#of the unexpected kind

[clatterbane]

My greedy ass is over here contemplating RAM upgrades, when I haven't actually been doing anything that isn't perfectly fine with the existing 16GB. But, this laptop will go up to 32!

(Unlike with the last relative potato laptop, which did not in fact have the 2nd slot that it was supposed to from everything I saw. And the existing one wouldn't handle more than the factory 8GB. 😡)

OTOH, I could always do with more SSD space. And this'll also take another internal drive. But, I do not particularly want to pay what I would need to for even an on-sale 1TB M.2 NVME. Would honestly hesitate less if I didn't have like a third of the somewhat readily accessible discretionary funds monthly that I did in the UK, without needing to request a top-up and probably explain myself. May have to pull the trigger anyway, because I did see one pretty tempting deal.

(We are not remarkably poorer, the difference in discretionary funds these days just ends up triggering Ghost Poverty Brain sometimes anyway. And I end up budgeting way tighter around things like groceries than is probably necessary. I really don't know why the auto-deposit got set up that way, and my beggarly unemployed ass honestly hasn't really wanted to inquire. In spite of the occasional splurge on shit like this or other hobby supplies, I really do not have a notable history of blowing money or anything. And he doesn't have a history of acting like the household resources are anything but shared. I really do need to figure out what for most people would be some type of side gig, but would be pretty much all my disabled ass could handle. It might be good for my mental health, if nothing else.)

[pinkedify]

we don't really talk about it

[flipflopmasterr]

Me and @ridokichan -s headcanon about "isolation-induced hallucinations" with Stan twins.

First experience with the portal was definitely..... Insufferable. For both of them.

At least someone's looking out after them.

[loveinhawkins]

When Steve gets to his last year at Hawkins High, it feels like some kind of veil has been lifted right in front him. Or maybe it’s more that the veil’s actually been slowly lifting for years, and he’s noticing it all the more because it’s no longer there.

Either way, when he receives his yearbook, it doesn’t seem like the huge deal that his younger self would’ve made it out to be; he flicks through the pictures half-heartedly, doesn’t even care when the candid ones taken at sporting events catch him in unflattering poses, lip jutting out in concentration.

If he tried to voice his disinterest, Henderson would probably spout off some precocious shit about societal expectations, and Steve would pretend to nod sagely before stealing whatever dorky hat he happened to be wearing—it’s not like he could let the little shit suspect that he occasionally had a point, Steve would never hear the end of it.

The yearbook signings are predictably inescapable: people passing their books back and forth in class or in the cafeteria—and that one’s a risky move, with the threat of drinks spilling on the pages, whether accidental or malicious.

Steve thinks the fever’s dwindled out until he spends a free period in the school library. The seniors typically all bunch together in one of the far corners, the spots with the comfiest seats—loners included, like the perks of age for once outweigh the usual ridicule.

But that silent truce is not exactly being upheld, Steve notes—Eddie Munson is sitting alone at a nearby table.

It becomes painfully obvious when the signing starts up again. There’s a cluster of girls on the yearbook committee who initiate it, and soon every senior in reach is either passing over their own book or signing one.

Almost every senior.

It’s not like Eddie’s the only person ever to be held back. He’s not even the only one to be held back for next year, either: John Nelson off the swim team is in the same position, and he’s still been asked to sign.

But Steve knows that’s not what the source of exclusion is, not really.

He’s gotten good at spotting silent cruelty—good at avoiding it too, before his popularity gave him a temporary shield.

It’s all just bullshit, he thinks. It’s been a recurring thought lately.

He brings out his own yearbook because he knows it’s expected. When it’s finally passed back round to him, he ends up right near the seat opposite Eddie’s, just by chance.

But actually sitting there is his own choice.

He can tell that Eddie has spotted him even though he’s not looked up from whatever homework he’s doing; there’s a silent tension in the way he’s holding his pen.

Steve mulls it over before he asks the question. It could blow up in his face, but what did that matter, really? In the grand scheme of things, it would hardly count as a major embarrassment; it’s not like it’d be any more mortifying than telling his dad that he didn’t get into any colleges whatsoever.

So he pushes his yearbook across the table, because what the hell.

“Wanna sign?”

Eddie glances up. There’s a guarded look in his eyes, and Steve can almost hear him mentally replaying the question.

“Pardon?” Eddie says with pointed emphasis, like he’s daring Steve, let it drop and we’ll say no more about it, Harrington.

Steve doesn’t take it back. He shrugs and flicks open the yearbook, finds a blank spot and taps it once with his finger, a silent offer.

Eddie stares like Steve’s a riddle, like he’s wondering just who the show’s for—but the other students have turned away, have gone back to their seats, yearbooks temporarily forgotten.

Eddie’s hold on his pen relaxes, ever so slightly.

“You sure, Harrington?” he says. There’s still a wary edge to his voice, but there’s an undercurrent of something else, too, like he’s secretly amused despite himself. “Haven’t you heard what folks say? I could curse you.”

Steve scoffs. “That all you’ve got? I’ve dealt with way worse, man,” he says mildly.

A corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a surprised smile. Then it’s gone almost like it had never been in the first place, his gaze turning thoughtful rather than defensive.

And obviously this isn’t Eddie’s first rodeo at the whole senior year thing. Steve wonders if there’s a veil that’s been lifted for him too, wonders if he can see straight through it right now.

The bell rings.

Eddie stands up, gathering his stuff.

Steve thinks that’s the end of it: something that’s neither a success or a failure.

But then, lightning fast, Eddie darts across the table and scribbles something on the open page. Slams the yearbook shut and pushes it back over, and it feels like a challenge, like some of his caginess is back—like he’s just daring Steve to reveal that it had been a joke all along—

“Bet you’re counting down the days till you can hold your own copy, huh?” Steve says dryly, as he stuffs the book into his bag.

It’s a risk; he knows Eddie could easily take it as pure ridicule, could misinterpret it as Steve throwing the failed school years back in his face.

Eddie just shakes his head, but he could be laughing—the moment’s gone too quickly for Steve to know for sure.

“Nah, Harrington,” Eddie says easily, thrown over his shoulder as he leaves, “those things aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on.”

Steve doesn’t check the yearbook until he’s home. He eventually finds Eddie’s signature, simple black ink right in the upper corner of one page.

Good luck, Steve. —Eddie

Some of the letters are bunched a little too close together, drifting upwards on the blank page, as if they usually need lined paper to guide them—left-handed, Steve thinks vaguely.

Within a sea of scrawled nicknames and loudly enthusiastic messages, Steve finds that he kind of likes how mundane Eddie’s truly is. Likes the sign off with minimal fuss. Just “Eddie.” Likes how he was just “Steve”, too.

And yeah, if anyone needed to be told good luck, Steve thinks, with the kind of amusement that only comes from distance—pictures his past self, freaking out about monsters come to life.

He slots the yearbook into his bookcase. By summer he might forget about it altogether, left to gather dust as he works for 3 bucks an hour, but for now he marks its significance: something real, hidden alongside the bullshit.

[oken-art]

I love their complex relationship

[undertalethingems]

Unexpected Guests Chapter 10, Act Two: Page 7

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Gaster has many tricks up his semi-existent sleeves, including editing location values for entire blocks of carpet... and the people standing on them. But he didn't leave the battlefield, which means he's still a valid target for attacks, and there are two people entirely focused on doing just that.

The action continues next time, coming Nov. 30th! Stay tuned!

[egophiliac]

he's coming

I'M NOT READY

[lightgamble]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.01

I refuse to believe that a tragedy had to destroy everything. But it did.

[sealsdaily]

Today's Seal Is: Truth Coming Out Of Her Pool To Shame Mankind

[normalbrothers]

but hey the first shot at gay incest on mainstream tv. anyone could have fumbled it

[canisalbus]

Can we have a au where machete survived the assassination attempt after a struggle with the assassin and machete uses the assassin's corpse as a body double to fake his death?

Oh he's really min maxing this scenario. Two birds with one stone, good for him.

[vaguely-concerned]

lucanis reading romance novels out loud to spite in the seventh attempt to explain to him what sex is and spite bemusedly being like 'wow you people really get up to that shit I thought that was just a bit mortals did or something'

[scalpho]

zac oyama PCs and kindness unbefitting of their station, of themselves. colin having violence as basically his only skill but refusing the kind of violence they committed under the fda's orders and deli's pursuit of it that follows; lapin casting fly on theo instead of himself, a moment where he could have guaranteed himself an out but instead chose to better the rest of the party's chances, ending in his own death; pib being a trickster spirit (and thus should be a certified piece of shit) but having all his trickery guided and motivated by his ultimate goal to help - to help his friends and whatever pathetic men he decides to take under his wing along the way. does anyone understand what the hell i'm talking about over here

[pyromaniacblujay]

if kiichi-han asks you, please tell him i left saga safely

[liddlediddy]

squid game season 3 spoiler

Gi-Hun (after the inevitable Frontman reveal): if i had a nickel for every time I played the games and formed a close bond with player 001 only to be devastated when my choices directly lead to them being killed, and then later find out that not only did player 001 fake their death but turn out to be the person in charge of running the games, I would have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

[undertalethingems]

Unexpected Guests Chapter Ten: Page 13

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Gaster's caught back up with Frisk, and he won't let anyone get in his way... But Toriel can give as good as she gets. Gaster's quickly learning this 'simple procedure' has a lot more complicating variables... And he's just made on of them very, very angry.

I really would have liked to get one more page done for this update, but alas--you'll just have to see how things go down in the next update, coming May 11th!