT FOR YOU? Only you can change your life girlie!!

Now, look this is on you. If you want to have your dream life, you can have it right now but you choose to waste your time reading anonymous's success stories rather than making your own. Why don't you take it upon yourself? AND JUST DO IT? WHY NOT? IF THEY CAN THEN WHY CAN'T YOU? WHAT'S STOPPING YOU? The method is not the problem, swallowing or staying still is not the problem. It's you!! If only you could have some faith in yourself, then you would be living your dream life rather than crying over your shitty life right now. Believe me or not, but only you can change your life. ONLY YOU! No one will do it for you, not even your favourite goddess blogger. (Also, they have their own personal life so please stop spamming asks and disturbing them with your stupid annoying questions which has been already answered millions times. Yes, they've been answered millions times!!!)

All you have to do is change your mindset , affirm and get that dream life. THEN WHAT'S STOPPING YOU FOR FCKS SAKE? YOU CAN'T EVEN DO THAT MUCH? IT'S JUST SO EASY. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO OVER COMPLICATE IT? Manifesting is just like breathing = Natural, easy and effortless. But you still choose to over complicate it and then be like "Why it's not working, pls help" Listen gurl, the bloggers don't know what is going through your head 24/7, only you do. Only you can point out your own mistakes and work on your self concept.

I mean I get it, really. Your whole life, you've been told that ONLY hard work can make you achieve great things but suddenly you get to know that you're the god of the reality and that you can get THAT BIG ASS MANSION, MERCEDES AND KIM TAEHYUNG IN YOUR ARMS JUST BY AFFIRMING. Yes it's hard to believe sometimes but shouldn't you be happy? That all you have to do is sit back and relax. Shouldn't you be happy that you don't have to work 24/7 to earn good money? SHOULDN'T YOU BE HAPPY THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS JUST CHILL?? Yes, you should be but you silly goose choose to procrastinate.

"The cost of procrastination is THE LIFE YOU COULD'VE LIVED" (LET THAT SINK IN)

So what are you even waiting for? You already know how void and law of assumption works then why are you lurking on Tumblr 24/7? Why don't you take a break and show up on Tumblr with your own success story? Just go and get THAT LIFE BABY. TRUST ME IT'S SO EASY. Once you get it, you'll understand how stupid you were to procrastinate.

So the conclusion is, chill and relax babe and get that dream life. It's just so easy. You don't need to stress over it. It's just so fun and effortless. You can have a great journey ahead but only if you put some efforts in. i Hope to see y'all spamming some good ass success stories, alright? Good luck y'all <3

[katakaluptastrophy]

Can we talk about Juno Zeta?

You're living the dream, Master Archivist of the Sixth House. The Archaeology department hates you. The secretaries love you. Your son has risen to the very top of the absolutely unproblematic meritocracy of the House to become Master Warden. Sure, you treated him as a colleague when he was 7 too, but this is much more intellectually satisfying and much better for your publication record (suck it, Archeo). You sit on the Oversight Body, making decisions for the 3 million strong House of the Sixth.

Then the Master Warden gets summoned by god to become a Lyctor. (No civilian has seen a Lyctor for thousands of years. But the information you do have speaks of astonishing power. Are you intrigued? Do you regard it as an even more stellar opportunity for the Master Warden? Do Lyctors have access to interesting material for the archives? Does the possibility of your son becoming an immortal finger and gesture of god ever feel strange?)

A few months later, some fragments come back in a box. There's nothing left of Camilla at all. No one will tell you anything. Every House but the Third and the Ninth has lost its head or heir (the poor girl your son loved is dead. You're never going to get another overly-formal letter from the Fifth begging for Lyctoral documents from your archive.)

Then the Master Warden makes contact from beyond the grave to tell you that the saintly founder of your House left a plan in place in case it ever became necessary to betray god. He tells you why god should be betrayed.

Suddenly, the Oversight Body has to make a decision. To take your home and 3 million people away from the Dominicus System (away from its thanergetic soil, no more necromancers will ever be born). To break the contract of tenderness made on the day of the Resurrection. Do you have time to call back your soldiers in the Cohort? Do you have to leave them behind? Has the Oversight Body ever felt unanimously about something before? And how frank can you be with the House? You have visiting scholars from almost every House, and who knows where the Bureau have eyes and ears.

There are calculations to make. How to transport a whole House? How do you work out that it takes five hundred and thirty-two obselisks? That there are deleterious effects past five hundred and sixty? How do you find a stele that would anchor such a big thanergy transition? (Only the Fifth make stele. Do you try to do it yourselves? Who do you trust on the Fifth to help with that? Is that why Kester Cinque left Koniortos?)

The Master Warden, who is dead, lives inside the body of Camilla, who is not. He picks you - in your capacity as Master Archivist - to be one of the negotiators. How do you integrate 3 million people into a completely alien society with whom your people have been at war for millennia? How does negotiating with terrorists feel compared to academic committees?

What happens then? One day you just...lose it? The sun rises too bright and too blue and you are in agony, unconnected from yourself, screaming and writhing. And when the thing in the sky is at its furthest orbit from you, in some exhausted moment of clarity, you nearly kill yourself using necromancy to restore your sanity. You blind yourself. Do you think beyond that moment? As someone who deals in documents and artefacts and forms in triplicate, do you mourn your sight alongside everything else you have lost? Your son, your home, your god, your sanity...

And now you are a hostage. Sixteen of you in the back of a sweltering truck, held at gunpoint, always moving. The only thing keeping you alive is the possibility of selling you back to the empire that you've betrayed. Your captors have signed a 'no torture' clause, and perhaps they do stick to that. You're needed for providing proof of life and are probably better off than most. But it's too hot, there's not enough water, you can't see, and the only way out is either that the Master Warden gives Blood of Eden a Lyctor or being released to the mercies of the Kindly Prince. You sit in the dark and do mental maths with each other to stay sane.

Somehow, the Master Warden has done it. Without a Lyctor, he's turned his own cell commander against her fellows and you have been released. Most of the Oversight Body can't even walk out of the truck without help. But you're free, and the Master Warden - now in the stolen body of a Lyctor's cavalier - has the sort of mad scheme only he could come up with. Those mental maths will come in handy. The cell commander isn't bad either...

You can't see your son die again (the last time he speaks to you, from that borrowed body, he calls you 'mum' instead of 'Master Archivist'). But you can smell Camilla’s flesh burn. Perhaps the Commander, holding your arm, describes it to you. You follow this new person, your child, now something else, back into the truck where you were held captive and watch as they drive it into the River.

The Tomb is open. Your child is part of a being of strange and unimaginable power. The House Formerly Known as Sixth is on the other side of the universe. You are on the Ninth with a dead cavalier in the body of her necromancer, the Emperor’s construct, legions of demons, and a very mysterious dog...

Anyway, I'm very excited to see what havoc Juno gets to cause in ATN. She's there to be snarky, do psychometry, and be a romanceable MILF. Let her yell at god. And for goodness sake, let her get some peace at the end.

[dr1lldash]

royal!reader x knight!venture 4.4k, fluff with a hint of angst

trigger warnings; alcohol, mentions of violence, vague descriptions of (fictional) political issues

prompts: 2) “name, i’m begging you. if you won’t listen to me as your guard, then listen to me as someone who loves you - please let me get you to safety before it’s too late.” 7) “so not only have you been ‘entertaining’ marriage prospects, but you didn’t even deem fit to tell me about it yourself? am i not even worth that to you?”

Growing up as the only child of the King and Queen of your kingdom, you lived a life of luxury and peace. You were vaguely aware of political issues between your and neighboring kingdoms, even living as far away from the commonwealth as you did, but it never affected you. There was always food in your stomach, an impressive roof over your head, and a warm bed waiting for you at the end of the day. The one thing that connected you to the people of your kingdom was your friend from childhood, Sloan. They were the only child of the Grand Master of knights, and as such, were expected to follow in their father’s footsteps. They took their training seriously, and by the time the two of you had grown up, they had already been dubbed a knight. It was almost unheard of at their age, but you had seen the hundreds, if not thousands of hours they had put into training, and knew, more than anyone, that it was well-deserved.

It almost went without saying that they would be your personal guard, and although the change from friend to guardian was rocky at first, it made sense. They took it upon themself to train you in self-defense, despite it technically not being permitted. They were insistent that something could happen to you while they weren’t around, even though they were with you every day, from the moment you opened your eyes in the morning until the moment you closed them in the evening.

They took their role as your bodyguard very seriously, to the point that eventually, the friendship you originally had with them began to fade. You tried your best to keep the spark alive, but their role was incredibly stressful, and you could see the toll it was taking on them. You convinced them to take breaks in any way that you could, which usually involved tricking them. At one point, you told them you were afraid your food had been poisoned, and persuaded them to take a bite of your cake. And then another, and a sip of your wine. They pouted when they realized you had duped them, an expression you hadn’t seen in a few months by that point.

However, as time went on, your opportunities to deceive them grew far and few between. Your relationship was almost entirely professional, which was to be expected from someone of your status. You started to accept this fact, preparing for the rest of your life. Within a few years, you could become the ruler of your kingdom or a neighboring one, depending on how things worked out politically, and you needed to focus on that.

You weren’t so much a part of the marriage talks. Your parents kept you updated, letting you know how the negotiations were going, and you were aware that the state they were currently considering marrying you into was one with a long, checkered history with yours. You hadn’t yet met your spouse-to-be, but you had heard nice enough things about them. They were apparently passionate about painting, they often enjoyed walks in their estate’s gardens, and, from what your parents said, they were deeply involved in the politics in their country. A few months into the marriage discussion, your parents decided it was time for you to meet your potential spouse.

You hadn’t seen Sloan since the early afternoon, and you were starting to get a little bit concerned. They didn’t often take days off, much less half days, and you were worried they had gotten sick. Asking around, a few maids told you they hadn’t seen them since lunch, and that they had a nauseated look on their face.

You decided to go to the knights’ sleeping quarters to see if you could find them, but you wanted to stop by your room to get some tea in case they had a sore throat. You were surprised when you opened your door to find them lying on your bed, curled up in the fetal position with a bottle of mead wrapped in their arms. The late afternoon sun shone on their face, their eyelashes casting shadows across it.

You closed the door quietly. “Sloan?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

They inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering as they opened. “[Y/N]?” they slurred, trying to sit up. They only try for a moment before they give up, resting their head on their hand instead. “What’re you doing here?”

“In my room…?”

“Oh, it’s your room?” They open their eyes wider, looking around. “You’re right.”

You hesitate before speaking. “Is everything okay?”

They hum in affirmation. “Yeah, I just found this bottle of mead and, uh. Drank it.”

“I didn’t know you drank.” You took a few steps forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. They fiddle with the bottle in their hands, tapping their fingernails on it.

“I don’t.” You glance down at the bottle, almost certainly empty, and put your feet on the ground, moving to stand up.

“Stay here, I’ll go get you some water.” Their hand reaches out for you, as quickly as they can in their intoxicated state, grabbing the hand you have resting on the bed.

“Can you just stay?” Their eyes are pleading, and you can now see that they’re red and swollen. You nod, moving back onto the bed. They relax again as you do, letting out a sigh. You position yourself more comfortably, now sitting next to them. The two of you sit in silence for a moment before Sloan breaks it. “I wish you would talk to me like we used to.”

“What do you mean?”

They shifted a little closer to you, their cheek resting against your thigh. “Like when we were kids, and we were friends. We haven’t been friends since I got knighted.” They hesitated before continuing. “I miss it.”

“I still want to be friends with you, Sloan.” You reached out, gently rubbing your fingers through their hair. “Things are different now, and I’m sorry I’ve been more distant. I just don’t want to be another stressor for you.”

“You’re never a stressor for me.” They let go of the bottle in their arms, reaching up to rub at their eyes. “You make my job easier, if anything.” They paused, taking in a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you’re gone.”

You sat up a little straighter. “What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere. Did someone tell you I’m sick or something?”

They shook their head softly. “When you get married, you’re gonna have another knight. I’ll just be guarding your parents.”

“I’m not getting married yet.”

“So what’s tomorrow?” You looked down and saw them looking up at you, their dark eyes full of ire and hurt.

“I…” you trailed off, unsure how to answer them. “My parents are entertaining a potential suitor.”

They rolled over, leaving your leg cold. “So, not only are you ‘entertaining’ marriage prospects, but you didn’t even deem fit to tell me about it yourself? Am I not even worth that to you?” Tears started to well up in their eyes and they desperately wiped them away. You could hear the knot in their throat as they continued to speak. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap. “I was going to tell you, I just…I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m not really a part of the discussion.” Tears pricked at your eyes, and you squeezed them shut to will them away.

“What do you mean, you’re not part of the discussion?”

“They’re choosing for me. I don’t think I get a say at all.”

“That’s stupid,” they mumbled. “You should be able to choose who you want to marry.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You opened your eyes, rubbing the tears that were beginning to stain your cheeks away, and laid on your back. Sloan inched closer, laying on their back and staring at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” You turned to look at them, only to be met with their gaze already on you.

They blinked slowly. “For overreacting, for disappearing, for not talking to you…for stealing your mead.”

“Wait, that’s my mead?” They closed their eyes before nodding, craning their neck to bury their head in your arm. “From the winery in the village?” They nodded again. “Sloan! I was saving that for a special occasion!”

Their voice was quiet, even if it wasn’t muffled. “Please don’t be mad at me.” You felt moisture soaking into the fabric of your shirt.

“Hey, hey,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m not mad, I promise.” You put your hand on their head, massaging their scalp with your fingers. “We just need to go back and get another bottle, and this time we can share it, yeah?”

“Okay.” They moved their head to look you in the eyes, and you wiped tears off their cheeks. “I think I do need water.”

“I can go get you some from the kitchen.”

“Will you come back?”

“Of course.” You sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed before Sloan grabbed your arm, squeezing it gently.

“Do you promise?” Without a word, you held out your hand with your pinky outstretched. They held theirs out, too, wrapping your pinky in theirs. “Thank you.”

You smiled softly at them before walking out of your bedroom. The trip to the kitchen took a few minutes, and by the time you came back with the largest glass of water you could find, Sloan had fallen asleep on your bed. They were no longer cradling the bottle of mead, instead clutching your pillow tightly. You let them sleep for a while, pulling a blanket over their shoulders and setting the glass of water on the nightstand. You sat on a chair next to your bed, looking out the window and watching as the sun set. After an hour or so, you decided to wake Sloan up and make them drink some water before you let them fall asleep for the night.

You gently shook their shoulder. “Sloan,” you whispered. “Wake up.”

They let out a grunt as they wake up. “[Y/N]?” They buried their face in your pillow. “Why are you in my room?”

“You’re in my room.”

“HUH?” They sat straight up, eyes wide. “Wh-why?” They looked around frantically.

“You were drinking, you fell asleep in my bed.”

“Wait, that was real?” They put their head in their hands. “My head hurts so bad, oh my God.”

“Here.” You handed them the glass of water. “Drink.”

They did as you instructed, draining the glass in a matter of moments. “Did I, uh…did I say anything embarrassing?”

You shook your head and watched as tension drained out of their shoulders. “You just told me you missed being my friend.”

“I am so, so, so sorry.” Their eyes were wide and full of panic as they held eye contact with you.

“Don’t be. I miss being your friend, too.”

Silence filled the air for a moment before they answered. “Really?”

You nodded. “You’ve been my best friend for a long time, I’m sorry we grew apart. You’re important to me, Sloan, I’m glad you’re still in my life.”

The two of you talked for another few minutes, filling them in on what they had missed while they were blacked out. They apologized a dozen more times, and each time, you told them that it was okay, you were glad they had talked to you like that, and you hoped things would be better between you now. You went back to the kitchen to get them another glass of water before they went back to their dorm. You told them they could spend the night in your room, but they insisted, with a slight flush on their cheeks, that they could handle the walk to their quarters.You conceded, wishing them a good night with a promise to see them in the morning.

You fell asleep quickly, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

You were awoken in the morning to a gentle knock on your door and Sloan’s voice calling your name. “Are you awake?”

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, sitting up in your bed. “Yes, come in.” This was the same way they usually woke you up, but they seemed more hesitant today than they had in the past. They entered, closing your door quietly and standing in front of it. “Are you feeling okay?”

Their cheeks flushed. “I am, thank you for taking care of me last night.”

“Any time.” You paused. “Although, I would rather drink with you next time.”

They flashed you a grin, showcasing the tooth they had chipped when they were first learning to ride horseback. “I can take you to the winery this weekend, if you’d like.”

“That sounds perfect.”

The rest of the morning is a blur. You and Sloan had breakfast together before you showered and got dressed, and then you met with your father to further discuss the possibility of marriage. You were informed that your potential partner would prefer to stay in their own kingdom, so you would be leaving your home, but that they would permit you to bring a few members of staff. They most likely intended for you to bring a maid, a chamberlain, perhaps a chef, but your thoughts drifted to a certain knight. Your spouse-to-be was to arrive in the afternoon, so you had a few hours to consider everything.

Sloan took you out to the garden late in the morning. They wanted to practice their archery, and you were more than happy to get some sun. The castle was large, but spending all of your time inside began to feel like a punishment after a while. The scent of various flowers surrounded you, sweeter than anything the bakers in the kitchen could ever dream of. You found yourself beginning to drift off to sleep, a gentle breeze keeping you cool as the sun warmed your face…

“[Y/N], did you see that?” Sloan’s excited voice startled you out of your slumber. You opened your eyes, covering them with your hand, only to see Sloan’s disappointed face. “Oh, did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you responded, stifling a yawn. “What did I miss?”

“I got a bullseye!”

“Woah, really?” You glanced at the target and saw a single arrow sticking out of the middle of it. There were several more arrows on the outermost rings, and a few on the ground next to it as well. “Nicely done!”

They beamed at you. “Thank you, thank you. Maybe I don’t need a sword anymore.”

You blinked at them a few times. “You might want just a little bit more practice before you give up your blade.”

They stuck their tongue out at you, quickly retracting it with wide eyes when they seemed to realize what they’d done. They quickly spluttered out apologies, but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of your laughter. You stayed awake for another few hours, watching as Sloan slowly improved their marksmanship before one of your father’s knights came out to inform you that your presence was requested inside.

As you walked in with Sloan just a few feet behind you, there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t chalk up to just anxiety. Maybe the eggs you’d had with breakfast weren’t as fresh as you thought? Were you finally anxious about the situation, now that it was more real? You looked over your shoulder to your knight for comfort, but the look on their face only deepened your concern.

Your footsteps faltered before you fully turned around, now facing Sloan directly. “What is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” You turned back around and continued walking. You had to have been overthinking things, you were just getting nervous. Just before you entered the throne room, Sloan put their hand on your wrist.

“Don’t go in there.”

“My father called me, I have to go in.”

“Something is wrong. Let me go in first.”

“Okay, I’ll wait right here.”

They shook their head. “Let me get you somewhere safe. If I’m wrong, I’ll come back right away, but I want to make sure you’re not going to get hurt.” Their eyes were full of concern and it made your heart hurt. You trusted Sloan, but you knew your father would be upset if you made him wait for your presence while diplomats from another kingdom were visiting. “[Y/N], I’m begging you. if you won’t listen to me as your guard, then listen to me as someone who loves you - please let me get you to safety before it’s too late.”

Without thinking, you nodded. Sloan put their hand on the small of your back, leading you down a few hallways and into the kitchen, where they opened a trapdoor leading to the cellar. “I won’t be long. Thank you for trusting me.” They hesitate before they leave, making sure the trapdoor is properly closed.

You heard their footsteps fade, and then you didn’t hear anything for several long minutes. A small amount of light shines through cracks in the cellar walls, but it wasn’t enough to see anything properly. Your thoughts started to race as the minutes ticked by. When you heard footsteps approaching once again, your breath caught in your throat.

“[Y/N]?” Sloan’s voice was strained. You heard them take a deep breath before something hits the ground. Your eyes widened and you froze, unsure of what to do.

The only sound you could hear was Sloan’s labored breathing. Even though they had told you to stay put until they came back, you couldn’t help yourself. With a decent amount of effort, you managed to lift the trapdoor and you climbed up. Laying on the ground only a few feet from the trapdoor was Sloan, covered in red marks. Their lip was split open, a small amount of blood trailing on their chin, and there was a bruise already forming on their cheekbone. “Sloan?” you whispered, unsure of what to do. Their only response was a low groan.

You ran out of the kitchen, turning to get to the medic’s quarters. You were rushing down the hall when one of your father’s knights stopped you. “Your Highness?” A relieved look is painted on his face as he confirms. “Oh, thank heavens you’re okay. Follow me this way.”

“I can’t, Sloan got hurt. I need the medic.”

“Sloan?” He knitted his eyebrows together. “Where are they?” While this particular knight was not Sloan’s father, all of the knights had helped to raise them. Your concern for them was minimized compared to what he must be feeling.

“They’re in the kitchen, they’re unconscious.” The knight took off without you, running as fast as he can to the medic’s quarters before pounding on the door.

“One of my knights is hurt! Your aid is required immediately!” The knight turned to you. “Your father is in his quarters. Please go to him right away. I promise I will make sure Sloan is taken care of.”

You faltered for a moment before nodding. “Please come and find me as soon as they’re awake.”

“You have my word.”

You took off in the direction of your parents’ bedroom. As soon as you opened the door, you were engulfed in a bear hug by the two of them. Through all their worried mumbles and the hands stroking your hair, making sure you’re unharmed, you were able to learn what happened.

The kingdom that had an unsteady history with yours was not as willing to let go of the past as your kingdom was. They had planned to take your country by force, to overthrow the throne and expand their rule. The security of the castle had managed to thwart most of their forces, but the King and his child were able to sneak in. Sloan’s father had gotten your parents to safety, but the knights were unable to find you or Sloan in order to warn you in time. Behind the throne room doors that Sloan had stopped you from entering was almost certain death.

Sloan had entered the room on their own, catching the two of them unready and without any guards. They took them down, although not without their own injuries, and managed to leave them tied up in the throne room before coming back to retrieve you. The two would-be usurpers were now sitting in the castle dungeon, safely behind bars as they awaited a trial and punishment. The future of their kingdom was unclear, but the future of yours was definite. As your parents finished telling you what had just happened, your knees felt weak.

“I almost didn’t listen to them.”

Your mother wrapped you in a hug once again as she responded, “I’m glad you did.”

A few minutes later, Sloan’s father entered the room. “They’re awake. They want to see you.”

Your feet barely touched the floor as you ran to the infirmary. As it was almost empty, you were able to find their bed easily. Tears pricked at your eyes as you wrapped your arms around them, burying your head in their neck. “Thank you.”

They winced at the contact, but didn’t push you away. “It’s my duty. I’ll always protect you.”

You didn’t want to let go, but you forced yourself to. You stayed seated on their bed as the two of you talked. Your conversations filled the room for a while before you remembered something. You played with your fingers, unsure of how to mention it, or if you even should.

“Sloan?” Your voice was quiet. You needed to know.

“Yeah?”

“Do you love me?”

They blinked a few times, stammering before they were able to answer. “O-of course I do, you’re my closest friend.”

You shook your head slightly. “That’s not what I meant.” You looked at them, only to find them looking at their hands in their lap. “Before I could go into the throne room, you told me to listen to you, not as a guard, but as someone who loves me. Do you love me?”

Silence settled over the two of you. “I’m sorry.” they finally said.

“I misunderstood. I apologize.” You stood up, wanting to leave the room and get away from your embarrassment.

“No, you didn’t.” You almost didn’t hear them.

“What?”

“I’ve loved you for a long time. Longer than I should have. I’m sorry, I’ll try harder to stop.”

You lingered by the door. “How long?” You looked at them. They were still looking at their lap, face almost completely hidden by their hair hanging down.

“Do you remember that storm, ten or fifteen years ago?”

You thought as hard as you could. “The one that lasted for three days?”

“Yeah.” They took in a deep breath. “I was so scared I just wanted to cry, but you made a blanket fort and stole cookies from the kitchen for me. You held me and told me stories the whole time just to take my mind off what was happening outside. Do you remember the story I kept asking you to tell me?”

“I…don’t remember.” You did, you just wanted them to tell you about it.

“It was about a brave knight who would do anything to protect their monarch. They fought a dragon, they rescued their ruler from an evil wizard, they did everything they could to keep them safe. I was already going to become a knight, I knew that, but after that story, I wanted to be a brave one.” They laughed. “It’s dumb, right?”

“It’s not dumb.”

They looked up at you and you could see tears welling in their eyes. “Don’t lie to me, please.”

“I’m not lying.” You sat back on their bed. “Do you know when I started loving you?”

“Just now?” They smiled half-heartedly as they spoke.

You shook your head. “It was the day you were knighted. You were smiling so hard the whole day, even when you lost balance on your horse, even when you lost a duel, even when it rained during the ceremony. I remember you complaining about your cheeks hurting for weeks, but any time we would talk about that day, you would get that same grin on your face. I liked you before, but I couldn’t get you out of my head after that.”“I didn’t know you remembered that day.” “Of course I do. It was the most important day in your life.”

A small smile spread on their face. “Do you really like me?”

“I do.” You moved closer to them. “Do you really like me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then we should go on a date, right?”

They nodded, their smile expanding. “Today?”

You looked at them in the infirmary cot, covered in still-forming bruises and gauze. “You should get better first.”

“I’m strong, I’ve been hurt worse than this.”

You blinked at them. “Sloan. I’ve known you your entire life. You have never been hurt this badly, the most you’ve ever been hurt is when you broke your arm a few years back.”

“…That may be true, but I’m still strong,” they pouted.

You laughed. “I know you’re strong, but you need to heal before we can go out. What if something happens? How would I protect you?”

“You could do it! I trained you, I know what you’re capable of.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” You shifted on the bed, now almost in their lap. “There’s still something we can do while you’re hurt, though.”

They swallowed. “A-and what is that?”

You moved your hand to the side of their face that isn’t bruised, tracing your thumb along their jaw. You craned your head slightly forward, stopping just before your lips touched theirs. “Can I kiss you?”

Their eyes fluttered as their breathing sped up. “Like, right now?”

Your head moved back a bit as you laughed. “Right now.”

“Yes, please.”

You didn’t hesitate before connecting your lips with theirs. The kiss was awkward but sweet, your lips eventually moving together as your heart flutters. They smiled into the kiss, bringing their hand up to rest on your nape and entangling their fingers in your hair. The two of you pulled apart too quickly for either of your liking, but you pressed one more quick peck to their lips before actually separating.

Sloan’s face was flushed red as they lay back on their pillow. “Wow.”

“Yeah?”

They smiled lazily at you. “Yeah.”

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

“There’s nothing we can do”

Characters: Furina x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for Fontaine, angst/no comfort

a/n: This started as a joke between me and a friend which eventually lead us to make a small competition abt writing Furina angst. I've kept this in my WIP since the end of November, but considering it's been 7 months and no sign of them finishing theirs I'll just post it.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Furina

The first one hundred years were the hardest. Before the realization she was going to outlive everyone around her had time to truly settle in, before her hopes this whole affair might resolve somewhat quickly were crushed over and over again until they were more akin to sand than the dreams she once had, and most importantly, before she had lost you.

No matter how many nights passed, new faces burst into her life only to slowly change and eventually disappear or years rolled by, one person’s face was never buried too deep in her memories. Whenever Furina closed her eyes for even a fraction of second you were there to greet her, whenever she walked past the building on that unremarkable street corner you had always so proudly claimed to be your home, she could see you standing there, greeting her with a smile radiant enough that she was scared of looking at it for too long, lest she go blind.

The house no longer stood there of course, having long been torn down only for a dozen shops to spring up in its place… not like that made her memories any less vivid.

You had been introduced to her as Neuvillette’s assistant. It felt weird for her at the time to see him hire a human considering how little he cared for them, so it was no surprise when it quickly became clear he wouldn’t trust you with any of his actual work, reducing your job as his assistant to nothing more than a title. By the time you officially gave up your role however, you had already sunken your claws into her, slowly becoming a part of her life without her even realizing it until it was too late.

You were charming, eager to help and too smart for your own good, having to have Furina bail you out of trouble more than once, your tendency to quickly get into heated discussions with some of the scientists trying to find a way to stop the prophecy landing you unpleasant experiences more than once. Yet, while some of your coworkers may have waited for the day you finally quit, you never left Furina’s side, serving her loyally day in and out.

At first, she thought nothing of it. She was supposed to act as your archon so having you dutifully serve her was basically part of the script, but while she knew better, the need to have someone, anyone she could rely on eventually led to her walls lowering around you. There was nothing wrong with finding a friend in you after all, as long as she didn’t confess her secrets to you, everything was fine…

It was supposed to be just a normal tea party as always, the two of you chatting about whatever came to your mind as you feasted on the desserts specifically provided by the Archon’s most trusted chefs, and yet you refused to eat anything but the bare minimum, stabbing your fork into your slice of cake and playing with the small piece you cut off a thousand times before taking a small bite.

You were nervous. Furina didn’t need to be a master detective to figure that out, considering how troubled you looked. What were you going to say once you eventually opened your mouth? Should she help you out by starting the conversation? Maybe you had developed a crush on her? You were spending a lot of time together, so it wouldn’t surprise her too much… although she would have to let you down gently if that was the case, considering how she had to keep her perfect image as an Archon in front of her people… that being said, she could still keep you close if that was the case, even if you weren’t an official item.

“Furina”, your voice eventually cut her thoughts off, causing her gaze to shoot towards you as she awaited what you were about to say, happy and hopeful at first, only for her mood to sour when she saw your serious expression. 

“I know you’re keeping something from me. I don’t know what or why, but I know it has something to do with your powers as an Archon”, you continued, your words cutting into her deeper than what she was prepared for. Chest suddenly feeling a lot tighter as each breath became more arduous than the last, Furina quickly taking one last sip of her drink to cover up her nervousness before putting her cup down and giving you an innocent smile.

“Pardon? What did you say?”

Yet, no matter how long she kept smiled at you, your face didn’t soften, your frown only growing more intense as you took a step forward.

“Stop trying to lie to me, please. If there’s just the slightest chance what you’re keeping a secret might help to avert the prophecy, then you have to tell me, I’m begging you”, you ignored her attempts at playing it off, your voice growing more shaky as you kneeled down in front of her, instinctively taking her hand into yours while trying to look her into the eyes, only for Furina to avert your every attempt. Her free hand clenched into a fist as she tried her best to keep up appearances.

“The future of Fontaine may depend on it, please”, you begged one last time, your eyes becoming slightly watery as you gave her hands one more soft squeeze, forcing Furina to try her hardest not to break down right in front of you.

“Haha, you are aware that slandering an Archon counts as a crime, aren’t you? Let’s end this conversation before you accidentally say something you might regret”, she suggested, trying to sound as confident and cheerful as ever, her eyes closing as her smile grew wider, all the while praying you’d just let it be and forget the whole thing before you grew too close to figuring out her secret.

Instead of budging however, your grip on her hand grew tighter, as you looked at her with an expression that grew more resolute by the second. “If you can’t find it in yourself to trust me after all these years, then you leave me no choice. I won’t let you go until you tell me”, you put forward your ultimatum… it was admittedly a weak one, your desperation seeping through your every action, and still you didn’t let go no matter how pleadingly Furina looked at you.

Don’t make me do this. Please forget it before it’s too late. Her thoughts screamed inside of her, wishing to break free as she remained completely silent, only for her mouth to open one last time.

“You will let me go. I am your Archon, you would do well to remember your place. No matter how close we seemed”, Furina stated immediately after standing up from her seat, looking down at you with as brave of an expression as she could muster, only to take one final breath before continuing, fighting the tears threatening to well up in her eyes as she felt her voice threaten to be reduced to a whimper. And yet, no matter how much it hurt, she pressed onwards, not wanting to leave any chance of you figuring it out. “You will leave this room and pack your office. I shall arrange your final paycheck and a farewell bonus for all your hard work and that shall be it. Farewell.”

For a moment, it looked as if you wanted to object, only to stop yourself when you saw the determination in her eyes, swallowing your final words before slowly standing up as well and marching to the door without saying anything, your shaky hand grabbing the doorknob before you opened it. 

She almost called out to you then and there, telling you that she was sorry and didn’t mean it, and yet, the words never left her mouth and soon after you were gone. The moment the sound of the closing door echoed through the halls, Furina collapsed onto her seat, tears streaming down her cheeks as the empty room was filled with her silent sobbing, one word leaving her mouth over and over again until it eventually became one with her cries.

Sorry.

Even though Furina knew after what she had done she had no right to expect to hear anything from you, she still hoped to get passing news on how you were living a happy life, fulfilling whatever goals you set for yourself after the two of you parted… and yet she never heard anything about you again. Just like that you were gone, vanishing into nothingness. Maybe you left Fontaine for another nation or maybe you chose to live an uneventful life, but at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. You were gone, almost certainly having died centuries ago without Furina ever getting the chance to apologize and tell you the truth…

Maybe, she’d get the chance to meet you again one day, when her time was up and she left for a final journey, but until then, there was nothing she could do.

[ms-demeanor]

I use Win 10 for work and it's fine I guess. With them ending support for it in 2025, is it worth upgrading to 11 now? They seem to be trying to be more Mac-like and I don't use Macs for a reason.

Hmmmmmm. Okay so every computer I get with a Windows OS has a pro OS, so I don't have to deal with some of the intrusive and annoying features that home OS users do (ads built into the OS being the main one) and even still I go in and kill things like location tracking and cortana as soon as I install a new OS.

All that being said, 11 is a little nosier and a little more intrusive than 10 and has some aesthetic differences but both 11 and 10 are remarkably similar to 7. On a functional level it is very dissimilar to OSX, though on a visual level there are some things that are a bit more mac-like (the centered start bar is easily changed and i think that's the primary thing people were talking about)

One of the main visual differences that I've seen users complain about is that menus now show pictograms instead of words for things like copy/paste, etc. in the file explorer:

And I do in fact hate this and as far as I know there's no fix for it.

But if you're someone who goes through your computer and shuts down intrusive stuff and removes unnecessary programs anyway, there's not a ton of difference between windows 10 and 11.

Here's basically what you want to do to make 11 more private; it's not at all dissimilar to what you want to do to make 10 more private.

So, all of that being said: if you can set up the privacy protections that you want in Windows 11 (and I think you can) and the visual differences in the OS won't make it totally unusable for you (that has been a stumbling block for some people but at least keyboard commands still work) then I think there's no reason to delay updating to Windows 11.

(sometimes people will scream about stability issues and crashes but that all got ironed out within a couple of months of wide release; the same thing happened with Windows 10 - pushing an OS out to hundreds of millions of users reveals more problems than seeing what happens when it's used by hundreds of thousands of early adopters but even given some hiccups in the early days there have been no particularly notable issues with stability and functionality; the people who yell that Windows 11 is going to crash your computer and eat all your data and set your house on fire *may* pop up on this post and they are exactly as incorrect about it now as they were about Windows 10 crashing your computer and eating all your data and setting your house on fire in 2016.)

[sweetie-bri]

*Quietly slips you $20*

How about a caption about a woman who finds out how to grow by disenfranchising money from people and then she finds out how to get money by doing the same to corporations. And then she gets very big by doing the same thing to governments?

Upward Mobility [Giantess Growth Caption Commision]

Despite the process being BAFFLINGLY simple, Veronica was an airhead and requested myriad re-explanations of how her new implants worked. The scientists had perfected explaining it in 2 sentences for her as they awaited the dreaded 7-word sentence.

"So... What did you do to me exactly?"

"Imagine that inside of your body is a bunch of little house guests! These guests are powered by *money* in *this* bank account to make more of themselves. Now, since they're polite house guests, they dress up the exact same as your normal body, so they become more of *you!*

"So... The implants eat money and... become more of me?" There was no chance anyone could explain to Veronica the currency gas-cycling e-mechanism so... they just nodded. Veronica was overjoyed! "Then I'm going to get *all* money!"

On impulse she immediately pumped the account full of her entire savings. $60,000. pulsed through her veins and her body began slowly inflating her feminine curves. She didn't mind at all that her underwear was all that remained of her cute outfit as she continued to ascend, eventually totaling about 12 centimeters taller. The height looked good on her, and the scientists were relieved the job was well done. After much of what Veronica probably thinks is contemplative thought. The epiphany dawned on her, realizing how small-time she was being.

Veronica left out for bank after bank post-hast. Not even bothering to change clothes. She had credit as a notorious impulse purchaser, so many banks were dying to put a credit card in the girl's hands. She signed any contract that gave her a 6-figure credit limit. She must have felt like a genius when she pumped 12 maxed credit cards into her body. $1.2 million dollars.

Her body trembled, but not painfully as she struggled to maintain footing. No clothes fit her figure anymore, but she wanted to see her results anyways. It wasn't stopping. Watching her veins swell, her muscles tense, her curves explode. It was exhilarating! Eventually finalizing with her being over 12 feet tall! But 4+ meters wasn't enough for her! She had another of her "good ideas."

"I bet supermarkets and stuff have money!" The eager giantess streaked from building to building. Unsurprisingly. It was a giant woman screaming "GIVE ME ALL YOUR MONEY" worked to great effect and she was raking in thousands more. Veronica was *juuust* smart enough to know that items cost money, too. So, she was quick to snag expensive goods and make it off like a literal bandit. As the cash flowed in, her growth was exponential.

She began with a few centimeters, then grew meters and now was growing tens of meters. Once she hit 100 feet tall, the milestone put an excited pit in her stomach, she wanted more... But she'd looted most every convenient place... "Who has the *most* money?" The titan knew just who to ask.

She knocked on window after window until she found someone who claimed to be a CEO. The mass hysteria and her total ignorance that the police were trying to arrest her was endearing if anything. Veronica was looking for sponsorships. She would sign any contract that would give her cash up front. As afraid as these shrewd businesspeople were, they were more excited by the possibility of *not dying.* Millions of dollars were given to this newfound giantess. Veronica was so excited! She had no concept of how much money was a lot, but she knew her "house guests" would be happy.

Bigger, BIGGER. The ground was so far away that it was often blotted by clouds. Roads couldn't fit one of her feet. No scientist imagined that Veronica could get a hundred million dollars as quickly as she did. The only place left to ask, wasn't too far. Not that anything was far away from her anymore. Veronica collapsing on her knees in front of the buildings sent a huge rumbling earthquake through the capital. She stooped low enough that her huge face wasn't obscured by the sun anymore.

"Hey... You guys *make* the money, right?" She asked the entirety of the federal reserve at once. Rumbling the building with her voice. "Can I make a withdrawal? All of it?"

Reasons to Tip Sweetie-Bri 1.) She loves positive reinforcement. 2.) It's fast, it's easy and it's free. 3.) She- Wait, isn't 2 like... 3 reasons?

[matan4il]

My darling @daphnesvalley! Thank you for your ask! *HUGS*

You know I'm so sick of everyone just believing Hamas math. I literally just found out today that a filmmaker the festival works with was murdered on Oct 7th, protecting his wife and daughter. I'm not saying I'm a great wealth of knowledge, but look how long it took for me to get that information. For it to be released to us all about a contribution fund and special screening of The Boy. Israel is one of the most technological countries out there, and it's taking this long to get accurate information. You're telling me that Hamas can just magically get accurate information in hours. Ridiculous!!!

The way I knew you were talking about Yahav Wiener even before I got to the end of the paragraph... I don't think I will ever forget seeing his wife, when she got the news that he was murdered in the middle of an interview, and she completely fell apart... :'(

But yes, you're spot on! It's been 77 days (over two months!) since the massacre, and we're still not done identifying everyone murdered on that day. We still don't have the final figure of how many were killed.

But I think one of the biggest pieces of proof that Hamas numbers can't be trusted remains the al-Ahli hospital parking lot explosion. The one where Hamas said within 10 minutes of the explosion that Israel bombed the hospital, that the hospital was destroyed, and that 500 people were killed. Then it turned out it wasn't Israel, it was a failed Palestinian Islamic Jihad rocket that fell on the hospital, the hospital still stands, it was the parking lot that was hit, and there is no credible body that believes that many people were killed in that explosion. Out of all estimates I heard, the US gave the highest one, saying it was somewhere between 100 and 300 killed, and likely at the lower end. And that's the highest estimate. Hamas "revised" the number and took it down to... 471. And that's STILL a part of the "official" total number of Gazans killed according to Hamas. If that doesn't tell someone that Hamas lies, I don't know that anything will.

Also, thank you for the report about the sign war! XD I'm glad to hear that the fight between you and your neighbor ended with your decisive victory.

I feel like you're probably sick of me thanking you, but I really am so grateful for you, so I hope it's okay to do it again, for being interested in my housing situation. God willing, there's still some stuff to work out, but hopefully everything will be figured out soon. And in the meantime, I'm doing my best in this temporary place I'm in. And yes, there are hundreds of thousands of people who have been displaced, and it's throwing so many of us for a loop. And it's still one of the smaller problems to have following Oct 7, but it exists, it's hard to deal with, many are affected by it, so I do think it's worth mentioning.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[andmaybegayer]

Hello it's me with another very naive computer question!

One of the really common complaints you see about modern software (from Adobe, Microsoft, etc.) is the move from the single-purchase model to a subscription-based model. While I understand that people are upset about paying more money over time, this also feels like the only viable option for shipping products that work with modern OSes, especially Windows (I don't have any experience with MacOS). Windows pretty regularly updates, and if you want your product to continue to work, you have to continue paying your engineers to maintain compatibility through time.

Obviously I understand that there are lots of FOSS options out there, but for the companies that are built on making money from these sorts of software products, I don't see another way. Am I way off the mark here?

This is a really good question. I don't have a great answer, but the model I have in my head is that "traditional software distribution" is partially an artifact of an era where companies were starting to use computers but internet use was still spotty so providing support for software was just a very different ballgame. A lot of what I'm saying here is not like. Fact as much as it is my understanding of The Software Business from the side of someone who is a little involved in that but mostly not in that.

(This is mostly about "business software", that is to say, accounting packages, creative suites, design packages, modelling tools, etc. This model does not explain like. Spotify. But that's much easier to explain.)

You're not wrong that the subscription model really make sense given modern software development, where patches come out continuously and you get upgraded to the latest version every time something changes, but there has been a significant change in how software is developed and sold that makes it noticeably different. I think that the cause of this is mostly because it's finally practical to do contract-style deals with hundreds of thousands of customers instead of doing one-off sales like we used to do.

In the Traditional model you charge a pretty sizeable upfront cost for a specific version of the software, you buy Windows XP or Jasc Paint Shop 7 or whatever and then you get That Version until we release The Next Version, plus a couple years of security and support. When the next version hits, we stop adding any new features to your version, and when that hits end of life, you maybe get offered a discount to buy licensing for the latest version, or you drop out of support.

Traditional software with robust support typically costs an awful lot, Photoshop CS2 was $600 new in 2005, or $150 to upgrade from CS, because you're paying for support and engineering time in advance. A current subscription for just Photoshop is $20/mo, and that's after twenty years of inflation. Photoshop is also cheap, a seat for something like SolidWorks 2003 could probably have run you $3000-4000 easy. I can't even give you a better guess there because SolidWorks still doesn't sell single commercial licenses online, you have to talk to their salespeople.

The interesting thing to me about Traditional pricing was that I think it was typically offered to medium to small businesses or individuals, because it's an easy way to sell to smaller customers, especially if it's the 90's and you're maybe selling your software through an intermediary reseller who works with local businesses or just a store shelf.

Independent software resellers were a big business back in the day, they served as a go-between for the software company and smaller businesses, they sold prepared packages in a few sizes and handled the personal relationship of phoning you up and saying "Hey there's a patch for your accounting software so that it doesn't crash when someone's surname is Zero, we'll send you a floppy disk in the mail with some instructions on how to install it." Versioned standard releases are a thing you can put in a box and give to resellers along with a spec sheet and sales talking points. This business still exists but it's much smaller than it once was, it's largely gone upmarket.

If you were bigger, say, if you were a publishing house that needed fifty seats of editing software you'd probably call the sales department of Jasc or whoever and get a volume deal along with a support contract.

Nowadays why would you bother going through resellers and making this whole complicated pricing model when you could just sell subscriptions with well-established e-commerce tools. You can make contract support deals with individuals at scale, all online, without hiring thousands of salespeople. You can even provide varying support levels at multiple cost brackets directly, so you don't need to cultivate a direct business relationship with all your customers in order to meet their needs. Your salespeople handle the really big megacorp and government deals and you let everyone else administer themselves.

It also makes development easier. You can also deploy patches over the net, you just do it in software. You can obsolete older versions faster, since you can make sure most people are using the latest version, and significantly cut down on engineering time spent backporting fixes to older versions. I think a lot of this is straightforwardly desirable on most software.

Now, there are still packages sold by the version, and there are even companies selling eternal licenses.

Fruity Loops Studio is still a "Buy once forever" type deal.

MatLab can be purchased as a subscription or as a perpetual one-version license.

Windows is still sold like this, but also direct to customer sales of Windows are minimal, Windows is primarily sold to OEM's who preinstall it on everything.

But it's a dying breed, your bigger customers are going to want current support and while there are industries where people want to hang around on older versions, for a lot of software your customer wants the latest thing with all the features and patches, and they'd rather hold on to their money until later using a subscription rather than spend it all upfront. Businesses love subscriptions, they make accounts books balance well, they're the opposite of debt.

Personal/private users who might just want the features of Photoshop CS2 and that's fine forever don't matter to you. They're not your major customers. This kind of person is not a person who your business cares to service, so you don't really care if you annoy them.

Even in the Open Source business world, subscriptions are how the money is made, just on support rather than for the software itself. You can jump through relatively few hoops to run Ubuntu Enterprise or SUSE Enterprise Linux on your own systems for free, but really there's not much benefit to that unless you pay for the dedicated support subscription.

In many ways I think a lot of things have changed in this way, I have a whole thing about the way medium-scale industrial manufacturing has changed in the past thirty years somewhere around here.

While there are valid reasons you might want to buy a single snapshot of some software and run that forever, the reality is that that's a pretty rare desire, or at least that desire is rarely backed by money. If you want to do that you either need access to the source code so that you can maintain it yourself, or you need to strike a deal with someone who will, or it needs to be software so limited that it (and the system it runs on!) never need updates. Very few useful programs are this simple. As a result subscription models make sense, but until recently you couldn't really sell a subscription to small businesses and individuals. Changes in e-commerce and banking have enabled such contracts to be made, and hey presto, it's subscription world.

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 7 Prompt: Mall and/or Job

Tags: Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler (but they don't even kiss), Eddie Munson Has A Crush On Steve Harrington, Shopping Malls, The Great Cabbage Patch Riots, Steve Harrington Is A Sweetheart, Good Sibling Nancy Wheeler, Banter

wc: 1724 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

“Can you believe my parents?” Nancy scoffs, sliding into the passenger seat of the Beamer. “It’s all Holly wants and they won’t get it for her.”

“Look on the bright side, Nanc,” Steve says, throwing a hand over her seat as he reverses out of the Wheeler’s driveway. “You’re going to be the best big sister in the entire world when you give it to her on Christmas morning.”

“If we even get our hands on one. They sell out in seconds.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little mall rush after facing off against monsters last month. We can totally do this.”

🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬

Steve should know better than to underestimate Nancy, but how was he supposed to know she was right about this? It’s a baby doll for christ sake. A weird-looking baby doll for that matter. And what the hell is with the name? Cabbage? They couldn’t have thought of anything cuter?

What does he know, though? Apparently, the stupid name and weird design worked because he’s currently stuck in a crowd of thousands outside a mall in Indianapolis at six in the fucking morning. Nancy disappeared into the crowd half an hour ago to see just how deep it went. He’s hoping she made it to the front and that’s why she hasn’t returned. The other outcome is one he doesn’t want to think about, but his mind can’t help but conjure up the image of the headline: “Teen Girl Dies In Cabbage Patch Stampede.” The Wheelers would kill him.

There’s no time for dwelling as the sea of people lurchs forward. He can’t see the front doors but judging from the sudden rush of shoving and shouting, the doors to the mall are about to open.

For the first time in his life, he’s happy Nancy sat him down two days ago and laid out the game plan. The layout of the mall is fresh in his mind as is the doll Holly wants — blonde hair in pig tales, freckles, blue eyes — a creepy carbon copy of herself.

The minute the doors open, Steve’s shoving adults double and triple his age out of the way. He breaks out into a sprint when he clears the pack, b-lining for the toy store on the second floor. Despite his speed, he’s beaten by at least a hundred other eager shoppers who were probably at the front of the hoard outside.

It would be easy to get discouraged, but Steve powers on. He didn’t drive this far to let Holly and Nancy down. Thankfully, the boxes are stacked in the entryway of the store. The massive pile gets smaller and smaller by the second as hands grab the dolls free, hoisting them up over their head in victory.

Acting on adrenaline alone, Steve dives into the dwindling pile and gets his hand on a box. He can’t tell which doll it is, but at this rate, anything is better than nothing. With the box clutched to his chest, he starts getting up from the floor when he feels a pair of hands reaching for him. The person tugs, hard, freeing Steve from the stampede that’s coming. For a second Steve thinks the person saved him, but then he feels the box being tugged from his hands and he realizes what’s actually happening.

It’s not a rescue mission, it’s a kidnapping.

“Get your hands off my doll!” Steve shouts, yanking hard enough to send the person surging forward. They collide in an instant, falling to the floor with the box clutched in both their hands.

“Harrington?” The man asks as he struggles to get to his feet.

“Munson?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Come on, Steve, isn’t it obvious? I’m here for the same reason you are. For one of these bad boys.”

“Yeah, okay, Munson,” Steve snorts, eyes squinting as he takes in his appearance. Ripped black jeans and leather jacket. Vest with patches to bands Steve’s never even heard of. Hair longer than some of the moms currently fighting behind him. Eddie’s not really the Cabbage Patch Kid type. Not in the slightest. “Didn’t peg you as a fan of dolls. Isn’t that a little too freakish even for you?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t it weird for you to be buying one? What would our wonderful peers at Hawkins High think?” Eddie teases, grip still tight on one side of the box.

“It’s not for me.”

Eddie hums, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve spots a mother handing over a handful of bills to a man on the other side of the store. The woman is in a pristine coat, not a lock of hair out of place. There’s no way she was in this mess and yet, she’s happily walking away with a doll. The man waves her off, stuffing the handful of bills back into his pocket before making his way back into the store.

It clicks then. The man and the shady business deal a second ago. The news report he remembers listening to a few days ago. Cabbage Patch black market deals. Scammers. Fakes.

“You’re a reseller!” Steve gasps, glaring daggers at Eddie. He tries to roll on top of him to free the box, but there’s no use. Instead, he ends up rolling them into a quiet aisle where they stayed on the floor, hands denting the box.

“I am not!”

“Yeah, you are! That’s the only explanation for why you’re here. You don’t give a shit about these dolls, but you know you can get cash for them.”

“Honestly Harrington, could you be a little bit more original with your accusations?” Eddie scoffs. “What? You see ripped jeans and a guy who lives in a trailer and automatically thinks I need cash? Newsflash big boy, I do fine supplying you and all your friends that grass you love smoking every weekend.”

“Well, then, what do you need the doll for?” Steve asks, trying his best to yank it free from Eddie’s unrelenting grasp.

“None of your business.”

Steve’s about to argue back when another pair of hands join the fray. A petite and wrinkled elderly woman hovers over them. The look of pure determination and mischievousness is a stark contrast to the rest of her.

“Oh, no you don’t lady!” Eddie shouts, tugging the box and Steve towards him and away from the woman’s hand. She stumbles, nearly falling into the display of Barbie dolls. “Come on, we can settle this later!”

Struggling to his feet with his hands still gripping part of the box, Steve and Eddie make it to the checkout aisle. Together they hand it over to the clerk, not daring to put it on the conveyor belt when hundreds of empty-handers are hovering waiting to steal. They split the bill and reach for the plastic bag at the same time, each taking one side as they make their way out of the store that’s spiraling deeper and deeper into chaos now that the store is sold out.

“Now what?” Steve asks when they manage to make it into the parking lot.

“Well, it’s not like we can share the doll.”

“Right, so one of us needs to give it up.”

“Yeah, one of us does.”

For a moment, Steve considers kicking Eddie in the shins and making a run for it. He knows he can outrun him no doubt. The only problem is he’d have to leave Nancy behind. Even if he managed to get Holly the doll, he’s pretty sure Nancy would not appreciate being stranded in the city.

It’s hard to tell what Eddie’s thinking, but Steve thinks it’s something similar. Probably less running if Steve had to guess. Maybe blackmail.

“Steve!” Nancy calls, startling Steve out of the impromptu staring contest. He follows the sound of her voice and spots her exiting the mall with a plastic bag clutched to her chest. A giant smile is plastered on her face. “I got her!”

“The one she wanted?” Steve shouts back.

Nancy nods.

Oh thank god, he thinks before offering her an enthusiastic thumbs up. With Holly’s Christmas gift secured, he turns to Eddie and finally lets go of the plastic bag. “Guess it’s your lucky day, Munson. M’sure you made whoever that doll is for very happy.”

With a finger-wiggle wave, Steve jogs off to catch up with Nancy.

🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬

“Eddie!”

Eddie jumps and turns to find Jeff silently judging him. His arms are crossed and he’s not holding any bags. Oh, fuck.

“What the hell?” He shouts, punching Eddie’s shoulder. “One second you were behind me and then you were gone! I spent so much time looking for you I missed out on getting the new release!”

“Shit, Jeff. I’m—“

“Are you holding a Cabbage Patch Kid?”

“Uh, I…” Eddie trails off and glances down a row of cars. In the distance, he spots Steve helping Nancy and the stupid doll box into the passenger seat of the Beamer. He tears his eyes away when Steve shuts the door, but it's a mistake because Jeff is right there, staring at him with even more judgment in his eyes.

“Dude,” Jeff whines. “You bought a Cabbage Patch just to talk to him?”

“We talked for a long time, Jeff! And our hands touched!”

“I cannot deal with this,” Jeff groans, burying his head in his hands. “What are you going to do with that thing now?”

Eddie glances into the plastic bag. It’s the first time he’s actually looked at the thing. A red-headed doll with green eyes and freckles stares back at him with a painted-on smile. It’s fucking creepy.

“I didn’t think I was going to keep it!” He defends which sends Jeff on another tangent. One that fades into the background as Steve’s words from earlier ring in Eddie’s ears. “Wait! Steve mentions something earlier.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“No, I’m serious,” Eddie snaps, glaring at Jeff. “Apparently there's like a black market for these things. Maybe we can sell one and get enough to buy ourselves a decent miniature set for Hellfire or new speakers for Corroded Coffin.”

“You better hope so,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “Or else I’m never letting you live this down.”

[lnmei]

How I Approach Figure Drawing

Got asked about tips for figure drawing and...I have a lot to say! I thought to just catalogue what I’ve been doing to build up my figure drawing knowledge and habit, so hopefully this is a useful reference for anyone interested in figure drawing :)

make it a habit (but take it easy!)

This is probably the most important and most annoying tip ever lol I’ve been figure drawing for 7-8 years (on and off! I don’t pressure myself if I have other things to do) so it really just takes time. Given that, my biggest tip for figure drawing is to figure out how you can have fun on this forever journey, so everything below is what I do to have fun and maintain the necessary enthusiasm to persist at it.

warm-up before a figure drawing session of myself figure drawing at my desk:

be bad at it on a regular basis

kind of just the principle of drawing....but with figure especially you draw so many of them that it’s important to let your drawings be bad to free yourself of pressure, and good ones will come out just from the brute force repetition of the skill.

Whenever I feel myself hitting a wall I intentionally revert to letting go of the desire to make a good drawing and try drawing in different ways even if it looks or feels bad in the moment. Some of my favorite drawings are the result of this, it’s awesome how that works out lol

For example, if I’m frustrated by my line work, I’ll start drawing thicker lines than usual and more cartoony (by my standards at least...) to loosen up:

set small goals for figure drawing

The main thing with figure drawing is that to get good, you have to draw hundreds and thousands of figures over time...so to keep that from being repetitive I change up my goal regularly so I can exercise different ways of thinking and keep it fresh, and my drawings look different based on what I am aiming for

Goal of practicing for cleaner lines and using line variety (5 min each):

Goal of drawing the lines neatly to color after (10 min each):

A typical progression I’ve seen is to build from drawing nude models to clothed models which is what I did, but honestly just start with what you want to learn the most and you’ll figure out what you want to work on.

copy other people

When I used to go to live figure drawing, I’d peek at what people sitting all over the studio were doing and copy their method or look. I look at artists online and pull up their work while I draw. I like sessions where there’s an artist demo because I can see what they’re doing (zeet does this). Figure drawing is great because everyone draws the same thing in their own way so it’s cool to see the variety, and it goes so fast that no matter what your references are, it still retains your habits so it’s actually your drawing even when you copy lol

Figure drawing done with heavy reference to Greco-Roman pottery art (4 min for lines):

traditional vs digital media

I switch between drawing on paper and drawing digitally for variety. The material constrains how you draw so it makes each session different from the last and you’ll gain different techniques and discover effects you like over time.

Colored pencil figure drawings with the prompt to draw the model as an animal (5 min each):

Brush pen, ballpoint pen, and felt tip pen figure drawings (1-2 min each):

Also draw at different scales. Try drawing on big paper, try drawing a single pose big, or compose a big page with many small figures.

drawing time

again, variety! Switch up how long the figures each take and how long the overall sessions are. See how your approach and outcomes change based on how long you have to draw. I do long sessions of 3 or more hours less frequently with short 20-30 minute sessions more frequently (I like these short ones lately).

I think persistence and stamina are important for figure drawing, so building up your tolerance for long sessions is a good goal if you are looking to improve. Also, long poses and short poses present different problems to solve, so try them all.

I tend to treat super long poses as paintings so sometimes I’ll color them live (this is a 25 min pose):

short poses I color after the pose ends if I even color them (3 min poses)

line quality

try drawing with a soft line like pencil vs a hard line like pen, different brushes, etc. 

Also try drawing with the constraint that you cannot retrace a line

try drawing with and without an under sketch

how much anatomy do I need to know?

I hate studying anatomy lol I would say you only need as much as you feel like you need so don’t stress over it, but pick up little bits of knowledge and apply them whenever you can.

That said, I thing the biggest help to anatomy for me (other than directly studying it) is to attend nude model sessions in person. Seeing the figure in real life and having to translate the 3D form to paper clarifies what the important forms and connections are to make a clear drawing. These are studies of live models from 2020 after I’d been doing nude models for ~6 years

My figure anatomy big 3 concepts have been

1) construction/proportion – how and where different body parts connect and overlap to form the whole

2) balance/weight – where is the figure applying force, stretching vs. compressing? if the model is stationary, how is the poses stability maintained? If the model is meant to be in motion, what are the directions of force?

3) anatomy from top down – start with very basic anatomy forms like cylinders for the upper and lower arm, egg shape for head, ball and socket for shoulder joint, etc. and build your understanding of anatomy up from there. I get tied down by too much detail so it’s worked out better for me to start with a very dumb anatomical understanding and learn to add nuance over time.

Here’s an example of points 1 and 3 using Teen Titans Slade Wilson (homework for a class I took lol). Break down the proportion, how parts connect, and the basic shapes of body parts and assemble them like a doll. You can do this for any style you want to learn from, and for realistic human figures. This is the basics of “figure construction”.

Internalizing a model that you’ve deconstructed and can reconstruct from memory is the basis for building a “general model,” which is just a generic human body that you can use to figure draw so you don’t have to think about how the body is constructed and can focus on expressing the pose, character, gesture, while maintaining accuracy to a human figure. Here are poses I constructed from imagination once I broke down and understood how to draw Slade.

A lot of this stuff is specifically applicable to animation character drawing but it’s been helpful towards figure drawing for me.

how things look vs. how things feel

I like to switch my focus between drawing for accuracy/correctness (studying the pose, anatomy, etc.), and drawing to capture how the figure physically feels even if it breaks the anatomy. I like to do the pose myself to feel how the model feels, where the stretch and compression of the pose is, and how it feels to exaggerate the pose, and then drawing from that experience.

Some of these legs don’t work anatomically but they feel right and look cool. These drawings came out very twisty and fluid after I copied the model’s pose and exaggerated how the shoulders, waist, spine, etc. were tilted based on how they feel in my body.

drawing the model vs. drawing a character

Sometimes I get bored of drawing just what the model looks like, so I will use the figure drawing as a live reference and draw something based on the model but as a different character instead and make up new clothes, appearance, etc. It exercises your decision making about what’s important to grab from a pose reference and also trains you to design instead of copy.

These are Gallery Girl LA sessions where I drew the model with a new design:

invent another character to draw a character dynamic (left chara is invented):

Random tips

I tend to prioritize the pose and full body and leave the head for last or after the session is over so I can spend time making it look nice. 

Avoid drawing a perfect vertical or horizontal unless it is important as a design element (if the model is stand straight up and down for example, try to re-balance the pose in your drawing so it has some variety of line direction)

Be choosy about drawing straight lines on the body, save those for silhouette lines, and for internal lines figure out which way the body is bending, moving, or twisting and express that.

Like in this sketch, I tried to add subtle tilts and leans to the model who was posing upright with a mannequin (which I drew as a character):

If you wanted to know about my color process for figure drawing, here! I color after I finish the drawing session and picked out a few drawings to color.

That’s all I got for now! Have fun and draw lots!

a traditional colored pencil sketch where I changed the model’s clothes and expression/body language while drawing it, then photographed and digitally colored it after: