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tosahobi-if · 5 months

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GAME OUT NOW

Misfortune begets misfortune; evil will prey upon itself. Just as how the fox cannot live without the rabbit, the predator must understand what rises will fall.

Long before you were born, the Great Calamity, a calculated effort by Magyo cultists nearly wiped out the entirety of the Jungpa sects. If not for the noble sacrifice of the peerless Sword Saint of the Mount Hua Sect: the Divine Blade, Yeo Jinhu, demonic forces would have rent the heavens and the earth asunder.

Despite his triumph, nothing would ever be the same – the losses were staggering, the task of rebuilding the sects to their former glory seemed to prove an insurmountable challenge. Yet nearly two decades after his death, peace returned to the land once more.

After the death of your parents, you lead an ordinary, if not monotonous, life as the playmate of the spoiled young master of the Mount Hua Sect. However, all is not what it seems. Following the mysterious arrival of an amnesiac with strange abilities, whispers of a plot brewing in the shadows start to surface, and the world as you know it begins to fall apart around your feet.

Suddenly confronted with the uncertainty of the future, you must unravel the tragedy of what truly conspired all those years ago before you risk losing all you hold dear.

tosahobi (18+) is a muhyeop choose-your-own adventure game centered around elements of korean folklore and taoism in a tale of family, grief, and heritage.

play as a customizable main character: choose their physical appearance, gender, pronouns, sexuality, and more.

explore different relationships: from platonic to romantic to familial, build a variety of relationships with the cast (and hopefully make more friends than you do enemies.)

choose from different skill sets: pick between medicine, weaponry, tactics, and hand-to-hand combat. each field comes with its own advantages and disadvantages that affect multiple scenarios as the story progresses.

choice-driven story: with several routes and (many) choices, fail or succeed and find your way to an ending (whether it be happy or not.)

something is incredibly wrong: can you feel it too?

THE YOUNG MASTER

Yeo Jinwol of the Mount Hua Sect, is the youngest son of the sect leader. Contrary to his charming public demeanor, he has a childish side and can be extraordinarily stubborn. Having grown up in the shadow of his elder brothers he is fiercely protective of those he considers precious to him and struggles to measure up to the expectations placed on his shoulders. Assigned his playmate at a young age, whether you consider it fortuitous or not the two of you have been stuck together for years.

THE ENIGMA

Yul is your sajae, a disciple under the same master as you. Despite their amnesia, they're preternaturally talented at whatever they set their mind to. With strange yet unexplainable abilities that seem to stretch far beyond the scope of their powers, their missing memories may be the key to unlocking the answers you seek. Reclusive yet dedicated you'd almost think they were far, far older than their age if not for their intense sweet tooth and their tendency to follow you around like a very clingy second shadow.

THE PRODIGY

Baek Iseul, the Frozen Blade, is the rising star Emei Sect and has long been hailed as the next Sword Saint. Contrary to her cheerful personality you've never met anyone with a sharper gaze before. Hailing from obscurity, her power rivals even those who have trained for years and years, and has amassed an ever-growing collection of heroic feats under her belt. Popular and well-liked with a mischievous streak, you're really not sure why someone with such a promising future has taken a liking to you.

???

if to transcend means to leave the world behind, bind me to the soil so even long after my death, long after my body has turned to dust, i can find you once more.

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #if game #twine game #if wip #introduction post #if: intro #tosahobi-if

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dduane · 2 months

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Salutations and good wishes to you. I am an Indie Author seeking to go Pro. Some good advice and guidance might help minimise the mountain of my anxiety about doing this. I know you got your start with fanfiction, but did you find a publisher/agent through that door? [lots sneer at these days. Still] How many rejections did you suffer before you found your place in the literary world? Thanks for your time and sorry for bothering you <3

Hi there! And don't sweat it: this is no bother.

I have to apologize in advance, because my own career arc isn't likely to serve as much of a good example. In terms of how I got into this business, I'm a serious outlier.

Quickest and easiest to discuss: my agent and I got together after my first book was already bought and published. (Which back in the day was seen as a good enough way to go forward, and then still entirely possible.) He was recommended to me by one of my editors, as—like me—he was just getting started in the business: a likely-looking newcomer then scouting new talent. We met up and chatted, and it seemed to both of us that we'd be a good fit for each other. After forty-odd years of working together, we still are.

About the fanfic: (Adding a cut here so as not to carpet people's dashes with wall-to-wall text...)

What writing all that fic did for me—from about age sixteen onwards—was give me a whole lot of practice in getting the initial garbage associated with a story written and out of the way. Best to admit it here: we all have plenty of crap writing in us. And yeah, even long-term professional writers do. Whether you're at the beginning of your career or right in the middle of it, this is what "zero drafts" are for. You tell yourself the story, first time out... and routinely at this stage a lot of what proves to be unusable stuff emerges, and can be discarded in rewrite. (Of course crap writing can also emerge without warning in the later stages of a project, but there are many reasons for that, all beyond the scope of this discussion.) And you learn even more from reworking the material after you've gotten rid of the dross.

During the period when I was executing what might have been, oh, half a million words of fanfic—Trek originally, and then LoTR—and while reading a whole lot of everything, as I'd been doing since I was first allowed to go raid the town library by myself at age eight—I learned a fair amount about writing without realizing it. Some of it was simply about writing inside a set of rules. (Which I hadn't been doing previously: between eight and sixteen I was writing original fiction, mostly fairy tales.) Naturally in fanfic you have to obey the laws of whatever universe you're working in... or even if you wind up flouting them consciously, you do have to be conscious of them. But this work also led me to something that I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about: the concept that fiction writing as a whole had rules. I realized I'd better find out what those were.

The best stuff I found out during this period was what I picked up by direct example from other writers, whom I'd immediately start imitating and then sort of leave by the wayside when I found others I liked better; at which point I'd start imitating them. (This being a great way to learn and hone new skills, and to start getting a sense of what a writer's "voice" is and can come to mean. I think every writer does this, to some extent: because it's really, really tough to learn how to write without reading. And the more extensively the better.)

I have to emphasize here, BTW, that the fanfic that came out of me as I started slogging up this learning curve was all almost uniformly terrible. All of it, mercifully, along with my earliest original fiction, is gone now: long since burnt, shredded, composted under many layers of time. Trust me, it's just as well. Gah was it awful! Nobody else ever saw the stuff, for which I thank great Thoth every time I think about it. ...What's interesting, too, in its way, was that I didn't even know that what I was doing was fan fiction. I had as yet no contact with any kind of organized fandom, and it would be a long time yet before "online" was invented. I was working in utter isolation, unaware that anybody else might have been doing the same thing. (And it's difficult to describe the sense of astonishment and joy that hit me the first time I went to an SF convention, saw fanzines for the first time, and found out that I was not alone. All unsuspecting, I'd stumbled onto one of my tribes.)

But somewhere along the line, as the years went by—as I finished high school and went to college, and then from there to nursing school, and graduated and started working as a psychiatric nurse, and kept on writing—at some point, as I started writing original fiction again, as well as fanfic, the quality of the output began to improve. The combination of constant practice and voracious reading of better writers outside my chosen genre was slowly having an effect. Trusted friends who saw this later material started saying, "This isn't bad, you should try to get it published!" But since none of these folks were writers, I didn't pay too much attention to their opinions.

I did pay attention, though, when my good friend and mentor David Gerrold said something similar on reading my first novel in 1976. And when that was bought by the first publisher who read it, I had to admit he might have had something there.

This too, though, is unfortunately also a way I'm an outlier: I haven't had a lot of rejection. (Even in my TV work, where rejection is pretty much the rule rather than the exception.) Speaking very generally, just about anyone I've pitched something to in the prose market has bought it—or if they didn't like the idea I came in with, they've immediately said "But would you like to do this instead?" And often enough, what they've offered or suggested has been something that sounded like fun. That's how I wound up doing the Star Trek: Rihannsu books, for example: they were "instead of" a Romulan dictionary. Paramount essentially ringfenced an entire AU-area of Trek and gave it to me to play in, which struck me at the time as amazing. And continues to do so.

Now all this may make me sound almost unfairly lucky. But things do tend, slowly or quickly, to balance out. Over time the universe has made up for its relative kindness at the rejection end of things by making sure I knew plenty about the non-rejection forms of writer-career pain: projects from which I was not rejected but which went terribly wrong (wheels come off a huge deal just before signing, promised actors or directors fail to materialize...), projects where I did the work but didn’t get paid, or where I was brought on board and then got fired/ghosted unreasonably or for no reason at all, or sometimes (mortifyingly) for quite good reason. And let's not forget how, as what could seem a very pointed shot across my bow when my career-vessel was just pulling out of port, half the print run of that very-much-buzzed-about debut novel wound up being pulped in the warehouse because another, far better-established writer's new book needed the pallet space that mine had been taking up. (insert rueful smile here) Believe me, entropy is running, and will catch up with you one way or another. So make yourself as ready for it as you can.

I don't mean to increase your anxiety. Yet that said: you're preparing to enter a business in which, for a freelancer, at least some level of anxiety is more or less part of the basic ground of being. You are going to have to develop ways of dealing with the everyday forms of that to keep it from routinely derailing your work.

I find it helps a little if you can come to consider this as a modern form of Going On An Adventure. Good things will happen; bad things will happen; and all of these will be in service of building your career. Think of yourself as being on a quest.

Your job now becomes the business of suiting up with the best equipment and advice you can find (ideally not from outliers like me). The web is full of useful pages on subjects such as how to query and how to find an agent.

Here are links to some.

Compare these resources one against another to see how their different kinds of advice seem to stack up, and which ones are the most congenial for you.

Then use this data to start drawing your personal roadmap across the terrain. Get as clear as you can in your own mind about what you're trying to get out of being in this business: what kind of writing you want to do and what results you want to produce. Then set out, redrawing your road map as necessary as you keep moving forward through the new terrain.

And I wish you good fortune on the journey! (Because luck, as you can see from the above, can definitely be part of this... but fortune favors the prepared.)

Meanwhile, get out there and have a blast. :)

#writing #writing advice #fanfic #rejection

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yuurei20 · 3 months

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Comments from Yana on adaptations:

"Black Butler often diverges from the original story and character details when it is adapted into different forms of media. But they were changes that I left to others, made under a contract that I agreed to.

I consider my job to be just the original manga, as I can draw what I wish while collaborating with my editor.

I am really just one person, and I cannot do it all no matter how hard I try. So I preferred letting other creators do as they like. If I am asked to oversee and/or create for an adaptation, it depends on my availability and the compensation being offered. Sometimes I am not asked to participate in an adaptation at all, and other times a mountain of things will be submitted for my approval.

For works outside of Black Butler I am often not the copyright holder, so oftentimes I will not know what kind of adaptations are being planned. When something comes up I will do my best if I am asked to participate, but if I am not approached, I leave it to them.

There are also times when I just cannot accept requests to participate in the creation of an adaptation due to scheduling conflicts. If my schedule can’t align with the other party’s milestones, there is just nothing to do be done about it. I believe that there are a lot of artists who leave adaptations of their work to others for that reason, and it does not mean that they lack affection for their work.

There are a lot of artists who oversee adaptations of their work for free or work far beyond the scope of what they are being compensated for, because it is for their beloved art, which is like their child. But there is nothing more important than your mental and physical health and everyone has different limitations, so I hope people will refrain from comparing artists and saying things like, 'B-sensei won’t do it, even though A-sensei does. B-sensei must not have any affection for their own work.'

Once, at a thank-you party, a new artist came up to me and said, 'Toboso-sensei has never taken a hiatus, so I don’t want to take one, either,' and I immediately told them, 'I think it’s much more important to not push yourself. I’ve just been lucky—that’s all.' There is nothing wrong with aspiring to be like someone else, but I do not think it is right to compare yourself to others."

#twstyana

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londonspirit · 6 months

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Our Flag Means Death’s season-two finale has it all. There’s a declaration of true love between our favorite criminals, Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby) and Ed, a.k.a. Blackbeard (Taika Waititi). There’s also a heartbreaking death (RIP, Con O’Neill’s Izzy Hands), a pirate wedding that ends with the words “You are now officially mateys,” and some big-time fight scenes. “Mermen” packs a tight punch in only 30 minutes. The episode is both thrilling and satisfying, so even if Max makes the grave mistake of not renewing the series, fans will feel closure in a way that they didn’t with season one’s sendoff. And Our Flag Means Death creator David Jenkins already has some fun ideas brewing for a third season (and beyond!). The A.V. Club spoke to Jenkins about his plans to evolve Ed and Stede’s relationship, potential spin-offs, and how everyone on the show is handling its passionate fanbase.

The A.V. Club: First of all, how dare you kill Izzy Hands? Was that always the plan when you mapped out season two?

David Jenkins: [Laughs] Yes. I felt that Izzy had reached a point where he broke through a lot of his major patterns. It was fun to give him a season where he got to do everything and where Con O’Neill got to do everything. Well, I won’t say everything, because Con can do light years beyond what I think he can do, and I do think he can do anything. We wanted to show the depth of that character. Izzy is one of my favorites. He’s like middle management who is in a sort of love triangle [in season one]. He got his wish at the end of the first season by breaking up his boss and his boss’ lover. He got punished as a result, and he had to come out on the other side, which felt like a good journey.

AVC: Despite everything that happens in season two, including Izzy’s death, the finale ends on a happy note with Ed and Stede living together. Why was it important for you to show that?

DJ: Season one ends on such a tough note for them. As you said, after what they’ve been through, they should get a moment of happiness. I won’t say however fleeting. They are going to have challenges ahead. They’re both not the most mature yet. I think that’s the fun of it, to leave them in a place where it’s a good kind of stasis. They’ve sent the kids off in the car, so to speak, and now they’re going to have to really grow if they’re going to start an inn. It won’t be easy, but I like that they’re going to try.

AVC: “Mermen” has all the elements necessary for a season finale. Did you partly add all that as a way to provide closure in case this is the end for OFMD?

JD: What’s important to understand is that you never even know if you’re going to get a second season. Maybe if you get picked up for two right away, and even then, but especially right now, who knows? I think with season one’s end, it was a gamble to leave it the way it was. Everybody stomached through it. Now if it turned out they didn’t want us to make more, I just didn’t want to have another story where the same-sex love story ends in tragedy, unrequited love, or if one or both of them are being punished.

AVC: I actually love that about Our Flag Means Death. It reminds me of Schitt’s Creek in a way because the love story just exists and is perfect; there’s no questioning it as right or wrong.

JD: That’s such a nice compliment because I also think Schitt’s Creekdoes that really well.

AVC: You’ve previously said you want Our Flag to have only three seasons. Is that still true or do you feel like the show has scope to continue beyond that?

JD: I feel like Stede and Blackbeard’s story is a three-season story, but the world of the show could go beyond that. It’s a really rich world with so many stories to tell and really good performers to tell it. I do want to see how Ed and Stede become a mature couple in the next season. They’re a couple who is like in their late twenties right now as opposed to being teens at the end of season one.

AVC: So if OFMD continues in some other form, are there characters you’d like to focus more on or other historical references you’d like to include?

JD: Yeah, a lot, because it’s such a rich ensemble. How do you not want to see more of Joel Fry, Samson Kayo, Ewen Bremner, Nathan Foad, or Vico Ortiz? Any one of them could carry their own show. It’s fun to think about that and the storylines we can do with them, mixing and matching all our characters. Vico is incredible, for example, and I especially love watching them in an action sequence. This is a weird comparison, but there’s a Harrison Ford and Sigourney Weaver vibe they put out. I’m such a fan of what they do.

AVC: You also really like parallels and coming full circle as a storyteller.

JD: Yeah, I do.I knew I wanted to start season two in the Republic of Pirates and end by coming back there. Stede goes on an amazing journey between the episodes. He’s thrown out of there initially, but then he comes back as a hero. I like the symmetry of that. And then the Republic of Pirates gets destroyed; it dies. It’s not just Izzy; it’s the place too. It was important to have a home, this stronghold for everyone, be destroyed. But the characters are not crushed. They’re going to try to move on.

AVC: One of season two’s new characters is Zheng Yi Sao, played by Ruibo Qian, who quickly becomes an integral part of the crew. What was the casting process like for her?

JD: Ruibo is an amazing find. One of our incredible casting directors, Cindy Tolan, she had Ruibo in mind immediately for that part by the time it got to her. And we had looked and looked before talking to Cindy. Ruibo has her own fascinating story because apparently, she had a couple of strong premonitions that she’s going to play Zheng Yi Sao. She had a modern take on the part without it being strained. She’s incredible. She’s a trained theater actor with a lot of chops. She has to go toe-to-toe with Taika and Rhys. She did it with such grace.

AVC: Season two takes Blackbeard on an interesting turn of denouncing being a pirate. But in the finale, it’s almost like he’s reborn as one, especially with that gorgeous shot of him coming out of the water. What was the thought process behind this arc?

JD: Thank you. Blackbeard is a guy in recovery when he comes back to the ship when he’s wearing the jumpsuit. He’s trying to hang on and find some kind of footing. Who is he if he’s not a pirate? Meanwhile, Stede is on his way up and wants to experience the rockstar life of a pirate, while Ed as Blackbeard is over it. It was an interesting tension of, which one gives up their dream? A lot of times in relationships questions can come up, like who is going to give up on their dream to take care of the kids? Obviously, no one wants to, but someone ends up giving up more than they want to at some point. What’s wonderful about a mature romance, and what I’d want to see more of in season three, is Ed and Stede making these tough decisions.

AVC: Stede and Ed’s relationship has led to a passionate, vocal fandom, which you didn’t have as you were writing season one. While working on season two, how did you avoid doing fan service and focus on meaningful storytelling?

JD: I never anticipated the strong reaction to season one. It’s incredible it happened. Everybody is buoyed by it in the cast, crew, and the writers’ room. To be perceived on that level with such enthusiasm makes us want to make more of it. A lot of the things the fans love are not different from things the writers love. We are fans of the show. We’re writing fanfic, but it’s called fic when we write it. The big thing for us is to make sure we’re writing beats for the characters that feel true and have moments where all of us go, “Ooooh, we have to do this.” If the beats stay true, it won’t feel like we’re simply pandering.

AVC: How do you break down those beats for Ed and Stede’s relationship as they go from wanting to take it slow to sleeping with each other this season? And where do they go next?

JD: It’s challenging with them because most rom-coms end with couples getting together. They don’t then stay with them and say, “We’re together now, but it’s turbulent; how is that going to work out?” We thought, “Okay, let’s look at our relationships in the room. What have we encountered? Who’s been dumped? Who has had to forgive somebody?” These questions were fun for the second season. I think for the third, it would [be], “Okay, who’s had a relationship for over 10 years? What things do you have to work on?” It’s fun to watch two people like Ed and Stede go through this experience.

#our flag means death season 2 #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #spoiler #our flag means death #ofmd #david jenkins #interview #av club article

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blindmagdalena · 6 months

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I’m in dire need of angst. How do you think he would react to someone who didn’t have a close relationship with their parents? I’m just imagining an awkward Christmas dinner, their family totally sucking up to Homelander. But also not-so-subtlety making passive agressive/snarky comments towards the reader.

It was definitely his idea to go to Christmas dinner in the first place. You've been dreading it. He insisted, though. You don't want to deny him this when he doesn't even have a family, and he's clearly so excited by the prospect of it.

And to be fair, it started off well enough. Your family was so excited to meet Homelander. They couldn't believe this was really happening!

It didn't last long, though. Your dad just had to make an offhanded remark about how you sure were "dating up."

That was the beginning of the end.

Through the night, Homelander grows gradually less boisterous. He's talking less, listening more. You're uncomfortable, dejected, but ultimately you knew it would end up this way. You just wish he would have listened to you.

By the time dinner rolls around, the tension in the air is palpable. Homelander has stopped preening under the praises of your family. You want nothing more than to eat and leave.

The final straw is when your mother sneaks in a snipe about how you "Really could have dressed up for the occasion."

"Well, Sheryl," Homelander begins, his tone immediately catching the attention of the entire table. "You could have tasted the mashed potatoes before you salted them into an inedible sodium fuckfest, but hey, I guess that's beyond your scope of competence."

The silence is deafening.

He isn't done. "God, y'know. You people. You had one job. All you had to do was be good. Nice. Shovel some food into your face and not be total fucking pricks at every available moment, but y'couldn't even manage that. Y'had to air out eeevery single little nitpick and grievance that sprang into your circus peanut brains."

You're stunned, jaw hanging. Your mother's expression mirrors yours. With a noise of indignation, your father begins to stand.

"Sit the fuck down, Henry," Homelander snaps with a flare of crimson to his gaze that puts a shiver down your spine. It works. Your father sits, and the light fades away. "Now that's the smartest thing you've done all night. Didn't think you had it in you."

Homelander pushes his mostly full plate away and sighs, picking up the napkin from his lap to fold. "I was the one who asked to come here, y'know. Practically begged. Thought Christmas might just be a grand ol' time. Do you know how often I'm wrong? I'll give you a hint: it's not often. But you..." He wags his finger between them, smiling more maliciously than you've ever seen him. "You folks really got me tonight."

He stands up. Your heart is pounding in pure anxious adrenaline. For a moment you have a terrible vision of him leaving you here, furious with them and you that this wasn't the experience he had been hoping for.

His hand in your face snaps you out of your thoughts. You look up sharply, and see him looking down at you, that wicked expression suddenly much softer. Kind, even with that anger still simmering under the surface. You close your mouth and take his hand, swallowing.

"Lucky for me I already got my Christmas wish, hmm?" He says, offering you a little wink. "You are... perfect," he says, leaning in to press a tender little kiss to your forehead, emphasizing it with a pointed mmmwuah. "No idea how you escaped all that unscathed," he says, nodding his head in your parents' direction. "So, how about you and I blow this popsicle stand and go find a whooole lotta mistletoe to stand under?"

You exhale a breathless little laugh, tears prickling hotly at your eyes, overwhelmed by how thoroughly he came to your defense. "I'd really, really like that."

Glancing over, Homelander offers your parents one last tight, venomous little smile. "Merry Christmas, you miserable fucks."

Which is exactly how he signs every single Christmas card he maliciously sends your parents each year from that day forward.

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #my writing #YOU SNEAKY YOU GOT ME WRITING CRIMMAS EARLY #idk if this was particularly angsty but i hope you enjoy anyways haha #wow i'm in a mood for vicious homelander today aren't i???#i haven't answered asks this much in ages hahaha

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mci-writing · 6 months

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Can I request a senku x fem reader where she goes with the group to the cave instead of magma and her and senku end up cuddling for warmth and senku is all flustered by it.

Gonna slight change this up a little, anon. I kinda sat on this knowing I wanted to write something like it, but never knowing where to take it,,, BUT it's cold outside and season 3 is up to the infiltration arc so Imma have a little bit of fall fun 🥹

Lowkey has the same reader from Bandages in mind tbh but I also like the idea of Senkuu calling his s/o Dragonfruit so-

If you’ve got a couple dollars to spare, here’s my kofi (I am a struggling college student 😳)

By Night in Caves (Ishigami Senkuu x Fem!Reader)

A figure shivers as a sharp wind blows past them. The leaves starting to change shades and the cold breeze in the air are enough indication of the fall season. While most people would probably be snuggled up in their homes under a nice quilt or a huge blanket, (Y/n) was out with Senkuu and searching for God knows what. She could probably ask him what day it was and he'd know to a T, but she'd have to wait until after their current expedition.

She did bring the Stone World equivalent of a light jacket, but the night air was starting to make it a little useless the longer they were out and about. Senkuu isn’t showing it, but she can just tell the air’s starting to get to him too.

It’s just the two of them at the moment, the rest of their ragtag group splitting off to other areas to find what they’re looking for. While Senkuu would typically go off with one of the other generals, Gen was really persistent that he go with (Y/n). It was beyond her understanding why, but she wouldn’t complain about spending alone time with her close friend again.

“Hey, Leek,” She lightly tugs on his sleeve as his crimson eyes stare far ahead, her own (e/c) eyes staring off towards a cave in the near distance. She points towards it once she feels his eyes on her, “Think we should check in for the night? I’m more than positive the others have too with how dark it’s gotten.”

“Think you’re just getting cold, Dragonfruit,” He hums in response, staring at the cave as he thinks it over. He grins at the sight of the many sticks and twigs around the area, tugging (Y/n) along with him as he starts walking in that direction, “I’m sure it won’t hurt to start a fire for a bit though.”

He’s super eager to get there, picking up various rocks, twigs, leaves, and sticks as they get closer. She attempts to help, but he’s moving faster than she can think. It’s almost a little unnerving… Kind of like he thinks this cave will benefit him in some way or something…

“Wait, is the thing we’re looking for in a cave?” (Y/n) asks, turning to Senkuu just as he gets the fire up and running at the edge of the cavern’s opening. He stands and backs away from it, holding his hands out towards it for a little bit before slowly backing away from it.

The fire is a reasonable size, big enough to ward off any animals and let anyone know they’re location if they’re passing by. Senkuu, however, is moving further into the cave. His flashlight is on, catching the twinkles of a few minerals and gems a little further inside. There’s a glint in his ruby eyes, made devious by the smirk on his face, “You can stay by the fire if you want, but I’m gonna scope this area out for a bit.”

She stares at him with a straight face, narrowing her eyes at him as he starts getting more and more visibly excited. She normally wouldn’t mind him doing his science thing to his hearts content, but it’s starting to get late and she really doesn’t want to sit by the fire by herself…

And almost like a gift from God (or a curse from Satan), it starts to rain. And it rains hard.

The fire is out almost immediately and Senkuu freezes in his tracks at the sound. The crack of his neck can be heard as he quickly turns his head towards where (Y/n) is sitting, who has visibly tensed up like a cat at the sudden change of weather. The first clap of thunder has her jumping ten feet in the air, landing a ways away from the cave’s opening and further along inside. She bumps into Senkuu as she lands, the two stumbling to the ground together.

“Well, that’s great,” Senkuu grumbles as he lays on the hard ground, sitting up a little to glare at the cave’s entrance. (Y/n) is more than glad, but she won’t admit to praying on his downfall out loud.

“Maybe it’s for the best… It was getting pretty late,” She settles for, sitting up and glancing around the cave. She then looks down at him, giving him a teasing smirk, “We’ll just have to snuggle for warmth, Leek. Stark naked~”

He’s quiet after that, his face turned far enough away from hers that she can’t read it. After a moment, he looks up at her with the most deadpanned expression he can muster. He doesn’t even humor her with a grin or an inch of a smile, moving his focus to thinking as he stares hard at the rain outside, “We could be here a few hours. While the cave hasn’t hit relatively low temperatures yet, we may actually need to huddle for warmth throughout the night to keep body temperature between us. We shouldn’t need to take our clothes off since we didn’t get wet or anything and we definitely can’t start another fire with all the wet materials outside-”

He continues to ramble off plausible game plans and (Y/n) is unable to keep up after awhile. She rests her chin in her palm, sighing as she lets him finish his little analysis. While he does that, she gets close to him and rests her head on his shoulder before pushing into his space. She gets comfortable, burying her face in his neck and leaning her weight into his body so the two of them fall back to the ground.

(Y/n) wraps her arms around his waist, snuggling into his hold until her body is flush against his. Senkuu’s thinking stops as one of his arms wraps around her out of instinct and pull her closer to his body. A soft flush warms and fills his cheeks as he holds her close, hand pressed flat against her back while his other arm lays out to his side. He looks down at her, hoping the small change in his breathing isn’t obvious as he takes in how close she is.

“Turn your brain off, Senkuu. You said we could be here for hours, right?” (E/c) orbs glance up at him through her eye lashes, a soft pout dancing along her lips, “I’m heading to sleep, so you should too…”

He watches as her breathing begins to soften, reminding him of fond memories in the old world from sleepovers past. He shouldn’t get so worked up, they’ve been closer than this before, but he can’t help but focus on every part of her he’s been struggling to ignore as of late. Things like this keep him from getting jealous of the others, because deep down he knows no one could ever be as comfortable with her as he is.

Even so, he’s still left only admiring her from afar. He’s lucky most of their comrades have picked up on his feelings for her, but he’s got a long way to go before he’s even close to ready to admit his feelings…

Yet… He can revel in moments like this for now, with her in his arms in rare private moments like this. He’s glad the mentalist set this up for him, regardless of the protests from Chrome and the proud look on Ukyo’s face. She doesn’t have to know he wasn’t actually looking for anything, he’ll just wake up before her and grab a few resources from the cave to use as a small diversion. For now, he’ll take advantage of his situation…

He plants a soft kiss on the top of her head, letting himself fall asleep after.

#ishigami senku #ishigami senkuu #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senkuu x reader #senku x reader #Senkuu x reader #this is almost nothing like the request whoops #I couldn’t think of a way to make the ask productive towards the goal from that time #and I couldn’t imagine them getting stuck in that kind of situation again regardless of Senkuu’s bad luck 😅#I couldn’t see Senkuu being overtly flustered either just bc of how he is but I can see him as a sneaky bastard wanting to be with his girl #and by girl I mean close bestie he has deep feelings for that he keeps hidden #just imagine them as mutually pining idiots that know it’s a bad time to pursue something #but they kiss from time to time between stone wars and soyuz #yes this is the same reader from bandages 🤭

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ayeforscotland · 3 days

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I'm not a super dedicated gamer these days, but I loved Kerbal Space Program (a game that was more a labour of love than a commercial project) and was super hyped for the much delayed KSP2. When I saw it was releasing as early access (years late) I worried for its hopes of ever seeing completion and held off buying, now after all the other shananigans the entire team have been let go in yet another mass lay-off in the gaming industry. I feel like, a few notable exceptions aside, the big-budget gaming sector has been failing to deliver real quality games for a long time now, with lower-budget indie games more often coming up with gold from much simpler foundations. It seems almost as though developers are being pushed to shoot for unachievably epic games and releasing buggy messes, or vast but hollow worlds when the publishers get impatient or the money runs out. Is there any grain of truth in my feeling that bankrollers' expectations for games is leading to more games failing to live up to the hype as projects spiral out of control and over budget? Would big studios benefit from learning from indie devs and aiming to really nail down a simpler scope but on a scale beyond what the indies can achieve?

Industry-wise there’s a couple of things at play. And apologies for the length of this.

During the pandemic, there was a shitload of investment into the gaming industry as everyone was at home and many started playing games for the first time, so venture capital firms piled money in.

They were looking for a return on their investment, not really aiming to cultivate long-term studio success.

This puts pressure on the studio to get the game out the door quickly. That month or two of QA before launch just becomes overhead while you have a product that could be selling right now.

Chance to earn even more money for shareholders and execs? Welcome to microtransaction hell.

So that’s one side of it, investors/shareholders/execs forcing decisions that make games worse.

Next bit is partly influenced by the shareholder side of things but also a huge cultural side too. Lots of studios complete a project and then layoff staff because the next game isn’t ready to start being developed yet OR layoff staff because they don’t want to pay them OR staff leave to go and do something else (often due to lack of pay, lack of promotion etc)

And what this leads to is a *massive* corporate knowledge gap. People take their skills and knowledge and create voids. Voids that need to be filled by senior staff, which is why big AAA studios are always hiring seniors, and rarely hiring juniors. So all the seniors job-hop from studio to studio and there’s no new skill set being cultivated by new industry talent.

In my experience, these huge studios are also incredibly siloed. It’s something that impacts most industries, siloed teams lead to sluggish development and decision-making.

I think the games industry walks an incredibly fine line between being a creative endeavour and being a tech business. Process management methodologies honestly seem quite alien to the games industry, most of the time to its detriment.

It honestly wouldn’t be that hard to implement but Production as a discipline within games seems to be relegated to ‘staring at JIRA’ particularly in larger studios.

Could write forever about this to be honest.

Worth saying that indie studios also have their own issues. Almost everything is a scramble, and the search for publisher funding is a nightmare.

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vespertiliosworld · 2 months

Text

Shivani

Damian x Reader

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

English is not my first language, forgive me if there is any mistake.

Some time had passed since Diana Price adopted you. You were used to living with her, of course she didn't tell you how she found you. You started a new school in Washington.

Once you got to a pretty good school and a good life, Diana decided you were strong enough and started taking you on patrols with her. Along with this, you also started seeing Superboy and Robin more often.

There were times when you felt like they were redundant because they had met before you, but you were still used to them. Although Robin was a little rude to you. You felt a little relieved when Superboy told you that this was his normal self.

You still like to go on patrol and train with them. Of course, it was difficult for you to stay awake at night and do a lot of activities. Come on, let's be honest, you can't expect your mental health to stay good when you have a messed up sleep schedule and so many problems in your hero life.

On one of those similar days, of course, under Robin's leadership, you attempted things beyond your scope. You were hesitant about this because Diana had told you to only do the tasks they gave you."What if they get mad at us?" you said as you examined the strange underground tunnel you had entered.

Robin turned to you with a stern look. "Don't be a coward, it's just a mission." His voice showed how uncomfortable he was with you being there. He was leading you and Superboy as he walked in the front row.

You frowned but didn't respond to him.

"He's right Damian, we should leave this to the adults. They just told us to check if there was anything suspicious." Superboy said, defending you.

However, you were thinking about Superboy calling Robin 'Damian'. "Damian? Damian Wayne?" You asked in surprise, involuntarily raising your voice.

Damian turned to Superboy and wrapped his arms around his chest. "Great! Now he knows my identity, good for you idiot!" You were trying to digest this new information as he scolded Superboy.

“Me too Y/N!” You spoke to him with a big smile. "Y/N L/N! Nice to meet you." You offered him your hand with an awkward smile. "I promise your secret will be safe with me, Robin."

Damian glared at your hand and shook his head. "Second idiot! We are in an unknown place, they might be listening to us!" he said scolding you.

You bowed your head, realizing he was right. You felt stupid for making a mistake. "I am sorry."

Without saying anything, Robin just took a deep breath and turned and started walking. Superboy approached you and put a hand on your shoulder. “I'm Jonathan Kent, nice too meet you, Y/N.” When he looked at you with his smile as bright as the sun, you felt a little relieved.

After smiling at him, you quickly followed Robin, but after a few steps, you felt a breath on your neck and turned quickly. You put your hand on the back of your neck and stared into the empty darkness. You took a step with the uneasiness that surrounded you, but when the ground started to shake, you fell to the ground.

You quickly wanted to turn around and check on the boys, but you panicked when you realized you couldn't see any of them. You quickly stood up and ran towards the path you thought they were on, but you started to feel like you weren't making any progress.

"Look at that lonely little gazelle! How lost, how pathetic." When you heard the familiar voice, you quickly wanted to look around and saw him. Void was sitting in the air, watching you with amused eyes. You took out your sword and quickly got into a fighting stance, but Void did not move."Aw! Don't be like that little one, you're so wild."

"Shut up! Where are my friends? What did you do to them?!" You started yelling at him. You were afraid of the dark and this narrow space.

But why did the tunnel seem to be getting smaller?

Your hands holding the sword trembled as you felt yourself start to lose your breath. You ignored the Void and tried to run and find the exit. As you ran, the tunnel became smaller and smaller, reaching a size where you could no longer even stand.

"Aw! Is there something wrong, kid?" Void chuckled and mocked you. His eyes were shining dangerously. He looked like a hunter having fun with his prey.

You tried to hold the walls with your hands and push them, you were suffocating. Your phobia felt like it was going to kill you. As the walls got smaller, you felt like the day your parents died. When the screams of your mother, who put you in a small closet and locked you from the outside, and your father's crying reached your ears, you fell to your knees and started crying.

“Please…” You begged with your broken speech.

Void looked at you as if he was enjoying this situation. When he squeezed the black ball he held in his palm a little more, the walls became tighter. “Guess you got nowhere to go, huh?” He underestimated you. "Give me your power source and I'll get you out of here." He tried to talk you into a deal.

Instead of answering, you pressed your hands to your ears, trying to escape your family's screams. "Mom dad!" When you screamed, Void let out a breath of boredom.

"Come on kid, we don't have much time. You either stay here or give up your powers." he said in a serious tone. His facial expression had become more threatening, but you were too scared to see it.

When your sword glowed, it brought you out of that fearful memory. You tried to get out of this darkness by reaching out and holding your sword. You felt yourself coming to your senses as a warm and safe feeling seemed to radiate from the sword. You weren't on the day your parents died, you were in a situation the Void forced you into.

You clenched your teeth. "Go to hell!" When you tried to attack him with the sword in your hand, you noticed something. You weren't actually in a small, confined space! This was a very wide tunnel.

"Fuck!" He swore as he dodged your attack, realizing you were free from the effects of his powers.

He dodged back as you swung your sword at him. "You were lucky this time, but I'll catch you next time." When he threatened you as he disappeared into the darkness, the ground disappeared and you fell.

You looked around as your eyes suddenly opened and a large gush of black liquid came out of your throat. Robin and Superboy were looking at you. Robin was furious, but Superboy was worried. You hugged Robin, who was right in front of you, tightly and started crying. Your body was shaking with the fear you had just felt.

Damian wanted to push you away, but when he realized you were crying, he rubbed his hand on your back instead. When they realized that you were not following them, they turned and saw you drowning in a pitch black liquid.

Even though they tried to wake you up and make you vomit the black liquid, it didn't work and you went into a kind of shock and started shaking.

"Are you ok?" Superboy asked as he placed a hand on your shoulder and tried to help you calm down. "What happened?"

"Void," you said in a fearful voice. "H-He pinned me down to the day my parents died. I couldn't escape, I couldn't help them." you said as your sobs got louder. "It was so scary, there was blood everywhere."

"It's okay, you're okay now." said Robin dryly. He didn't know what to say, his relationships with people were not good.

As you started to calm down a little more, you felt like you had lost all your strength because you were crying. You tiredly turned away from Robin and wiped your eyes. "I'm sorry, I acted like a stupid."

Robin stood back and didn't answer you. "Let's go.

If you nodded and stood up, you walked to the exit. Meanwhile, Superboy reached out and held your hand, smiling at you. "Britain, I won't let anything like this happen again, Y/N, trust me." said.

You gave him a grateful smile and walked towards the exit.

Robin was walking in front of you with a grumpy look on his face."While you were unconscious, we checked ahead but there was nothing. Just a big wall." It seemed strange to suddenly see a wall where there was a dark road before.

You nodded. "Let's tell the adults, they know what to do." you said in a meek tone.

Superboy nodded in agreement. Your body was still shaking a little.

You felt relieved when you came out. You thought Void couldn't reach you anymore. When Robin got on his motorcycle you and Superboy flew side of him.

It was good to have the cold air hit your body and make yoı feel like you wasn't in a confined space anymore. Once a smile appeared on your face, you spent the rest of the night around the adults, telling them what had happened.

The next day, you spent all day thinking. Void wasn't going to leave you alone until he got what he wanted, there was no escape from him. You thought about what you could do, what path you would follow. Meanwhile, the window of the room was knocked once or twice.

You turned your head in that direction with fear, but you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Jonathan. You got up from the bed and opened the window for him, but Damian walked in before you did. With a relaxed attitude, he checked in as if he owned the place and sat on the chair in front of the desk.

When Jonathan came in, you closed the window and turned to them. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?" you said curiously.

Jonathan smiled widely. "Yes, but we want you to come too! Besides, there is a place called BatBurger in Gotham, we want to take you there too." he said excitedly. Then he stopped and put his hand on the back of his neck and bowed his head. "Of course, if you want to come too."

You smiled softly. "I would love that."

"Great then! Let's go." said Jonathan excitedly again.

Damian looked at him annoyed. "Idiot! She needs to get dressed!" he said scoldingly.

You giggled at them. You put on the relic and let the power flow through your body. Now that you were in your hero form, you put your hands on your hips and smiled strongly. "Let's go!"

#damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x y/n #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian x reader #dc comics #dc x reader #dcu #dc universe #superboy #jonathan kent #jon kent

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scruplescripture · 6 months

Text

Suuuppeeer rough stuff but here’s like, the meat of my Daydreamer AU plot, and some fun stuff… my sketches are lazy

Alright so here’s the sitch, my ramblings…

This is prismos deal;

Prismos dreamer was killed in his sleep, leaving behind Prismo as a daydream. Blue, desaturated, and more husk-like. Prismo didn’t have much of a clue as to what happened until he checked on his “body” and discovered the dreamer had been assassinated, but didn’t wake up in the process.

Scarab got a notification that Prismo had died and that there was an unknown entity in the vicinity, so he went to scope it out. He found what looked like prismo, and realized it was definitely prismo. Though still feeling bitter, he used the situation to chase off and mock Prismo.

Prismo escaped by pressing the TV remote before things got ugly, he went to the most chaotic place he could think of; Where the mushroom war took place. Because he thought he would be harder to track there.

He found shelter in an old well near a civilization. The people living there had children who regularly wished at the well, they called it the “Wishing Well”

So when Prismo got there, he decided to use some of his leftover power to help grant the children’s wish when they tossed coins down. Prismo decided to use the coin of the first children’s wish as a pupil, because he was unsettled by his own reflection in the water.

Eventually rumours spread about the Wishing Well that Prismo inhabited, and he got more wishes, the well slowly being filled with coins and other various objects. Obviously it was then easy for Scarab to find where Prismo was hiding out.

When Scarab found where Prismo was hiding he found it hilarious, mocking him further at how useless he had become. This drove Prismo even further into his turmoil, but Scarab had left him there to rot in the well. Until a crown with immense magical power was haphazardly thrown down.

Here’s where I’m at with Simon;

Both Simon and Prismo are a bit crazy by the time they meet in the well, after Simon had thrown the crown down in a fit of anger and desperation. Prismo couldn’t grant his wish due to most of his power being used up by that time, but since it was a bigger wish than any other he had granted while in the well, Prismo could get away with excuses.

Prismo promised Simon that he would help Simon get what he wanted since he was a wishmaster, he just needed to keep Prismo around long enough to get his power back. So Simon keeps Prismo in a prism necklace, shining light into it when Prismo wants to stretch his form.

Simon was manipulated by Prismo using his fear of losing Betty and desperation to keep Marceline safe. Prismo clung to the magic of the crown because it was similar to his own that he had lost; granting a wish and all. and also because he felt like he was losing it down in the well he was in, he was driven desperate for the power he once possessed and a need to finally explore the world beyond what he saw on the TV screen back in the time room.

Prismo is consistency being pulled between who he was before and the deceitful way he is now, feeling both guilty and angry from what was taken from him, and what he feels like he needs to do to “fix things”

Meanwhile Simon is now protecting both Marceline and Prismo using the ice crown under Prismos instructions, though he now sees things through more rose-tinted glasses (literally LOL!) due to Prismo filling his head with half-truths and white lies. He’s able to keep the other two safe by using snow-based defensive strategies, hence “Snow King” though if he needs to he can use larger shuriken-like ice snowflakes

I’m not sold on the way I drew him but here’s the deets

-his beard grew as long as his hair but he cut it short so prismo could see out of the prism, he keeps his hair long so Marceline can braid it

-Prismo made a passing comment about him looking cool in red so now it’s his thing

-like, a little bit happier than in the cannon show, but it’s all based on lies so it’s tragic

-more focused on his work again because of Prismo, kind of torn between that and looking for Betty?? Who knows

To be honest, if anyone’s got better ideas lemme hear em’ cause I might be crazy about this and far off the mark with how Prismo would act in that situation

Also yes scarab becomes the new wishmaster, still have not thought that design out yet be gentle

Also I think about this song a lot while thinking about daydreamer AU, have it

#daydreamer au #cried and sob into my illow #definitely not an excuse to have more Simon and Prismo interaction #Spotify

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familyabolisher · 1 year

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Sorry to ask something somewhat related to the recent discourse, but do you have any advice to someone trying to teach themselves lit analysis or lit theory? Seems like most online advice ends at "get an English degree lol"

first of all sorry for leaving this for so long, between work and various other Demands in my life i didn’t really have the time/energy to sit down and write up a proper answer for a while. anyway: imo, what’s more important than working your way through a long list of critical theory is honing an ability to respond to a text yourself; being able to take notice of your emotional responses, being able to ask questions about what the text does and what it responds to and whether you think it succeeds or fails. questions like ‘what is the text about?’ are often too vague, and assume that critical practice is a task limited to investigating the ‘correct’ metaphysical properties of a text that we have to uncover, as well as presenting literature as wholly utilitarian (under this framework, a text becomes a vehicle for a ‘theme,’ and nothing more.) in the list below, i’ve tried to be a little more precise about the kinds of questions that can help you become a more confident + critical reader.

[disclaimer: i am not any kind of expert, i have studied english lit at degree level and i do read a lot / make a habit of talking about what i read, but i would not consider myself especially ‘qualified’ and nor should you. i’m explaining a process that works for me, not providing a one-size-fits-all solution to the question of analytical methodology.]

the essence of literary practice is that a text has a terrain where it has to be met with, and where it will be accountable to forces that are often beyond its control or beyond its immediate borders, and a terrain where it asks to be met with, and towards which it will attempt to navigate the reader; the reader’s job is to meet with it on both terrains, synthesise them, and respond to them. so, some of the questions you should be asking about a text include:

what is its context? this can mean a lot of things: when and where was it written, and how might the conditions contemporary to its creation be informing the inner working of the text? is it considered part of a particular literary movement; how does it interact with the core characteristics of that movement? does it invoke other works; if so, how does it respond to them? what biographical information about the author might be relevant to the piece? some books will come with an introduction which, if written well, would cover at least the outstanding details on this list; you can also have a look on wikipedia or other such websites to get a feel for the conditions under which the text was created.

how does it respond to this context? rather than assuming a text to be a passive body onto which its external conditions are exerting their unilateral force, we should always understand a text as being in active dialogue with the context that shaped it. what are the questions typically posed within the movement or genre to which it belongs; how does it answer these questions? does it build on its predecessors in any way? if it’s a responsive text (ie. consistently invoking an earlier text), what does it have to say about the text to which it responds; how does it develop or contravene the template from which it was building? how might it be responding to the questions of its time; which paradigms are challenged? which are endorsed, actively or tacitly? what goes unmentioned? i emphasise critical engagement with context so heavily because it’s often where the meat of the text can be found.

what are the conditions which made this text possible? this is a little different to questions about context, which have a far broader scope; this is a question which seeks to treat a text not as a thing that came into existence of its own accord, but as a thing that emerged as a result of a process of material production that depends upon particular conditions. is it a mainstream publishing house, or an indie press, or self-published? how does this affect its authority, or the standard to which we hold it? how does this affect its relationship to narratives of cultural hegemony? what can that tell us about what hegemony can and cannot absorb? this is me being a big marxist about it but i think this question is woefully neglected in literary studies lol

why did the author make the choices that they made? one of the most important things to remember when it comes to literary analysis is that every choice made in a text is deliberate; every choice about what happens, what a character says and does, what a character looks like, how particular characters interact, how scenes and objects and settings are described, what prose style is employed, what word is used in a sentence, etc., is a deliberate choice being made by an external agent (ie. the author, sometimes/arguably also the editor, also the translator if a text is in translation), and those choices are accountable both to the deliberations of the author and the external cultural narratives with which they necessarily enter into a dialogue. ‘why does a character behave in a particular way’ is not a question that invites you to treat the story like a riddle for which you can find an ‘answer,’ but a question that engenders the following: what does their behaviour reveal about the character, and how might this be situated within the discourse of the wider text? does this behaviour reveal any biases on the part of the author? what sort of expectations does this behaviour establish, and are those expectations met or neglected or subverted? the same process can be applied to themes, settings, plot beats - anything, really. why is this particular adjective used - does it have other connotations that the author might want to draw attention to in relation to the object being described? why does this chapter end here and not here? nobody in a novel has agency that extends beyond the boundaries of the novel itself; part of the practice of analysis means discerning which choices were made and why, and whether those choices were good or bad.

what is your response? analysis is a misleading term for this practice; it’s less about dispassionately picking at a text in search of an ‘answer’ and more about evaluation - assessing the text’s successes and failures and cultivating your personal response to it, which means paying attention to your responses as you go along. some people would argue that ‘did you like/dislike this’ is a juvenile question, but i would disagree - knowing whether you liked or disliked something and being able to describe why it evoked that reaction in you is crucial to an evaluative practice. a text can be conceptually excellent, but falter if its prose is clunky or uninspired or unimaginative; being able to notice when a text isn’t engaging you and asking why that is is an important part of this evaluative process. similarly, what do you make of the themes and developments present in the text; does it dissect its themes with precision, or does it make broad gestures towards concepts without ever articulating them fully? is it original? does it have sufficient depth to it? do you agree with it? are you compelled by it? if you were asked the questions that the novel tries to respond to, what would you say; do you think that the novel misses anything out? has it challenged your own perspective? what are its limitations?

literary analysis is a learned skill, but by its nature of being a skill it gets a lot easier over time, and some of these questions will become intuitive. a good way to hone the skill and develop a greater intimacy with a text is through close reading; this refers to the practice of selecting a passage (or even just a sentence) and picking it apart line by line (word by word, even) to describe in intimate detail exactly how the sentence(s) came to be formed in the way that it/they did. i’ll use the first few sentences of daphne du maurier’s rebecca as an example.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. There was a padlock and chain upon the gate. I called in my dream to the lodge-keeper, and had no answer, and peering closer through the rusted spokes of the gate I saw that the lodge was uninhabited.

so a close reading of these sentences might identify:

‘last night i dreamt i went to manderley again’ is in iambic hexameter; this rhythmically satisfying invocation makes for a smooth opening sentence, and contrasts with the longer, more complex sentences that follow on. the change in rhythm through such a contrast helps to maintain momentum throughout the paragraph.

the first sentence also introduces a few key pieces of information - that this story is being told from the first person, that we are opening with a dream (and that the narrative places stock in the significance of dreams), and that the speaker is going to manderley ‘again’ - ie. that this is opening after an event in which manderley was significant. that the speaker going to manderley ‘again’ in a dream holds importance implies an exile from manderley in the ‘real’ world; this already gives us hints at the broader shape of the narrative.

the speaker’s intimacy with manderley and disregard for ‘telling’ the reader what it is (we do not get, like, ‘manderley is a house’ or something - the passage continues as though we know what manderley is already) helps to develop our sense of immersion in the dreamscape. it also sets manderley up as a place of immense significance.

both ‘it seemed to me’ and the later ‘i called’ have a matter-of-factness to them, a certain dry reporting of the events of the dream which, rather than situating the reader within the texture of the dream itself, refortify us as outside of it, listening to it be explained after the fact.

‘for a while i could not enter, for the way was barred to me’ continues the theme of implied exile that the first sentence gestured towards. the iambic trimeter on ‘the way was barred to me’ creates a lilting cadence which, along with the use of the passive voice, detaches the speaker from an emotive response to this being ‘barred’; it is a reported dream that will not consciously acknowledge the speaker’s feelings about being exiled from manderley at this time. (we instead infer these feelings through how the chapter develops.)

‘there was a padlock and chain upon the gate,’ as a short sentence, falls into the same matter-of-fact register as that which i alluded to above, partly through the use of the passive voice, and - as i explained earlier - varies the length of sentences such that the paragraph retains a particular buoyancy.

the development from the speaker calling to the lodge-keeper to not getting an answer to seeing that the lodge is uninhabited tells a story wherein the speaker at first has authority such that a lodge-keeper would respond to her and let her in; this authority is negated by the lack of response; the lodge-keeper is found to be absent in a development that took place whilst she was herself away, presumably in the state of exile that we have inferred her to be in. ‘uninhabited’ is the kind of word you would expect to be used for an area of land, often with a colonial connotation; this introduces a theme that this chapter (& the book as a whole) goes on to develop, of manderley being a site of colonial decay; as reinforced by the ‘rusted spokes.’

in my experience, close reading is a technique best practiced on poetry, but it’s a very helpful skill to develop in general, and implementing it with prose can elucidate the nuances of a text far more clearly than you might initially realise. in a well-written novel, language is very deliberate and precise!

i think the best thing you can do to develop your skills as a critical reader is to read carefully, and to keep track of your responses to a text as best as possible. keeping a note of what you think a text achieves and how you respond to it each time you read one can be a good way of sorting your thoughts into something coherent and developing your ability to articulate a response. anyway, hopefully this has provided something resembling a guide for how to develop the thought processes that go behind critical practice!

#ask #long post #resources

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odessa-castle · 11 months

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I'm bouncing around a larger post about Nishiki and the mortifying ordeal of being known, but in the meantime I'm thinking about Nishiki and Kiryu and how the clothes make (or don't make) the man. Like, beyond my visceral horror that Kiryu begged Nishiki to pick out a safe and boring suit for him in Y0 and then said he was envisioning something purple with gold stripes.

I'm thinking about Nishiki's incredible sensitivity to image and his need to control how he's perceived. I'm thinking about Kiryu's inability to let go of the past. I'm thinking about how KIryu dresses like who he thinks he is, and Nishiki dresses like who he thinks he wants to be.

There's some interesting incidental dialogue between Nishiki and Kiryu in Y0 while they're en route to the men's suit store. I wish it wasn't so easy to miss, because there's a lot to unpack here. (I'm just transcribing the English in-game subtitles here; I don't speak Japanese so I have no idea how loose vs. direct the localization is in this part.)

NISHIKI: …now that I think about it, you've been dressing like an old man since we were kids. KIRYU: Have I? NISHIKI: Yeah. The few times we got to pick our clothes, it was always like, "you're choosing THAT?" NISHIKI: I wouldn't say you're a plain guy…You'd pick shirts with weird prints though. KIRYU: Guess I forgot all that. It's weirder to me that you haven't. NISHIKI: Well, confession time. You're why I started caring about fashion. I swore I'd never go out dressed like you. KIRYU: Come on, I'm not THAT bad. [we have already discussed why kiryu is, in fact, that bad.] NISHIKI: [laughing] Aww, did I hurt your feelings? NISHIKI: Well, this time you've got me with you. I'll see my bro gets taken care of. KIRYU: Heh. What an honor. NISHIKI: Leave it to me.

Nishiki doesn't bring up Sunflower Orphanage much; when he does share memories of his childhood, those memories are kind of painful (see: "do orphans not get to dream?"). Kiryu's surprised that Nishiki remembers how they dressed as kids, but it makes sense that wearing a limited selection of hand-me-downs stuck with Nishiki so strongly. His clothes announced his poverty, and they weren't even his -- he had to share them with the other orphans, so what he wore showed he belonged to yet another stigmatized group. And I'm sure people picked up on those visual signals, especially other kids. Kids can be vicious, and appearance is an easy and immediate target! We don't know for sure how young Nishiki interacted with his peers and teachers, but given what the Morning Glory kids go through in Y3 (and given, like, everything about Nishiki), he probably didn't have a great time.

Kiryu frames his childhood as poor but loving, and places much more emphasis on the latter. There might be some rose-colored glasses at work there -- let's look at the flashback where Kazama tries (and fails) to violently dissuade Kiryu and Nishiki from joining the yakuza.

KIRYU: I owe you everything, but this isn’t about that. [...] We’ve looked up to you for all this time. Your car. Your confidence… The way everybody bows to you. We idolized you. I want that life, too. Is that so wrong!?

Nishiki doesn't really speak in this flashback, but like, Kiryu uses "we" enough for us to draw some obvious conclusions about Nishiki's own motivations. That being said, I don't think Kiryu's being dishonest or disingenuous when he describes his childhood as happy, and himself as well-loved. He's not ashamed of his upbringing, and he doesn't hide where he came from. Nishiki seems to have the inverse view. It's not that he doesn't love (at least some of) the people he grew up with, but what comes up first for him is what he didn't have. He didn't have money. He didn't have respect. He didn't have a cure for his little sister. He didn't have a lot of choice, right down to the clothes he wore.

(There's a whole other essay here about why Kiryu's and Nishiki's perspectives diverge on this, but I'm trying to limit the scope of this post. Suffice to say that, while I don't think game canon gives a timeline, I do think Nishiki was a little older when his parents were killed -- old enough that he actually remembers them, at least.)

The same mindset fuels Nishiki's interest in fashion. Yeah, part of it is that he's ribbing Kiryu, but I think it goes deeper than Kiryu wearing ugly shirts. Nishiki doesn't want people to look at him and see what's missing. Fashion isn't a means of personal expression for him, really. It's a message. It's the interplay of knowledge and resources and presentation: knowing what clothes read as successful and trendy and expensive, being able to afford those things, and convincing people that your successful important outfit makes you a successful important person. And he's not wrong about the social dimensions of fashion.

NISHIKI: Try sporting a suit that runs 500 grand for once. Trust me, you’ll see the world in a whole new light. KIRYU: Fashion’s not my thing. Besides, Kazama-san never wore flashy clothes. NISHIKI: You do realize he’s the family captain, right? Number two in the whole Dojima operation? You get to that level, you can wear whatever you damn well please. But for the rest of us, “flashy” is part of the business. KIRYU: So that fancy new car you bought was just “business”. NISHIKI: Yeah, and that fancy lighter of mine, too. Which you still haven’t given back. KIRYU: You want to play the rich guy, quit being so stingy. NISHIKI: But you get what I’m saying, right? People see the expensive car, the designer jacket, and the gleam of that little Dojima pin, they pay attention. A yakuza’s only as good as his image. [...] Take your buddy today. These squeaky-clean idiots, borrowing money just to blow on tits and booze… Nobody in this town gives a crap about substance. What you see is what you get.

That's our first take on one of the major themes of the game: what does it mean to be yakuza? Again, there is truth to what Nishiki's saying here, particularly in terms of the ethos of the eighties. I'm not an expert on the bubble era, but the worldbuilding in the game speaks for itself. People hail taxis with 10,000-yen bills. You punch money out of punks during random street battles. Nishiki keeps a personal bottle of high-end booze at a bar he's visited twice, mostly because he "can’t stand being taken for a bum." The act of spending is important, not what you're spending it on.

Nishiki's outfit in Y0 is perfectly suited (heh) to that outlook. And look, I might be inviting controversy here, but in context, I think it's a werq. Yes, it's loud. But the silhouette -- squared shoulders, single breasted, thinner peaked lapel -- is right on trend for the time period, and it fits him well. The colors look good on him. The bold pattern (no, it's not animal print) under the solid maroon is a risk, but he pulls it off. And excess aside, he knows when to pull back on the accessories. It's bright and confident and memorable, and boy would Nishiki like to be all of those things.

Also -- and importantly -- Kiryu would never go out dressed like that. Because we can't talk about Nishiki and Kiryu without talking about Nishiki's Mt. Fuji-sized inferiority complex. Mastering image doesn't just make Nishiki stand out; it makes him stand out from Kiryu. Let's go back to the beginning of the game.

NISHIKI: I’ll admit, though, you’re finally starting to look the part. You make a pretty convincing yakuza. You’re done with collections today, right? KIRYU: Yeah. NISHIKI: Good. That should put Kazama-san’s mind at ease a bit. KIRYU: Heh, dunno about that. But he always knew all I could do is fight. You’re the one who’s good at the dance.

Nishiki then calls attention to the "rags" that Kiryu's wearing, which...is not an unfair assessment. (TUCK IN YOUR SHIRT, KIRYU. HEM YOUR PANTS.) As the two of them walk around Kamurocho, Nishiki offers Kiryu plenty of hot tips, from meeting girls to making big bucks to cozying up to the brass. But even when Nishiki's opining on his area of expertise, there's a competitive edge to it. "You asking me to pick out clothes for you means you admit you have terrible taste," he tells Kiryu on the way to the suit shop. Kiryu tells him to shut up, but there's no actual hurt behind it. Kiryu doesn't really care that his taste in clothes sucks. Fashion isn't important to him. Most of the things Nishiki knows so much about don't really matter to Kiryu. And that makes Nishiki feel more insecure! Because if Kiryu rolls out of bed looking like a yakuza, if Nishiki's image counseling sessions aren't helpful or meaningful, if Kiryu can skip the dance and get to the top on the strength of his fists and convictions, then who cares about Nishiki's 500 grand suit or his hourlong hair care routine? If image isn't what makes a yakuza, what does that make Nishiki?

At the end of Chapter 6, Nishiki tries to look out for Kiryu again -- this time, by granting him a merciful death before the Dojima Family drags him to the Hole. It's one of my favorite scenes in the game. Nishiki's crying too hard to aim the gun properly; Kiryu tells him to man up and shoot. Finally, Nishiki collapses.

NISHIKI: Can’t do it… How could I shoot you!? Without you, I’ll always be nothing. Can’t make it as a yakuza… No. I wouldn’t even still be alive now if I didn’t have you beside me! I’m just… If you’re not with me, I’m useless! Nothing means anything!

Mastering image hasn't granted Nishiki anything of substance. At the end of the day, Nishiki's playing dress-up, and he knows it.

And I'm almost certainly getting into overthinking-this territory now (if I haven't gotten there already), but I kind of like the spin this puts on Nishiki ripping his expensive suit off in Chapter 14 when he decides to fight the Dojima Family at Kiryu's side. Like yes, ripping off your outer layers to get at the naked (so to speak) truth -- your irezumi, and what it represents -- is just Yakuza Storytelling 101. It's decisive, it's kind of dumb, it's great, it gets me hyped every time. But I like that Nishiki's honest answer to "what does it mean to be a yakuza?" isn't about looking the part. I am genuinely trying not to end this paragraph by saying that Nishiki must become like a dragon, but like...you get where I'm going with this.

Of course, Nishiki's back to playing dress-up in Y1/Kiwami. I'm not the first to call the Patriarch Nishikiyama look a glow-down (though I like the patterned white tie). Like, fashion-conscious Nishiki would look good in a Hedi Slimane/Tom Ford-esque skinny black suit. But he picks a silhouette you'd expect to see on a much older man, torso-swallowing pants and all. The slicked-back hair doesn't help. He's just so transparently trying to look bigger and broader and older, and he doesn't pull it off. Big Bad Patriarch isn't a good look for him, in any sense of the phrase.

A final thought: Kiryu's clothes, and Nishiki's commentary on them, are the subject of their first conversation in Y0 -- and of their last. Kiryu's costume progression in Y0 is a pretty obvious commentary on his journey, to the point where Kiryu and Nishiki explicitly call attention to the color connotations in their final exchange. As a Dojima grunt, he wears black, and it doesn't look good on him because "brutish thug who keeps his head down and does what he's told" isn't a role he's comfortable with. He wears white when he works in real estate, but the change in color isn't enough to sell anyone on his transformation into a civilian. Although it's a little rich for Oda "Red Clown Shoes" Jun to chide someone for not wearing a proper suit. At the end of the game, Kiryu's in his classic grey suit, and well, the game spells it out:

KIRYU: I’m not feeling black or white these days. This is where I’m at right now. I chose it myself. I’m making it a fresh start. NISHIKI: Fine, fine. See if I care! Wear it the rest of your life!

Nishiki, dismayed, tells Kiryu that the grey suit already looks dated, but for Kiryu, "fresh start" doesn't mean "on trend". His image might be out of step with how other yakuza view themselves, or want to be seen, but if he's always going to look like a yakuza, he might as well stake his claim on what being a yakuza means. Still, it's telling that, even as a young man, Kiryu looks like a throwback to an earlier era. As the series progresses, the games hammer this home more and more. How many antagonists tell Kiryu that he's out of touch with the modern world, that he represents a version of the yakuza that no longer exists, that it's time for him to make way for the next generation?

"Wear it the rest of your life!" is a funny little in-joke, yeah, but...it's a little sad when you think about it, isn't it? Kiryu gets new outfits from Y3 on -- and in every game, he ultimately puts the suit back on and heads to Kamurocho. It's exactly of a piece with how Kiryu views being yakuza. We, and he, can debate the exact extent of his retirement from the Tojo Clan's affairs, but the yakuza isn't a career for Kiryu, it's a set of beliefs he carries with him. He wears the suit the same way he wears the dragon on his back: as an indelible part of his self-image.

#yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #yakuza meta #kiryu kazuma #nishikiyama akira #kazuma kiryu #akira nishikiyama #i've been poking at this thing intermittently for months but a certain tournament really got my mental gears going again #yakuza's just really fun to put under a microscope #i'm interested in the way the games do things even when i don't like what they do #(although to be clear i *do* generally like how rgg dresses its cast)#(even the outfits i make fun of are usually like...coherently delivering a statement about the character wearing them)#genuinely did not think i'd spend so much time writing this but hey #maybe i'll do these kinds of posts more than like...biannually...if they're sufficiently interesting #meta

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dystopicjumpsuit · 30 days

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Double, Double Boil and Trouble - Part 5

A/N: This is part 5 my fic for the @rare-clone-fic-exchange, which I wrote for @goblininawig. The story takes place in a shared continuity with Stars Beyond Number, Martyrs and Kings, and “Do It Again,” but it stands alone and can be read independently of those fics.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Boil x Reader (GN, has hair; reader practices tasseomancy/reads tea leaves)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 3.1K

Warnings and tags: mysticism; angst; fluff; mild critique of the Jedi Order (but no Jedi hate); fade-to-black sensuality; implied oral sex; ritualistic drug use; a description of being high on hallucinogens/psychedelics

Obligatory disclaimer: Please don’t use this as a how-to guide for or endorsement of drug use, because 1. it’s inaccurate to the real world, and 2. depending on your location, ThAt WOuld Be ILlEGal. This is a Wendy’s fanfic.

Summary: Boil is willing to do what it takes to get answers about Waxer.

Suggested Listening:

“You sure this won’t make me pop positive if I get tested?” Boil asked, eyeing the tin of tea warily.

“Completely. You have two rotations left of shore leave, and this will be out of your system in twenty-four hours.”

You spoke with certainty, and Boil felt some of his doubts ease. He picked up the tin and removed the lid, giving the tea a curious sniff. It didn’t smell like much; just faintly earthy and vegetal.

“So how does it work?”

“You brew it and drink it, just like regular tea,” you replied. “After a few minutes, you start to feel the effects.”

“And what do the effects feel like?” He set the tea tin down and took a bite of his breakfast.

“Nothing much at first,” you replied. “But when it hits, you’ll know. Everything will look a little clearer and brighter. Food will taste a little better. Everyday things will start to seem really, really interesting. People will be prettier and funnier and smarter.”

“That just sounds like a couple shots of Cheedoan whiskey,” Boil observed.

“Oh, somebody’s fancy,” you teased. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty.”

He laughed and tossed his crumpled napkin at you, mostly for the fun of seeing you shudder and flick it away with a revolted expression. “The general bought a round for Ghost Company one time.”

“I hope he charged it to the Jedi Order,” you laughed. “Do Jedi get paid?”

“Search me,” he shrugged. “Clones don’t.”

You grimaced. “I know. Kriffing banthashit, is what that is.”

It didn’t change a thing, but Boil still felt a little better knowing you weren’t as complacent as the rest of the galaxy seemed to be about the clone troopers’ situation.

“So what makes this tea any different from a decent buzz?” he asked.

“That would be the visual hallucinations,” you replied with a cheeky grin.

He eyed you curiously. “I take it you’ve done this before.”

“A few times,” you nodded. “It can be pretty fun. You haven’t lived until you’ve watched the Eye of Aldhani—you know what, never mind.”

He laughed. “What about the ritual part?”

“It’s a little different. The dosage is higher, so the effects are more intense.” You hesitated a moment before adding, “There’s another element to it as well.”

“What’s that?”

“Force sensitivity,” you replied bluntly. “You need to either be able to wield the Force yourself, or have a strong connection with someone who can.”

He nodded, recalling a detail you’d told him months ago. “And your grandmother taught you to wield it? Why didn’t she send you to the Jedi for training?”

“Our world isn’t part of the Republic,” you explained. “The Jedi order has no jurisdiction that far out in Wild Space, and to be frank, we prefer it that way. They mind their own business, and we mind our own.”

Boil pondered your response quietly, noticing the strained expression in your eyes, and he remembered that you tried to stay off the Jedi’s scopes. “You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not talk about it.”

You gave him a grateful look and replied, “It’s all right. It’s not a secret or anything. It’s just…” You paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “We do things our own way. And when someone is born with the Sight—the Force—we train them in our own way, too. It doesn’t happen often, and there weren’t many elders with the Sight left by the time I was born. Gran took on my training, but I was only fifteen when she passed.”

Boil gazed steadily at you, feeling a deep sense of foreboding. “What happened?”

“I came to Coruscant, hoping the Jedi could help me. I scraped together everything I had in the galaxy to pay for the trip. But when I went to the temple, they said it was too dangerous to train someone who’d been ‘corrupted.’” The word came out harshly, as though it tasted bitter on your tongue. “They sent me away. Said I would be better off knowing nothing of the Force.”

Boil was horrified. “But you were just a kid!”

“Yeah,” you replied grimly. “I grew up pretty fast after that.”

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine most of the Jedi he’d met ever treating a child with such callousness, but he and his fellow clones knew better than anyone that the Jedi order contained all sorts of beings, ranging from those who were kind and wise like General Kenobi, all the way to monsters like that kriffing traitor, Pong Krell.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, feeling the inadequacy of his words. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right,” you replied. “I’m older and wiser now, and I realize I probably wouldn’t have been the best fit in the Order. And I’ve picked up quite a bit of knowledge since then—especially since I met Tas. There are more paths to the Force than people think.”

The conversation had strayed into territory that was wholly unfamiliar to Boil, so he was relieved when your serious expression faded and the usual glint of humor returned to your eyes. “Lucky for you, I know what I’m doing.”

He smiled, content to let you steer the topic back to the ritual. “So when you say we need a strong connection, how strong are we talkin’?”

“It requires a very high level of trust. We will have to lower our mental defenses enough to allow each other in. When I’ve done it in the past, it was with people I was very close to—people I had known for years.”

“So you don’t do this for every trooper you bewitch?” he asked.

You grinned. “Actually, yes. After tonight, I will have done this for every single trooper I’ve bewitched. One-hundred percent success rate. Hopefully.”

“So what happens if our connection isn’t strong enough?”

Your smile faltered slightly. “Nothing. We’ll have a hell of a trip, and tomorrow we can thank the Force that it wasn’t our money that got wasted on the tea.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said. “When should we do it?”

“We’ll need a few hours of uninterrupted privacy, so we’ll want to wait until I get off work tonight,” you replied. “It’ll be about half an hour before you start to feel the effects, and then we’ll begin the ceremony.”

“That sounds ominous,” he laughed. “Is there a blood sacrifice, or is that only on Centaxdays?”

“You know, I’m fresh out of sacrificial victims, so we’ll have to skip it this time.”

Your eyes sparkled, and he inhaled softly, stunned by how beautiful they were when you looked at him with that mischievous expression. Not that he would tell you that, obviously. What was he supposed to say?

You have the sweetest eyes in the galaxy.

I’ve never kissed anyone with such perfect lips.

The last two weeks have been the best of my life.

When I’m with you, I feel like everything is easier.

I don’t want to leave.

Please. He wasn’t a total sap.

“Cutting corners?” he asked instead, a hint of a taunt in his tone. “And here I thought I’d get special boyfriend privileges.”

He watched for your reaction out of the corner of his eye, and he didn’t miss the way you bit your lip to keep from smiling.

“Oh, you get boyfriend privileges,” you replied. “Door keycode, toothbrush, unlimited conservator access, your very own caf mug… And other things.”

He grinned, moving closer and sliding his hand around your waist, easing his fingers inside your ridiculous bathrobe to caress the bare skin of your hip.

“What other things?” he murmured in your ear, nipping the skin of your neck softly.

Kriff, you taste delicious.

“Ten percent discount on readings,” you replied.

“Ten percent?” he whispered, trailing kisses down your neck to your shoulder as he untied the sash of your robe and brushed his fingers lower on your body. “You can do better than that.”

“F—five percent,” you stammered in a gratifyingly breathy voice. “That’ll teach you not to haggle.”

“Mm,” he hummed as he worked his mouth down your torso, dropping slowly to his knees in front of you. “Maybe we could work out a barter system. I’m sure I could provide some services you might find appealing.”

Your only response was a broken whimper as he took you with his mouth, gripping your hips and then sliding his hands back to cup your ass and pull you against his face.

Maker, I could worship you forever. I don’t want to leave.

Boil would rather die than admit he was nervous. For kark’s sake, he faced off against entire divisions of battle droids on a daily basis; how intimidating could a cup of tea possibly be? Besides, you seemed perfectly comfortable as you brewed the tea and lit a stick of incense, and there was no way he’d let you see him blink. He was a soldier of the Republic, and he wasn’t afraid of anything.

Still, some of his definitely-not-nervousness must have shown on his face, because you gave his arm an encouraging little touch as you walked past him into the living area. He watched as you pulled all the throw pillows off the sofa and your bed and piled them on the floor to make a soft, chaotic nest, and then you dimmed the lights. Your flat had already taken on a strange, mystical air, and he hadn’t even tasted a sip of the tea yet.

He watched curiously as you placed colorful stones in all the windowsills and doorways of your flat.

“What are those for?” he asked.

“Just making sure the only spirits that show up are the ones we want,” you replied with a lopsided grin, but the look in your eyes made him think you were deadly serious. “Nothing to worry about.”

He blinked. So I guess that’s definitely something to worry about.

“I’m not gonna get haunted by this, am I?” he asked, aiming for a casual tone and not quite nailing it.

“Definitely not!” you replied, before adding under your breath, “... probably.”

“Probably?”

“I’m ninety percent sure,” you reassured him. “Eighty-three percent sure.”

“Are you kriffing with me, or are you serious?” he demanded.

You laughed. “I’m kriffing with you. You definitely, probably won’t get haunted, and even if you do, Tas has a banishing spell that’ll get rid of anything.”

“You know you’re not exactly inspiring confidence, right?”

Your only response was a playful smile that made him want to kiss you until you forgot your own name, so he did. He caught you by the hand and hauled you into his arms, threading his fingers through your hair as he kissed you again and again.

“Could you be serious for ten seconds?” he murmured between kisses.

“No promises.” You flicked your tongue against the corner of his lips, and he nearly called off the entire operation and tossed you onto the bed on the spot.

With a rather impressive display of self control—if he did say so himself—he pulled away slightly and asked, “Are the walls of the Venator going to start weeping blood if I do this?”

“Oh, almost certainly not,” you replied. “Maybe just a droplet or two on the refresher mirrors…”

He stared into your eyes for a moment, then let out a reluctant laugh, dropping his forehead to rest against your shoulder. You wrapped your hand around the back of his head and pressed your lips against his temple.

“We don’t have to do any of this if you don’t want to,” you said quietly.

His arms tightened around you as he inhaled deeply, trying to memorize your exact scent. “No. I want to know. I need to know.”

You held him silently for a moment, and then you nodded. “If you’re sure, then everything is ready.”

“I’m sure,” he said, pulling back just far enough to look into your eyes. “Let’s do this.”

“Okay.” You held him tightly for another moment, then broke away to retrieve the two mugs of tea from the kitchen. You passed one to him, then tapped your own against it. “Bottoms up, Buttercup.”

Boil was expecting the concoction to taste awful: bitter and sinister, maybe with a hint of brimstone. In reality, it was actually pretty good. It was smooth, a little spicy, and sweetened with honey, and he drained the cup without complaint. He waited expectantly, but nothing happened.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now we watch an episode of It’s Always Sunny on Abafar and wait for it to kick in,” you replied, glancing down into the mug to quickly scan the leaves the way he’d noticed you do every time you finished a cup of tea.

Whatever you saw must not have been too terrible, given that you didn’t immediately cancel the evening’s activities. He shrugged and moved to the sofa, pulling you down with him as you turned on the holoscreen. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the luxury of being able to watch whatever he wanted, any time he pleased. Not to mention that your sofa, shabby as it was, was quite possibly the most comfortable piece of furniture in the galaxy—particularly with your head resting on his shoulder and your body tucked in close to his own as he curled around you.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you warned, nudging him with your elbow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lied.

The episode failed to hold his attention, and his mind and hands began to wander. He traced his fingertips over your shoulder and down your bare arm, around your wrist and back up again, enjoying the smooth warmth of your skin. He’d never touched shimmersilk in his life, but he would have bet a month of rations that your skin was softer. Eventually, he draped his arm around your waist and began to play with the hem of your shirt, tugging it up to expose your abdomen.

“Don’t even think about it,” you said, resting your hand over his. “There’s no way in hell I’m going there on your first trip.”

“Even if I want to?” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck.

“Nope. Besides, we’re not just doing this for fun, remember?” You rolled over to face him.

“Fine. Maybe next time.” He rested his forehead against yours, stroking your cheek softly as he gazed into your eyes. “Your pupils are huge.”

You snorted a laugh. “Seems like the tea is working. Shall we get started?”

He nodded. “What do we do?”

“I have bad news,” you said gravely. “We’re going to have to break the cuddle.”

“Not the cuddle!” he gasped in horror.

“I’m afraid so.”

He grumbled, but begrudgingly disentangled his limbs from yours. As he sat up, the room seemed to sway slightly, almost as if the entire building were floating in water. He didn’t want to alarm you, so he didn’t mention that the pattern on your wallpaper was definitely, absolutely, one-hundred percent coming to life. The designs gyrated and churned in a nauseating swirl, and he tore his eyes away from it, determined not to abort the mission for a reason as pitiful as tea-induced motion sickness.

He followed you silently to the nest of cushions you’d arranged on the floor, sitting opposite you with his legs crisscrossed. You scooted forward until your knees touched his, and you took his hands, holding them in a loose grip. He stroked his thumb over your palm, and the smile you gave him in return made him forget all about the wallpaper.

“Close your eyes,” you said softly, “and take a slow breath, all the way down to the bottom of your lungs.”

He did as you said, and as he exhaled gradually, he felt his stomach settle and the tension drain out of his shoulders. The pair of you repeated the exercise a few times, and then you asked him to focus on keeping his breath smooth and even. He was starting to feel incredibly relaxed and drowsy, and only his promise not to fall asleep kept him from drifting off.

“Think of somewhere you felt safe and happy,” you said in a low voice. “Picture it in your mind.”

Here. With you.

“Do you see it?” you asked.

“Yes,” he whispered, envisioning your cozy, colorful little flat as clearly as though he had opened his eyes.

He was alone in his mental version of the flat, and he took a moment to look around. It was tidier in his mind, with the nest of cushions all put back where they belonged, and no telltale pastry crumbs on the kitchen counter. But aside from that, it was the same, filled with signs of you—the eclectic jumble of teacups on your kitchen shelf; the colorful array of robes hanging on hooks on the wall; the vibrant collection of thrifted art hanging on the walls. It even smelled like your scent. The only thing missing was—

Knock knock.

He turned toward the door in his mind, and then he was standing in front of it without ever having moved his feet. He leaned in to look through the peephole—wait, your door has a holoscreen. The image in his mind warped, and suddenly the holoscreen appeared. You stood outside in the hallway, waiting.

“Will you let me in?” you asked quietly.

Your lips didn’t move in the vision of you he saw within his mind, and he realized you’d spoken the words aloud.

“Yes,” he replied, opening the door.

As you stepped inside, your gaze flicked around the flat, and your breath caught. Too late, Boil realized he’d revealed far more than he intended. He swallowed nervously, bracing himself for your mockery now that you had witnessed the true depth of his feelings for you.

When you looked at him, though, there was no trace of ridicule in your eyes. You stepped closer and took his hand in yours, and as you did, he felt the soft pressure of a gentle, reassuring squeeze on his physical hands. To his relief, that was the only acknowledgment, though he had a feeling the two of you would be having a long conversation once the effects of the tea had worn off.

“Are you ready?” you asked, and somehow, he knew you’d asked the question directly to his mind.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied without speaking.

You smiled. “In that case, I’d like you to meet someone.”

Your gaze shifted to a point over his shoulder, and he turned slowly. A stranger stood behind him, ancient and wrinkled, with eyes that somehow seemed very familiar and very, very kind. A faint blue glow emanated from her, and though she seemed solid enough, Boil had the distinct feeling that if he were to open his eyes, he’d see nothing but you, sitting across from him in a nest of cushions.

“Is this the boy you told me about?” she asked, inspecting him closely.

“Yes,” you replied. “Gran, I’d like you to meet Boil.”

#clone trooper boil #clone trooper boil x reader #boil x reader #gn reader #star wars #the clone wars #star wars fanfic #tcw fanfic #dystopicjumpsuit writes

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happilychaengs · 11 months

Text

Work for Love

a/n: this is a mess. you would think i wrote this drunk or smth but NO i just am losing my motivation after 1 day of trying to write this and i decided to rush and end it. also if you see like names like hirai yunjin or momo... just know that's on accident. i wrote this originally for momo and last minute replaced the names because i remembered i promised one twice fic and one lsfm fic so i might've missed some names, sorry

word count: 1,424

angst, fluff

huh yunjin x gender neutral reader

as her hair fell off her shoulders, her arms stretch out, letting that longing feeling of tightness go from her body. she clasps on her bra, puts on her silky, white shirt, and stares at the door, not leaving any room for interpretation.

she doesn't say anything. she doesn't do anything else. it's routine. it's either you say something first or nothing and today, you chose the former.

"what are we, yunjin?" your mouth is dry, the silk sheets comforting you from the sheering cold she leaves you with.

and you see the way her breath hitches at the question. it perplexes her, but even more so, she doesn't want the idea to even cross her mind. "we're co-workers. it's plain and simple."

you ball up parts of the sheets in your hands, "and yet what we have is not plain and simple."

her jaw clenches in response, her head turning ever so slightly to glance at you. and the way her eyes wander on you makes you believe this one topic was enough to topple the structure inside her head because if it didn't fit in perfectly with her life, she wouldn't know what to do. it was spontaneous, it was unplanned, and worst of all, it was uncontrollable.

"what do you want me to do, y/n?" her eyes falter in the face of you, her chest heaving that much more. "do you want me to uplift my career for you? do you want me to say that we have some unspoken thing between us because i won't."

"why, yunjin?" your voice wavers, "you know there's something there! you feel it!"

"so fucking what?" she shuts her eyes tight, taking a deep breath, "whatever we're feeling for each other isn't anything, y/n. it's relief from whatever hell we go through at work. it's nothing beyond the scope of work."

yunjin swallows the lump in her throat, her heart clenching tighter and tigther when she sees the light in your eyes dim. she quickly turns around, avoiding anything more with you as she picks up her phone.

"and speaking of which, "her phone dings as she quickly puts on the rest of her clothes. "i'm late. i'll see you at the conference."

your eyes meet again across the table during your meeting.

she's mindlessly tapping her ballpoint pen against the cold wooden table, eyes wandering across the way you lift your pen as you listen, jotting everything down that the new intern, kazuha, is talking about and she sees the way you occasionally steal a glance at her.

yunjin's gaze lingers on you for a moment before she shifts her glasses up her nose. she tries to refocus her attention on kazuha but it's all just becoming noise.

she doesn't have a single clue what she's talking about. what yunjin's more worried about is the shift in your relationship with her.

the damage's been done. it's irrevocable and yet a confused hope lingers in her heart but she burys it deeper within herself. it's a delicate thread, yearning for a sense of resolution and understanding.

kazuha bows and gives her thanks for listening, quickly ending her presentation and sitting back down and yunjin can't help but do the exact opposite.

she leaves as soon as the meeting ends, packing up her things and rushing out the door but she can't help but wonder if you're running after her. she wonders if you'll be there to make things right because in her eyes, you should've with the way your gaze keep making their way to hers and the strange way you made her feel, but as she glances behind her, there's a hallway devoid of your presence. you're not there.

and just a small part of her wishes you were.

you find yourself standing in place, your feet glued to the ground as your eyes wandered through the plexi glass and into the room where yunjin is, talking with one of the corporate bosses, sakura.

the walls serve as almost a reminder of the divide between the two of you. the window blinds are slightly ajar, revealing her and you don't know how or what wrong turn you took in your life to be here. hurt and confused.

was it even your fault?

or was it the sweet, provocative, and drunk huh yunjin knocking on your door at 2 on that random tuesday morning, planting her lips on yours and running her hands up your shirt?

nonethless, you shouldn't have fallen for her.

it was a meaningless grasp at love, one that obviously wasn't reciprocated. it was apparently purely work as she says. it was all she saw it as and maybe it was just a fatal flaw of yours to completely misunderstand her intentions.

sakura promptly leaves the room as yunjin opens up the blinds again, only to meet your gaze again and you see it.

in that fleeting moment, you see the way the ocean swims in her eyes but it's not anything like calm waters and its ebbing tide. there's a forboding, tumultuous storm overhead with feverent, mountainous waves crashing against the shore, leaving everything stranded and destroyed.

then the blinds close completely.

yunjin despises it.

she despises the feeling of regret gnawing at her very core every single time she sees you pass her by. she despises the way she left things and worst of all she despises how she wants to change that.

days of being consumed by her emotions turned into weeks of feeling like there could be something more with you. it consumed her every thought, blurring the lines between work and longing. every single boundary she's set breaks. the very foundation collapses and when it does, she breaks too.

two knocks on your door is all it really takes get your attention. your door opens ajar, your head peering through not long after. you see her through her large black hoodie covering her head and her obnoxiously big glasses, "... yunjin? what are you doing here?"

"can... can we talk?" her voice is weak. timid even. nothing like the yunjin you saw in your room not many weeks ago.

you feel a sudden pang of nervousness as you open the door fully for her to come in. "okay."

and honestly, yunjin knows your apartment by heart. she could walk through it all blindfolded even from how many times she's come for the sake of work but she stands to the side, waiting for you to almost guide her around. it's unfamiliar to her now, or at least the atmosphere is.

she hears the door shut as she stares at you, you in your red checkered pajama pants and your oversized acdc t-shirt that you got from her. "you... you kept it."

"yeah," you smile wryly, picking at the shirt's length, "it's nice." and it's all you really say. the two of you stand together in silence, the tension between the two of you almost palpable. yunjin begins to rock on the back of her heels, burying that feeling of nervousness inside her.

"so-" "i-"

your voices mask one another as the two of you begin to stammer over your words. you shy away as you quickly go to sit down on your couch, yunjin following you closely as she tells you to go first only for you to quickly refuse. "you go first."

"fine." she has a slight frown across her lips, the words already beginning to get lost. "then... i don't really know any other way to say this but... i'm sorry."

her hands begin to pick at the hem of her hoodie, her shifting in her seat, "i know what i said that night, about it, or us i guess, being completely about work," she takes a deep breath, "but you knew that was obviously a lie. there is something there - between us i mean, but i just..." she shrugs, "i just didn't want to say it because it'd mean so much more to me if i did and... i don't know if i could've handled any of that."

yunjin instinctively looks to you for a form of consolation, comfort, maybe even forgiveness and maybe, just maybe, she did something right in her past life. maybe she saved someone because right now, you were saving her.

"then... what are we, yunjin?" your lips curve into a small smile, "because i don't even know myself."

"i'm not even sure..." she smiles back, barely managing to say it aloud, "but we can figure it out together."

#le sserafim x reader #le sserafim imagines #huh yunjin x reader #yunjin x reader #le sserafim scenarios #huh yunjin imagines

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cryptotheism · 1 year

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Hey CT, I have a question that might be out of your scope but I figured if you didn’t know, you might know where I can find someone who does.

When talking about modern conspiracy, occultism & occult-adjacent beliefs, why do you think some latch onto media properties and decide that those properties are either true in some way or are allegorical of the truth? Like, thinking about the branch of q-anon & Illuminati truthers who grab onto films and suggest that, like. The One Ring really exists or any depiction of a dragon is in reference to the same dragon? Or that the Illuminati is leaving clues in pop music? Is it an outgrowth of spiritualist movements that seek to find the “true religion” or claim that all religions are the same actually, because “they all have a great flood” or w/e? Heaven’s gate I suppose is another example of this thinking except done to argue for the existence of aliens. Is it like. Just leaning on human pattern recognition? Wish fulfillment? A Nigerian Prince level screening to get rid of people who might question things and keep the people who are willing to believe the men in black are real and actually hiding aliens so they’ll also believe the satanist pedophile ring stuff? Or am I asking about something that isn’t real and I’ve just misunderstood from reading other sources?

I mean, the examples you're giving are pretty disparate and don't really match up. Qanon and Heavens Gate aren't really comparable beyond broad strokes. That said, conspiracy theorists talking about movies as if they're real is absolutely a common phenomena.

I think once you spend too much time in conspiracy circles it erodes your ability to discern fact from fiction. If it's all connected, that means every movie, every piece of media, is all a direct message to you specifically. That eroding of the boundary between fiction and reality is, in my opinion a direct symptom of conspiracy thought.

If it confirms something the conspiracist want to believe, it gets incorporated into their worldview. Whether or not its fictional becomes steadily less relevant the more engrossed one becomes in conspiracy.

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simlit · 6 months

Text

Chosen of the Sun | | forest // seventy-four

| @sani-sims | @maladi777

next / previous / beginning

EVE: Your Grace! KYRIE: Mm, I thought we were on a first name basis. EVE: laughs What a terrible time to joke. KYRIE: I think it’s the best time. What happened? EVE: You collapsed. I’d thought the curse had overcome you. KYRIE: No, at least, not yet. It was my fault, getting all worked up over… Indryr warned me it’d get worse before it got better. EVE: An admission like Taiyo’s would be hard for anyone to hear. Even without what you’d done for him figuring into the equation. He’s only just left now, I can go and fetch him— KYRIE: Don’t trouble yourself. If he wants to come in his own time, that’s for him to decide. EVE: I would rather you rest comfortably, but I feel it’d be wrong for me not tell you— HIGH PRIESTESS: Kyrie. KYRIE: Well, if it isn’t the other shoe. HIGH PRIESTESS: You told me you’d alert me as soon as he was conscious. That was our arrangement. EVE: He’s only just awoke. At least give him a moment to think, if not breathe. HIGH PRIESTESS: Yes, well, he is awake now. You’re free to leave. EVE: I’d rather stay to make certain he’s well— HIGH PRIESTESS: I can make certain myself, or will you not allow me a moment with my son? KYRIE: laughs Oh, stars above. The gods are full of jokes these days. If I’m alive at all, it’s because of Eve’s consideration and skill. You could do her the honor of showing at least a modicum of respect. HIGH PRIESTESS: I am endlessly grateful for your contributions, My Lady. Now, please. A moment. EVE: scoffs Very well. KYRIE: Is this the sort of behavior you would show to one of your precious Chosen? It’s incredible you can’t even fake civility in the face of this ceremony you profess to care so much about. HIGH PRIESTESS: Don’t patronize me, Kyrie. While you lay here like some negligent child. You asked me to trust you once again, and here we are. The sheer scope of your irresponsibility is truly astounding. KYRIE: Why should I have to live long enough to hear you lecture me a thousandth time? If I had one wish at all its that this curse would kill me quicker. HIGH PRIESTESS: Do not speak so recklessly. KYRIE: I’ll speak as I wish, if only because my voice is the one part of me you can’t control. HIGH PRIESTESS: And what will your sister say when she returns? KYRIE: Don’t threaten me with my own sister! For all you know, Alphanei is dead. And maybe you do know it, Gods be certain you’d never tell me the truth. There must be a reason she’s beyond my sight. And maybe I’m glad of it. If the last month has taught me anything, it’s that being Chosen of the Moon is nothing but a prison. If this is how you treated her all these years and I stood idly by, oblivious to what she endured, then I wish you would have neither of us. HIGH PRIESTESS: Your sickness has made you delusional. You’ve grown up inside these very walls. Tell me what have you wanted for? Nothing. I have done everything in my power to protect you both. To keep you safe— even from yourselves. But you have always been the troublesome one. Ever since you were a child. Caught in your own head, selfish and stubborn. HIGH PRIESTESS: Do you know how many mages I have sent north? How many elven knights have traveled out to retrieve Her Grace? Do you know how many have died in that pursuit? No, Kyrie. I spared you those details so you did not have to live with guilt of just how important you really are. KYRIE: As tools. But not as people. Regardless, now that too is on my conscience. We never asked for this role. We never had that choice. And because of this city’s insistence on a corrupt ritual, hundreds have been subjected to needless slaughter. If I could end it all by forfeit of my life, I would not wait a moment longer. HIGH PRIESTESS: Always a fool. I’ll send for the King’s clerics. And after you are cured of this, we will a find more suitable way to proceed. ASTER: Your Grace, heard you were awa— Oh. Am I interrupting something? KYRIE: Not at all. Mother was just leaving. HIGH PRIESTESS: Hmph.

#ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 story #ts4 bachelor challenge #chosen of the sun #oc: kyrie loren #cc: aster songleaf #cc: eve ravenclaw-silvermoon

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