#i just really needed that out of my system

[tinystepsforward]

autocrattic (more matt shenanigans, not tumblr this time)

I am almost definitely not the right person for this writeup, but I'm closer than most people on here, so here goes! This is all open-source tech drama, and I take my time laying out the context, but the short version is: Matt tried to extort another company, who immediately posted receipts, and now he's refusing to log off again. The long version is... long.

If you don't need software context, scroll down/find the "ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening" heading, or just go read the pink sections. Or look at this PDF.

the background

So. Matt's original Good Idea was starting WordPress with fellow developer Mike Little in 2003, which is free and open-source software (FOSS) that was originally just for blogging, but now powers lots of websites that do other things. In particular, Automattic acquired WooCommerce a long time ago, which is free online store software you can run on WordPress.

FOSS is... interesting. It's a world that ultimately is powered by people who believe deeply that information and resources should be free, but often have massive blind spots (for example, Wikipedia's consistently had issues with bias, since no amount of "anyone can edit" will overcome systemic bias in terms of who has time to edit or is not going to be driven away by the existing contributor culture). As with anything else that people spend thousands of hours doing online, there's drama. As with anything else that's technically free but can be monetized, there are:

Heaps of companies and solo developers who profit off WordPress themes, plugins, hosting, and other services;

Conflicts between volunteer contributors and for-profit contributors;

Annoying founders who get way too much credit for everything the project has become.

the WordPress ecosystem

A project as heavily used as WordPress (some double-digit percentage of the Internet uses WP. I refuse to believe it's the 43% that Matt claims it is, but it's a pretty large chunk) can't survive just on the spare hours of volunteers, especially in an increasingly monetised world where its users demand functional software, are less and less tech or FOSS literate, and its contributors have no fucking time to build things for that userbase.

Matt runs Automattic, which is a privately-traded, for-profit company. The free software is run by the WordPress Foundation, which is technically completely separate (wordpress.org). The main products Automattic offers are WordPress-related: WordPress.com, a host which was designed to be beginner-friendly; Jetpack, a suite of plugins which extend WordPress in a whole bunch of ways that may or may not make sense as one big product; WooCommerce, which I've already mentioned. There's also WordPress VIP, which is the fancy bespoke five-digit-plus option for enterprise customers. And there's Tumblr, if Matt ever succeeds in putting it on WordPress. (Every Tumblr or WordPress dev I know thinks that's fucking ridiculous and impossible. Automattic's hiring for it anyway.)

Automattic devotes a chunk of its employees toward developing Core, which is what people in the WordPress space call WordPress.org, the free software. This is part of an initiative called Five for the Future — 5% of your company's profits off WordPress should go back into making the project better. Many other companies don't do this.

There are lots of other companies in the space. GoDaddy, for example, barely gives back in any way (and also sucks). WP Engine is the company this drama is about. They don't really contribute to Core. They offer relatively expensive WordPress hosting, as well as providing a series of other WordPress-related products like LocalWP (local site development software), Advanced Custom Fields (the easiest way to set up advanced taxonomies and other fields when making new types of posts. If you don't know what this means don't worry about it), etc.

Anyway. Lots of strong personalities. Lots of for-profit companies. Lots of them getting invested in, or bought by, private equity firms.

Matt being Matt, tech being tech

As was said repeatedly when Matt was flipping out about Tumblr, all of the stuff happening at Automattic is pretty normal tech company behaviour. Shit gets worse. People get less for their money. WordPress.com used to be a really good place for people starting out with a website who didn't need "real" WordPress — for $48 a year on the Personal plan, you had really limited features (no plugins or other customisable extensions), but you had a simple website with good SEO that was pretty secure, relatively easy to use, and 24-hour access to Happiness Engineers (HEs for short. Bad job title. This was my job) who could walk you through everything no matter how bad at tech you were. Then Personal plan users got moved from chat to emails only. Emails started being responded to by contractors who didn't know as much as HEs did and certainly didn't get paid half as well. Then came AI, and the mandate for HEs to try to upsell everyone things they didn't necessarily need. (This is the point at which I quit.)

But as was said then as well, most tech CEOs don't publicly get into this kind of shitfight with their users. They're horrid tyrants, but they don't do it this publicly.

ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening

WordCamp US, one of the biggest WordPress industry events of the year, is the backdrop for all this. It just finished.

There are.... a lot of posts by Matt across multiple platforms because, as always, he can't log off. But here's the broad strokes.

Sep 17

Matt publishes a wanky blog post about companies that profit off open source without giving back. It targets a specific company, WP Engine.

Compare the Five For the Future pages from Automattic and WP Engine, two companies that are roughly the same size with revenue in the ballpark of half a billion. These pledges are just a proxy and aren’t perfectly accurate, but as I write this, Automattic has 3,786 hours per week (not even counting me!), and WP Engine has 47 hours. WP Engine has good people, some of whom are listed on that page, but the company is controlled by Silver Lake, a private equity firm with $102 billion in assets under management. Silver Lake doesn’t give a dang about your Open Source ideals. It just wants a return on capital. So it’s at this point that I ask everyone in the WordPress community to vote with your wallet. Who are you giving your money to? Someone who’s going to nourish the ecosystem, or someone who’s going to frack every bit of value out of it until it withers?

(It's worth noting here that Automattic is funded in part by BlackRock, who Wikipedia calls "the world's largest asset manager".)

Sep 20 (WCUS final day)

WP Engine puts out a blog post detailing their contributions to WordPress.

Matt devotes his keynote/closing speech to slamming WP Engine.

He also implies people inside WP Engine are sending him information.

For the people sending me stuff from inside companies, please do not do it on your work device. Use a personal phone, Signal with disappearing messages, etc. I have a bunch of journalists happy to connect you with as well. #wcus — Twitter I know private equity and investors can be brutal (read the book Barbarians at the Gate). Please let me know if any employee faces firing or retaliation for speaking up about their company's participation (or lack thereof) in WordPress. We'll make sure it's a big public deal and that you get support. — Tumblr

Matt also puts out an offer live at WordCamp US:

“If anyone of you gets in trouble for speaking up in favor of WordPress and/or open source, reach out to me. I’ll do my best to help you find a new job.” — source tweet, RTed by Matt

He also puts up a poll asking the community if WP Engine should be allowed back at WordCamps.

Sep 21

Matt writes a blog post on the WordPress.org blog (the official project blog!): WP Engine is not WordPress.

He opens this blog post by claiming his mom was confused and thought WP Engine was official.

The blog post goes on about how WP Engine disabled post revisions (which is a pretty normal thing to do when you need to free up some resources), therefore being not "real" WordPress. (As I said earlier, WordPress.com disables most features for Personal and Premium plans. Or whatever those plans are called, they've been renamed like 12 times in the last few years. But that's a different complaint.)

Sep 22: More bullshit on Twitter. Matt makes a Reddit post on r/Wordpress about WP Engine that promptly gets deleted. Writeups start to come out:

Search Engine Journal: WordPress Co-Founder Mullenweg Sparks Backlash

TechCrunch: Matt Mullenweg calls WP Engine a ‘cancer to WordPress’ and urges community to switch providers

Sep 23 onward

Okay, time zones mean I can't effectively sequence the rest of this.

Matt defends himself on Reddit, casually mentioning that WP Engine is now suing him.

Also here's a decent writeup from someone involved with the community that may be of interest.

WP Engine drops the full PDF of their cease and desist, which includes screenshots of Matt apparently threatening them via text.

Twitter link | Direct PDF link

This PDF includes some truly fucked texts where Matt appears to be trying to get WP Engine to pay him money unless they want him to tell his audience at WCUS that they're evil.

Matt, after saying he's been sued and can't talk about it, hosts a Twitter Space and talks about it for a couple hours.

He also continues to post on Reddit, Twitter, and on the Core contributor Slack.

Here's a comment where he says WP Engine could have avoided this by paying Automattic 8% of their revenue.

Another, 20 hours ago, where he says he's being downvoted by "trolls, probably WPE employees"

At some point, Matt updates the WordPress Foundation trademark policy. I am 90% sure this was him — it's not legalese and makes no fucking sense to single out WP Engine.

Old text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks and you are free to use it in any way you see fit. New text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks, but please don’t use it in a way that confuses people. For example, many people think WP Engine is “WordPress Engine” and officially associated with WordPress, which it’s not. They have never once even donated to the WordPress Foundation, despite making billions of revenue on top of WordPress.

Sep 25: Automattic puts up their own legal response.

anyway this fucking sucks

This is bigger than anything Matt's done before. I'm so worried about my friends who're still there. The internal ramifications have... been not great so far, including that Matt's naturally being extra gung-ho about "you're either for me or against me and if you're against me then don't bother working your two weeks".

Despite everything, I like WordPress. (If you dig into this, you'll see plenty of people commenting about blocks or Gutenberg or React other things they hate. Unlike many of the old FOSSheads, I actually also think Gutenberg/the block editor was a good idea, even if it was poorly implemented.)

I think that the original mission — to make it so anyone can spin up a website that's easy enough to use and blog with — is a good thing. I think, despite all the ways being part of FOSS communities since my early teens has led to all kinds of racist, homophobic and sexual harm for me and for many other people, that free and open-source software is important.

So many people were already burning out of the project. Matt has been doing this for so long that those with long memories can recite all the ways he's wrecked shit back a decade or more. Most of us are exhausted and need to make money to live. The world is worse than it ever was.

Social media sucks worse and worse, and this was a world in which people missed old webrings, old blogs, RSS readers, the world where you curated your own whimsical, unpaid corner of the Internet. I started actually actively using my own WordPress blog this year, and I've really enjoyed it.

And people don't want to deal with any of this.

The thing is, Matt's right about one thing: capital is ruining free open-source software. What he's wrong about is everything else: the idea that WordPress.com isn't enshittifying (or confusing) at a much higher rate than WP Engine, the idea that WP Engine or Silver Lake are the only big players in the field, the notion that he's part of the solution and not part of the problem.

But he's started a battle where there are no winners but the lawyers who get paid to duke it out, and all the volunteers who've survived this long in an ecosystem increasingly dominated by big money are giving up and leaving.

Anyway if you got this far, consider donating to someone on gazafunds.com. It'll take much less time than reading this did.

[800db-cloud]

i’m gonna carve you :)

[bororaurealis]

Just read a comment thread suggesting a headcanon/AU where Telemachus is adopted and am currently spiraling over the implication of it all

Imagine what Ody's thought process in killing the infant might've been?? "I saved another child and took him in as my own, why can't I do the same for this one?" It wouldn't be fair.

And then think about what Telemachus was going through after his newly adoptive father went MIA for twenty years and he never truly got to meet or thank the man who saved him and took him in as his own?

Imagine being abandoned by your birth parents as infant, and then adopted into a new loving family. Only to then be abandoned by your new ones (physically by one, emotionally by another).

[hawberries]

holy shit, could you share some of your ratios/artis because multiple top percents is nuts and I wanna see the stats

HAHA TY! Unfortunately you've activated my yap card, so I'm really sorry about how the rest of this post is going to go. I do want to admit that it actually isn't that impressive because there's ways to sort of "game" the Akasha leaderboard system, usually by sharing high CV pieces between your characters, overbuilding crit rate and ER or finding specific leaderboards that aren't as competitive, but it still is a fun sort of low-stakes, inconsequential PVP mode that I enjoy! This is my Akasha page. As you can see my Emilie and Kinich are not doing well.

One notable way I've "cheated" is the fact that my Chiori's ranking is on the Jade Cutter leaderboard, but that's not a real place, because my Chiori is on a Wolfs-Fang. I'm thinking of going for her sword next time she reruns, actually, so she may lose her ranking soon. The boards only look at your artifacts and then make their own assumptions, so board ranking is a VERY poor reflection of in-game performance. Another example is for any Childe mains who have him on Nymph's Dream: it's not actually that good of a set for him! The boards overestimate the uptime, but in actual gameplay, especially if you look at International speedruns, the uptime is bad and he often performs better with mixed sets. However, the difference is not likely to be felt in a practical scenario outside of speedruns and high-level play, so it's reasonable to keep him there for the valour, since he's still going to be good enough.

the reason my Mualani is so high even though I am not a Mualani main is because 1) she's so new that everyone is still working on her domain and using placeholder pieces and 2) I hit her with the yassify beam (gave her this absolutely stupid Hydro dmg goblet which is by far the best piece on my entire account). It just gets passed around between all my watery guys depending on whose personal damage I'm depending on the most at the time, but since Mualani is a hypercarry and Ayato and Yelan are more supportive, it makes the most sense to leave it on her. I expect her to drop a lot in the rankings once people have a chance to farm the Codex set more.

I'm very chuffed with my Navia's build because I recently crafted a new feather for her with the artifact transmuter. Feathers are not broadly recommended to craft, but Navia's feather was by far the most obvious weak link on my account – in the sense that not only was it so bad that it would be easy to get an upgrade (it had 4 low rolls of crit damage and NO other useful stats, not even lower-value ones like atk% or ER) but the rest Navia's pieces were good enough that I had no reason to still be actively farming her domain. Anyway, I got quite lucky with the crafted feather, though as you can see it's still easily the weakest of all her pieces. This is enough to tide me over until Nighttime Whispers is in the strongbox :D

I've worked really hard on my Xiao's build – I've strongboxed 364 Vermilion pieces to date – but Xiao, being an older character with dedicated mains, has a very competitive board, so I don't expect to ever get much higher than this. Isn't that feather disgusting, though? I farmed Marechaussee domain a lot but never got a build good enough to replace this one, especially considering I'm on Jade and therefore about to overcap on crit rate just by sneezing. He has 97% crit rate WITH A CDMG HAT, I want to point out! I am considering crafting a circlet for him as his current one is relatively weak, but that's a problem for future Phee to think about, since I'll want to rebalance his build anyway once I get Xianyun – he'll need less ER and less crit rate.

What level of nerd am I about combat stats in the video game Jenshin Intact? I do my own damage calculations to see which pieces are best! That's why Xiao is on an attack goblet instead of an Anemo DMG one 😔

Also… see how my Wanderer is top 2%? I still don't have an EM goblet on the Flower of Paradise Lost set. RNG is really so funny sometimes. Anyway, at the moment I've allotted myself 6 weeks of farming time to try and get Emilie at least a good 2pc 2pc, after which I'll probably go back to making my Kinich not suck!

[rabioa]

First Cut

Alastor x Nurse!Reader - Fluff - Gender Neutral

Alastor has never cared much for the residents of the hotel, but with you, he couldn't help but grow curious. You were so attentive to everyone's health so would you care about him as much? He knows you're scared of him just like everyone else, but maybe your generosity outweighs your logic? Oh, that would be so delightful. You had a bleeding heart so aren't you a helpful little doll! You ought to be rewarded for your boldness, truly

TW: Alastor gets a cut on purpose for your attention, any Hazbin Hotel warnings

My first short fanfic about Alastor!! I love him so much omg :3 i intend to make a part 2 where Alastor returns the favor. I hope you enjoy this and as always, any feedback would be super appreciated!!! Remember to hydrate and remember that you are loved!!!! <333

Imagine you were a nurse while you were alive, and for whatever reason you ended up in Hell. Despite your sins, you still wanted to help others. It's that desire to heal others that led you to the Hazbin Hotel. You had been staying there for a few weeks now, getting used to the new dynamics of everything.

Alastor definitely took notice of you; you weren't quite an employee, yet you somehow became the resident nurse. You fretted over everyone: constantly providing hangover cures for Husk, painkillers for Angel Dust after a filming session, band aids for Niffty, and other medical attention as needed for everyone.

Although you were initially shy around Lucifer, you eventually got comfortable enough to take care of him too. You ensured he got food in his system and some fresh air, even after he locked himself in his room all day.

Much to Alastor's amusement, you wormed yourself into everybody's heart besides his. He noticed how formal and stiff you were around him, growing meek in his presence. You were intimidated by him. It didn't stop you from being polite and sweet though, you just tried your best to slip out of the room whenever he appeared. He was trouble, and you knew that.

Imagine one day though, you're both in the kitchen. He was cooking something for the hotel, a luxury he blessed the hotel with often. You were restocking some ice packs (because a certain spider demon wouldn't return them to their place after each use!). You kept your distance, quiet as a mouse as you placed the melted packs into the freezer. 

Alastor observed you, the way you nervously worked. Your hands would fumble in their rush to be done. He had to give you credit though, you looked composed compared to most other demons.

He continued to chop some vegetables. He was skilled with a knife, moving with lethal efficiency. It was something you noted with apprehension. Still, you focused on your task, not wanting to interact with the terrifying Radio Demon.

Unfortunately for you, he found you amusing. You were bold enough to demand the king of Hell himself eat three square meals a day, yet you were a shivering mouse under his gaze. He briefly wondered though, despite your fear, does your kindness extend to him? 

He decided on an experiment. He was no coward to pain; he had been cut by a blade many times in his life. To become both a skilled chef and killer took trial and error with knives. That was why when he sliced his hand, he didn't even flinch. It was a meager gash on the back of his hand. He let the knife clatter against the counter loud enough to draw your attention. 

“Hmmm,” he let out a disapproving hum at the injury, not so subtly forcing you to see his wound. A performance of sorts. 

“You're injured!” you noted with surprise. Your first reflex was to step closer to him, the ice packs now forgotten. Then you looked at his face staring intently at yours. Oh, this was Alastor. Did you really want to risk angering him by fretting over him? But then again, he was hurt, and you were never one to turn a blind eye to someone in pain. 

Alastor's grin widened when he watched your eyes bouncing back and forth between his hand and his face. He could almost hear the gears in your head turning, trying to figure out if your fear would overcome your morals. He knew human nature well; you might put on a brave front, but just like all the others, you're a meek little ant in the face of his power. 

“It appears so, dear. Would you care to do something about it?” He prompted you, glee in his voice. 

The joy in his voice was undoubtedly a red flag in your book, but you gave in. You let out a huff, a sound you often made when dealing with troublesome patients, before finding the kitchen medical kit. You moved with familiarity, placing the kit on the counter and gently guiding his hand towards you.

Although he expected the kit, he didn't expect you to gently grab his hand and bring it towards you. On instinct, his hand twitched closed around yours for a moment, his claws warning you of how easily he could tear you apart. Your breath had hitched, but your plan remained.

“We need to disinfect the wound first. That knife could've been contaminated,” you muttered. It was mainly to fill up the silence lingering in the air like an insistent plague. His hand relaxed, appeased by your explanation. 

You grabbed an alcoholic wipe and carefully cleaned the wound, the wipe turning red. Your face was still, focused. 

Alastor watched in small surprise, not expecting you to be so attentive towards him. He was so used to other demons being too scared to think straight, yet here you were, touching him so casually. Your touch didn't even feel too incredibly invasive. Instead, it felt professional, but not cold.

You were glad the sting didn't make him react too much, disinfecting the wound going well. You then pulled out a strip of bandage. “The cut isn't too big, so it just needs to be covered as it heals, but I know you wear gloves, so it needs to be extra secured so the glove doesn't mess with it,” you explained. You carefully wrapped it up, and finally finished with your work. You looked up at him, gauging his reaction. 

He tested the treatment, clenching his hand a few times. That seemed to satisfy him. He looked at you and you couldn't help but fidget, averting your eyes. He was still unnerving as fuck, but at least he didn't try to eat you alive?

You began to put your supplies away, but his voice demanded your attention once more. You shifted your gaze over to him when he began to speak.

“Well, aren't you a helpful little doll! You ought to be rewarded for your boldness, truly,” he mused. He picked up the knife with his good hand. You stumbled back a little, bumping into the counter. He twirled the knife as you watched with wide eyes, oh God, maybe he was going to kill you now? Or torture you? You really were bold, oh God. 

He twirled the knife in his hands, the metal glinting menacingly at you. Then he angled it away from the both of you as if holding up a finger. “I'll make you some Gumbo!” He grinned merrily at you. Your paled expression during his teasing had him absolutely delighted. He couldn't help but poke some fun at you, scaring you to your wit's end. 

“O-Oh, thank you… sir,” you let out the breath you were holding, relief flooding your system. 

“Now why don't you go rest up and I'll call you when supper is ready?” He ordered you, waving you off with his bandaged hand.

“Ah, sure, after I finish my-” you trailed off as you looked towards the freezer. Black inky tentacles glowing green were doing your job, placing the ice packs in neatly. “Thank you,” you muttered in surprise. That was one job finished.

“You are quite the diligent little mouse! You should take a break and take care of yourself,” he hummed, leaning against the counter as he watched you. 

Shivers went up your spine, the hairs on your neck prickling. You sighed, forcing the tension in your body to disperse. “Thanks. I suppose I do need to take a break,” you agreed. You didn't have the best sleep schedule, and you could go for a nap after staying up a bit late tending to Husk and then getting the scare of your death. You shuffled out of the kitchen.

Now that Alastor was alone, he began to reflect. You weren't boring, that was for sure. He would definitely have to tease you more. You looked so adorable when focused, why he could just eat you up! He looked back down at his hand, looking at the carefully bound bandages. You remembered he wore gloves. You even took it into consideration. How awfully kind of you. Well, he took it upon himself to reward your kindness with relentless teasing from him.

After all, you were like a shiny new toy for him to bat around. He would see how long it would take to get you around his finger. He clenched his fist, ignoring the pain erupting from the cut. He readied his knife and grabbed his half-cut vegetable to continue his work.

He was getting ahead of himself, getting so excited over his future plans. First, he needed to make some Gumbo.

[sweetiesicheng]

seonghwa - café

word count : 953

-

"y/n, you gotta stay awake," you hear your friend say to you.

you just grumble as you take a second and rest your eyes. you have been studying at a café for hours for exams with a one of your friends.

"why do we have two exams on monday?" you mumble to him.

"beats me," he sighs. "oh damn, i gotta go," he says, realizing that he has to leave. you open your eyes and see him scrambling to pack up his things.

"did you forget about your club again?" you ask him.

"i'm never being an officer for a club ever again," he says and slings his stuffed backpack over his backpack. "i'll text if i go to the library tonight," he says to you.

"okay. see ya."

"bye!" he waves and jogs out of the café.

you look at the time and decide to buy another coffee. you grab your wallet and get up from the table. then, you head to the cashier and wait for one of the workers to come over to you.

"ah, iced coffee, extra sugar?"

one of the workers comes over to the cash register.

"oh, uh no. not this time. can i get a large vanilla latte?" you request, "iced."

"anything else? food?" he asks you. you quickly scan over the half empty case but decide against getting a treat for yourself. you shake your head to answer. "alright, just tap your card here," he instructs, pointing to the card machine. you tap your card and wait for it to process. "you're all set. i'll bring it over to you," he says with a smile.

"thanks," you reply with a smile.

you return to your table and decide to study for your other exam. you clean up a bit and neaten up the table while taking out the textbook for the class.

right before you're about to resume studying, the worker comes up to you with your latte.

"oh, thank you," you say to him.

"no problem," he replies. "kitchen closes an hour before we close by the way. in case you want something to eat later."

you smile at him, "thanks for letting me know."

"of course." he walks back to behind the counter.

you take a sip of the latte and smile at the taste. then, you start to study for your other exam.

—

a few hours go by, no more latte and all of the material studied. you sigh and tilt your head back for a second while closing your eyes.

need more coffee...

you open your eyes and sit up and grab your water bottle. while taking a sip of water, you debate if you want more caffeine in your system but ultimately decide against it since you need to sleep tonight.

just as you're about to continue studying, you see the worker from earlier come up to you with a juice box in his hand.

"want one?" he asks, "i bought a pack on my break."

"oh, thank you," you say to him and take the juice box. "you're really nice."

"ah, can't help it. you've been studying here all day," he replies to you while you poke the straw through the top of the juice box.

"you a student too?" you ask him.

he nods, "graduated last semester actually. i have a job lined up in a few months, so i'm just working here in the meantime," he explains to you. "i'm seonghwa."

"y/n," you reply. "it's nice to meet you."

"yea, you too," he says with a smile. then, he looks over his shoulder, "oh, i need to help them," he says and hurries to help out a customer.

guess i could take a break for a bit.

you wait for seonghwa to come back, but it seems like he gets caught up in working as you wait. you decide to scroll through your phone for a bit in order to distract yourself.

after some time, seonghwa appears at your table again, this time with a small sandwich that is cut into two pieces.

"kitchen made an extra," he says to you as he puts the plate on the table.

"oh, let me pay for it," you say and reach for your backpack to get your wallet.

"don't worry about it, really," seonghwa says to you. "besides, i'm taking half because i'm hungry," he adds and takes one half of the sandwich.

you laugh, "thanks." he hums in response while eating.

"still have a lot to study?" he asks.

"feels like it, but i actually went through a lot already," you answer him.

"i think you need a break," seonghwa says to you.

"i think you're correct, seonghwa," you reply.

all of a sudden, another worker comes up to the two of you. "seonghwa! save the flirting for after we close! you need to mop!" the guy says to seonghwa and hands a mop to him. the guys walks away while shaking his head and grumbling about cleaning.

"i wasn't even flirting with her," seonghwa argues back before eating another bite of the sandwich. "ignore him," he says to you.

you laugh, "alright," you reply. "maybe i should leave so you can focus."

he frowns, "leaving me already? so sad." he sighs.

"you working tomorrow?" you ask him.

"hm? tomorrow? yea," he answers and stands up.

"then you'll see me tomorrow," you say to him.

he nods with a smile, "okay, tomorrow."

"seonghwa! hurry up! i want to go home!"

seonghwa rolls his eyes and stands up. "i heard you the first time," he says to his coworker. he looks at you, "see ya."

"see ya," you say and start packing up while seonghwa starts cleaning.

[technoarcanist]

WAR NEVER CHANGES. BUT,

WARFARE NEVER STOPS CHANGING

"I've seen countless reasons why most mech pilots don't make the cut, but one of the largest hurdles are the physical alterations. The implants and modifications done to the fleshware is so extreme that it's enough to push most would-be pilots away from day 1.

Back in the day, when mech tech was still in its wild west years, when the technology was still in its infancy, things were different. Levers, joysticks, switches, a chair, most of the first models were something between the cockpit of a construction vehicle and a fighter ship.

Pilots in those days still consisted largely of the usual suspects. Test pilots, army jocks, space force veterans looking for something new, the occasional crazy who lucked their way up the ranks. All you needed back then was to be fit enough to work complex machinery. 'Handler's wouldn't be a coined phrase for nearly a decade. I still remember being a kid and seeing repurposed older models in the mech fighting streams.

Everything changed with the Bidirectional Cerebellum Computer Interface. To say nothing of how it changed civilian life, it was a military marvel. The BiCCI saw the creation of Mechs as we understand them today. The first generation were just retrofits, older models with a pilot's chair, and even manual controls to use in an emergency, but even then we knew that was only temporary. Before long, sleek frames of sharp angles, railguns and plasma cannons were rolling off the factory floor.

Like many things, it began small, optimising first for cockpit space by removing the manual controls. Before long, my then-supervisors thought, "Why have this glass? Why not hook the pilot's eyesight right into the advanced multi-spectral camera system? Before long, cockpits were but soft harnesses made to house a living body, their very soul wired into the machinery. Obviously, for security reasons, I cannot tell you everything about how our latest cockpits work, but suffice to say we've been further blurring the line between pilot and frame ever since.

This drew a very different crowd. Out were the army jocks and powerlifters. The only ones who even dared to have the interface hardware installed into their brainstem and spinal cord were the dispossessed, the misanthropes, those who sought not to control their new body, but to be controlled by it. No AI can work a mech properly on its own, but our pilots are never really in full control either anymore. Those who do try to go against the symbiosis get a nosebleed at best, and vegetative seizures at worst.

And that was that. The only people left who pilots these things are those who had already been broken, those who sougt a permenant reprive from being anything resembling human. A lot of my department quit around this time. I've lost a few friends over it, I'm not shy to say. Did we knew we'd be bringing in the more vulnerable people? Of course we did. But, the wheels of progress must turn, as they say, and it wasn't like we were shy of volunteers.

In our latest models, we have refined an even more advanced frame. Again, security detail prevents me from divulging too much, but one breakthrough we've made is decreasing action latency by approximately 0.02s by amputating the limbs from our pilots and replacing them with neural interface pads.

Using the pads where the limbs once were, pilots are screwed directly into the cockpit, which itself can now be 30% smaller thanks to the saved space. And, of course, we provide basic humanoid cybernetics as part of their employment contract while they are with us. Not that most of them are ever voluntarily out of their cockpits long enough to make use of them. Even removing the tubes from their orifices for routine cleaning incurs a large level of resistence.

And, yes, some of them scream, some of them break, some become so catatonic that they might as well be a peripheral processor for their mech's AI. But not a single one, not even one pilot, in all the dolls i've ever trained, have ever accepted the holidays we offer, the retirement packages, the stipends.

As you say, there are those who like to call me a monster for my work. I can see why. After all, they don't see the way my pilots' crotches dribble when I tell them I'll be cutting away their limbs, or the little moans they try to hide when we first meet and I explain that they'd forever be on the same resource level as a machine hereafter.

Those who call me a monster don't realise that, even after going public with how we operate our pilots, even after ramping up mech frame production, we still have more than twice as many volunteers as frames.

Those who call me a monster cannot accept that my pilots are far happier as a piece of meat in a machine of death than as the shell of a human they once were.

Those who call me a monster never consider the world my pilots grew up in to make them suitable candidates in the first place."

-Dr Francine Heathwich EngD

Dept. Cybernetic Technologies @ Dynaframe Industries

[In response to human rights violations accusations levied by the Pilot Rehabilitation Foundation]

[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au 2

authors: well....this is happening. don't ask. we're just going with it. gotta read part one before consuming this.

don't know who's interested, so only tagging the people i know have read and would be okay with a tag!

taglist: @sayyestoheav3nn @fearlesschimera @annfg8 @zoeyybellex3 @cyberdejos2

Solana never expected to see Roman Reigns again. Not in person, at least. That up close, especially.

It was a one off. A fluke. An anomaly. Her happenstance literal run-in with quite literally the most dangerous man in their world was just one of those things she'd never forget but nothing beyond that.

She could never forget his intense gaze on her, the heat that shot through her body when he touched her, his arm holding her, protecting her almost from a man who clearly doesn't understand boundaries.

But, while she tried her best to put the weekend's unexpected happening behind her, life, or maybe fate, had another plan in motion. One she could have never expected or seen coming.

She's sorting through one of the few remaining boxes that still needs to be tagged and put out for sale when a throat clears behind her.

Putting down the iPad, Solana stands up, wiping her hands on her shorts and loads up her typical, usual smile. Turning around, she readies to greet the probable customer but falters a bit, taken back by his appearance.

Wild, red hair that's surely seen better days. Tall with an almost lanky build, he wears one of the friendliest grins she's ever seen on a person, let alone a man.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "How can I help you?"

Again, he clears his throat, pulling out a wrinkled little piece of paper that seems to have writing scribbled on it. "Yes, I'm looking for a Sol---Solana?"

She laughs at his pronunciation but proceeds to confirm her identity. "I'm Solana."

He makes a sound, slapping his hand against his forehead. "Of course, my apologies!" She giggles. His demeanor is so amenable. "Umm, yes, if you could, umm, come with me?"

At that, Solana's smile drops. "I'm sorry?"

He leans over a bit, and she naturally moves back a little. "I'm sorry." His cheeks are heating with redness. "I'm here on behalf of the Tribal Chief."

Solana goes still. "Roman?" He nods. "He's---he's here?"

When Solana mentioned Roman coming to see her, something she still can't figure out where it came from, she wasn't actually expecting him to follow through on that.

And yet....

The man continues to explain, "he would come in, but....you know."

Yes, she does know. Roman Reigns coming into her little, quaint bookstore would certainly attract an audience and attention, the last two things she wants, that she's ever wanted.

Solana nods.

She should reject it. Should try to find some excuse as to why she can't. Why she's busy. But, she's also not dumb enough to say no to this man.

You don't just say no to Roman Reigns. You can, but it's bound to not end up well. And Solana would rather not find herself on his bad side.

Pushing back her anxiety, she finds herself agreeing. "Of course." Hooking her fingers through the hoops of her denim shorts, she asks, "w-where is he?"

The man whose name she realizes she still doesn't know motions with his arm. "Ladies first."

He really does have a gentless about him that doesn't seem to make sense considering who he works for.

Solana silently and wordlessly follows him out the emergency exit in the back of the store, ignoring the fact that that's probably how he got inside in the first place, which makes little to no sense to her. How did he get by without the security system going off? But, for her own sanity, she doesn't push it too much.

This is Roman.

He gets what he wants.

And speaking of, Solana finds her stomach knotting a bit when she's outside in the alleyway behind the strip. There's three black SUV's with tinted windows lined up, but he's standing by the one in the middle. Leaning against the middle door, his arms are crossed over each other, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes she secretly wishes she could see.

Moving closer, Solana has to take in once again the magnanimity of him. Roman is such a big man, his presence alone something that's both overwhelming and strangely satisfying.

But, when she gets her wish, and he lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head, she finds that feeling in her stomach intensifying. He's raking those beautiful eyes over her entire body, from the top of her head to the sole of her feet.

And Solana is suddenly wishing she'd maybe put on a little makeup or done something more sophisticated with her hair. Not that that seems to stop this man from looking like he'd take her in the back of this alley if he could.

Before she can say anything, the man with the wild red hair is speaking again, his voice suddenly riddled with anxiety.

She gets it.

"Ms. Solana, as you requested, sir." He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and just when Solana expects him to walk away, leaving her along with the one man she probably shouldn't be left alone with, he continues to talk, offering an unexpected save. "And might I say, my Tribal Chief, she is absolutely beautiful. I mean, if I wasn't already married—" At the same time Solana looks at this strange man confused, Roman's gaze is borderline murderous. "But I am m-married, happily so, might I add. And I would never betray my Tribal Chief—"

"Sami."

"Yes, My Tribal Chief?"

"Leave." It's spoken to the man, but Roman's intense gaze is back on her. "Now."

Sami.....it fits.

"Of course," Sami clears his throat and scrambles away, getting in the SUV that's farthest from them without bothering as so much as a goodbye.

Once alone, she finds herself admitting in that same small voice, "I-I didn't think you'd actually come."

He chuckles, and it's such a beautiful sound. "I'm a man of my word, Solana." He flicks his eyes to her mouth. "I said I would see you again, didn't I?"

He did. She just wasn't counting on it.

Swallowing, Solana toys with the string of her top, unintentionally dragging Roman's attention to her cleavage that's showing more than usual. Of course. "How did you find—"

"That was easy. If I want something, I get it." She should know this, know that this man could probably have her social security number at this point if he wanted. "What are you doing tonight?"

Oh.

This is escalating. Quickly. So quickly. She should pump the breaks, should find someway to dead this now. But, she instead finds herself answering him, "n-nothing. Why?"

"You are now." Roman kicks off the SUV and instead moves toward her. Instead of backing away like she did with Sami, Solana stands still, only silently and internally panicking when he snakes his arm behind her and jerks her toward him, into him, into his body. Solid as steel. He's so big. Naturally, her hand moves to his chest, something Roman notices and smirks at. This man. "I'm fighting tonight. I want you there."

It takes her a second to think about what he's referring to, and then it hits her. WarGames is tonight. It's one of the few main events he still participates in. She hasn't attended an event in years. It's never been her setting, but instead of finding a way to tell him this, she's still limited to one to two word response.

"O-oh."

His smirk deepens as he brings his hand to her chin, thumb glossing over her skin. "I'll send a car to pick you up."

Picking up on something, she asks, partially concerned, partially flattered almost. "You-you know where I live?"

Roman's eyes continue to study her face, and she's never felt so under pressure. Like this is a test of some sort that she has no idea if she's passing or not. "I know a lot about you, Solana Miller, but there's still more I want to know." Oh my god. "Wear red."

Just how much does he know? Had he looked her up? Done research on her? Why? What would be the reason? What's so interesting about her that not only has he gone out of his way to gather information on her, but beyond that, is now seeking more info.

It just....it doesn't make sense.

Eyes shutting a bit from the overwhelming nature of this all, she finds herself asking in a breathy voice, "w-why?"

And as if she wasn't already an apprehensive mess, Solana's knees nearly give out from under her when he dips his mouth near her ear. "I like seeing you in my color." She exhales shakily and nervously, as he ghosts his lips over the shell of her ear. "Though I'd rather see you in nothing, but we'll work up to that."

That's not exactly what she was asking about, but regardless, it takes the pure will of God for her to not pass out when he finally pulls away, the lack of his touch on her body something she notices almost immediately.

Roman lifts his hand and snaps, not even a full minute later, one of his men emerging from the passenger side of the SUV to open the car door for him. "I'll see you tonight, Solana."

He can clearly see the reaction he's evoking from her and obviously finds great enjoyment in absolutely toying with her sanity. It's something that leads to her asking, "How-how do you know I'll be there?"

She never accepted. Never agreed. Never mind the fact that she's already thinking about what she owns red that could work for the event....

Roman gives her a curious look followed by another chuckle that she finds so much more attractive than she should. He answers so easily and confidently before climbing in the truck, door being shut for him,

"Because you're just as intrigued by me as I am by you."

[justkidneying]

The spleen is a really shittily placed organ, making it prone to injury. This injury is usually severe and can lead to death if not properly managed. We're going to look at the function of the spleen, what happens when it is damaged, and how to write about.

Where is the spleen? It's in the upper left quadrant of the abdominal cavity, nestled right against the ribs (typically 9-11) at the midaxillary line. It's behind the stomach and is considered intraperitoneal. The main thing is that the spleen is very vulnerable. It is literally right up against the ribs without much protecting it. It's shaped like a little bean and is purple in humans. It is fed by the splenic artery, which comes off of the celiac trunk (which sticks off of the abdominal aorta).

What does the spleen do? Its main job is to filter out old and malformed red blood cells. It also holds immune cells. Certain diseases can cause the spleen to enlarge, including cirrhosis of the liver (it's connected to the hepatic portal system), sickle cell anemia (RBCs are stuck in it), and autoimmune disorders. The spleen also holds about 250 mL of RBCs in reserve in case you need them.

What happens when it is injured? The spleen can be ruptured and lacerated kinda easily. Blunt trauma to the ribs can cause it to rupture, and this is seen in contact sports and car accidents mostly. Because of those giant gaps between the ribs, it's also prone to injury from knife attacks. Gunshot wounds are another common cause, as well as broken ribs penetrating it (broken ribs are very sharp, like way sharper than you imagine). Rupture is more likely when someone has splenomegaly.

When the spleen is damaged, you're going to get a lot of intraperitoneal hemorrhaging. The spleen filters a lot of blood and has blood in it, so there's going to be a lot of blood in the abdomen (obviously). This will lead to distention, guarding (abs are tense), and hypovolemia. The left upper quadrant will be painful, and there can also be referred pain to the left shoulder (Kehr's sign).

If the patient has a small laceration, the symptoms aren't always as dramatic. Sometimes they'll just have low hemoglobin (which is on RBCs), maybe some thrombocytopenia (lots of platelets in the blood).

How do you fix this? If the injury is small and the patient is hemodynamically stable, they can usually be given a blood transfusion and the spleen can heal itself. Sometimes surgery is also performed to clamp a vessel or repair the outer layer of the spleen.

If the injury is major, then surgery will be performed. If the patient is less critical, they may go in and try to fix the problem. If it can't be fixed, they may do a splenectomy (remove the spleen). In a critical patient, they might forgo the nice pretty incision on the left side, and instead just split the patient down the middle. In these situations (in my experience), there isn't a lot of time to waste. One thing that we aren't going to waste time on is anesthesia, for example. This is with a lot of very critical surgeries, at least from what I have seen. Like the surgeon will start cutting as they are working on knocking out the patient, but usually they are in so much pain that they don't even register it.

If you remove the spleen, the patient is more at risk for infections, but with modern medicine and vaccinations, it's not as much of a big deal as it used to be. The patient will probably be fine.

Writing tips: (new section idea, hope you guys like it, lol) As with any injury, you have to make sure that you are giving them an acceptable mechanism of injury. With the spleen, this is either blunt trauma or penetration/laceration. Getting tackled, getting stabbed, getting shot, all great MOIs.

Second thing, present the appropriate signs and symptoms. A sign would be like bruising, hypotension, tachycardia, etc. A symptom would be LUQ pain, Kehr's sign, etc.

Next, figure out what you're going to do and where you're going to do it. In the field, there probably isn't much you can do. The most would probably be a laparotomy and clamping the splenic artery, but I mean, when I was an EMT, we were not doing this. There's a lot of stuff you can theoretically do, but never gets done. But I mean you can write it. If the patient makes it to the hospital, I think it would be more fun to do emergency surgery and just split them right down the middle. There's going to be a lot of blood in the greater omentum, very high stakes and exciting.

Anyways, hope you guys liked this, please let me know if I got anything wrong. I wrote this off of my personal experience and a few good textbooks, but there can always been mistakes in things.

[scoobyrooster1]

She's Mine [Part 3]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: As Qimir’s newly sworn acolyte, you were supposed to be learning the ways of your master, far from prying eyes. But in a desperate attempt to escape the Jedi and Republic Space, you find yourself entangled in the dangerous mission of a mercenary crew. A hyperdrive malfunction forces the crew to land on a remote planet for repairs, leaving you stuck in the middle of a perilous scramble. With time running out and the mission to Canto Bight hanging in the balance, your loyalties—and your survival—are about to be tested like never before. Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence, trigger warning!sexual harassment, very protective Qimir Notes: This is a slow burn story between you and Qimir. I've been researching high republic history and I'm really excited for the next chapters!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine Masterlist

She's Mine [Intro] 

She's Mine [Part 1] 

She's Mine [Part 2] 

She's Mine [Part 2.2]

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

To your surprise, the ship actually made it to the small green planet in one piece. The journey had taken far longer than usual without the hyperdrive, but you were just grateful that the systems needed to fly the damn thing were still online. Otherwise, you'd have been left drifting in space, dead stick and helpless.

All of this meant more time in republic space with an item that people would kill for.

Great.

Looking to distract yourself from the unsettling dream that had left an insatiable itch in the back of your brain, you'd jumped into the engine compartment. The walls were lined with a maze of conduits and cables, all neatly bundled but seemingly endless, carrying power and data to every part of the ship. Scanning the machinery around you, all the correct lights were on and flashing. You flipped a few switches, listening to the ship’s steady hum in response. Your eyes fell to the compensator gauge... right there. You loosened a few bolts and opened the compartment, removing a singed piece. Shit. It was fried.

"Its the inertial dampener." You yelled up. "We're lucky we weren't blown half way to hell."

It was true. You all were very lucky.

Ians eyebrows plucked up.

You continued. "If we don't replace this servo." You waved the piece in the air. "Then it'll be our last hyperspace jump ever."

"Whatsssss a ssservo?" Kiro inquired.

"A servomotor?...its a part of the stabilizer... the stabilizer controls temporal displacement."

Kiro only stared at you. Nothing occurring in those reptilian eyes.

"The stabilizer is built into the dampener and turns the time it would normally take us to travel from point A to point B into what seems like an instant to us."

Still more silence. Shaun and Kiro just looked at eachother.

"So, what exactly do you two do again?" You questioned.

Ian practically burst out laughing. Kiro and Shaun exchanged amused glances.

"Kiro here," Ian began, "is my muscle. He goes where I go. And well, Shaun keeps an eye from above."

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to process the words. "Right... So you two were what—knitting while I was getting my ass beat by a Twi'lek?"

Ian’s face turned a violent shade of purple, laughing even harder. He wiped tears from his eyes, finally catching his breath and returning to grabbing his small satchel. "Thanks to them, the other thugs were intercepted."

"Other thugs?" you mumbled, confused.

Ian nodded, still chuckling. "Rod noted the guy that walked up to you, and there were others. We took care of it. Well, minus the Twi'lek... she actually knew what she was doing."

"And you forgot to mention all this?" you asked, sarcasm thick in your voice.

"Hey, it didn’t seem pertinent at the time..., we’d all had one hell of a day."

"Right," you said dryly, giving him a hard look.

Ian just blinked and continued gathering his things. "So you know your way around a starship... luckily I know a guy who might have what we need just a few clicks from here. Kiro lets go."

"An inertial dampener isn't an easy fix."

"I know sweetheart... thats why were here."

"Where are you gonna find another servomotor."

You were met with silence and the opening of blast doors. Not paying you anymore mind, Ian treaded down, Kiro and Shaun trailing behind him.

You only sighed leaning against the circuits. Contemplating your next move. You had left your master errily sleeping on his cot. He was most likely still down and you would do anything to avoid any conversation... especially after that dream.

You hoisted yourself up and out of the engine compartment.

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

Ian eyes tracked you wandering behind them.

"You tagging along or something?"

You looked in the general direction of the ship. You almost expected Qimir to be there standing on the ramp. You could swear you sensed his presence or at least his shadow.

"I need some fresh air. And I don't trust you enough to not screw this up."

He shrugged. "The more the merrier I guess."

As you walked through the grassy horticultural fields of maker knows where, you swatted at the gnats buzzing near your face. The sky was darkening, and you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of being too far from the ship. You eventually reached the edge of town, being far more urbanized than you expected.

"This way."

Ian led you to a small hut along the bustling main street, its exterior cluttered with old droids and rusted ship parts haphazardly strewn about. You could only hope that somewhere inside was the part you needed to fix the dampener.

A Quarren male stood behind the desk cluttered with tools and machine parts.

"Ian." He drawled through his beak like mouth.

"Heelim... my good friend."

"What trouble have you brought to my doorstep this time."

Ian only smiled in response.

----------

"An inertial dampener? Thats not an easy fix."

You gave Ian a look. He was obviously ignoring whatever I told you so face you were serving him.

"But if theres anyone who would have the part I know it'd be you."

"So. You just thought I'd have a servo lying around here?

"To be honest you were the closest option."

He chuckled in response.

"I am sorry my friend but I have no servos matching the one to your specific freighter."

Ian only bit his tongue and slapped Heelims arm in response.

"Thats quite alright. We'll figure it out my friend."

"Well if you need anything else feel free to look around."

Shaun had wandered outside already. Kiro tapped the machinery next to him with his claw, creating a sharp clang that rang through the store.

You toggled with some of merhandise around you, none of which could replace a servo.

"You work for Ian?" The Quarren questioned you.

"I owe him."

"Ahhhhhh... unfortunate."

You chuckled in response, looking around you realized you were the only one left in the store as Ian turned his heal.

"Thank you for your help."

The Quarren nodded his head.

-------

You found the three of them standing in a circle, deep in debate over your dwindling options.

Stepping up, you interjected, “So, he doesn’t have one. Maybe someone else does.” You tried to keep your tone hopeful, though you knew the answer.

“There aren’t any other sssellers who’ll have what he doesssn't," Kiro replied, his voice a cold hiss. "Heelim is the bessst.”

Ian shrugged, eyes on the ground but clearly working something out in his head. “Who said anything about buying one?”

You cut in quickly, already guessing where Ian was headed. “I saw a blue A-23 freighter in the yard. If I remember right, it should have similar parts to your ship.”

Without waiting for a response, you rushed back inside the shop.

“Do you know the owner of that light blue A-23 freighter outside?” you asked the shopkeeper.

He gave you a suspicious look, eyes narrowing, knowing exactly why you seeked the information.

You sighed, frustration creeping in. “Please.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you. Ten long seconds. You seized on whatever flicker of empathy might have passed across his face.

Finally, he relented. “That ship belongs to Laro Kiggs. He frequents the bar down the street. You never heard this from me”

“Thank you,” you said quickly, turning to leave.

Before you could make it out the door, his voice stopped you. “Traveling with Ian makes unsuspecting people accustomed to looking over their shoulders... but I see that’s already second nature to you.”

His words caught you off guard, hitting closer to home than you expected.

“I’ve had to be," you admitted quietly.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Finding real safety, real solace, in this system or the next... it's a rare gift. But it exists. I was lucky enough to find it. Understand—it’s out there."

You smiled faintly, understanding what he was implying and stepped out into the street.

-------

You rushed back outside, catching them mid-conversation.

Kiro hissed, “Getting onto a freighter here is easssssy enough.”

“I found the owner,” you interrupted, catching their attention. “He should be at the bar tonight.”

Ian finally looked up. “Alright. Shaun, you and y/n will keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t leave the bar. Kiro and I will handle the ship. I’ll signal Rod to expect another half-hour delay.”

Shaun frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

“What other choice do we have?” Ian shot back. “The nearest planet’s days away without a working dampener, and our buyer’s going to be on Corinth wondering where his precious book is.”

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

Ian and Kiro took a speeder to the parked ships on the outskirts of the town. Ian would board the ship while Kiro stood guard and hopefully return with the servomotor you needed. You and Shaun stationed yourself at the local tavern.

The bar had a certain allure to it, bathed in warm, low lighting and filled with the sound of glasses clinking and conversations blending into a constant buzz. Then again it wasn't any different than any other bar in the galaxy.

You leaned over the bar, trying to catch the bartender's attention.

“Heyyy, I scratched a really nice blue freighter yesterday—parked by the market. Any chance you know the owner? I feel awful about it.”

The bartender didn’t even glance up. “Laro Kiggs. He’s right over there with his buddies. Black jacket.”

You followed his gaze and spotted him.

The bartender leaned in, giving you a knowing look. “If he hasn’t noticed yet, I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Thanks a ton,” you replied, voice sugary sweet, but entirely fake.

Walking back to Shaun, you whispered discreetly, “Black jacket, at your 12 o’clock.”

Shaun nodded.

It had only been three minutes since Ian entered the ship when his voice crackled through your coms.

It’s locked.

“What?” You struggled to keep a straight face.

It’s fucking locked. The compartment’s locked.

“Shit.”

Yeah. Shit, Ian echoed, static in the background. Who the hell locks their hyperdrive compartment?

“Maybe someone who doesn’t want their shit stolen by criminals?” you shot back, trying to think fast.

The window was closing, and you had to act quickly.

“Okay… Plan B. Ian, stand by.”

You noticed Shaun standing up, heading directly toward Laro. Instinct kicked in, and you blocked his path with a hand.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes narrowing.

“We need that key,” he said.

“And what? You’re just going to knock him out in the middle of the bar? Start a fight and get a mob chasing Ian and Kiro?”

He stared at you, unamused. “Got a better idea?”

“Actually, yes. Grab a speeder and stand by for the key.”

He shot you an incredulous look but headed for the door without another word.

What? Ian’s voice stammered in confusion through the coms.

You closed the channel.

You chugged your drink, steeling yourself as you walked up to the man. Adjusting your blouse, you reminded yourself that you could do this.

With a confident tap on his shoulder, you leaned in. "I—oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone I was looking for."

He turned, eyes sweeping over you with a lingering gaze. "I can be."

You laughed, taking a few steps closer, playing into his interest. "Well, are you gonna buy me a drink?"

A sinister smile tugged at his lips. "Why, of course."

It didn’t take long to get him another drink deep, his inhibitions loosening with each gulp. You used the opportunity to subtly feel for any sign of the key you were after, disguising your search with drunken leans and falls against him. Your hand brushed something square in his left jacket pocket.

"You know," he whispered, leaning closer, "we could always move this to my ship for more privacy." His hand slid across your thigh, the gesture bold and invasive.

You forced a playful smile, letting your right hand toy with his hair while your left hand moved towards his torso. He was too focused on your touch to notice your fingers slipping into his jacket pocket. You felt the cold metal of the key and smoothly withdrew it.

Too easy.

But before you could pull away, his hand moved higher up your thigh, edging dangerously close to your belt.

He went on. "Its only a few clicks away... if we are indeed two ships just passing in the night."

Before you could react, someone snatched your glass from the table.

It was Qimir.

Without a word, he downed the rest of your drink in one gulp, his eyes fixed on you.

"Looks like your drink's run out," he said coolly. "Let's get you another."

The guy beside you grumbled, glaring at Qimir. "Hey buddy, we were talking."

Qimir's eyes flicked to him, full of indifference. "And now you're done talking." He slammed the glass on the table. His voice was low, but it was enough to silence the man.

Qimir pulled you away, leading you toward another section of the bar.

You yanked your arm free and made a beeline for the exit.

Shaun waited on a speeder outside. You shoved the key into his hand beckoning him to get to Ian as quickly as possible.

"Here. Get this to Ian. We'll meet you back at the ship."

Shaun only nodded and revved the speeder, disappearing into the night.

Qimir had caught up to you outside.

Turning to face him your mouth ran away from you.

"What the hell was that?" you snapped.

"You were obviously uncomfortable," Qimir replied, not bothering to look at you.

You crossed your arms, huffing. "I can handle myself."

"He's a creep."

"So are most of the men in there," you shot back, shrugging off the situation.

Here’s a refined version of your scene, enhancing the emotional intensity and flow:

“This is exactly what I said would happen,” Qimir stated, his tone clipped.

“And how’s that exactly?” you shot back.

“You getting yourself into something I have to pull you out of.”

Fury surged through you, and you slammed your fists down, your face flushing with rage. “Don’t make excuses. I never asked to be pulled out of anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Well, next time a guy grabs my ass and I need your help, I’ll be sure to let you know first, Master.”

Qimir’s jaw tightened, clearly taken aback by your words.

You yelled, “If you had pulled me away just seconds earlier, you would have messed everything up!” Your body surged forward, hands outstretched.

In a burst of anger, you shoved him.

You actually shoved him.

He took it, standing firm, still caught up in whatever wave of misplaced duty he felt. His patronizing gaze made you want to slap him.

Screw this, you thought.

Maybe it was the liquor, or maybe you just needed more of it.

You stomped back inside waving your hand at the bartender. "One flameout please."

Your eyes scanned the bar for Laro making sure he was staying put. There he was already looking you up and down from a distance. You rolled your eyes and turned back to the bar.

The bartender caught your signal for another drink sliding a small shot of red liquid down the bar towards you. You gulped it down, throwing a few credits on the table. You could only hope that Ian had grabbed the servo by now and had gotten the hell out of there. But before you could enjoy the moment of solitude, Kiggs approached again, his drunken friends laughing and egging him on from a distance.

"Let’s pick up where we left off," he slurred.

"Let’s not," you replied flatly.

"C’mon, not interested anymore, I’m a great dancing partner," he said, stepping closer, his breath a noxious mix of alcohol and something far worse.

He grabbed your waist, pulling you into him. His hands wandered, groping you in a way that made your skin crawl.

You shoved him hard... far harder than you had shoved Qimir earlier. The force of it sent him stumbling backward a few feet. But it only seemed to make him angrier. He straightened up, his eyes narrowing as he started to march toward you again.

Good.

You could use a fight to blow off some steam. You readied your hands to connect with his jaw, eager to pop a crack at this entitled prick.

Before you could react, Qimir appeared in front of you, faster than you’d ever seen him move. His arm shot out, his hand wrapping around the man’s throat with terrifying ease. The man gasped, his hands clawing at Qimir’s grip, but he was choking on more than just the pressure of Qimir’s hand—there was something more. The air seemed to be ripped from his lungs, as though Qimir was suffocating him without effort. Laro’s friends were all drunk, but not quite enough to miss the warning signs. They kept a safe distance, clearly sensing that Qimir wasn’t the type to be messed with.

Qimir leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, but you were close enough to hear. "You touch her again and I'll kill you."

He released the man, who dropped to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath. Qimir didn’t spare him another glance, turning to face you, his eyes unreadable.

You stared at him, still catching your breath from the sudden surge of adrenaline.

"Unbelievable." You stormed past him exiting the bar speaking into your coms. "Ian you might wanna put a rush on that servo."

The bar around you seemed distant now, the noise fading into the background as you focused on the path ahead. The liquor warmed your skin making the cold air unnoticeable.

For a moment, you wanted to argue—wanted to tell him you didn’t need his protection. But the way he had reacted, the intensity in his eyes, told you something different. Something deeper.

You had made it back to the ship.

You walked into your room. He followed.

You paced around until you stopped to look at him.

He was... withholding himself.

"I need you to give me a reason" He said softly.

"What?"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go back there and put a hole through his skull."

You closed the distance between you, your face inches from his. "Because if anyone has the right to, it’s me... yet here I am." you almost spat the words at him.

His eyebrows, once furrowed in anger, relaxed slightly, seemingly satisfied with your reason. But tension still radiated from him, his eyes blinking rapidly, betraying whatever calm facade he wished to portray.

The intensity of his gaze almost made you falter, but you gathered your resolve, summoning the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in your mind.

“Why did you do that?” you demanded, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“What?” he replied, feigning ignorance.

“Back at the bar. Why did you do that?”

“What are you talking about, y/n?”

You scoffed, disbelief washing over you. You were damned if you’d ever get a straight answer from him.

“Forget it... you should have just stayed at the ship.”

“That guy was harassing you,” he insisted.

“That doesn’t give you the right to threaten people.”

“I have a responsibility to you. You are my acolyte.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make me yours,” you emphasized, each syllable sharp.

He went still, as if the weight of your words hit him. But the understanding in his eyes vanished as quickly as it had come.

“You’re drunk,” he said, turning away to focus on the clutter around his cot.

“You would know,” you shot back, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I guess we both do stupid shit when we’re drunk.”

He spun around, eyes narrowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His tone turned venomous, defensive.

“You know exactly what it means,” you bit back, refusing to back down.

Suddenly you heard the blast doors open and close.

"Time to go." Ian barely managed the words as he ran through the hallway passing your room.

You broke away from Qimirs space. Rushing after Ian.

"So I'm guessing Laro made it back to his ship."

"Yep." Was all that Ian revealed.

You caught up to him snatching the servo out of his hand.

"Get to the cockpit. Get us in the air. Rod and I will handle the drive."

Ian didn't have time to argue.

You got to the engine compartment to find Rod already prepping.

Jumping down, you almost landed on your arse.

Damn those drinks.

The ship started humming and rattling as you guessed you were now in the upper atmosphere.

You took the piece and fitted it to the stabilizer grabbing the wrench to bolt everything back in place.

"That damned thing better work." Ian yelled.

You secured the servo and closed the dampener.

"Punch it." You spoke through the coms.

You felt your hair rise as the hyperdrive kicked then lit up. A small energy surge knocked you back. A loud vroom sounded in your ears as you slouched against the wall.

You took another deep breath, steadying yourself and closing your eyes.

You were in hyperspace... safe. At least for now.

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

Thats all folks! Let me know in the comments what you guys think! The next few chapters are going to get intense :)

[creatingblackcharacters]

A favorite character of mine is Daja Kisubo from the Circle of Magic series, by Tamora Pierce. This series is about four children who are orphaned and brought to the Circle Temple to be raised, where it is discovered that they all have unusual magic that works through crafting or the elements, called ambient magic, and follows them as they grow and become some of the most powerful mages in the world. 

(Cover art of Cold Fire)

Daja is a Black girl and a Blue Trader (ocean going) whose family died when their ship sunk in the storm.  Daja is the only survivor and so is considered bad luck and sent away to the Circle temple.  At the temple she meets the other three main characters who become her foster sisters and brother, and the two dedicates who become their foster mothers. She also discovers her own magic is in metal and fire and smithing when she meets her mentor, an older Black man and blacksmith, Frostpine.

(Art by @minuiko who has amazing art for this series and Tamora Pierce's other books too)

Daja has always been my favorite because she's strong and steady for the outside world but with her new family and mentor you can see how deeply she feels and the love and support that she gets from them. Also she's so wildly powerful and makes such beautiful crafts and becomes such a good teacher when she's older (also I got my degree in metalworking/jewelry so now we have that in common).  

The series itself has such good world building and a really excellently fleshed out magic system. The first quartet, aimed at younger readers, features the main four as the children become a family, develop their powers, and start to heal the trauma that brought them to the temple in the first place, with Daja reuniting with the Trader people and being able to reestablish bonds, even as she stays with her temple family.

The second quartet has the kids splitting up as journeymen, traveling with their teachers to develop their skills. Each of them finds a mystery to solve and students to teach. Daja's students end up being two mixed Black girls (twins) who are very different and stretch both her patience and her own skills as she has to find separate ways to teach them (much to Frostpine's amusement), as well as solve the mysterious arson cases that are on the rise in town.

In the later books, as young adults, Daja and her siblings reunite and struggle to connect the way they did so easily when they were children. We also get to see her explore her sexuality and discover that she's a lesbian, which was so awesome when it came out and young me read it back in 2005.

These books and Daja especially have always been super important to me since I was a kid, and now honestly I've made myself need to go reread them. 

Hot Chocolate: BLACK WOMEN IN FANTASY LET'S GOOOOO! I always love to see this because they have just as much right to magical powers as everyone else dammit! Anyway this story sounds WONDERFUL, I might make it the next fiction book that I read with my mother, After we read Children of Virtue and Vengeance. Anywho, the story reminds me of one of the D&D campaigns I'm playing in where; 4 of us became foster siblings and are now supporting each other, while figuring out what's the deal with our essentric and powerful king. Not to mention figuring out our place in these positions of power. Daja sounds delightful, and her power set sounds like the Orisha Ogun. I love everything about this!

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Madison Gen 1 pt.59

Meanwhile, that same morning Madison sat on her back porch enjoying the crisp autumn air and the steady stream of sunlight as she finished the last pages of "Journals of a Werewolf". Madison hadn't lied when she claimed she was a dedicated fan. She'd joined a Mercury fan club while she was in high school and had continued to love M's works even in her YA years. She'd even joined a book club that centered around Mercury's work when she'd gone to college. Her and the entire club were brushing up on the three part series and planned to read some of M's earlier Short Stories like "There's always Something else".

Madison was more than a little nervous about the day ahead. She had a meeting this afternoon at the Pumpkin Patch Café in Whiskerman's Wharf. She was meeting with her book club, Kason and Mercury's Agent. Madison had been in contact with Kason through email a few times after they'd met at the Vet clinic. Madison had been eager to share with the book club that she had met Mercury's husband. She also informed them that Kason had discussed the possibility of M doing a book signing for her new book "Court of the Slumbering Fae".

During that conversation the club had come up with a better idea. They wanted to plan a surprise award ceremony. The club even had a fan made award created. It was a statue replica of her Werewolf series. She had shared the idea with Kason, and though he thought it sounded wonderful he also knew he needed to pass it by M's agent Takara McKenna or she would blow a gasket. Might even die from cardiac arrest with how serious she took M career.

Madison: "I didn't know if I'd ever shift again. After all the wolf in me had endured I wasn't sure that he would even heed my call. But for now we were completely at peace." Never gets old.

She finishes the last lines aloud.

Paris: Are you still reading that. You've had your face plastered in that book for the last 3 days.

Madison: You should finally give it a try.

Paris waves away the idea.

Paris: Yeah, like that's going to happen.

Madison: Figures.

Paris: I came out here to show you this.

Paris shoves the screen in Madison's face. On it was an invitation to a Falling Leaves Day Party.

Paris: It's tonight and were going.

Madison: Can't I have plans.

Paris: Plans? With who?

Madison could hear the whine in her voice. She knew Paris was gearing up for a guilt trip. But Madison wasn't going to miss this meeting.

Madison: With my book club. I would invite you but considering you wont take the time to read the book it would be a waste of time.

Paris: What book club meets until 7pm?

Madison: Mine. Anything else?

Paris's crestfallen expression tugs on Madison's need to look out for her. She reigns in some of her irritation and softens her tone a little.

Madison: I'm meeting with the club in an hour at the Pumpkin Patch Café. I don't know how long we'll be, but why don't you hang out here and when I'm finished we can...

Paris takes her words as a change of heart.

Paris: I can just meet you there and we can head out. Its not that far from the café anyways.

Madison: I was going to say maybe we could catch a movie or something. Really Paris, do we have to go out every weekend. For once I'd like a quite weekend. Falling leaves day is about relaxing and bringing in Autumn. We can open a bottle of nectar here but I'm not going out.

Before the remorse could over take her and make her change her mind. Madison headed for the door. She calls over her shoulder.

Madison: I'll see you later if your still here.

PREV

NEXT

[kingalpharhys]

WHAT REALLY MAKES AN ALPHA MALE 2024

Joy Reid on MSNBC calling out all these crazy conservative men as beta males pretending to be Alpha men reminds me of some of you on here. Check yourselves, guys, because what you believe to be "Alpha 'tude" is actually beta AF.

Alphas are to lead and protect, not conform and put those around them in serious jeopardy. An Alpha Male does what's right, not just what's convenient. Alpha Males are not selfish men.

The modern conservative party are not Alphas.

You can not be an Alpha Male and back fascism.

You can not be an Alpha Male and oppress those around you—women, minorities, immigrants. It's all of us who make America the superpower it is.

You can not be an Alpha Male and vote Red.

By buying into the lying fear mongering of the American Right, you are buying into your own demise. You think they give a shit about you?

You think their rhetoric doesn't affect you?

They will come for all of us eventually, if given the chance. That's a promise I can make to you— if Donald Trump wins, America as we know it is done for. I know the system really well; that's a real guarantee. Vote Red for America's demise.

Voting is a right, and there's a reason they want to limit that right. The people love this country, and when we all vote, the conservatives lose big.

Voting isn't a right to be fucked with. Take this from a lawyer who gives a shit about all of you. I live my life nonpartisan, but by what's correct.

As a lawyer, I'm being so legitimate with you about this. This is a real threat to democracy.

This isn't a personal attack. It's the truth at hand. I just wanna tell you guys the truth.

I want you all to read this and take it to heart.

Do you wanna use your rights? Or lose them?

Trump says vote for him now, never vote again.

Is that really what you want? This isn't a joke.

This isn't fake news, this is what's at stake here.

Is it worth the internet brownie points to lose it all? Is it worth that sexy cumshot to lose your freedom? Is the big "Redpill" actually worth it?

This is still America, and you have that freedom.

You have every right to make these choices.

You have every right to take these actions.

Remember, your actions have consequences.

Playing around with this shit isn't cool, guys. It's not a game, a fetish, or a fantasy. It's real life.

Do you really think you're an Alpha Male for supporting the abuse of your fellow Americans? Are you rights just a fetish to use and abuse?

Again, this isn't a Tumblr kink. It's American Democracy. This is what our troops fight for.

You know, the troops Donald Trump hates.

For most of you, this should be enough food for though. Some of you, though, need it simplified.

So, if you have to, consider this vote to be the ultimate test of your masculinity. Let's be real:

Be a beta, and vote for Trump. Alphas defend democracy. Alphas vote for this country. Alphas vote blue, mo matter what the misguided say.

Alphas don't give a shit about ignorant opinions.

Alphas don't give a shit about outright bigotry.

Alphas don't give a shit about fetishized abuse.

Alphas give a shit about equality and ethics.

Alphas preserve and protect our Democracy.

Alpha Men vote for Harris-Walz. That's it, guys.

Be an actual Alpha Male and do what's correct.

I'm an Alpha Male, and I don't care who this offends. I'm a Patriot, and I'm voting Blue.

If you're the Alpha you claim to be, you'll do the same. If you're not, let's take this to the polls.

We'll see who's really a Patriot on November 5th.

[ssspideysense]

summary: peter knows a thing or two about yearning.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: coworkers, pining, alcohol, i’ve had this in my drafts forever

wc: 2.7k

He listened to the jingle of your keys clutched in your unsteady hand. A graceless windchime, a temporary distraction from the heat of your skin through your clothes on his palm. And maybe even worse– from the smell of your perfume, sweet and fresh, mixed dangerously with the alcohol on your breath.

You were drunk. Past buzzed, past tipsy, you’d downed probably two or three too many drinks from the open bar at the company party, but that’s okay. You deserved to have fun.

Peter had his eye on you all night anyways, turned just the right angle in every conversation he half-assed his way through to keep you in his peripheral vision.

Normally Peter didn’t attend work events like this one. He was busy enough, tired enough to generally not care about his day job’s extracurriculars, but this evening was different— mostly because he overheard you chattering to a coworker about it last Tuesday.

You hemmed and hawed about whether you’d be attending or not: your first Bugle event, someone’s retirement party, some higher up whom you’d never met. “But there’s always free booze and fancy finger food,” your coworker had promised, which made you pause and hum to yourself.

“Eh… I might go. We’ll see.”

And despite himself, he hoped you would. It’d be the perfect loophole to this dilemma he’d put himself in a handful of months ago when you first started at the Bugle, when he first met you.

So, he went. And, thank the stars, so did you.

He didn’t know where you lived before that night, but he found it a little funny, standing in the hallway while you finally pushed your front door open. He’d swung over your building often during his nights out in his suit, and now, you were clumsily pulling him into the cool air of your dark, quiet living room. Peter tried not to trip over his own feet (or yours, for that matter), and reminded himself that you were the intoxicated one, and he needed to get it together, for both of your sakes.

He couldn’t help the grin on his face. “Careful,” his hand caught your arm in the darkness, steadying you. “I think your new limit of vodka cranberries has dropped to… hm, three? I think that’s pretty reasonable.”

You gave him a little scoff, attempting to peel off your shoes while hanging onto the wall. “Shut up— it’s just dark,” you replied. And it was, but you knew that wasn’t the only reason, nor was the alcohol in your system.

It wasn’t hard to notice Peter’s eyes on you earlier in the evening. Plenty of your coworkers had shown up to the rented venue, but the place wasn’t packed. You spotted Peter leaning by a pillar, chatting with someone that worked on a different floor than the both of you. There was a moment of eye-contact, a soft smile from you, then him, but then your attention was drawn away by your friend at your side.

As far as you knew, Peter Parker was a bit elusive around the office and often made himself scarce, but the few times you’d been caught in the elevator together or had to collaborate on some project or another were always pleasant. He was polite, with a nice smile and warm brown eyes.

… and really, really nice hands, you realized once you flipped the hallway light on. His fingers were long and slender and your eyes followed the prominent veins raised up under his skin.

He was just about to pull away when your hold slipped on the wall, jostling you forward a bit. “Woah— alright, maybe two vodka cranberries,” he chuckled, and it did more to you than you’d ever admit while sober.

“Stop making fun of me,” you lamented, laughing despite yourself, “you’re supposed to be helping me.”

“I am helping you.”

“Does your help always come with sassy commentary?”

Peter made a sound halfway between surprise and amusement. “Sassy? I prefer witty, or maybe charming.”

You plopped yourself down on the bench in the entryway. A groan slipped out from your lips and you threw your head back, managing to not knock your head despite the dramatics. “I’d prefer if you got these damn shoes off of me before I lose it.”

He shook his head, but he was already kneeling down to the hardwood. The itty bitty buckled strap around your ankle gave him a hard time for a second, and a little huff of humor puffed out from his chest, “did you need me to make your bed, too? Check under your mattress for a pea?” Peter mused. With one shoe now slipped off, you lifted your other foot up. Automatically, his head lifted a bit, his gaze traveled up your shin, over the long stretch of smooth skin, all the way to the hem of your dress shifted above your knee.

Shit.

“I think I can tuck myself in,” you rolled your eyes, “unless you’re feeling extra generous.”

There was a clock ticking somewhere in your apartment— it was what Peter chose to focus his reeling brain on after he quickly looked away and back to the task at hand. He cleared his throat lightly and worked on freeing your other foot. You more than likely weren’t really aware of what you were saying, or how hard it made his heart thump in his chest. It was fine. He’d get your shoes off and bid you goodnight and leave.

A soft sigh from you broke the thick blanket of quiet once the other shoe was off. Your feet hurt and you swore to yourself you wouldn’t wear them again for a while… even if they were cute. Reaching, your hand smoothed down your calf to your ankle, to the irritation mark from a couple hours of wear. You sucked a little hiss in through your teeth.

“You okay?” Peter’s voice was soft, softer than before, when he was teasing you.

“Yeah— I hate those things, they’re so uncomfortable. I wish they didn’t look so good.”

He found himself agreeing begrudgingly in his head.

You always looked good at the office. A pretty blouse usually tucked into some slacks, your hair effortlessly laid, your smile bright. Beautiful.

But sometimes you’d wear one of those skirts that made your legs look a mile long. You always looked good. At your desk, in the elevator, in the break room, at some old man’s retirement party, and now, sitting in your entryway, gazing down at him with a hazy sort of warmth in your expression.

His eyes settled on your fingers, the way they nursed over the little pinch point left by the tiny silver buckle. Peter gently held your ankle in his hand and a soft, feather light touch smoothed across your skin— you were so soft, like silk, he realized, with his gaze locked onto where his fingertips grazed.

Beautiful.

At some point earlier in the night, your friend skittered off in the pursuit of avoiding some guy from IT that she’d had a messy sort of fling with— you’d already heard all the drama, and didn’t blame her for leaving early, though you couldn’t resist ribbing her a bit before she left. “Maybe this is why we don’t sleep with our coworkers?” You mused, watching her down the last of her drink and stand up.

She shot you a glare with a toss of her hair over her shoulder. “Slut shaming now?”

“No, never,” you replied honestly, but still grinned at her. “Just curious about your selection. There’s not exactly a limited market of available, less complicated men to sleep with, y’know.”

Purse strap hooked over her shoulder, she let out a breath, a familiar and somewhat devious smile growing on her lips. “Oh, come on, like you’ve never thought about it before. Makes it more interesting, more exciting,” she said, and nudged your shoulder, “don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” And with that, she scampered off, leaving you with your drink and your thoughts.

Peter had noticed when your friend left— mostly because of the distinct lack of your laughter now from across the room. The shift was intriguing, to say the least. Not ten minutes prior were you giggling up a storm and bantering and sharing little stories, but when he looked over at you again, you were quiet, idly sipping from your glass while scrolling through your phone. Peter couldn’t help but chuckle a little, hiding it under a strategic nose scratch. The conversation he was barely a part of continued around him without missing a beat.

He didn’t come to stare at you from a distance all night, but he couldn’t exactly see himself actually approaching you with anything interesting enough to say. Every scenario that passed through his head while he watched your lips nurse the black plastic straw felt so cheesy, so cringe-worthy.

Hey, I noticed you when I walked in, not because I specifically looked for you, or anything. Now that you’re sitting here alone, I’m sure you appreciate some guy coming up and trying to talk to you out of nowhere. I’m Peter, by the way, because I honestly don’t expect you to remember my name, even though you’ve worked a few desks away from mine for three months now. And, yes, I’ve been keeping track.

Yeah, right. He had an hour so far to think of some sort of game plan, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus. It was probably a lost cause anyways. You were way out of his league.

He was just about to shift back to the group of men he stood with, but then, you looked up. Right to him, like you knew he was already there, already looking at you.

And you smiled again, a radiant sort of smile that twisted his insides.

“I’m gonna grab a refill,” he muttered out loud, as if anyone around him would notice if he slipped away, before his legs started working on their own.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him now, knelt down before you, his calloused hands ghosting almost reverently on your leg. Your sweet, polite, somewhat aloof coworker Peter Parker, making goosebumps raise so easily with just a few simple touches. The swirl of tingly heat that tickled your insides almost sent a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, you pulled your own hand back to rest on your knee, and Peter’s fingers traced up to the sore spot you were just worrying over.

It was suddenly so quiet— you figured he could hear your heartbeat, after accepting the fact that he probably heard the way your breath caught in your throat, too.

Peter gently pressed his thumb into the little indented line that encircled you from the ankle strap. He lightly began to knead around the area, massaging, all in the faith of aiding blood flow, of course. Just because he was helpful, of course. He swallowed quietly.

“Does, ah… how’s that?” Peter asked, his voice low, and you sucked in a breath through your nose when he looked up at you. “Feel… better, at all?”

He had those big brown eyes and those stupid long eyelashes that some guys were needlessly blessed with. Casually, helplessly good looking.

Your legs shifted just slightly as you held his gaze, thighs pressed together. “Mhm,” you breathed out, “yeah, that feels nice.” There was probably more to be said, but you couldn’t bring yourself to find the words with a brain like mush and your tongue so suddenly heavy in your mouth.

It was his turn to suck in a breath. “Yeah?”

Warmth radiated from your face. Booze, hormones, whatever— your pulse was giddy, an ache quickly creeping up between your thighs. His voice was so soft, just a little rasp to it. Slowly, you nodded, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Alcohol rarely had any sort of desired effect on Peter, and that night was no different, but he ordered another anyway, because he couldn’t just turn around and high-tail it out of there now. Not when he watched you watch him walk over and lean his forearms onto the bartop so casually, as if he knew what he was doing.

Your gaze flickered over him without trying much to hide it— he looked good, though he usually did day to day in the office, too. But tonight his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was a little bit messy and you caught the subtle shift of his eyes over to you once he was given his drink.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you mused without thinking, the little plastic straw sitting between your lips.

Peter turned to you as if he hadn’t been acutely aware of your presence the entire night. “Likewise,” a light grin grew on his face, “are you having fun yet?”

The way your eyes settled on him, hedged by such long, curled lashes— something kicked around in his chest. “Are you kidding? I entered the raffle and everything. Here’s hoping I go home with that bluetooth toaster,” you hummed.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “What, so you can preheat from your garage?”

“A win’s a win, isn’t it, Parker?”

Despite your friendly demeanor, a sense of slight surprise washed over him when you said his name. Surprise and, embarrassingly enough, a sense of warmth. “Yeah, s’pose so. Can’t say I wouldn’t be at least a little jealous,” he sipped his drink just to busy his awkward mouth.

Your amusement sparkled in your eyes. “Yeah? Jealous of me and my thousand dollar toaster?” The giggle that slipped from your lips was enough to make his heart thump against his ribcage. Hearing it up close was infinitely better than picking it out from a crowd. “Maybe I’ll let you borrow it some time,” you said.

“How humble and gracious of you,” his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I’m nothing if not humble and gracious.”

You kept your eyes on him as you sipped from your straw, and he couldn’t look away if he tried. “I dunno, I think there’s at least a few more words to describe you. Like, ah… funny, charismatic,” Peter paused, watching you swallow, “and, um, pretty— ah, beautiful. Just to… just to name a few.”

He looked down to where his fingers gently rubbed slow little circles into your skin, just above your ankle. There wasn’t enough air in your entryway anymore. Not in a claustrophobic sort of way— more like he was suddenly aware of how close you were, how heavy your gaze was on him from your perch on the bench, how hot his breath fanned over your bare skin.

It’d be so easy. So, so easy to just… lean down, press his lips to your shin, pepper a trail up to your knee, gently ease your legs apart… he could smell you, in the moment, not just in his imagination. The light musk of arousal mixed so dangerously with your sweet aroma.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Up, up, his hand smoothed up the back of your calf just slightly, before he gave a gentle squeeze and pulled his hands away. “Right,” Peter stood and straightened, clearing his throat again. He had to avoid eye contact. He wasn’t sure he could handle whatever expression you were giving him at the moment. “You’re home safe, heels are off… it’s getting pretty late, so… you should probably head to bed and prepare for the worst hangover ever tomorrow,” he said, trying to keep his voice light, punctuated with an airy chuckle.

Your eyes followed him as he stood. One hand shoved into his pocket, the other ran through his messy hair. A twinge of something like disappointment clenched at your stomach. “Right,” you mirrored him, both of your bare feet on the ground now.

And you both just looked at each other like that for what felt like forever. You, gazing up at him, and Peter, with his head tilted down at you.

There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it would leave his throat, so he settled for a smile and a little nod. “Yeah… um, goodnight. I’ll… see you at work, yeah?”

God. Way to go. Completely fumbled everything.

But, after a beat or two of quiet, you smiled back. Soft, warm. Your eyes flitted over his face, the stubble along his jaw and the little secret worry line between his brows.

“Yeah.” Your heart pattered in your chest. “Goodnight, Peter.”

[nondelphic]

nondelphic writing tips: unconventional (but super fun!) ways to work on your story when you’re not writing

hi lovelies! (｡♥‿♥｡) time for another serious post!!

i'd like to share some of my fav unconventional, but super fun, ways to deepen your plot, characters, and world-building on those off-days when you're not actively writing. because let's be real, sometimes the most creative breakthroughs happen when you’re not staring at the blank page! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ

♡ incorrect quotes for characters

okay, this one is my absolute favourite!! even when i'm not writing, i love coming up with totally out-of-context or incorrect quotes for my characters (think “they would say this” energy). they don’t even have to be lines you use in the story, just little snippets of dialogue that fit their personality and vibe! it’s such a fun way to get to know your characters better and explore their quirks.

bonus: it’s also super entertaining when you assign hilarious, offbeat quotes to your more serious characters (≧◡≦). trust me, it works!

♡ acting out dialogue

confession time: i suck at acting but i love to act out my character’s dialogue to myself (ಥ‿ಥ). yes i do have a problem with daydreaming BUT walking around my room and speaking the lines really helps me figure out if they sound natural and realistic! if it feels awkward to say out loud, it might need tweaking. plus, it’s a great way to channel your inner actor for a little while (〃＾▽＾〃).

♡ using ai to brainstorm ideas

i love using ai tools as a sounding board to help with world-building decisions! like if i’m stuck between two options for how something should work in my world (magic system, politics, etc.), i’ll type it into an ai and ask, “what would be more realistic, option a or b?” ai can give you that nudge in the right direction and spark ideas you didn’t think of! it’s like brainstorming with a friend, but faster (￣▽￣)ノ

i have another post on using ai responsibly for writing here !!

♡ character playlists and mood boards

this one is so fun for those “off” days when you’re not writing! create playlists or mood boards for your characters or setting. find songs that capture their personality, struggles, or even the overall tone of your world. or scroll through pinterest and make a visual mood board that reflects the vibe of your world. it’s super immersive and helps you build your story’s atmosphere without writing a single word! ♫(◕‿◕)

♡ role-playing conversations between characters

this is one i like to do when i’m really feeling stuck. it's similar to acting out dialogue but rather than focusing on how realistic it sounds, it's about the characters themselves. i’ll imagine my characters just… hanging out and chatting. not even plot-related stuff, just normal conversations they’d have in their everyday lives. how would they talk to each other when they’re relaxed, annoyed, or excited? it’s such a fun way to build chemistry and relationships between your characters! (*≧ω≦)

♡ build “what if” scenarios

sometimes, i’ll brainstorm totally unrealistic “what if” situations just to see how my characters react! what if they were stuck in a completely ridiculous situation? how would they handle it? even if these scenes never make it into the story, they give me so much insight into how my characters think and behave. plus, it’s ridiculously fun (≧◡≦).

the key to all of this is to keep it light, fun, and creative on days when you’re not in the mood to do “serious” writing. storytelling isn’t just about the words you put on the page—it’s about the world, the people, and the relationships you’re building. so don’t be afraid to play around with it in unconventional ways. ♡＼(￣▽￣)／

happy writing (and daydreaming)!

[latenlghtdevil]

Recipe For Disaster ❤️‍🔥 Chapter One

So, here's the result of my head chef!sukuna x f!server!reader ideas running rampant in my mind — a very slowburn enemies to something fic 🫣 I hope y'all enjoy and lmk what you think, my asks are open!! mwah xx

2057 words

Head Chef Sukuna Itadori had worked very, very hard to get to where he was today— sweating his ass off while slaving over the umpteenth filet of the night.

He wasn't ungrateful but he was a bit bitter. He loves cooking, and was damn good at it, but the hours were long and the job could feel really thankless. Especially when tables found it more than okay to completely change his prepared menu for their singular order.

As a ticket printed, riddled with modifications that changed his entree for the night from a marinated steak option to, basically, a steak stroganoff. Yes, he could make it using all kinds of ingredients they had on hand, especially since the server had managed to figure out the complicated system in order to ring it in properly, but, he wasn't going to do it. It wasn't prepped or planned for, and in the middle of a dinner rush like right now, it would complicate everything.

He didn't make exceptions. Unless there was an allergy, his restaurant, Gōrudosutā, was not a place for substitutions and and picky eaters. Sukuna spent his countless sleepless nights racking his brain for new creations, each weekend night offering a different menu, most items never to be repeated again. This wasn't anything new, so who the fuck rang something like this in?

He yanked the ticket off the printer, his eyes narrowed as Geto gazed over his shoulder, scoffing as he read it. A deep breath escaped Sukuna before he crumpled the ticket, the newest servers name printed boldly at the top.

Sukuna didn't like you during your interview, he felt like you were too bubbly, but you had plenty of experience and it was ultimately Satoru’s say, as the front of house manager. He definitely had a lot to say about you.

He couldn't stop gushing about all of your previous high end restaurant experience, starting in fast food and working your way well up from there. Great reviews about her service, wonderful recommendations from every manager she's ever had, regulars who'd follow her no matter where she worked next.

It irked Sukuna. He loves the restaurant industry, but the servers who put too much into it irritated him. There was no reason to fall at the customers feet and accommodate their every beck and call; your job was to serve the food, no friendliness and frills needed.

So the first time he stepped out of the kitchen during the earlier hours of a slower night and overheard you dotting to one of your tables, he wanted to barf in his mouth.

He stood with his back against the wall near the servers station waiting for Saturo to stop sucking up to an unhappy customer, as you stood with your table just around the corner, chatting happily.

“I don't mind at all,” Your soft voice caught his attention, making him glance over his shoulder at you, a bright smile plastered on your face. “Seriously, if there's anything else you guys need, just let me know.”

You finished topping off the tables waters, before moving to the next, just doing your rounds of check-ins with your guests.

You couldn't be that sweet, Sukuna thought to himself. You hadn't been there long at that point, maybe worked a shift or two without shadowing anyone, so he hadn't been around you much to know, but his gut told him that you couldn't actually be that sweet, you'd be filled with cavities.

He was lost in thought, glancing over the dining room with his arms crossed over his chest, his chefs coat pulling tightly against his muscles. He was brought back to this realm as a sweet smell enveloped him as you round the corner, your head down as you read over a ticket, running straight into Sukuna and nearly knocking the breath out of you.

“Oh…” You placed you hand on your chest as you looked up at him, his eyes on you intently as yours quickly trail around his tattoos before meeting his. “I'm sorry, Chef.”

He couldn't find it in himself to say anything, his brow furrowed as he glanced at your notepad, the edges of the ticket littered with doodles. A small grunt left him before he turned on his heels, heading back toward the kitchen.

“Corner!” Sukuna called as he left you behind, your mind now filling with assumptions about the dickhead chef, nothing you hadn't delt with before.

As his mind replayed your last and only interaction, he reached behind himself, untying his apron as held the ticket tightly in his other hand. “Geto, watch the flattop, I'll be back.”

Sukuna stepped off the line, tossing his apron onto the empty prep line, his footsteps heavy and determined as he moved toward the front, the kitchen and expo widow falling quiet at the look on his face. He didn't call anything as he stepped out of the back, his eyes falling on you in the dining room, talking to the table to blame for the whole issue in the first place.

You felt his eyes on you before you even knew he was there, your hands nervously playing at the edges of your server apron, your pens rolling in the pocket. You nodded softly, your heart in your stomach as you space out of the conversation, wishing you'd been able to listen better to the story your regulars were telling but you knew the problems there were about to cause.

The older couple had become regulars of yours a few years and a couple of restaurants ago, having told you many stories of their younger days, bringing in their children and grandchildren to meet you, bringing you presents on your birthday. They weren't the only regulars you'd had like that either.

As draining as the restaurant industry was for you, you loved giving the best service you could to people, you couldn't ever explain why. Maybe you were a bit too compassionate, but it made you feel good and you loved the genuine connections you've made through it all.

That being said, you know it has its faults, especially somewhere like here. You'd been nervous about telling some of your regulars where you'd been working now, knowing just how they are and how this restaurant ran.

You made an excuse to leave, claiming you had food to run as you turned around, his steeled eyes meeting yours. You broke your eyes from his, offering a half hearted smile at a few of your tables as you made your way through the dining room, feeling like a lamb to slaughter.

Thick fingers held the receipt paper up to your face as soon as you came within feet of him, and you could've sworn he growled before he spoke. “What’s this shit?”

“Looks like an order to me.” You shrugged, sliding past him and to the computer, quickly punching in your number before beginning to ring in another.

You could feel the bewildered stare from Maki, one of the servers they've had since opening, boring into the back of your head. She couldn't believe you had the audacity to ring in something like that in the first place, having already warned you about just how quickly Sukuna would appear, now here you were being a smartass about it.

The same finger that held the receipt just a moment ago reached behind the computer, jamming the power button in the middle of your order. You take a deep breath, eyebrows knitted together as you look over you shoulder at the culprit, his eyes already staring deep into yours.

“I need to see you in the kitchen right now.”

His tone left no room for argument as anger began to rise up inside you, your fists clenched at your side as he turned, the swinging door slamming roughly against the wall as he marched back into his domain.

You felt every hair on your body standing on edge as you followed behind him, eyes begrudgingly set on his muscular back, the dark fabric clinging tightly to him. He stops abruptly, slamming his hand onto the expo counter, the stacks of plates around him rattling loudly as silence fell upon the entire kitchen.

“Now, what the fuck kinda order is this?” He seethed through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched as he saw red. It didn't feel like blatant disrespect for him, until you opened your mouth back there.

“I think it's pretty simple. Isn't that all the ingredients that you used in the stroganoff you served last week?” You responded, a hand placed on your hips as your eyebrows raised, your head tilting slightly. You'd been here plenty of times before, arguing with countless line cooks and chefs over just about anything you'd could think of, but there's a few things that haven't changed anytime.

You do your job correctly, and you won't back down. So here the two of you stood, toe to toe, at the beginning of something catastrophic. An absolutely recipe for disaster.

“It was on the menu last week, not tonight, sweetheart. You said it yourself.” His chest heaved as he took a deep breath, trying his best to keep calm. He’d been talked to years ago about his attitude toward the other staff, causing him to often bite his tongue.

You couldn't help but laugh at the nickname, willing to assume he'd already forgotten your name. “And don't you have everything back there to make it still? Did I ring something in wrong? I'd be more than happy to go rering it if you'd like to turn the computer back on.”

You offer a sickeningly sweet smile, batting your lashes a bit as you stare up at the man seething before you. “I'd like you to go back there and make it your-fuckin’-self, honestly. You think it's alright to ring in an order that'll complete fuck up the whole system I've got back there?”

A head full of pink hair and a thick fucking skull, got it. This man was quickly becoming a pain in your side, even with this being your first interaction since his manager had hired you.

“I think a competent chef would be able to work out his own recipe.”

“I think you're fighting too hard for a measly 20% tip.”

“You're must be fucked up if you think I earn that little.”

“You're fucked up if you think I'm making this shit, sweetheart. Now march back out there and tell there and tell your geriatric home to pack it up and eat somewhere else if they don't like the menu.” He barked, all attention on the two of you as both of you continued to raise your volume.

Satoru came running into the kitchen quickly, his nonslip shoes squeaking as he stepped between the two of you, giving his chef a bewildered look.

“Get her the hell outta my kitchen.” Sukuna refused to even acknowledge the mans presence between them, his eyes boring into yours.

“Get your head out of your ass.” You could see his pulse thumping on his neck, a small vein stating to appear on his forehead as his breaths continued to heave from his flared nostrils.

Within seconds, Gojo spins, peering over his glasses, his blue eyes silently pleading with you to help him. You couldn't help but huff at the shithead chef once more before leaving the kitchen, finding the host Yuji, Maki, and a couple other servers waiting near the door.

“You okay?” Maki asked, her tone a bit harsh but her face genuinely concerned as your booming voices could be heard quite clearly in the dining room. You chuckled and shrugged, smoothing your apron a bit as you glanced at the computer screen, still attempting to start back up.

“I'm fine, he's a prick, but I could've guessed that.” You smiled softly as Satoru slipped out of the kitchen, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.