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shelly-vision · 3 months ago

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okay time for me to ramble about Welcome Home

spoilers below obvi

okay so everything on the main site was so damn charming, the storybooks were fun, hearing Franny, Jonesy, and Bea for the first time was really cool, glad they’re real characters and not just set dressing now, and they’re all very fun and charming characters. The audio and songs were really cute, the radio interview was fun and it ship teasing Frank and Eddie and Sally and Julie more is fun and silly.

But enough about that let’s talk about the lore stuff. The Wally audio is really interesting especially since he seems to have hidden himself down there. The void under Home has been painted over, he vanished from some images, and his main profile image is looking away, plus his easel is gone. I think he’s literally hiding in the void under home for some reason. Then he directed us to all that really hard to find hidden Julie audio.

Which, holy fuck, that audio is so big. I feel like a timeline can be accurately placed for all the major stuff in this update (besides the Nature’s Remedy song, that one was just for fun). The storybook where Julie wakes up early and her siblings bring Spring early happens first. As established in the Rainbow Monster guidebook, each Rainbow Monster works on the springtime (Franny with the morning dew, Jonesy with the plants growing, Bea with the sun itself somehow which tbh is crazy that she can control the goddam sun, and Julie with flowers blooming). But since Spring came early, that weird black tulip doesn’t bloom despite her best efforts. Interestingly in the video Frank says that Julie’s family says their motto a lot so I feel like that implies they actually visit Home a lot more than I really thought they did.

Next is the Wally and Julie book. The painting at the end is of a black splotch in the shape of a flower which seems to allude to this video. Julie goes back to the flower and starts kind of just… talking to it. Not like she does the other flowers really, she just starts talking about her life. She shows the flower the painting, she talks about how she doesn’t really get along with Barnaby and Howdy, and how she gets on with Wally, Poppy, Eddie, and Sally better. She also talks about how Frank is her best friend and talks about how they met, which is really cute honestly. Her voice is quieter when imitating Frank saying that he was also new there, and then she talks about how they met Wally and that that’s how she got her home. We knew Eddie and Sally were already from elsewhere, but now we have that confirmed for Frank and Julie too. I feel like that means Wally was the first one in the neighborhood and *gave* the others their houses. Which is odd. Julie then laments that she doesn’t really think she’s funny. Then we hear Wally asking if all that really happened. Which like… I don’t even know how to go into that but that means that she told Wally about this. For some reason.

Next is the one after the Sleeping Beauty story. I think it’s interesting how despite Julie being the princess and Frank the prince, and the script saying they were supposed to kiss, Julie instead just makes a funny sound and wakes up immediately. Kinda shows to me that even though she and Frank are kind of forced into weird romantic stuff, she still does whatever she can to make sure Frank isn’t uncomfortable since, y’know, he’s gay. Anyway this story starts with the view of the sun in the sky and it looks like an eye. We also hear a low, female voice. Julie returns to the flower bud again. The video is intercut with the lower voice seemingly showing Julie’s more inner thoughts. I really don’t know what to make of most of them. They seem to be kind of… intrusive thoughts about her insecurities. They show through these last two that Julie seems *extremely* insecure compared to her more successful siblings. And she especially is scared about this flower. She worries about this meaning she’ll have to “leave” or “go back”. I think this shows that Julie feels like she’s only worth anything for what she can bring. It’s not something I expected to see from her character in this update but it definitely makes sense, it feels like all of the main 8 (maybe Julie’s siblings too) have some form of mental issues that they try to hide.

And then the fourth video starts with Julie and Frank talking after the radio interview. It seems like Julie’s siblings don’t realize that they’re inadvertently effecting Julie’s self esteem. Anyway, Julie noticed the flower again and tells Frank to wait while she goes to “say hi to her family” as she puts it. Anyway, then Julie… breaks character. The lower voice isn’t just her thoughts anymore, no, she’s not doing her usual high pitched voice, she’s actually speaking in what seems to be *real* voice. I physically cannot have prepared myself for that. I don’t know how to explain it but this somehow feels like the biggest revelation we’ve had so far. Anyway, Julie begins to panic and cry about the flower. The shot switches to the sun looking like an eye as Julie has a complete breakdown. I don’t know how to describe it but she begs for it to bloom before anyone sees. She hears Frank approaching and then… swears. Like genuinely, swears. These characters can swear. These characters know how to swear and *Julie* was the first one to swear. That’s… crazy honestly. Frank gets closer and, in her regular voice, Julie hastily makes an excuse to get him not to approach. She continues panic, and the last thing she says is “I’ll be fine, I’m as good as I ever was, I’m Julie Joyful.” in a panicked voice. I know a lot of people took Julie dropping character to mean that this is her actress speaking, but… I don’t think they have actors. This is Julie saying she’s Julie. What I think this means is that not only are all the characters played by themselves, but they, or at least Julie, feels like there’s a lot of expectations that come from that. I have no clue what to make of that. And then… it shows up.

I’m gonna be real, when I first saw this thing in the Miscellaneous section with nothing listed as to what it was, other than just being a “pal”, I thought to myself “I don’t trust this thing, this reminds me of the arg before that one Walten files episode where it labeled a white humanoid figure as “Bon” and then in the episode itself we saw that white humanoid figure was literally what was possessing Bon.” And then in the radio interview, it ended with Barnaby saying how a bud means a friend, but a flower doesn’t mean a pal. Almost as if the word pal was somehow important. And then the final video ends with this thing, only referred to as a “pal” (or a “bog” by the VA of Howdy and Barnaby in a streamer’s chat) landing on the evil flower and looking at Julie. I don’t know how to explain it, but this “pal” here is fucking evil somehow and I don’t know what that means.

Either way, the video ends there. Obviously Frank showed up after and probably tried to comfort Julie with her panic attack, and I’m saying that since we knew Frank was there and in the last two updates, it was Frank and Sally who briefly broke character to talk to Eddie and Poppy. Sally wasn’t here this time but she was still relevant with the play and Julie complimenting her a bunch with the flowers and I think this is more proof that Sally and Frank know more than the others (besides Wally probably).

So what have we learned from this? Well, Julie needs all the hug she can possibly get, she joins Eddie and Poppy in the experiencing the horror club (I’m guessing it’ll be Howdy next since Frank and Sally are already more on the know, Wally is special for several reasons, and I just feel like Barnaby would be after Howdy especially since Howdy’s had the least focus so far), and that the “bog” is not our “pal”. As for everything else… dude I am so lost this was peak but I am so confused.

#welcome home #julie joyful #wally darling #frank frankly #sally starlet #barnaby b beagle #howdy pillar #eddie dear #poppy partridge #franny joyful #jonesy joyful #bea joyful #frank x eddie #eddie x frank #julie x sally #sally x julie #Julie needs a hug

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bumblebeeswrite · 3 months ago

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APOLOGY OVER TEA | MICHAEL

summary: michael is not the best with your pregnancy, but he's trying

CW: pregnancy complications/scare (non-graphic), arguments, emotional distress, discussion of feeling dismissed/unheard, mild language, hurt/comfort themes.

The flat was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sigh that escaped your lips. You were curled on the sofa, a mountain of pillows attempting to accommodate the significant curve of your belly. Third trimester had hit you like a runaway train – aches, fatigue, and a persistent anxiety that hummed just beneath the surface. Michael was rattling around in the kitchen, the clatter of a mug against the counter echoing slightly in the small space.

He’d been… trying. You knew he was. The impending arrival of your baby seemed to both thrill and terrify him in equal measure. He’d become fiercely protective in some ways, overly cautious about what you ate or if you were getting enough rest. But in other ways, the ways that involved navigating the unpredictable landscape of your emotions or physical discomforts, he sometimes fumbled. Badly.

A sharp, pulling sensation low in your abdomen made you wince, your hand flying protectively to the spot. It wasn’t the usual Braxton Hicks tightening you’d grown accustomed to. This was different – sharper, more localized, and accompanied by a wave of nausea that wasn’t morning sickness. You took a few deep breaths, trying to assess. Was it serious? Was it just another weird pregnancy thing? The uncertainty was exhausting.

“You alright over there, love?” Michael called out, his voice slightly muffled. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, holding two mugs, steam curling from one. He had that slightly hesitant look he got when he wasn’t sure what kind of mood he was walking into.

You tried to smile reassuringly, but it felt weak. “Yeah, just… a weird pain.”

He ambled over, setting his own mug on the cluttered coffee table before handing you yours. Chamomile. He remembered you liked chamomile when you felt stressed. A small point in his favour. He sat on the edge of the sofa, careful not to jostle you too much, his gaze scanning your face. “Weird how?”

“Just… sharp. Down low,” you murmured, taking a tentative sip of the tea. The warmth helped slightly, but the underlying throb remained. “Probably nothing. Just feels… off.”

Michael’s brow furrowed slightly. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly near your bump before settling gently on your knee. “You’ve been saying things feel ‘off’ a lot lately.”

There was no accusation in his tone, not exactly, but there was a weariness to it that instantly put your teeth on edge. It was the echo of previous conversations, previous pains dismissed, previous anxieties waved away.

“Because things are off, Michael,” you said, your voice firmer than you intended. “My entire body is doing gymnastics I didn’t sign up for. Things feel different day to day, hour to hour.”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I get it. It’s just… you said your back was ‘killing you’ yesterday, and then you were fine rearranging the bookshelf five minutes later. And the heartburn thing last week…”

You pulled your knee away from his touch, the warmth of the tea suddenly feeling sickening. “Are you comparing a sharp pain in my uterus to heartburn? Or me needing to stretch my back?”

He looked flustered, running a hand through his already messy hair. “No, course not. Not like that. Just… sometimes, y’know, you get worked up. Hormones and all that.”

Hormones. The word landed like a slap. It was the ultimate dismissal, the catch-all explanation for any feeling he didn’t understand or didn’t want to deal with.

“It’s not just hormones, Michael,” you said, your voice rising despite your efforts to keep it level. The pain pulsed again, a sharp counterpoint to the growing anger in your chest. “Something feels wrong. I’m telling you, this pain isn’t like the others.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, though it sounded more placating than genuinely concerned. “Deep breaths. It’s probably just the baby shifting, yeah? Or maybe those practice contractions you were reading about.”

“They’re not supposed to hurt like this, Michael! Not sharp like this!” You shifted, trying to find a position that eased the discomfort, but it only seemed to intensify it. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes – from the pain, from the frustration, from the awful feeling of not being believed.

“Alright, maybe you’re just… being a bit dramatic?” The moment the word left his mouth, he winced, like he knew he’d stepped on a landmine.

The air went still. The hum of the fridge seemed deafening. You stared at him, the tears now threatening to spill over. Dramatic. He’d used variations before – ‘overthinking it’, ‘worrying too much’, ‘sensitive’ – but ‘dramatic’ hit differently. It felt like a deliberate minimization, a flick of the wrist dismissing not just the pain, but you.

Your voice was dangerously quiet when you spoke again. “How many times are you going to call me dramatic when I tell you something is wrong?”

The question hung between you, heavy and accusatory. Michael’s face fell. He looked genuinely taken aback, maybe even hurt, but the damage was done.

“I… I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N,” he stammered, reaching for you again. “Shit, I just… You know I worry too. Maybe I just don’t want it to be anything serious, so I…” He trailed off, unable to articulate the clumsy defence forming in his mind.

“So you dismiss it?” you finished for him, the first tear finally escaping, tracing a hot path down your cheek. “You make me feel like I’m crazy for listening to my own body? Especially now? Do you have any idea how scary that is, Michael? To feel like something might be wrong with our baby, and the person who’s supposed to be my partner, my support, thinks I’m just being dramatic?”

The pain flared again, sharper this time, stealing your breath. You gasped, clutching your abdomen tightly.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Michael said quickly, his own panic finally starting to surface as he saw the genuine distress on your face. “Shit. Okay. Is it worse? Do we need to call the midwife? Or go to the hospital?”

His sudden shift to concern felt jarring, almost insulting. It took you doubling over in pain for him to take it seriously.

“I don’t know,” you choked out, pushing yourself upright with a grunt. The movement sent another wave of agony through you. “I just… I need a minute.”

“Let me help you,” he said, trying to steady you.

You recoiled from his touch as if burned. The hurt was too fresh, the sting of his words too sharp. All the times you’d brushed off his dismissals, all the times you’d told yourself he was just awkward or scared, all the times you’d swallowed your frustration – it all came crashing down.

“No,” you said, the word stark and cold. You looked at him, your eyes swimming with tears but your gaze firm. “I want to be alone.”

Michael froze, his hands dropping to his sides. He looked utterly lost, his face a mixture of confusion, guilt, and a dawning understanding of how badly he’d messed up. “Y/N…”

“Please, Michael,” you whispered, the fight draining out of you, replaced by a profound weariness and a desperate need for space. Space from him, space from the pain, space from the fear. “Just… go. Please.”

You turned away, focusing all your energy on breathing through the persistent ache, and slowly, carefully, began to make your way towards the bedroom. You didn’t look back to see if he followed, but you heard his hesitant footsteps falter in the living room, the silence stretching between you like a chasm.

The bedroom door felt impossibly heavy as you pushed it closed, the click of the latch echoing the finality of your words. You sank onto the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms tightly around your belly. The pain was still there, a low, insistent throb, but it was momentarily overshadowed by the ache in your heart. You weren’t just scared about the baby anymore; you were scared about this. About Michael’s inability to truly hear you when it mattered most. How could you rely on him? How could you bring a child into this if he couldn’t even trust your instincts about your own body, about his child?

Tears flowed freely now, silent sobs shaking your shoulders. You felt utterly isolated, the weight of the pregnancy, the fear, and the crushing disappointment settling heavily upon you. You wanted comfort, yes, but right now, the hurt was too fresh. Being alone felt safer than being misunderstood. You laid down carefully on your side, curling around your bump, and listened to the silence, broken only by your own quiet weeping and the distant, muffled sounds of Michael existing somewhere else in the flat, shut out by more than just a wooden door.

Michael stood frozen in the living room, the echo of the bedroom door clicking shut reverberating in the suddenly too-quiet flat. Your words, “I want to be alone,” hung in the air, sharp and painful. He ran a hand over his face, his stomach twisting with a sickening mix of guilt and panic.

Dramatic. Why had he said that? He’d seen the flash of hurt in your eyes, the way you’d flinched. It had been a stupid, thoughtless defence mechanism. Because the truth was, hearing you say something was wrong, really wrong, terrified him. The idea of something happening to you, or the baby… it was a primal fear he didn’t know how to handle. So he’d deflected. Minimized. Like he always did when things got too heavy, too real.

He looked at your abandoned mug of chamomile tea on the coffee table, the steam long gone. He’d been trying to be helpful, trying to be the supportive partner you needed, but he’d failed spectacularly. Your question – How many times are you going to call me dramatic? – sliced through his pathetic excuses. It wasn’t the first time. He knew it wasn’t. He remembered the time you’d had that persistent cough you were sure was turning into bronchitis, and he’d told you it was just a cold. Turned out you’d needed antibiotics. Or the time you’d felt faint at the market, and he’d chalked it up to the heat, only for the doctor to say your iron was dangerously low.

He wasn’t malicious. He knew that. He loved you, more than he often knew how to express. But he was clumsy with emotions, especially fear. His own upbringing hadn’t exactly been a masterclass in healthy communication or vulnerability. He tended to hoard his own anxieties, letting them fester until they spilled out in clumsy, hurtful ways.

But this was different. This wasn't just about you; it was about the baby. Your baby. And you were scared. You’d tried to tell him, and he’d shut you down with the most dismissive word he could have chosen.

He sank onto the sofa where you’d been sitting, the cushions still holding the faint indentation of your body. He could hear your muffled crying from the bedroom, and each sob felt like a physical blow. He should go to you. He wanted to go to you, to apologise, to hold you, to make it better. But you’d asked for space. You’d said you wanted to be alone. And maybe, just maybe, the first step in actually listening to you was respecting that boundary, even though it killed him.

He sat there for a long time, the silence pressing in. He thought about the sharp pain you’d described. What if it was serious? What if he’d wasted precious time dismissing you? The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through him. He pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over the midwife’s contact number. Should he call? Would that be overstepping the ‘alone’ request?

No. Your health, the baby’s health, came first. His bruised ego and your current justified anger were secondary. He dialled the number, his heart pounding.

He explained the situation briefly, calmly, relaying the symptoms you’d described – the sharp, localized pain, the fact it wasn’t easing. The midwife listened patiently, asked a few clarifying questions, and then advised monitoring closely. If the pain intensified, changed, or was accompanied by other symptoms like bleeding or reduced fetal movement, you should come in immediately. Otherwise, rest, hydration, and call back if anything changed.

Hanging up, Michael felt a sliver of relief mixed with continued anxiety. It wasn't an immediate emergency, but it wasn't nothing, either. He’d been wrong to dismiss it so casually.

He needed to apologise. Properly. Not just a quick ‘sorry’, but a real acknowledgement of his behaviour, of the pattern, of the hurt he’d caused. He got up and went back to the kitchen, not rattling this time, but moving quietly. He put the kettle back on, found your favourite mug – the oversized one with the slightly chipped rim – and selected a calming lavender blend tea. He found a small packet of biscuits you liked and arranged them on a saucer. A peace offering. Pathetic, maybe, but it was a start.

Armed with the tea and biscuits, he approached the bedroom door, his stomach churning. He knocked softly, barely a whisper against the wood.

“Y/N?” he called gently. “Love? Can I… can I come in? Or just… talk through the door for a sec?”

Silence. Then, after a moment that stretched into an eternity, your voice, thick with tears but quiet, replied, “What?”

“I, uh… I called the midwife,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady. “Just to be safe. Told her what you said. She said to rest, stay hydrated, and monitor it. If it gets worse, or anything changes, we go straight in. Okay?”

There was another pause. “Okay,” you whispered.

He took a breath. This was the hard part. “And… Y/N, I am so, so sorry. For saying… that. For calling you dramatic. It was a shitty thing to say. And you were right.” He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “You asked how many times I was going to do it… and the answer should be none. Not ever again. Especially not now. I was scared, I think, and I acted like an idiot, and I made you feel unheard. And that’s the last thing I ever want to do. I know I mess up with this stuff. Talking. Listening. But I am listening now. I promise.”

He waited, holding his breath. The silence felt different this time – less angry, more contemplative.

He turned doorknob slowly. The door opened a crack, and he could see your tear-streaked face, your eyes red-rimmed and wary. You were still curled on the bed, looking small despite your pregnant belly.

“Are you really?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” he said, his own voice thick with emotion. “Yeah, I really am. I promise. I’ll try harder. I will be better.” He held up the mug. “I made you tea. The lavender kind.”

You looked at the mug, then back at him. You didn’t move to take it immediately, but you didn’t close the door either. You just watched him, searching his face. He kept his expression open, vulnerable, letting you see the genuine remorse, the worry, the love that he struggled so hard to articulate.

Slowly, he pushed the door open wider. You patted the space on the bed beside you, a silent invitation.

Michael entered cautiously, setting the tea and biscuits on the bedside table within your reach. He sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress, keeping a small distance, giving you space but being present. He didn’t try to touch you yet, just waited.

You reached for the tea, your hands trembling slightly. You took a sip, the warmth seeming to steady you a little. The sharp pain hadn’t gone away, but perhaps it had lessened slightly, or maybe the adrenaline was just fading.

“It hurts, Michael,” you whispered, looking down into the mug. “Not just… physically.”

“I know,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you. “I know I hurt you. And I hate that I did. There’s no excuse.”

You took another sip of tea. “I need you to trust me. When I say something feels wrong, I need you to believe me. Not question me or tell me it’s hormones or that I’m overreacting. I need you on my side. Especially now. I can’t do this alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he said fiercely, finally meeting your eyes fully. “You’re not. Even when I’m being a complete tosser, you’re not alone. I’m here. And I’ll listen. I swear I will. You tell me something’s wrong, I believe you. No questions, no stupid comments. Okay? We call the midwife, we go to the hospital, whatever you need. Whatever we need to do.”

You searched his eyes, seeing the sincerity there, the raw honesty that often hid beneath his awkward exterior. A tentative tendril of relief unfurled in your chest. It wouldn’t fix everything instantly, the hurt was still there, but it was a start. A real start.

You shifted slightly, wincing as the pain made itself known again. Immediately, Michael was alert. “Worse?”

“No… just still there,” you murmured.

He hesitated for only a second before reaching out, his hand hovering over your bump. “Can I?”

You nodded silently. His hand settled gently on your belly, his thumb stroking soothing circles just below the source of the ache. His touch was warm, grounding.

“We’ll figure it out, yeah?” he said quietly, his gaze soft. “Whatever it is. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You leaned into his touch slightly, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered.

He didn’t call you dramatic. He didn’t minimize the pain. He just sat with you, his hand a steady presence on your belly, his eyes full of apology and a fierce, protective determination. The flat was quiet again, but this time, the silence wasn’t empty or cold. It was filled with the weight of his apology, the tentative beginnings of trust being rebuilt, and the shared, anxious hope for the little life you were both so desperate to protect. It was a start. And right now, that felt like enough.

#joseph quinn michael #michael hoard x reader #michael hoard #joseph quinn

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cringesdead · 19 days ago

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REVIEW OF KING OF DRAG S1E1, BY A DRAG KING

I just gotta talk about it okay. Spoilers for the episode structure, but no spoilers for this week’s winner and loser.

I have not looked too closely at the critical reception on Reddit because Dragula Reddit burned me too hard with its braindead takes and occasional misogynistic pile ons. The two criticisms I’m vaguely aware of are that the production value is low and than the elimination challenge was weird and bad.

Let me say that, compared to season 1 of both RuPaul and Dragula, the cast of King of Drag blows them out of the water. These are polished, extraordinary artists the lot of them and I am SO FUCKING HAPPY to see them on tv. Crazy that Kings did not get their own show (or were ever cast on Drag Race) until 2025 but I think this cast is very reflective of the fact that-

Drag Kings have always had to work harder to get the same recognition, attention, and pay that drag queens get. This is true across the board from the highest level down to your local Friday night audience. I come from a smaller scene and while the actual drag artists make great efforts to be inclusive and recognize diverse expression, audiences on the whole tend not to get it unless you’re very dolled up and/or do burlesque or some other kind of sexy performance. The drag king starting out doing silly shit in a cheap suit largely does not get the same praise and attention as the new queen doing dips in a thrifted corset.

King of Drag S1’s production value is: very good and cute! I like the stop motion paper style, the kind of highly colorful highly art focused opening is very charming (RPDR could never), the set is nice, the stage is perfectly serviceable. I don’t understand what complaints about production value come from especially compared to season 1 of the other shows. Huh????

The pacing and flow of the show was: decent to serviceable. I’ll talk about the elimination challenge in a moment, which is definitely the part where this episode falls off for literally one minute. I really appreciated the focus on the contestants drag philosophy and experiences, and I think it’s the right choice to have a focus on taking up space and celebrating the fact that drag kings finally have their own show. I do not know if that takes away from the average viewer’s entertainment or not but I truly do not care.

I do think there was a kind of strange underlying dissonance between the masculinity of the challenges vs what a lot of drag kings (as represented by this fantastic cast) actually do? I too would have trouble doing a sports anything. I hope the challenges broaden in scope at least some, but we’ll see. The set is also kind of hypermasculine and doesn’t quite capture the spectrum of king drag like the cast does. I wonder and worry if a drag watching audience has much connection to things like sports or if hypermasculine aesthetics appeal to them. This is purely worry for their numbers and ability to retain an audience- RPDR and Dragula both have a specific aesthetic scope that is better rounded out by the artistic interpretation of their talented casts.

Some people say the king’s court (judges panel) is too big. I have no opinion either way. I think them voting for elimination down the line is good classic reality tv tension.

And now for the elephant in the room: the breakdance elimination challenge-

It does feel awkward and weird. No one really attempts a breakdance, they just vibe to the music for a bit, like it was a lip sync except there’s no words. Maybe they did the attempt but it didn’t make the edit, who knows! I watched this episode at a local gay bar and the room was very confused about why the elimination challenge was breakdance based, and the perplexed reaction lasted all the way through the performance.

In art competition shows, the elimination matters. Audiences want to feel like the contestants are being judged based on the merits of whatever art the show is about.

In RPDR, it’s a lip sync battle- a staple of drag performance and a head to head comparison of charisma uniqueness nerve and talent. It’s a very natural way to do it, and very engaging to watch.

In Dragula, which has fear factor style elimination challenges, they rarely do anything directly related to drag but they plainly lay out their philosophy- conquer your fears to find success. For me at least, this is deeply tied to being a drag artist (especially an alternative drag artist) and it’s also just flat out the queer experience for a lot of people. It’s scary. It hurts. It comes with a real threat of bodily harm at times. But you do it because the other side is more than worth it. It’s also high stakes and engaging to watch.

Drag is a crazy fucking art form. It takes a ton of different skills to do and you can fold an infinite amount of skills into it. I’ve used things from every art I’ve ever done- drawing, writing, music (composing, singing)- and I’ve had to learn a ton more like makeup and sewing and performing on a stage to even start. I feel like I’m learning three new skills per look, and there’s still a metric fuck ton I want to learn (I’ve been putting off wigs for a while now lol). All that to say, there is a LOT you can pull from for an elimination challenge, and drag is so broad of an art form that if you go in a more philosophical direction there’s tons and tons options for you.

Breakdancing, which has not been mentioned in the entire episode up to the elimination challenge, does not fill the audience’s need to witness the merits of the contestants. On top of that, no one actually Did Breakdancing (in the edit) and this was never acknowledged in the show that I saw. I wonder if they were embarrassed about it in the editing room?

I think a very simple fix to this would be to present the elimination challenge as: This is a new show and we’re going to ask you to do new things. As drag artists and especially as kings, we have to adapt while preserving our artistic vision. Therefore, give us your best drag breakdance.

I think it also would’ve helped to see them go at it one at a time, in this case, and the confessional can talk about their feelings on breakdancing and how they intend to approach the challenge with their character. What we actually got seemed rushed and swept under the rug.

Overall it was a great episode and I loved it!!!

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Big D is extremely similar to my drag dad and it makes me miss them like craazzyyyy.

I don’t have any favorites, I love them all and I want all of them to win.

Writing, recording, and choreographing a boy band number with 4 strangers after being in drag all day sounds like an absolute nightmare.

Sending the eliminated contestant off with the cast throwing flower petals over them is very sweet, I like it a lot, and I think it nicely reflects how kind and supportive drag kings are (#NotAllKings, but I stg on the whole kings are the sweetest people you’ll ever meet).

Anyway tune in next week for another review.

#king of drag #review rant #drag race #rpdr #dragula #drag king #drag #drag thing

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coldshrugs · 2 months ago

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don't say it's unholy

characters: io laithe, haurchefant greystone, mentions of estinien varlineau word count: 924 rating: explicit - minors do not interact note: set in affair AU, where io is married to haurchefant out of obligation post-HW. something i wrote for a prompt on discord. not a fun time for them, but the awkwardness is fun for me :>

The fire is low in the Commander’s chamber of Camp Dragonhead. Even in the dim light, the room is unchanged since Io was here last; cluttered shelves and a desk overflowing with missives and reports show Haurchefant’s procrastination. It was charming once. Now, like so many little things, Io only finds it tedious.

Still, they fumble through the motions. Clumsy, misaligned touches and kisses they don’t allow to linger. Io’s hand in his trousers, stroking him until he's hard enough. Haurchefant’s fingers rub at some arbitrary place very near the place, but he is careless to try harder. He dips lower, an investigation. Has their half-assed effort to arouse made a crack in today's annoyances?

“Have you missed me, darling?” His voice darkens, affected lust barely concealing their shared frustration. They've had a bad day. A series of bad days, really, where their best parts erode with every hour they share.

No, the words stick behind her teeth, I relish the quiet when you are gone. I only needed to get out.

“Fuck me,” she whispers into his mouth. Kisses him hard, sloppy, then pulls him into bed.

Haurchefant falls over her. “Ill-advised as your trip has been, I sometimes forget just how dauntless you can be. Do you remember the first time I had you, here in this room?” Io makes a noise of affirmation as she reaches between them, guiding him where she needs him most. This is the only thing she needs from him right now. He continues, “Let us make tonight an ode to that beginning.”

He fills her with a rough grunt, and his dick suffices for her purpose—a good distraction, the easy way to scratch an itch. They haven’t been together like this in weeks. She should want to see him, to witness his eyes unfocus and his mouth loll open as he thrusts.

Io adjusts so his face is buried between her shoulder and neck.

Her mind wanders elsewhere—to the hinterlands at sunset in the company of another, and the friendly rivalry tingling along her skin during a hunt. Hope swelling in her chest each time Estinien smiled. She leaned into him, head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. It was enough to leave her questioning if the shelter she felt in his company was her invention or something more.

Then there was the ball… Io thought she might ask him to dance, or invite him to step away from the party for a moment of peace, but Estinien made things spectacularly clear that night. She’s made herself a puppet, and he is right to want nothing to do with her. Knowing that doesn’t patch the wound.

Haurchefant sucks her neck. It's almost pleasant if she tunes out his voice. Perhaps her cooling embers can still be stoked into a blaze. There is some pleasure in the act itself, after all, even if her affection for the partner has dwindled.

Io runs her hands down her husband’s back, avoiding the thick, knotted scar along his spine—he has asked her to stay clear, so she will. She imagines a different landscape, vividly etched in her mind from the few times Estinien let her help with his bandages. He’d watched her cautiously, the way a mistreated dog warily eyes an open hand. Vulnerable and ready to bite. He trembled through it, held in place, she assumed, by trust and a need to learn if he could be handled gently, after everything.

Haurchefant moving inside her does not compare to that kind of intimacy.

How is she meant to think of anything besides what Estinien’s weight might feel like if he were the one pressing her into his bed, or his reaction after brushing strands of silver from his eyes? Would he watch her in his quiet, knowing way, sharp eyes softened by another kind of vulnerability?

These thoughts are only hypothetical. They are no longer friends. And there are things on this star she was never meant to have, much less keep.

Haurchefant rolls them so she sits high on his lap. “You seem far away, my lady. I trust all is well?”

Everything is wrong.

“Forgive me. I lost myself in a memory, the same as you.”

Can’t you see it? How wrong this is?

He looks tired, lips pursed in a disappointed line. “The lead is yours, find your pleasure as you like.”

Io closes her eyes and rocks her hips. Haurchefant gives her thighs a cursory squeeze as she takes over, but there is no fire in his stationary touch. The thin thread of Io’s longing unravels, and she is not surprised: it was not for him anyway. If sex is to be a marital utility instead of a shared joy, she will await his monthly visits to Fortemps Manor. She will be a dutiful wife and only half a lover.

Haurchefant comes, his teeth gritted in concentration. A strange comfort, seeing him claw his way to orgasm. The one she lost is less of a pity. For better or worse, they endure this together.

They clean up. He adds a few logs to the hearth. They tangle together under a thick quilt, but it feels like a performance—another thing they force. The silence thickens around them. Neither asks about recent activities or interests, nor recounts previously unheard tales. For the first time, Io is eager to return to Ishgard.

It must be the small hours of the morning before Io drifts toward sleep. She prays gray eyes visit her dreams.

#azia writes #misery au #after seeing the post about bad and awkward sex i was compelled to share lmao

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saltymongoose · 2 years ago

Note

ohh my goodness. i've been waiting to send these until requests were open bc i wanted to hear ur thoughts.

might be a little silly, but consider: matching outfits. player gathers clothing materials!! and coordinates outfits one day on missions!!!! even makes props!!! hijinks ensue. idk if this had already been disscussed before, but thank you for your time and consideration, ily. you are so cool <<3333!!!!!!! everything you make is so scrumptious!!!!! <33

Omg, thank you, this is so nice of you!!! :D ❤❤❤❤ I love this art so much, you have no idea - the way you portray the boys here fits so well (as always lol). And the memes too omg!! I can't even put it into words to be honest with you, these are just excellent. I do feel slightly bad for that random grunt though, something tells me they'll be sleeping with one eye open after seeing that lmao.

(Also, thank you so much for the compliments too of course, you're far too kind. (˶⸃ ⴰ⸃˶)♡ I could say the same to you btw; your art is always just *chef's kiss* perfection.)

Anyhow, I've actually thought a bit about this scenario before, but this just inspired me, so I wrote some short hcs for you. Hope you like them! <3:

The Player Matches Outfits with Them ft. The Main 3 + 2BDamned

(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior)

- [2BDAMNED] -

2BDamned knew that you had been working on a little project - one that you tried to keep as secret as possible. He was curious, but not enough to encroach on whatever boundary you set regarding it. All he knew from your rather lackadaisical explanation was that he'd be very surprised when he saw. And, well, he was.

The first conscious thought in 2BDamned's head is the question of how you've managed to make a mask that looks so similar to his without borrowing the original. It's really spot on; the seams are in the exact same place, and even if yours has to have been configured differently to fit your more human facial features, the silhouette is exactly the same.

(In the end, he concludes that you simply must've studied his appearance for a while to truly replicate his mask, which makes him feel almost giddy in a way he might've deemed embarrassing before meeting you. But now he's just overcome with happiness that you were obviously interested enough in him to do this.)

He openly praises your skill in sewing, knowing that grunt clothing is ordinarily much too large for you. And you'd notice how the fondness he holds for you seeps into the words, his gaze lingering on you in a way that left you feeling warm.

If you could see underneath his own mask, you'd be able to see the smile he was unable to bite back as well, and the flush that he'd try to will away otherwise. And while he is incredibly impressed (and happy) at what you've managed to put together, he will mention that you could also borrow his actual things once in a while, if you feel so inclined. He just happens to think one of his own jackets might suit you too.

(Of course, he doesn't miss the chance to lean real close to adjust your mask as he says this either, just to fluster you even more. You really have no idea how cute you are, especially looking like this.)

- [DEIMOS] -

A full minute of unintelligible sputtering leaves Deimos' lips the moment he sees your new outfit, and you laugh at the way his face goes bright red. When you said you had a surprise, this was one of the last things he expected.

Luckily for him, he's able to quickly gather his composure, and his excited ramblings turn into smooth flirts that'll leave you blushing instead of him. Expect all sorts of comments about how cute you looked dressed up like him, and praises about how you look even better in his fit than he does.

He insists on taking a ton of pictures together, and you can bet he keeps his favorite in his wallet. (It's one of your faces smushed together as you both grin at the camera, making a heart with your hands.)

He considers this a total power-couple thing; matching shirts are so low-effort compared to this, if anything it shows you perfect you are together. Although there is one thing he'd help you change from your original DIY version of his outfit - those sheet-metal dog tags you made can't compare to the real thing in his opinion, so why don't you just use one of his instead?

Also, don't think he won't take advantage of the fact that you both are the only ones with headsets. Even if yours isn't functioning (because let's be honest, finding one in working condition would be difficult), he'll fix it up quickly just so he can talk more directly to you during missions. And whenever else he wants to, to the irritation of the other three.

- [SANFORD] -

Sanford would consider his outfit to be fairly standard, but he recognized that you were emulating him the moment you slid the sunglasses on. And he couldn't stop the goofy smile from splitting his face when he realized it either, not even attempting to hide his amusement at what you've done.

(He only gets visibly happier when you 'threateningly' brandish your wire hook in his direction. You really put a lot of thought into this, didn't you?)

While Sanford has the amount of restraint in him to not openly brag about you doing this, he can't deny the rush of satisfaction he gets from seeing you in what is an unmistakable homage to him. If you look closely, you'll see him straighten up in pride whenever you come into view. (It's almost like preening, really. If he weren't so flushed, perhaps you'd think it to be more of an ego thing, but no.)

Although, he does show a little bit more concern about some aspects of your outfit. Like your boots, for example; he can't count the number of times he's gotten blisters while breaking in his own, so you should expect him to ask you if you need any plasters (or help bandaging yourself as well).

(If you decide to accept his offer, you'll find yourself questioning whether he ever officially trained as a medic before. He surely has the gentleness befitting of one, shown in how he carefully cleans your wounds and softly applies the ointment, his calloused fingers gently smoothing over the plasters on your Achilles heels afterward. Although you have the slightest suspicion that this tenderness from him is known only to you.)

Sanford will also make it part of his routine to pluck your glasses from your nose and clean them after he does his own. Afterward, he'll slowly lean in when he places them back on you to make sure he doesn't poke you in the eye. Neither of you mention that you could do it yourself, or that his decision to slide them back onto the bridge of your nose himself was highly unnecessary. Maybe he just does it to get a better look at the way you blink up at him and blush, or perhaps it's for some other reason, who's to say? Either way, you have no complaints.

- [HANK J. WIMBLETON] -

Your laughs are muffled under Hank's hands as he cups your face, tilting it up to look closely at you. His excitement at your new look is almost palpable; you can easily tell from how he's shaking and hurriedly looking over, his gaze never stopping on one spot for longer than a second. He just wants to take in everything about your new look, is all.

He'll almost insist on doing a mission with you wearing it, not only because the idea sounds fun to him (with his love of carnage and all), but also because it provides an excellent opportunity to rub in everyone else's faces that you chose to copy his outfit. Not theirs.

In a way, he also becomes just a tad more doting than usual. He busies himself with dusting you off, and adjusting your goggles and the lapels of your coat whenever another skirmish is finished. It's his way of checking you over and making sure your hard work wasn't damaged either.

(Plus, he'd hate it if this instance of you copying him was cut short because of some worthless grunts' attempts at harming you.)

You'll catch him sticking closer to you than usual too, and he does so for multiple reasons. First is that he just prefers to be near you whenever he can anyway (the warmth of your presence is one of his favorite things, and it gives ample opportunity to show off around you), but now there's also the fact that your outfit will freak out your enemies. As you can imagine, he enjoys that immensely, and what better way to improve this experience than to have his Player join him?

In a way, Hank also sees this as a sort of 'claim' you've put on yourself too. Wearing your significant other's clothing is kind of a thing with some grunts, and while he knows they aren't really his clothes, there's still some of that same sentiment there that makes him purr just a bit louder whenever he sees you in that new outfit of yours. It tells the world you're his in some way, even if not officially. So why wouldn't he be happy about that?

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outercrasis · 2 months ago

Text

Wintertime Blues

Characters: Bucky Barnes & a special surprise (no pairing)

Word count/Rating: 1.3k / T

Summary: Bucky struggles in the winter months. Walks help clear his head.

***

It's harder in the winter months. He would laugh at the irony of it if he wasn't the one reliving the reasons why.

Dr. Raynor had mentioned seasonal depression to him once. They both knew what he was dealing with went far beyond that. Still, he attempted the methods.

He increased his already rigorous training schedule. He made sure his meals were balanced and healthy. He made more of an effort to talk with others, even John. He bought one of those light therapy lamps that he was convinced did nothing other than provide a nice glow to read by.

None of it seemed to make a difference. None of it, except the walks.

Irony layered on irony. Nothing else calms his mind like walking through the cold and snow that drives him to the darkest corners of it.

Bucky never cared for the winter, even as a kid. There was a chill that would creep into his bones – not leaving until the spring thaw. Steve usually got sick, sometimes bad enough to keep him up at night with worry. One winter the temperatures got so low he and Rebecca had to share a bed just to keep warm at night. The days ended sooner, keeping him cooped up for too long and feeling claustrophobic.

The eight year old version of him had no idea just how cold the world could really get. New York winters had nothing on a Serbian one. No winter could ever compare to being put on ice.

The time he spent in the freezer itself was almost a blessing. A blissful nothingness – as close to death as he could come. Free of the violence he otherwise underwent or inflicted. He still couldn't find the right words to describe the way it felt. Not quite asleep, nor quite dead. Untethered. Separate from himself and time. Waking up each time hoping for it to be the last.

It set a chill into him he's never been able to shake. Deeper than bone. Permanent. Constant. Something he can never make amends with. Something the spring thaw can no longer remove.

The snowfall under the streetlights is far more peaceful than the driving winter storms of the Russian tundra. It’s directionless, drifting gently before landing like soft kisses on his cheeks. He's able to watch individual flakes as they land and appreciate their unique beauty instead of fighting against them as tiny projectiles.

Not many people go outside to brave this kind of weather, especially in the dark. For a city that never sleeps, this is as close as it comes.

Bundled up in his winter gear, Bucky is warm and as anonymous as anyone else. He's grateful for both. The less of a chill he feels and the more privacy he gains, the better. Having people come up and ask for photos is still something he's getting used to.

His walk is mindless. Meandering. He follows no set course and simply goes wherever his feet take him. Turning this way and that, noting places he'd like to visit in the daylight hours. Free from worry of where he needs to go next or when he should return to home base.

If not for the serum running through his veins he would have passed the alley by. Right at the edges of his hearing, he caught it. An animal's soft cry.

Bucky's feet move him towards the sound.

As automatic of a movement as it is, panic grips him for a fraction of a moment. I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James Bucky Barnes. The fear passes with the breeze.

Each step brings the noise closer, until he's stopped in front of a dumpster. There's no echo to the cry, so he figures it's likely below and not in it. Bucky crouches, nearly flattening himself on the ground in order to get a proper look underneath. His heart squeezes at what he sees.

Two small blue eyes, staring back at him in a field of white. He's suddenly twenty-six again, ducking into alleys to protect something that can't protect itself.

Bucky sticks his arm out like a reflex. He doesn't know if it's a good or bad sign that the cat hardly flinches. She makes another cry instead, shivering in the still lowering temperatures. His hand cups around her small form to pull her out.

He's quick to dust the front of his clothes off from the snow as he stands. As revolutionary as modern fabrics could be, he doesn't want to end up wet. Bucky cautiously leans down and picks the cat up. She's no kitten, but still quite small. He can’t imagine she's yet a year old. She feels slight, lighter than she should.

He can't leave her here.

He opens up his jacket and settles her in against his chest. Zipping it back up is a delicate process, but manageable. Then he does what he never has before and pulls out his phone – using GPS to find the fastest route home.

Bucky doesn't think of much else on the walk back. He's listening closely, monitoring every breath and tiny heartbeat. Halfway through they start to even out, falling into a natural steady rhythm. It calms his own.

Something or someone must be looking out for Bucky, as everything is quiet when he returns home. There's usually someone milling about and he was unprepared to answer any questions. Yelena was either going to be pissed or excited about this development. The others, he didn't much care – except Bob, who would likely be quite happy.

Bucky paws through the kitchen, thrilled when he manages to find a can of tuna. He could go out and get real cat food tomorrow.

In his room, he sets up a nest of blankets to lay the cat in at the foot of his bed. He's ginger as he takes her out of his jacket. She doesn't make a noise, but instead blinks at him wearily. More of his nerves fade away.

He keeps an eye on her while he removes his winter gear and puts on loungewear. She keeps her eyes on him as well. Now out of the snow, she looks like an oversized cotton ball with eyes. Her coat is a pristine white, eyes brightly shining blue. Bucky has never thought of a cat being pretty before.

He ducks into the bathroom, filling up a dish with water for her to drink. Stepping out, he nearly spills it as the cat has gotten up from her spot and begun to twine herself around his legs.

Bucky huffs affectionately. “Okay, just give me a moment. I was getting this for you, ya know.”

He grabs the can of tuna and opens it as he sits down, leaning back against the wall. The cat approaches him without hesitation, taking only two sniffs before biting into the tuna. She seems to enjoy it immensely. Bucky's heart grows fonder still.

Bucky never had a pet of his own growing up. There were a couple strays his sister had fed, but Rebecca had also been the one to name them. He knew better than to get attached to animals they couldn't keep.

Finishing her meal, Bucky expects the cat to return to the blanket nest and fall asleep. She surprises him instead, marching right onto his lap and curling up. He slowly moves his hand toward her head. Nerves are replaced by joy as she pushes her head into the vibranium. A low rumbling purr starts only moments later.

He stays there with her. Unwilling to move until she decides the moment is right. Bucky doesn't even remember falling asleep.

The next morning comes with a knock at his door. It slides open to reveal Bob, probably sent as he was the least likely member of the team to get yelled at for waking him.

“Hey, Bucky-” Bob cuts himself off as he takes stock of Bucky sitting up on his bed, a white cat in his lap. He smiles. “What's her name?”

Bucky looks down at the small ball of fluff. Only one name comes to mind.

“Alpine.”

***

A/N: Literally no one asked me to write this or start writing for this character but here I am with the same brainrot I had when I was 15 <3

If you enjoyed it, let me know!

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #thunderbolts fanfic #crasis writes

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marblemoovt · 1 year ago

Text

Take Care - Whis/Reader

MASTERLIST

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, Mentions/depictions of anxiety and depression. Anything else is in the tags <3

SUMMARY:

Sometimes it’s easy to forget when to eat or do basic care, but it becomes an issue when it happens frequently. And Whis has started to notice that something is wrong. When subtlety doesn’t cut it, a confrontation is required, and sometimes hidden feelings are revealed in the process.

------

“Nobody has seen you in days,” and he states it like a fact.

Any excuses that I’ve created disappear from my mind, and I have no ammunition against his claim.

“The others have started to notice. They’re—I’m worried.”

I stare blankly, before bursting into laughter. “You? You’re worried about little old me?” I grin and shrug off his hand. “Thanks, but I’m doing perfectly fine. I was planning to visit today.”

“I can see that you’re troubled,” he says, and I squirm underneath his penetrating gaze.

I avoid his eyes and shrug my shoulders. “This is my normal resting face,” I say with a lazy grin.

Whis holds my hands. “Just know that I’m here to help because I care.” He clears his throat and switches topics. “Now, let's get you something to eat.”

NOTE:

Hello! The last time I posted a finished fic on this site was October of last year (°ー°〃)

I did not experience any life-threatening situations. I didn't survive an accident and upload this from a hospital bed on the verge of death as I struggle to type this all out. My life is not that chaotic, and I appreciate that it's 'mundane'

Life happened and I got a bit burnt out. I have other hobbies that also take up a lot of my time and commissions that are prioritized over stories I write for myself.

That being said, this story was a commission and they graciously allowed me to share the fic publically. I don't often write in first-person, but expect any subsequent Whis fics to be in the same format.

Also, just a fair warning that I know absolutely nothing about Dragon Ball other than what I was able to gather from the Wiki and a few clips.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

“This is delicious. Try some,” Whis says, offering his plate to me.

The squeak of metal cutlery against porcelain pierces my eardrums as I push my food around. It takes great effort to maintain my smile. “No thank you,” I decline. I can barely stomach what I already have. Accepting his offer would be a waste of his kindness thanks to my absent appetite.

It’s not like I didn’t want to eat, but more that I couldn’t. There was no desire for food. And if there were, it would be forgotten once another task consumed me. My limbs ache for the comfort of my bed, weary after a long day at work.

The chatter around me becomes grating to my ears, and every cell in my body screams to run, hide, and be alone. I glance at my friends, admiring their energy compared to my low social battery. The food is tasteless on my tongue, and I set my fork down, forcing myself to swallow the last mouthful.

“Are you done already?” Whis asks, and he almost looks… surprised?

“People normally stop eating once they’re full,” I say, pushing away my plate—still full of food.

Beerus snatches my plate and dumps the contents into his mouth, shrugging at Whis’s look of disapproval. “What? They said they were done,” he says.

I stand up and wave goodbye to everyone. With no remaining evidence of my recent eating habits, they all respond like usual. Some even suggest I take a break from work to hang out more.

The only one who’s different is Whis.

“At least take some for later,” Whis says, handing me a small bundle. I peek inside and see a variety of snacks.

“Thanks,” I say, hoping the exhaustion doesn’t slip into my smile.

The mask doesn’t come off until I arrive home. I set the snacks down on my desk but decided it would be safer to refrigerate them. The bright white light sears into my retinas, and I blink until my vision clears. There’s no competition for space, and the bundle looks lonely in the fridge.

I shut the door and hope I don’t forget about it.

After staring at the list of chores I promised myself I would complete, I opt to just sleep.

The same routine repeats. Over and over—until Whis appears at my front door one day.

“Beerus sent me on a hunt for delicacies, and I absolutely cannot carry it all. I was walking and remembered you live nearby,” Whis speaks behind a tower of food. It’s honestly impressive how nothing has fallen yet.

“An almighty being such as yourself can’t handle a bit of manual labour?” I snark, biting my lip to contain the laughter.

“Even if I can’t see your face, I can still tell you’re making fun of me,” he says. “Will you help me or not?”

I glance behind at the dust building up on my floor and the cleaning supplies that sit abandoned in the cupboard.

“Why not,” I say with a nonchalant shrug, shutting the door behind me. “I can take time out of my busy schedule to help.”

Lies, but they came out of my mouth with such ease. At least today I won’t lay in bed and realize hours have passed in the blink of an eye.

The journey is silent as I balance a stack of cookies and chocolates. But the lack of conversation makes me sweat. Am I being too awkward? Maybe I should say something, but my mind is blank.

“I haven’t seen you at the dinners lately,” Whis says.

I nearly stumble in my steps. “What?”

“Your absence has left a profound emptiness at the tables.”

His face is still hidden behind boxes and bags.

I purse my lips and say, “Work has kept me busy lately.”

Whis’s thoughtful hum fills the gap in our conversation. “Pace yourself. Nothing good ever comes out of overworking,” he says.

I stare at him, unable to decipher his tone. He sounded—dare I say—concerned for my well-being? There’s no way. This is Whis we’re talking about. To him, I hold the same significance as a bug crawling on the ground.

We continue in silence. Worries that I did something wrong plague my thoughts. But Whis makes no further comment and thanks me when we reach his destination. He offers some of the food as a reward.

A companion for the lone bundle that still sits in my fridge.

Life continues in its monotonous cycle, with each morning harder than the last. Some days I’m lucky to even get out of bed.

Working overtime becomes automatic at this point and my attendance at gatherings is now sporadic. Sitting at home, the sunlight reveals tiny particles floating in the air, and laundry has begun piling up in the hamper. Did I remember to shower today?

Despite all this, I can’t bring myself to do anything about it. But seeing myself slide down that slippery slope of neglect further propels my anxiety, which fuels worries over my inability to just get things done. It’s a vicious cycle. Neverending. It leaves me ragged, too exhausted to haul myself out of the depressive pit I’ve dug myself into.

How long has it been since I’ve seen my friends? I need to visit soon; I don’t want to worry them. Otherwise, they’ll come to visit me, and then they’ll see how pathetic I really am.

A knock on my door sends my heart leaping into my throat. I sit up, my limbs tangling in the sheets.

“Is anyone home?” A voice calls out. It’s muffled by the door, but I recognize it immediately.

Maybe if I keep quiet, he’ll go away?

“I know you’re in there. I can sense your presence,” Whis says. A rap knocks against the wood. “Please open the door before I resort to more… intrusive methods.”

I scramble out of bed and run to the door, flinging it open.

Whis’s eyes widen, and he stares at me without a word. He lets out a low whistle and asks, “What happened?”

“Why do you care?” It comes off more snappy than I intended, but I can only beat myself up for it later.

He ignores my question and steps around me to enter inside. “I knew you weren’t eating well lately, but this is… getting out of hand.”

“And how would you know that?” I scoff and cross my arms. Whis is indifferent; it's a core part of his personality. The destruction of entire planets doesn’t phase him. Now he’s going out of his way because I skipped a few meals here and there?

“My powers of observation are quite astute. I deduced something was wrong due to the discrepancy between the amount of food you and other Saiyans consume,” Whis says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I flinch but do my best not to recoil from his touch. The uneasiness gives way to a comforting warmth. I want a hug, but I’d rather die than tell him that.

“Like I said, work is hectic, and I haven’t had much time to cook or eat,” I say.

Whis doesn’t look like he believes me.

“Nobody has seen you in days,” and he states it like a fact.

Any excuses that I’ve created disappear from my mind, and I have no ammunition against his claim.

“The others have started to notice. They’re—I’m worried.”

“I can see that you’re troubled,” he says, and I squirm underneath his penetrating gaze.

I avoid his eyes and shrug my shoulders. “This is my normal resting face,” I say with a lazy grin.

Whis holds my hands. “Just know that I’m here to help because I care.” He clears his throat and switches topics. “Now, let's get you something to eat.”

The fridge pops into my mind. “I still have those snacks you gave me.”

Whis wrinkles his nose and says, “Those must taste dreadful by now. I’ll have to dispose of them before you attempt to eat any.”

“I wouldn’t eat cookies that have gone bad!”

“No, but you would leave them in your fridge until an entire bacterial colony grew. Let me take care of you today. Go. I’ll prepare a meal while you cleanse yourself.” He waves me off to the bathroom.

I grab a change of clothes, sighing at the laundry that awaits me. “Whis?” I turn to look back at him.

“Yes, darling?” And I swear my heart nearly flops out of my chest. I fight to keep the fire underneath my skin under control.

“Thanks,” I mumble, hiding my face behind my hair.

“Anything for you. Anything.”

And somehow, I can feel that he means it.

I step out of the shower, and the air is cool against my damp skin. I feel better; my thoughts are clearer and less jumbled. The smell of cream and garlic wafts through the house, and I immediately start salivating.

I speed walk to the kitchen, where Whis adds chicken to a skillet and stirs in some cheese. There’s an ache in my stomach, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this hungry.

He doesn’t say much, only smiles and says that it’ll take a few minutes for the sauce to thicken. I watch as he plates the pasta, trailing after him to the dining table.

“Have a seat,” Whis says, patting his legs.

My eyes feel like they’ll pop out of their sockets. “On your lap?” I ask.

“I must ensure you eat an adequate amount.”

I stare at him, waiting for him to say he’s kidding or that it was a joke. But he waits in silence, smiling wider when I stumble over my answer. “Um, well—ok?” I say, sitting down in a daze.

Strong arms wrap around my waist, and Whis’s breath tickles my ear. “I won’t release you until you consume everything on this plate.” His tone is firm, and he teases me with a squeeze.

I’m glad he can’t see my face well. I clear my throat and pick up a fork, twirling a generous amount of pasta before shoving it into my mouth. The milkiness of the cream and cheese, combined with the garlic, makes for a rich sauce that complements the chicken. I can’t contain the content noises as I continue eating.

“Someone’s happy,” Whis chuckles.

“I’m not.”

He hums and leans back. “That’s not what your tail tells me.”

Only now do I notice my tail is wagging back and forth. I have to make a conscious effort to keep it still, willing it to stay down.

“I don’t even like Chicken Alfredo,” I say.

“Then why is it always the first dish you eat when it’s available?”

He’s close. Too close.

His skin feels like ice against mine, and I struggle to hear anything over the thundering of my heart.

“And how would you know that?” I ask, squirming in his hold.

Whis keeps me locked tight in his arms. “Because it would be disrespectful to not know the favourite food of the one I love.”

“You… love me?” I whisper, feeling an ache in the back of my throat.

“I do, and I want you to love yourself just as much. So please let me help. Please confide in me.” He rests his chin on my shoulder, and his presence envelopes me with comfort and peace.

The last wall in my defence crumbles.

It all spills out of me. Everything I went through in the past few weeks, how hopeless I feel, the anxiety that gnaws at my ribcage like a greedy little rat. He listens to me, nodding and offering words of comfort.

“You’ll be alright,” Whis says, stroking my hair. His cuirass is streaked wet with my tears, something I apologize continuously for, to which he reaffirms that it’s ok. “You won’t feel this way forever, and you don’t have to endure it alone. Asking for help is not shameful. I think it’s brave. To ask for help is to admit your faults and acknowledge that you seek improvement.”

“It is?” I sniffle, not wanting to add snot to the mix.

“You have your friends, and, most importantly, you have me,” Whis says. His expression is tender—shy. Can you imagine? The indifferent immortal shy?

I didn’t know he could hold so much affection in his eyes.

I wipe my face with my sleeves, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Can you make me Chicken Alfredo every day then?” I ask.

Whis gives me an incredulous look. “Every day? Won’t you get sick of it?”

I shake my head, smiling at the thought of seeing him in my kitchen daily. Maybe I could buy him an apron?

“On one condition,” Whis says, and I wait with bated breath. “You allow me to aid you in cleaning your house.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” I trail off, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

A tug on my tail surprises me. “You’re so cute when you’re excited,” Whis laughs, holding the animated appendage in his hands. He kisses my burning cheeks and says, “I know you would appreciate my company.”

I take the last bite of my pasta and show him the empty plate. “I’m done eating, can you let go now?”

Whis releases me, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll take that as a yes then,” he says.

We spend the rest of the day together, cleaning around the house. I tackle my overdue laundry and Whis washes the dishes that have piled up in the sink.

By the end of it all, I was exhausted but happy. The house looks great again; it looks like it did before I stopped cleaning. Seeing how orderly my environment became actually eased some of my anxiety, which is a huge weight off my chest.

“Thank you, Whis,” I say with as much sincerity as I could muster.

He pats my head and says, “It was no trouble at all. Don’t worry, I’ll always be there to catch you if you fall.”

Heat prickles my skin, and the apples of my cheeks tingle.

“Does this change anything between us?” I ask, fidgeting with my fingers.

Whis tilts my chin up to meet his gaze. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Only if you want it to,” he says.

I stare at the wall behind him. “Only if you do,” I mumble.

Whis claps his hands together. “It’s settled then. Now sleep, I'll make you breakfast in the morning,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I nod, following him in a daze as he leads me to the bedroom. Whiz’s laughter echoes through the hallways, and I end up holding my tail to stop it from swishing. No force in the universe can stop my tail once Whis climbs into bed with me.

“I’m making sure you rest well,” is his excuse, but I know better.

Sleep comes easy to me that night, the spot on my forehead still tingling. Whis’s arms keep me warm and I inhale his scent as I’m pressed against his chest. His gentle voice lulls me to sleep and I dream of food, Chicken Alfredo, and Whis and his affectionate gestures.

END NOTE:

This fic might become a series. I'm not sure whether I'll upload it as one (chapters) or individual one-shots. Probably the latter as I don't think they'll directly happen after each other.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Taglist: @lovecats123451

#dragon ball x reader #whis x reader #dragon ball #dragon ball super #whis dbs #commission #no y/n #gender neutral reader #slow burn #fluff #angst #Reader does not take good care of themselves #but Whis is there to help them

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sgiandubh · 2 years ago

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Logo wars: the unicorn vs. the griffin

Ever since August, the battle between the Warchief and the Sassenach has been lurking somewhere, on the outskirts of my radar. While some still deny there is anything going wrong between S and McTavish, I have strong reservations it's all about sunshine, lollipops and roses in that department. And I couldn't help but wonder if the key to the problem was not to be found in the very disingenuous way Graham chose to build the marketing strategy of his products and to update his own personal brand, in the process.

So I took a deep dive into socials and this is something that is going to take some more time to complete. If this kind of content is not your jam or you disagree with my premises, it's totally fine with me, but maybe you should skip these posts. And since we have to start somewhere, let's start with their companies' logos: they have a lot of things to tell us.

Soon after the Remarkable Week-end, S finally unveiled a business project he'd been alluding to for quite a while (if anything is wrong in here, kindly correct me in comments). This was the logo and the slogan they are still using until today:

The Sassenach Unique Spirits. Spirit of Home.

As compared with what McTavish released this summer:

McTavish Spirits. A Scotsman's Dream of America.

First logo: clean, sober lines. A Unicorn, whose contours seem more aptly designed for a sports car or a new, innovative line of home equipment (think rather audio systems, not refrigerators). Or even an elegant, country life oriented clothing line, with all the paraphernalia (gloves, scarves, etc - but we already knew about the First Love tartan, then, so it's still a possibility).

Unique spirits, with all my deep affection and due respect for a real effort, is not the best they could have come up with. You see, that's hardly a sales argument or an efficient pitch. Just like any dog owner on this planet would tell you that Bebe or Fido or Snoopy are 'the best dogs ever', a new entrepreneur would confidently tell you his booze is 'unique'. The effort S put into patiently educating his passion for whisky and creating something personal out of it deserved better. Not the completely expected and almost meaningless 'unique' - this is very lazy copywriting, I think (not a copywriter, just an exacting client, here). It spells low budget where we needed something irresistible.

Onwards to the Unicorn. Of course, it's all about Scotland - it's whisky, for Christ's sake. But, it's also about this:

This is the sixth panel of one of the most moving, exquisite things that ever graced this planet: The Lady and the Unicorn cycle of Flemish tapestries, now making the pride and joy of the Cluny National Museum of the Middle Ages, in Paris. A place I know well and was a very frequent visitor of, when I was living just about three blocks away from it. Its story has to do with the Five Senses and this is the last panel, featuring a mysterious message on that lavish tent's roof:

A mon seul Désir. It's French for: "To my sole desire". Unique, indeed.

Let's let things flow a bit in free association mode (I know Puffy did it on her blog with the Barbour project, but she didn't invent it and she certainly has no copyright - so yeah, waiting for a couple more idiots to block right after posting this):

Unicorn... Scotland... legend... purity...even Mary Queen of Scots asked for a unicorn horn to make sure the water was not poisoned, while in prison... untamed...chivalry.... woman...only a woman can tame and lure a unicorn... Medieval...Cluny... desire... sole desire... soul desire (heh)...unique...passion.... statement... labor of love... personal testimony...first love and we wrap it up nicely with a smile ('she is the original Sassenach', ahem).

That was the first set of (genuine) talking points he went with. Now, we deal with a contorted & painful explanation: Scotland is an inclusive nation and land, I am the Sassenach, etc. What do our unsuspecting American friends know, after all? But to a #silly European, it makes no sense: yes, Scotland is a very inclusive, open and even avantgarde society for many things, but this is whisky and should spell tradition, not innovation. It should spell mystery and something that comes (at great costs) from a faraway, fabled land of mists and druids and lochs. Not from a blaring EDI crossroads, where people are gathered to protest against global warming. Then how about that unnecessary 'I am the Sassenach' - no, Sir, you aren't, plus I hope you know how we, shippers immediately interpret it ('blood of my blood and bone of my bone' - 😁).

But your main problem with the name and the brand that goes along with is not even this. The problem is that a unicorn is always female. You have a feminine brand for a masculine product.

So instead of a haphazard explanation which smells of improv, why not just take the second, abstract, meaning of unicorn and just say cheekily something along those loose lines, for example:

'Well, we are a new, innovative enterprise which aspires to be a smaller unicorn in the world of spirits. Maybe we'll never make it to 1 billion dollars, but it's the bravery and the innovative spirit that we bring with us from Scotland, our home (cue in waxing lyrical and fill in the blanks with all the tropes you can think of). So we're the new kid on the block, the outsider, the underdog set to conquer new lands and new opportunities, exactly like Jamie Fraser, the character I play in OL does (cue in credible retconning of your initial strategy: you need a new client base to generate sales volume & secure or even multiply returning sales and those people DGAF about OL).'

Granted, you'll totally throw under the bus the whole initial plan, but hey - it's an elegant way out of a conundrum.

Second logo, quite a different situation. It's busy, busy, busy with the kind of motifs that make one immediately think of an engraved Colt grip. Something like this, perhaps, only stylized:

Instead of the Unicorn, we have a double beast: a Lion and an Eagle. In Ancient Greece, this mythical combo was called a γρύψ (gryps), which later gave 'griffin' in English. It is a hybrid, but then so is bourbon. The Lion is a symbol for the European roots of the brand and the Eagle, well - easy, America, pointing West and meaning new perspectives, freedom, etc. But the brand is McTavish Spirits, in a very personal approach: this is my bourbon (isn't it ironic, for a white label project?) and this is my story and these are my (a Scotsman's) dreams of America. Transparent. Legible. I mean business - this is not a labor of love.

Free association again:

The Lion self... the Older, Wiser Guy... the Leader... the Statesman... Dougal MacKenzie...the (hello) Warchief...but this is America... so I am also the Lonely Gunman... I am exploring a New Frontier... bringing my past with me (all the classy, gentleman-like persona)... telling my personal story, too, in the process... from my Scottish roots to making it in Hollywood... so I am also The Storyteller (unlike that young nincompoop, who just goes zorbing and chases barmaids) ... so, maybe, just maybe if you listen to my stories, you will forget I put zero effort into trying samples and touring the whole land looking for perfect balance, and just went for the easy solution and a quick buck... buy my booze and I'll tell you more... I am reliable and tried and tested and still young enough and strong enough and determined enough (the Eagle) to have a new wife and new plans.

Plus: a masculine brand for a masculine product. I won't keep scores for a while, but pfff... point taken.

This is not only logo conception copycat and shameless, reactive competition, on very thin ice and on a (at this point in time, at least) very slim portion of the market. This is, mark me, war between two people who still have some gigs together.

We'll see next time who shows up at their parallel events and buys their booze and also how they choose to engage (or not) with these people. I think I begin to understand what McTavish's brand strategy is, but I need to have a second, closer look. More on this, tomorrow.

#BoozeWars

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kurayami-no-ko · 5 months ago

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Sakamoto Trading Company (Short story)

So I finished reading Sakamoto Trading Company, which is the last short story from Killer's Method. And what struck me at the end was that Shin received 175000 yen as his monthly salary.

After seeing Shin struggle so much at his job, that salary does seem like a let-down. Sakamoto Days was set in 2021, I think. The regular monthly salary for entry level work is something like 200 000 yen or more. 175000 is exceedingly low, it is not the salary of a full-time employee, it is the kind of salary you get for doing part-time work or an internship, which is not the case here because Shin, at the start of the short story, was in his probationary period to become a true employee of the company.

The story is set in Tokyo, where living is significantly more expensive compared to smaller cities and towns. And Shin's 175000-yen salary is gonna get taxed so he is not going to get 175000 yen in full.

Honestly, despite the story's whole message about company being family and asking help from fellow company employees, I think Shin should work for a while to fill up his CV a little bit before moving somewhere else where they offer better pay. Honestly, Shin deserves at least 230000 yen for all his efforts.

Correction: I mistakenly assumed that the starting salaries would be the same for university and high school graduates. While it is true that on average the starting salary for university graduates is over 200000 yen, for high school graduates, it is over 170000 yen. After taxes, Shin will receive 140000 yen, which is livable, even though it is not really comfortable. Many animators, mangaka, writers probably live on much less prior to becoming successful. On the bright side, he will get paid for overtime hours.

#sakamoto days #asakura shin #sakamoto days light novel #Sakamoto Days: Killer's Method

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karenandhenwilson · 1 year ago

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Fandom and Ships

In the last couple of weeks, we have seen the number of fics in the Bucktommy tag skyrocket. Which is pretty exciting and amazing and a clear sign of how very excited the fandom is about this development. But of course there is also backlash, mostly from people who suddenly see their preferred ship in danger. (Honestly, when has a canon ship ever stopped fandom from shipping the people involved with other people instead?)

It's expected that some Buddie fans are disappointed. It's also expected that they would lash out (though, I had hoped people could for once remember there are adults and just because everyone is anonymous in online spaces doesn't mean there aren't people sitting behind those keyboards getting hurt by baseless accusation of racism and other things). I should probably not be surprised they are now also using the low engagement we have always seen with Henren as a weapon.

So, let's talk about fandom and ships.

There is no question that there has since season 2 always been the most engagement with Buddie content in this fandom as a whole. People saw the chemistry between Buck and Eddie and ran with it. Compared to that, the canon couples have all barely any content.

But if you look at any fandom at any point in time, there is a clear pattern between canon and fanon ships. There are only very few select fandoms where canon couples ever got a lot of engagement. Of the various fandoms I've been part of, I can only think of one at the top of my head.

I think the reasons are pretty simple.

First of all, the fans get that couple on their screen pretty regularly. They don't have to wish and hope for it, don't have to search for the little details that will validate their headcanon. They don't have to go into fandom spaces to find content for that ship. They can just lean back without any kind of effort and enjoy this ship right on their screen.

And then second, those who do create fan content for those canon ships have to balance a very fine line. What of the canon facts will they dare to contradict to create their own content in fanfiction? (Fanart, videos, gif-sets are probably a little easier there.) Where and when do they deviate from canon? Is there even anything they feel is missing from canon that they want to see in fan work? Do they want to risk contradicting anything that will be established in canon later on? Usually, this conundrum leads mostly to short fics about missing scenes, but nothing truly epic. At least not as long as the there is new source material fairly regularly.

People creating content for purely fanon ships don't need to bother with most of those questions. Because they are deviating from canon anyway. It doesn't matter much then how far they go with that. Everything canon that comes later will just be dismissed with a shrug. Everything canon that happened previously and they don't like can be dismissed just as easily because they are already dismissing parts of it.

Then there is a clear divide between hetero, maleslash and femslash content, no matter if canon or fanon. There are probably people much better suited to get into the gritty little details about that. I'll just share some thoughts I have about any of those ships in this fandom because of my experience as a fanfiction author.

I've always been writing and telling stories. And I started writing fanfiction pretty early on, too, because I found a lot of freedom there in the content and relationships I could explore. Looking back, I've always mostly written maleslash. But I've also always had hetero and femslash pairs in my works. Have had works that focus solely on those pairs.

I know as a teenager I wrote mostly maleslash because I just got a lot of engagement for that. And back then that was a great motivator to publish my fanfiction. It's not my motivation to publish now anymore and it's never been my motivation to write at all. So there are some stories about hetero or femslash couples on my hard drive that I just never published back then.

For 9-1-1, I've been writing many of the ships there are. More than once I focused on characters who don't get much attention otherwise, not even in canon. I have some femslash stories published, most of them Henren. They don't get many klicks. And the comments I get are from friends I actively talk to very often who just read about anything I publish. Or from some very dedicated readers who I seem to have enamored enough with my writing that they'll follow me into pretty much any rabbit hole, I think.

I like Buck and Eddie a lot as characters. I adore Christopher. So, I enjoy creating for them a lot. But I also enjoy creating for the other characters and I'm scratching that itch regularly. But no matter the reason for why I write (because the stories are just in my head and the only way to get them out is to write them down), sharing what I create is more fun when I'm finding engagement over it. So, there are stories that are outlined or even fully written who I'll maybe never publish.

Where were all those Buddie fans in the past who now complain about the missing content for Henren? Where was their support for those who have written Henren all along only to be practically talking into a void? (Right, just as it was never about queer representation for some people, it was never about Henren either. No matter what they say now. They are just searching for the next thing the mob might be latch onto so they can pretend they are right.)

#911 abc #bucktommy #henren

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mikhailwrites · 2 years ago

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Remotely possible II / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #23 - Sex Toys

Somewhat standalone-ish continuation of this thing where Soap convinces Ghost to wear a remotely controlled sex toy for a day. This time, Ghost gets his revenge.

Read Part I

Part II:

The absolute silence of the room is disturbed when Soap yelps and nearly falls from his chair. Everyone turns to him, mostly questioningly but, in Laswell’s case, with a clear suspicion.

“Sorry, sorry, something’s bitten me,” Soap murmurs an apology. A scarlet blush of embarrassment is clearly visible on his cheeks. Ghost is the epitome of indifference, unwilling to spare Soap a single glance despite this being all his fault. Well, the little remote controller in his pocket played a part as well.

“If I may continue,” Laswell interjects, apparently not in the mood for jokes as she explains the latest AQ resurgence in Al-Mazrah, accompanied by satellite images.

The rest of the briefing went smoothly and without any interruptions, which cannot be said about the lunch. Soap’s only saving grace is the overall noise in the mess hall, so the loud clang of a fork falling onto the plate and high-pitched yelp are only noticed by his squad mates sitting around.

Gaz leans in closer, looking from Soap to Ghost and back. “You lot are out of your bloody minds! If Price knew...”

“If I knew what, Kyle?” Says a voice behind Gaz’s back.

Soap promptly excuses himself, ready to leave the table. “Where do you think you’re going, Sergeant?” Price’s heavy hand lands on Johnny’s shoulder promptly, stopping his retreat and pushing him back down before Price sits next to him. “Well, who’d like to enlighten me, then?”

“I... I have no idea what you mean, Captain,” Soap stutters and hisses because someone kicks him in the shin under the table. Ghost.

“Last week, Ghost was acting like someone put a cockroach into his trousers; today, it’s you. I’d like in on the joke,” Price smiles. The kind of smile that spells imminent doom.

It takes Soap tremendous effort to hide the panic. He needs to say something. The longer he stalls, the harder it would be the sell the lie.

“Alright, alright, we made a bet, Ghost and I,” he admits, trying hard to think of something, anything! Fortunately, Ghost rescues them both. “It’s a shocker. Taped to a thigh. We were comparing our interrogation training and couldn’t decide who was trained better.

Johnny stares for a second too long. That’s... actually... ingenious. The sort of shitty brag-bet only soldiers can think of. And it explains their weird behaviour. Ghost’s brilliant! Gaz chokes on the drink he hoped to hide his disbelieving stare with. He knows very well what’s going on.

Price sighs and massages his temple in an equivalent of “I’m too old for this shit.” Yet, in the end, he only says, “I guess I should be grateful you’re content to pull off shit like this on downtime instead of the field.” Price shakes his head and stands to leave them alone. Before he does so, however, he turns back to them. “I hope it goes without saying that you cut the crap now and act your age and rank, lads.”

Soap nods, but Ghost is going to collect the debt to the last bloody minute, especially since Soap is on a rookie training rotation in just about an hour.

Ghost is camping on the roof of the armoury with some snacks and a pair of binoculars. He’s keeping Soap in the illusion of security for the moment. The Sergeant crosses part of the obstacle course to kick someone’s ass for slacking off. Ghost waits a few seconds into the apparent monologue until he presses the button. The setting is low, but he can still clearly see Soap flinch. Can almost hear him lose track of his words.

He leaves the vibrations low, knowing full well, from his own recent experience, how maddening it starts to be after just a few minutes.

He’s right, of course. Soap starts to fidget, then he starts to pace and, finally, sits down on the low wall because that’s perhaps the best way to hide the bulge in his trousers. Should’ve worn camo today. Ghost smirks at his own joke as he flicks the intensity slider.

Blush creeps high on Johnny’s cheek as he looks around, trying to locate Ghost. No luck. Simon is feeling particularly cruel, so he increases the intensity once more. Johnny very nearly doubles over. It’s enough for one of the recruits to come over to him, presumably asking if he’s feeling alright.

Soap replies something before he nods, stands up and apparently excuses himself. Ghost is reasonably sure he’s going to lock himself on the toilet and wank, and that just wouldn’t do.

Ghost leans against the stalls. There’s only one occupied, and there’s no one else present.

“Hiding from me, Sergeant?” Ghost says in a deep purr as he knocks on the door. There’s only silence. Then the lock clicks. Ghost squeezes in. The stall is way too small for the two of them, not that Ghost cares. Especially not when he sees Johnny sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, his trousers undone and something wild shining in his eyes.

Ghost’s own cock twitches at the sight. Suddenly, there’s an idea. “Stand up,” Ghost commands, and Johnny obeys like the good soldier he is. Ghost takes his place as he sits down and pulls Johnny to sit on his lap, back pressed to Ghost’s chest. It’s a little bit of work to get the trousers and the briefs out of the way, but they manage. Johnny spreads his legs as much as the trousers allow, and Ghost looks down over Johnny’s shoulder, humming in approval as he sees his hard prick already leaking.

Simon holds Johnny up with one arm while the other sneaks between his legs and a bit further until he touches the hard base of the plug, feeling the vibrations. He presses on it, pushing it a little bit deeper. Johnny whines, or he tries to, but Simon’s hand promptly clasps over his mouth. “Be quiet, darling, unless you want someone to see you like this.”

Soap nods weakly. When Ghost grabs the plug and starts to pull it out slowly, Johnny does his best but still cannot completely stifle the whimper and the moan as he feels the stretch. Ghost doesn’t pull it out all the way. Instead, he pushes it back in and repeats it. That’s when Johnny understands.

“Simon,” he starts but is cut off by the sound of opening doors followed by footsteps. They both still, Soap putting all that training to good use as he controls his breathing. They hear the sound of a belt clasp, a zipper, and the telltale hiss of piss hitting the urinal. Ghost, against his better judgment, resumes his earlier actions. Soap stiffens with surprise and, most probably, a bit of fear. Which, of course, doesn’t really help him as he clenches around the plug all the more. He’s happy for Ghost’s hand still firmly covering his mouth.

When he proposed this whole idea to Ghost, he had no plans of taking it this far. On the other hand, he should’ve seen it coming. Both of them were always up to push the other further, consequences be damned. It’s the whole reason they started this twisted parody of a relationship. Getting fucked by a toy in the public toilets is, however, the stupidest thing they’ve ever done. No, he corrects himself; the stupidest thing they’ve done so far.

All the thoughts leave him as soon as the soldier on the other side of the door washes their hands and leaves. That’s when Ghost picks up the pace. That’s when he whispers into Johnny’s ear to touch himself. He does, gripping his hard, neglected prick and flicking the thumb over the cock head, spreading the precum to make the wank smoother and easier. The plug in him isn’t angled right to hit his prostate, but the vibrations make up for that, riling him up, forcing him to speed up, to tighten his grip as Ghost whispers filthy little things into his ear.

The danger of being discovered, the rush of this whole daring endeavour, and, of course, the fact that Ghost has been slowly edging him for the better part of the day gets to him fast. Ghost forces his wrist into Johnny’s mouth, sensing he’s close and giving him something to bite into instead of crying out.

He does. Ghost hisses quietly as Soap’s teeth sink into the skin right before he feels him seize, watching the thick ropes of cum staining his tee and hand. He stays tense for a few seconds before sagging against Ghost, who catches him from sliding onto the floor.

This was a horrible idea. But god damn it, was it worth it.

#call of duty #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #soap mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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ivan-fyodorovich-k · 4 months ago

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On December 26, 2004, the geological plates beneath Sumatra unleashed the third-most-powerful earthquake ever recorded. A gargantuan column of water raced toward Sri Lanka, India, Thailand, and Indonesia. None of these countries had advance-warning systems in place, so no one had time to prepare before the surge hit. Some 228,000 people died—the highest toll of any natural disaster so far this century.

Setting up prevention systems would have been inexpensive, especially compared with the countless billions the tsunami ultimately cost. But governments typically spend money on preventing disasters only after disasters strike, and the affected countries hadn’t experienced a major tsunami in years. After the events of 2004, USAID spent a tiny fraction of its budget to help fund an advance-detection system for the Pacific, which might have saved hundreds of thousands of lives had it been in place sooner. But some people would have seen such an investment as a “waste”—inefficient spending that could have gone toward some more immediate or tangible end.

DOGE has turned this dangerously flawed view into a philosophy of government. Last week, Elon Musk’s makeshift agency fired one of the main scientists responsible for providing advance warning when the next tsunami hits Alaska, Hawaii, or the Pacific Coast. The USAID document that describes America’s efforts to protect coastlines from tsunamis, titled “Pounds of Prevention”—riffing on the adage that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure—now redirects to an error message: “The resource you are trying to access is temporarily unavailable.”

More than 800 workers at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration have lost their job in recent weeks, including many who helped mitigate climate disasters, track hurricanes, predict ever-stronger storms, and notify potential victims. Meanwhile, cuts to volcano monitoring are crippling the government’s ability to measure eruption risk. DOGE is also reportedly preparing to cancel the lease on the government’s “nerve center” for national weather forecasts.

Musk has categorized as superfluous a good deal of spending that actually makes the country more resilient, at a time when catastrophic risk is on the rise. We never see the crises that the government averts, only the ones it fails to prevent. Preparing for them may seem wasteful—until suddenly, tragically, it doesn’t.

The modern, globalized world is the most complex and interconnected environment that humans have ever navigated. That’s why the potential for catastrophic risk—that is, the risk of low-probability but highly destructive events—has never been greater. A single person getting sick can derail the lives of billions. A crisis in one country’s banking sector can crash economies thousands of miles away. Now is precisely the time when governments must invest more heavily in making themselves resilient to these kinds of events. But the United States is doing the opposite.

Donald Trump made the same mistake in his first term. In September 2019, his administration quietly eliminated an initiative that it saw as government waste: a $200 million program that tracked novel coronaviruses around the world. Three months later, COVID-19 infected its first victim in Wuhan. The U.S. government spent an estimated $4.6 trillion in response to the pandemic that emerged from that virus—roughly 23,000 times the budget for the preparedness program that could have helped mitigate its effects.

Complex systems—say, health care, or government, or industrial supply chains—without any built-in slack or redundancy are efficient but fragile. The effects of any disruption quickly cascade, and the potential for catastrophic risk grows. In 2021, a gust of wind turned a boat sideways in the Suez Canal—and upended the global economy, inflicting tens of billions of dollars in economic damage. Last year’s CrowdStrike outage is another example of an avalanche created by a minor problem within a system that was not resilient.

DOGE is courting these kinds of risks by automatically assuming that programs with no immediately obvious function—or at least none that Musk and his minions can discern—are wasteful. Some of its cost cutting may be eliminating genuine waste; no government spends its money perfectly. But DOGE’s campaign is riddled with errors, at the level of both understanding and execution. The agency’s strategy is akin to a climber replacing sturdy rope with low-cost string: We may not realize the full danger until it snaps.

Musk developed DOGE’s playbook when he took over Twitter, where resilience matters much less than it does in government. Gutting the social-media platform may have resulted in more harmful content and some outages, including one this week, but the stakes were low compared with the crucial government services that Musk is currently cutting. When X fails, memes go unposted. When the government fails, people can die.

The risks are not only to Americans but also to humanity, as technology and climate change have linked the destinies of far-flung people more closely and increased the likelihood of extinction-level calamities. It is not reassuring in this regard that Trump controls the world’s largest nuclear arsenal and that DOGE accidentally fired key people who manage it, that Trump doesn’t believe in climate change and is having Musk slash seemingly every agency designed to mitigate it, and that Musk summarized his view of AI risk by telling Joe Rogan that it presents “only a 20 percent chance of annihilation.” The United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction—an organization that DOGE would certainly eliminate if it could—came up with a more sophisticated figure in 2023: By its estimate, there is a 2 to 14 percent chance of an extinction-level event in the 21st century. This is not a world in which the government should be running itself on a just-in-time basis.

Musk may flippantly acknowledge the risk in interviews, but DOGE’s fundamental ethos—Silicon Valley will fix what the government cannot—almost entirely ignores it.

Americans can’t rely on Meta, Google, and Apple to build tsunami-early-warning systems, mitigate climate change, or responsibly regulate artificial intelligence. Preventing catastrophic risk doesn’t increase shareholder value. The market will not save us.

As DOGE hollows out the Federal Aviation Administration, fires extreme-weather forecasters, and implodes the National Institutes of Health, Americans are left to wonder: What happens when another plane crashes, or a hurricane hits Florida without sufficient warning, or the next pandemic takes America by surprise? Many people may die avoidable deaths for the rest of us to learn that one billionaire’s “waste” is really a country’s strength.

---

The thing about that last line is, "the rest of us" don't need to learn that lesson, we are well aware, and have been for some time, that the billionaires are not really acting in any identifiable general interest.

It is a good maxim not to confuse incompetence for malevolence, but Donald Trump and Elon Musk are openly intentionally trying to immiserate millions of people. They are met by their supporters alternately with delirious ecstasy, or else frustration that they are not even more ruthless. Hurting people is the point, as they continue to say overtly and explicitly. These people are hopeless cases, and we cannot waste our time on them anymore. They've played their cards. We know what they are about (power), what they want (power), and while we may never find a limit to what they are willing to do to get and to keep it, we know enough about what they do with it never to trust them again.

What are the rest of us going to do?

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k7l4d4 · 1 year ago

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K Reviews and Rants: Miraculous Ladybug Season 5! Episode 13

Hello! One more episode until I review the episode I feel is the worse in this show to date, continuity-wise!

Now, Migration is... less bad then the majority of Season 5, but that's such a low bar to clear it isn't anything impressive to write home about. The plot is kind of, honestly, garbage in that it has Kitty Section be shilled as this amazing band in the making by Jagged Stone (not sure if we've ever actually seen him play at all, honestly, but he's a professional shilling an amateur band), while also having them being super hyped over signing on with Bob, which makes no sense as Bob has never been anything less then a scumbag towards them. Like, this episode would've made more sense if they'd had it that the group they were signing on with was actually run by Bob in secret and they didn't learn about it until AFTER signing. Like, the best thing about this Episode is that it doesn't do any irreparable damage to anyone involved, and has a genuinely cool scene of Marinette freaking out over realizing someone knows her secret that she didn't tell personally before hand.

Anyway, with that said, onto the episode review! As always, warning for any profanity on my part.

Episode 13: Migration

Alright, Marinette shows up to a Kitty Section meeting, and goes instant noodle. Not as badly as normal, though.

And we get a brief moment of Marinette zipping around greeting everyone. I know it's partially for effect, but dang, she's fast.

Marinette briefly dances around what she wants to talk with Luka about, Luka cuts through the bullshit, and now we get an awkward scene of Marinette using Luka as a therapist. The awkwardness is mostly in how Marinette is phrasing things, personally. Like, starting a conversation with "as you know, there are things I can't tell Adrien" doesn't help matters as, for all MARINETTE knows, Luka DOESN'T know there are things she can't tell Adrien.

And we get Marinette whining about "breaking Luka's heart" and I just... I'm just sitting here and wondering how long this conversation is meant to last.

...The fact that Luka is basically reiterating something both Tikki AND Alya have told Marinette multiple times for her to go "so you mean I'm not cruel, or pathetic?" just kills me, and not in a good way. It's nice seeing Luka get some development, but it doesn't feel as believable as it should, if that makes sense. I don't get why Luka is meant to be the "team therapist." I don't MIND that he is the one, but it doesn't look like anything was put into establishing why that's the case.

And right away, now that I'm back in... Why in the world is ADRIEN going to Luka for therapy!? It made SOME sense with Marinette, but from what I recall, Adrien and Luka don't even really KNOW each other all that well, and have interacted less than Adrien normally interacts with his classmates.

Maybe I'm forgetting something, I don't know, but the show treating it like Luka being the team therapist is this established thing feels... weird to me. Like, if they had Adrien go, "Hey, Juleka said you were good at helping with talking about problems, do you have a moment to listen?" it would feel more... believable, if that makes sense?

Ugh... I can (grudgingly) see why this episode is regarded a bit better compared to the rest. Seeing Adrien open up when he's been so dead set on keeping his thoughts and feelings locked up for FIVE SEASONS would be a huge breath of fresh air.

And the "therapy Luka" train keeps chugging along. This one, I'm less annoyed by, even if the set-up feels a bit dumb. Like, I doubt a bunch of amateur kids are making better songs than a famous professional like Jagged Stone, but seeing him show doubts about being a father and honestly wanting to improve it, getting his son's input... it's a MASSIVE improvement overall compared to the fiasco that is the show's efforts at trying to portray fucking GABRIEL of all people as a well-meaning father.

And the "I don't know what I'd do without you" bit ruined it for me. Also, the kinda awkward ship-tease between Jagged and Penny for a second. Jagged struggling to be a dad? I'm cool with that. But the show is trying to push the idea that Luka is this brilliant therapist... it feels forced, especially when it's three consecutive scenes of him... basically just giving extremely basic and obvious advice. And yeah, sometimes hearing obvious advice is what people need when they are making too big of a deal over something that isn't really as complicated as they fear... but it's undermined by how the first scene involved Marinette hearing advice she's already heard, the second trying to set-up Luka and Adrien as being bros when I can't even recall them ever hanging out, and the third just gives me cringe-vibes at how it presents Jagged as being... kinda pathetic

...And of fucking COURSE we get a fucking FOURTH scene of "therapist Luka." Nope, nope, I just... can't with this. And Penny going "I don't know WHY I'm in love with Jagged" is just... UUUGGGHHH!!! As strange as it might be, people tend to have REASONS they are in love with someone. Even if they are in denial about those reasons. This just feels like the show is shoving Penny into Jagged's arms. They should be able to give a fucking REASON why Jagged makes Penny happy. And yet, they don't, and I'm losing patience with this bullshit.

No, no, people may not be able to explain WHEN or HOW they fall in love, but people tend to very much know what it is that makes them fall in love with someone, or at least have some kind of idea. I do not like how this show is presenting love as this "unknowable, impossible to understand force of nature." Is love mysterious? Yes, yes it is. But not to this extent; it just comes off as the show trying to defend how crappily it's written all the relationships up until now by going "no no, you can't EXPLAIN why you love someone, you just DO!!" and since this is coming from the same people who insist on treating the idea as if having two crushes at the same time is scientifically impossible, I call BULLSHIT on it.

Okay, seeing Anarka literally yeet Bob off her ship makes all this nonsense worthwhile for that alone. Bob's such a selfish, stupid scumbag that seeing him being treated like garbage just made my day. Thanks, Migration!

...Yeah, the show saying that Kitty Section are better than a professional musician is just... laughable to me. They aren't BAD bad, but they are very obviously amateurs.

...Bob Roth getting thrown overboard makes the idiocy on display of him trying to sign the contract for the band he plagiarized so worth it. Also, I wonder if the show will acknowledge the fact that he plagiarized them; that ALONE makes him an untrustworthy scumbag, something they should be well aware of.

"Anyone can change," yes that's true Luka... but someone has to have to want to change and have shown that they ARE, and Bob has shown NOTHING indicating he's changed AT ALL, and hasn't even acknowledged that he tried to cheat your sister's band. Honestly, knowing the episode that's coming next makes this feel like they are trying to go for the opposite moral of "people never change, so don't bother trying to get them to."

WHY are they acting like him admitting his promise to sign them up was a lie is some big shock!? The fucker PLAGIARIZED THEIR WORK!!!

Yup, that's about what I expected. He fired all of them except Luka because WHY THE FUCK NOT!? This man is a fucking moron who doesn't seem to have even the slightest understanding that deliberately antagonizing and alienating someone YOU JUST HIRED is the epitome of idiocy.

Yeah, the way they are having Bob act like a blatantly evil and immoral scumbag blaming THEM for trusting him would be honestly pretty funny (and whatever comeuppance he gets more deserving) if I weren't dreading what's to come.

Okay, I can't lie, despite the pit in my stomach, seeing Bob reveal just how completely and utterly overboard he went on making the contract as unfair and exploitative as possible is kinda hilarious. Although I don't really see what's "small print and ambiguous phrases" about "can fire them whenever he wants, is sole owner of Kitty Section as brand, AND owns the rights to whatever they make for the NEXT THOUSAND YEARS."

Like, if they were going for a lesson exploitative and corrupt businesses that treat their employees and talent like tools, it could be really interesting at seeing such a laughably blatant scumbag reveling in being such a jerk and then getting what's cumming to him... but the placement makes me feel icky.

You know, normally I would put up a token effort against Luka categorizing this as "all his fault," but in this case...? Yeah, no, he's spot on. He took a scumbag who has done nothing but be a complete and utter piece of exploitative shit each and every time he's shown up and done nothing to indicate he's changed in any way at his word that he's become a better person, so yes, this is ALL HIS FAULT. Although, now that I think of it, it's also the rest of Kitty Section's fault, since they were perfectly willing to take Bob at his word all on their own, even without Luka's backing. This is just stupid.

...Uhh... I just... WHY THE FUCK DID MONARCH INSTANTLY JUMP TO LUKA KNOWING THE IDENTITIES OF LADYBUG AND CHAT NOIR!? Like, he has HAD people resist him before, he KNOWS that no one (aside from his cronies) LIKE getting Akumatized, so him jumping to "You KNOW!?" Is utter fucking NONSENSE. It's the same BS with Ephemeral having him take a single word as "evidence" that his son was Chat Noir. Seriously, the Writers aren't even fucking TRYING!!

I am curious as to how Bob's contracts haven't been destroyed by being chucked in the river. Did he get them laminated?

Huh, they nearly had Rose admit to being in love with Juleka. Boo, quit with the dodging, writers! Just admit they are a couple!!

...They had a rubber duck somehow get turned into a record by Bob's new powers. Nope, not gonna think about it, not gonna think about it, nope nope nope! Also, while the songs being sung by the people he's "recordized" might not be what he's looking for, they honestly sound better then Kitty Section did at the beginning, to me.

...Okay, the fact that Bob LIKED the Rubber Ducky Record is the one thing I wasn't expecting.

...Wow, Marinette really isn't noticing that Luka is explicitly stating her name, despite the fact that she's transformed. I just... wow. Not a good wow, a "I cannot believe this fucking stupidity" wow.

Okay, NOW she notices, and is currently freaking the hell out. Which is an appropriate reaction, if COMPLETELY the wrong time for it.

Alright, I will admit, Luka expressing his absolute confidence and trust in Ladybug was nice.

Yup, he's still an unrepentant scumbag.

Oh no, the guy who knows Ladybug and Chat Noir's secret identities that Hawkmoth found out by complete and utter bullshit has to leave. Who saw this coming? (Raises hand)

...When did Jagged see Luka stand up to Bob again?? Also, for fucks sake, WHY would him accompanying Luka involve ANY of that!! He flat out said it himself during Guitar Villain that he's one of the biggest chart toppers there is in-universe, he can just find another producer who isn't an exploitative scumbag like Bob whenever he likes.

You know, this scene wasn't as bad as I was fearing it was, since it's not Jagged inviting Luka to come with him, it's him volunteering to GO with Luka so he has supervision and company until Monarch is defeated. Still, it's annoying how little focus is given to Juleka in this, given she's supposed to be Luka's twin. And with that, this episode is done. Phew. Not as bad as I was worried about, but it's definitely not a chart topper.

#miraculous ladybug #mlb season 5 salt #mlb season 5 spoilers #mlb writing critical #mlb writing salt

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anonymous-bastard · 11 months ago

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ooooooo opinion on fruit trees that have free fruit in urban areas?

@underworlds-favourite

So this is a topic I don't really know a lot about so I kind of needed to extrapolate from what I do know. So I talk about the combination urban + green first.

That being said before you guys read my wall of text:

Depends on the tree and the area in question, I'd say.

In general I am supportive of the idea of growing more food and greenery in general in urban areas.

Rooftop gardens, urban gardening efforts, greenery on the side of building, I WANT IT ALL.

Urban gardening brings free food into communities and gardening is just straight up good for you. Time spent outside and caring for plants is good for your mental health.

Unsealing areas (removing pavement etc) allows for drainage of rainwater and often goes hand-i-hand with more greenery. (Keyword: sponge city)

IF DONE RIGHT, plants can also have a significant cooling effect, and give more shadow. Which is important in times of climate change.

And if you ever compare the look of a street with vs without trees - enormous difference. Just visually.

Now onto free fruit trees specifically:

Native trees are always better. Just in general, for everything. Wildlife, insects, they are all little racists that only like locals stuff /j. But seriously, local wildlife is adapted to local plants. If you are going for something better able to weather climate change, go for something from warmer regions from the same continent. It does make a difference!

Location is key here.

1: I'm not sure how much pollution, car exhaust, etc actually effect quality/ eatability of the product, someone who knows more about this than I do tell me.

2: Height is (possibly) another thing - if it is in a public place, where people are supposed to walk by and take food (as opposed to clearly connected to an apartment complex/ a set of apartment complexes), you really don't want for people to need to get a ladder. Berry bushes, raised garden beds with vegetables, etc are probably the better choice in this case, or just trees that grow fruit low. Just y'know. Keep things at people height.

3: Again especially for public places: (some) fruit trees are pretty "dirty". A lof of drooped fruit before it's ripe, or if it doesn't get harvested. And that turns gross and attracts wasps etc, and in a public place no one feels responsible for clean-up. But whether this os truly a problem is location dependent.

The last point can be mitigated by getting volunteers that take care of the project. A necessity in general in many cases - fruit trees are pretty easy once planted, but many vegetables you have to plant every year, weed, water, etc. But I feel with fruit trees especially one of the advantages is they don't need a lot of work and you can just put them there, so yeah.

In conclusion: If you want to start free food projects, whether as a grassroot effort from a local or if you are working for the municipality: look at your location. Think it through what kind of food would work best. Is the maintenance effort important, how much space do you have, what grows well under the local conditions, etc. And then do it! And despite all I've said don't let fear stop you. No plan survives first contact with the enemy, and you can adjust yours. It doesn't need to be perfect it just needs to work.

Also:

Fuck every politician and city planner ever that actively destroyed grassroot efforts for urban gardening and free food. I have nothing but contempt for you.

I would love to hear other peoples thoughts or experiences on the topic!

#ooc good question #I really got to read up on the topic more #urbanism #urban planning #ooc my english is lacking y'all #urban gardening

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smartboardexperts · 14 days ago

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The Future of Classrooms: How Interactive Flat Panels Are Changing Education

Remember the traditional days of chalkboard and half-erased blackboard notes? Education is going through a major shift, and leading the way is a creative innovation: the interactive flat panel. These screens are not only smart but also transforming the way for teachers and students learn, bringing lessons to real life with more interaction, creativity, and visual impact.

What is an Interactive Flat Panel?

An interactive flat panel is like a giant tablet that replaces your old chalkboard. The high-definition display with quality touchscreen abilities allows educators and students to connect with content directly with a brighter way.

Simply think of it as a whiteboard, projector, and computer—all rolled into one smart display.

Why Schools are Choosing Interactive Panels

1. Boosts Engagement

With features like touch recognition and stylus input, these panels bring lessons to life. Imagine learning geography by zooming into live maps or solving math problems with animated equations.

2. Encourages Collaboration

Multiple students can work on the screen at once. Whether it’s brainstorming, solving a puzzle, or presenting their ideas, group learning is NO way to be tough.

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DeltaView is at the forefront of this educational revolution. Their interactive panel products are built for Indian classrooms and are backed by expert support.

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Projector and whiteboard setups often come with constant updates, frequent bulb changes, and messy cables. Thus, DeltaView’s interactive panel price covers everything in one proper solution, saving money in the long run.

It’s energy-efficient, low-maintenance, and built to last.

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History & Civics: Watch historical events unfold through videos.

Group Projects: Collaborate in real-time with the interactive panel board.

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No two students learn the same way, right?

Visual learners make sense of tough concepts better when they see things like diagrams or videos easily. Kinaesthetic learners grab things faster when they can interact and get hands-on with the material. Aural learners learn best when they can listen, whether it’s through verbal explanations or different audio playback features.

Comparing Traditional Boards vs. Interactive Panel Boards

Here’s the truth: Old-school boards served their time, but today’s classroom needs more.

The interactive panel board wins on all fronts, cleaner, smarter, and faster. Say goodbye to chalk stains and projector shadows.

Empowering Teachers Through Tech

DeltaView doesn’t just help students. It makes life easier for teachers:

Plan lessons using multimedia

Save and share content

Record sessions for future revision

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Feature-rich interactive electronic whiteboard options

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“It’s like teaching with magic. Lessons feel alive.” – R. Sharma, Science Teacher.

Final Thoughts: Are You Ready for the Cool Shift?

Let’s face it— traditional methods can’t keep up with the needs of modern learners. An interactive flat panel isn’t a luxury anymore; it’s a need for today.

DeltaView’s technology offers a smooth, upgraded path for the smarter classroom that benefits students, teachers, and administrators alike.

FAQ

1. What is the average price of a DeltaView interactive panel? You can find the most up-to-date pricing on the interactive panel price page.

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#interactive flat panel #interactive panel #interactive panel price

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