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pyrodarknessanny · 3 years

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Whilst the topic of treating women with respect is a hot button issue at the moment it got me thinking about my own experiences in life. and whilst I can say that I am one of the lucky ones who’s not been assaulted things have happened around me that had they gone differently my story would be very different indeed. it also saddens me that I know so many close friends and family who were not so lucky , many of them were children when they were first abused. and yes I do know “not all men” but as the brothers , fathers , uncles , cousins ,friends and co-workers the weight of this falls on you to call out the unacceptable behaviour of your peers. I’m going to list this instances in chronological order. and keep in mind that I am a goblin , short, weird , don’t care for looking nice and makeup and such but still ive been put on the spot numerus times in the past by “nice guys”™ high school , senior years . met some one I thought was decent online . we had an on again off again video call thing going it spanned years and started innocently enough however in the latter years when I was super depressed it turned quite toxic and manipulative where he would refuse to pay attention to me, controlling the calls , there was a time zone difference so I was up till 4am most nights hoping that this person would be around. When we did get into calls he had me doing increasingly dangerous things . he’d even convinced me to send him a substantial amount of money of the last 12 months of our contact. I’ve since cut them off cold some years ago now but they’ve certainly had an impact on me

In between this on again off again online thing when I was single I’ve and no less than 3 older male friends try to hit me up because their partners at the time were out of town. one even messaged me one night when I was high and tried very hard to convince me that it would be a good idea to drop round. I don’t talk to any of them now but each one I told to stay faithful to their partners and denied their offers.

Also in high school - this happened at my part time job. boss had a mate who would often sell him stuff for the store , bit of a flipper. one of the other senior staff thought it was FUNNY to tell him that I was fair game. so this guy who is well in his 40’s would seek me out at work and harass me. usually when I was at the back of the shop bagging the bulk produce into smaller retail portions. mind you I’m an 18 yr old autistic person . had to find excuses to avoid this person make it look like im working in the areas that had security cameras on them or hope that there were customers so he couldn’t talk to me. I had spoken out about this to the boss and the owner of the business ( as it was one of his friends) but they all thought it was a harmless game. guy bailed me up at the back of the store one afternoon as im bagging up animal feed. Store was dead quiet so not a lot of escape options I had had enough of it by that point and put him in his place. Fortunately for me he was a little old Asian man had he of been some one of my dad’s stature that scenario would have played out MUCH differently.

Hey now speaking of family! growing up in an abusive household sure dose wounders for building character huh? im on good talking terms with my family now but growing up was interesting.

Our house hold was one of hard disciplines. We didn’t just get smacked we got absolutely belted.

Or our things were broken… actually it was only ever MY things that got trashed out of discipline. my 4 brothers always got off Scott free. Whenever there was a fight or argument ? it was always me that was in trouble regardless of the circumstance.

Good lessons to teach the kids eh’

My real dad was off the sceen, we were more or less raised by our step dad but when he got an upper management job at his place of work , shit at home got bad. The abuse turned from physical to psychological . nothing was ever good enough. You were always trash or a disgrace. and praise was only ever given to the brothers. So yeah more good lessons for impressionable teens. shitty ex #1 - met them at a convention , seamed like a reasonable kind of guy we hit it off and it was great. Very quickly realised something was off about them. tried very hard to control me . would say one thing and then do something else entirely. caught them out on numerous lies and on more than one occasion said some very concerning things about minors. Moments that stand out the most . was staying at my place for a party , either a birthday or Halloween . at my house with my family and close friends , had the gall to try and control my behaviour because he thought I was being too weird , he did this in front of my mother and best friend. Another time , it was my birthday and he promised to buy dinner out . started out as we would go to this fancy casino restaurant . ended at a Mc Donald’s with me catching the train home by my self fuming. I should have ended that one much sooner than I did but I didn’t want to come across as “mean” or unreasonable so it let it drag out for another 6 months before I told him to fuck off.

Dude then proceeded to cyber stalk me and several friends there after. he was super bad at this and finaly backed off when I threatened to call the cops. YEET!

Shitty ex #2 - technically we only dated for a few weeks decided that it didn’t work for either of us but stayed good friends . had to tell them frequently about what things were and weren’t appropriate for the friendship afterwards , eneded turning into one of the biggest narcicists ive ever seen.

Miscellaneous things. Im mentioned before about peer pressure and that its on the boys to call this shit out when they see it. I’ve had to be the voice of reason for a number of male friends when they were getting a bit too obsessed over girls who had zero interest in them. One guy in particular could not leave it alone , this girl he was white knighting for was a friend from school , she had a partner but he swore black and blue that he could “save her” from making shitty decisions. I think he eventually gave up on her when she ripped him off over some digital art that was a trace job and he lost a good sum of money but it was disturbing to hear just how obsessed he was with her.

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jsb6127309183 · 3 years

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What is The Speed of Feelings

Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92: IV. Allegro con brio

London Symphony Orchestra & Josef Krips

Beethoven: The Complete Symphony Collection

London Symphony Orchestra & Josef Krips

Ludwig van Beethoven

2008 track 26-34

No other differences

“8 minutes, 1 seconds until 8 minutes, 18 seconds.

Wow I added a time from 8:01 to 8:18. There are still only 4 different digits, but in the text, it went from 2 digits to 3 digits. Or in the digital. It went from 6 digits to six digits. Digital, if digital is more precise than analog, is a number written as “sixth”. Yes I remembered. (Lol bad segway, also wrote this before I finished the next joke, it’s already written, but next I need to find a story within this story to start a new story. [That’s the real last joke, you’ll get it later.] Or I can finish this now and go to sleep sad because if I am not studying, I am sad to be alone. They are not always jokes are they? Sometimes, it is nice to know who you are and who trully likes you. And who can you really trust? Who really loves you? Is everyone asking themselves those same questions? Or is it just me. I am alone. But alone also makes me happy. My entire life is founded by a paradox. I must keep looking.) I am writting anywhere I want in this note on Notes on my iPhone X, Here in Barcelona, Spain at 12:15AM 2021/05/01 here for precise? How many different types of times the number of digits changes when I change something. Change is important. I changed for the better.

Apple Music on MacBook Pro 2019 4 port

On Saturday, May 1, 2021. 12:00AM, NOW.

I had to change the day of week and the day and month because I had started with Friday and looked up with only 22 seconds before midnight and just the EXACT amount of time it took me to prepare for it so I could actually type the “W”, and I HAD to do it. It was amazing. This paragraph is the first in order, but the last one I wrote. The second pragraph (had to hurry to charge my phone at this exact moment and I almost had a heart attack, wouldn’t be able to finish this for an extra 5 minutes for the phone to recharge had it shut down. I knew it was at 1% (actually checked at this moment and realised it was 2% after all the text in between, so must have been at 1%, but I will never trully know) without looking at the percentage because the phone didn’t start lagging and it wasn’t too hot to the touch. Not checking the percent instead of writting this would have not made me wondered maybe for the rest of my life. I don’t know, maybe not, but I’m taking a risk. Maybe I’ll turn crazy. I’ll never know. I’m going to reread all this, finish the last joint I will maybe ever smoke in my life. Don’t forgot, what comes next has not been writting the way you think, this was at the end of a type of high. Maybe happiness can be found by seperating feeling of different chemicals, and maybe I should take that forever, or maybe never. You have that choice too, it’s just easier to control. While you only realize I was now high, I have already admitted it down there, in the first paragraph I wrote, the last paragraph you will read. When I admitted it, I didn’t know I would start typing and realize who I trully am just because my feelings are transferring to words. I understand who I am, I have changed. I feel better. Finally going to listen to some Beethoven. I feel like I might throw up, I’ve pushed it too long and almost forgot. Could have gone to bed without having to remember that again... Fuck. Thank you for listening.

One more things, I swear! (I have to go to sleep at some point) [this is trully last, but not technically the last joke, so my logic is flawless. What follows might be interesting, I’m becoming less and less high:

import urllib.request

page = urllib.request.urlopen('http://library*******.****)

print(page.read())

]

Learned Python a few days ago. Not good yet.

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Volume 18 on Shelf 2 of Wall 1

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inrainprose · 3 years

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How did you get do good at drawing? Can u give some tips? Ive been drawing for 4 months and i cant even draw a head

Okay first of all I still don’t consider myself that good at drawing, but I appreciate the compliment and it’s very nice that you like my work enough to seek advice from me. I’m a little emotional over it not gonna lie.

Unfortunately I don’t have much to give you. I can tell you that 4 months is not long at all, and it’s normal you’re not seeing as much progress as you’d want to yet. I never took up drawing “seriously” myself in the sense that I never sat down and thought “I’m gonna learn how to draw now”. I learned to draw by drawing, and I started, excluding my childhood doodles, about 10 years ago, though the pieces I wouldn’t be too embarrassed to show wouldn’t be older than 5, when I started to draw more seriously/regularly. Even now, a lot of the ones I put out on my blog make me cringe a bit haha (and there are many more that I don’t post), though there are more and more I genuinely appreciate and am proud of.

Tbh the thing that really helped me take off is copying stuff. I used to draw only from imagination, and while I miss being able to do that sometimes, there’s no doubt that having references made a huge difference. I don’t draw a realistic style and I didn’t learn anatomy or anything, nor do I copy images for the hell of it. But instead of pulling my hair trying to nail a pose I just spend a few minutes looking for pictures with what I have in mind on it and I go from there. I’ve come to enjoy that part - a little too much maybe haha.

I also did that thing where I drew every day for a year and that was also a big step forward, no matter how rushed the drawings were sometimes. The thing that shows me I’ve improved is not particularly that my pieces look better than they used to, but that they take me less time and effort and that I don’t fuck them up as much now. But also, you can’t aim too high at first. It’s frustrating because you have those images in your head and you can’t translate them on paper but that’s just life. You have to do with what skills you have at the moment, but you also shouldn’t give up on big ideas just because you don’t feel you can’t do them right. Try anyway. And try again later.

I don’t know if you’re learning properly, like techniques and all, and what you’re objectives are, so I can’t tell you much more. I can only encourage you to stick to it and realize that it’ll be some time until you produce something you’re proud of. Also, don’t be too hard on yourself. I used to be very critical of my drawings and I couldn’t fathom how anyone could find them any good when there are so much better artists out there and when I could find so many flaws in them. But drawing anything at all is already a step not everyone can make. Sometimes I look at digital painting and colorful pieces and I’m like “I could never do that” and like. Yeah. I couldn’t. I can’t draw digitally and I don’t use much color, cause I prefer paper and black and white anyway and I don’t feel like learning those. And I’m not a professional and I’m not as committed to it as some of those artists are. So I can’t do that, and that’s fine. Maybe I’ll learn more, maybe I won’t. We’re never done.

Most importantly though, it’s just that drawing is supposed to be fun and nice, it’s supposed to feel good, especially if it’s a hobby and not you’re livelihood or something. I love to draw. When I’m in the mood I’ll spend hours on it, when I really want to represent that thing in my head or I just crave the act itself. Pen on paper. What a treat. So enjoy yourself. You can only get better.

"I don’t have much to give you “ she said six paragraphs ago... Well I’m done now ^^ Good luck!

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themurphyzone · 5 years

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Oneshot: Lollipops and Burritos

Summary: How does a studious man with big dreams and a slacker with no regard for the rules become partners? Easy, just make your own rules.

Spoilers for First Impressions!

Seriously I loved the Dakavendish in this episode like there’s so much it’s not even funny well it is but you know what I mean! Imma stop rambling now and get on with the story!

This was it. Today was the big day. On August 26, 2168, Balthazar T. Cavendish would pass his driving test with flying colors and become a full-fledged agent of the Bureau of Time Travel, an agency dedicated to protecting the delicate space-time continuum from evildoers, miscreants, and the shadowy Marmoset League.

Agents had it all: limousines with aquariums, high society parties, stylish tuxes and gorgeous dresses, and most importantly, recognition for their efforts in saving the world.

Cavendish always aimed high in his goals. What was the point of setting them if you didn’t aspire to achieve great things? When he was young, he dreamed of being a famous concert pianist.

Mozart had been invited to play in a royal palace when he was but a young lad. Beethoven composed despite his deafness. With the great composers of history as his inspiration, Cavendish had practiced and practiced until every note, rhythm, and key signature was burned into his mind.

But he was just a small fish in a big pond. He’d competed against children who fiddled before they walked, and the judges overlooked him despite his efforts to play everything as written in the piece.

So he turned to law in the Queen’s court instead. Barristers were fair, thorough, and had extensive knowledge of the precedents regarding a case. He would help the judges deliver justice for the innocent and punishment for the guilty.

Then Queen Elizabeth IV banned him from the royal palace for life because he dared to call her out for her refusal to compensate a florist for the damages that her precious corgi, Mr. Marshmallow Biscuit Longfellow, caused at his shop.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

He refused to go back anyway since Mr. Marshmallow Biscuit Longfellow urinated on his favorite suit and he had no choice but to throw it away.

Then Cavendish went back to school, taking classes such as Theoretical Mathematics of Time Travel and How to Avoid Erasing Yourself from History 101 until he’d earned his Bachelor’s of Science in Time Travel. Then he applied for a job at the BoTT and the rest was history.

Cavendish spent three harrowing months studying for this driving test. An important part of driving was knowing the car’s mechanics after all.

And when he passed, he’d be a full-fledged agent!

Despite his nerves, he forced himself to concentrate on his electronic manual for this particular model of time travel vehicle. Student drivers used basic 2160 Tempos for easy handling and an auto-pilot to help get them back on track if they accidentally wound up in the Dark Ages.

But if he clawed his way up to the S-Rank in BoTT, he could earn enough to buy a highly coveted 2167 Chronos Satellite, which was equipped to fly in the lower regions of space while providing a steady oxygen supply, temperature control, and enough safety features so that the driver didn’t accidentally hurtle to earth in a fiery blaze.

“The Time Delineation gear is for quick trips in local space, allowing you to move three times faster than local time,” Cavendish recited. He knew the book forwards and backwards by now, but last-minute cramming never hurt anyone.

“Alright, Cavendish,” he said as he stored the manual. Sounding confident was key. “You are on your way to becoming a fully-fledged time agent! This deserves a lolly!”

Alright, so he couldn’t resist a black currant lollipop. It was the best flavor on the market in his humble opinion.

Then the driver’s door suddenly opened, and before he knew it, he was unceremoniously shoved into the passenger seat by some...some hoodlum with the largest afro Cavendish had ever seen in his life.

The world was a cruel mistress. He spent all this time studying for this moment, and the payoff was being carjacked by some greaser who thought he looked good just cause he wore a leather jacket.

And to add insult to injury, the jerk wasted his last black currant lollipop.

Dakota liked food, music, and movies. He was just a simple guy with simple pleasures. While he’d be perfectly happy working in restaurant jobs for the rest of his life, it didn’t pay the bills.

Companies preferred robot workers these days. More efficient and less costly, they argued.

Most human servers worked in small family-owned restaurants, but they’d be out of luck in a few months when the patrons inevitably moved onto more snazzy, well-known businesses.

Two weeks ago, Dakota had the bright idea of dressing up like a robot and seeing how well he could imitate his mechanical co-workers at a popular fast-food joint. It worked for a few hours, but his appetite got the better of him and he was caught stealing chicken strips on camera.

He’d been carted off to jail and charged with impersonating robots without a permit. Humanity had advanced to flying cars and time travel, but they��d never been able to fix the justice system.

On the plus side, the incident had given Dakota the idea to get a permit so he could legally impersonate a robot.

He discovered the eviction notice after he’d been released from his week-long stay in jail. There just hadn’t been enough money to pay rent and groceries. He could pay rent and starve, or he could pay for food and allow himself to be kicked out.

It wasn’t a hard choice, nor was it a total loss. Dakota was already a recruit for the BoTT, and they had many private study rooms. They called it a study room, Dakota called it his bedroom, but either way, it was a room.

And the cafeteria food was delicious.

The morning of August 26, 2168 was just like any other. Dakota scarfed down his eggs and French toast, topping it off with a glass of orange juice. As he prepared to sweet-talk Penelope the mechanical cafeteria lady into giving him a second batch of eggs, the intercom beeped.

“New time agent recruits, please select a vehicle for your driving test. If you survive today, you’ll get your first assignment and partners tomorrow. Thank you,” a bored man in some serious need of coffee announced.

For some reason, the announcement had given him a craving for one of Rita’s burritos in the 21st century.

“Yo, Penelope, that a new ocular lens on ya? Looks good. Say, how ‘bout holding a few chocolate muffins for me? I’ll pick ‘em up later,” Dakota said, leaning on the counter lazily.

“My circuitry is heating up,” Penelope monotoned.

Though she had no outward forms of expression, Dakota knew from experience that circuitry heating up was the equivalent of blushing and that she would honor his request.

With everyone scrambling to file last-minute digital work (paper had been completely phased out), the path to the holding bay for student vehicles was clear.

After a brief round of eenie-meenie-miney-mo, Dakota headed over to the winning vehicle and opened the door, which thankfully wasn’t locked.

“Slide over, stretch. I need a ride,” Dakota said as he shoved the driver—a tall man with ginger hair and thick-rimmed glasses—aside and made himself comfortable.

“Wait a minute, who are you?” the other man asked indignantly. His accent was overly posh like one of those fake Brits on TV. He held a purple lollipop in his outstretched hand, and Dakota snatched it up, much to the other man’s dismay.

He was kinda funny actually, so Dakota decided to name him Stretch.

“Is this for me? Thanks!” Dakota exclaimed as he stuck the lollipop in his mouth. Something to suck on for the road couldn’t hurt.

Then an extremely bitter flavor exploded across his tongue, and Dakota yanked the lollipop out of his mouth, exclaiming his disgust for Stretch’s choice in flavor.

“BLECH! What flavor is this?” Dakota asked in disgust. He was going to need some extra salsa to get rid of this gross flavor that had no right existing.

“Black currant,” Stretch enunciated carefully, his eyebrows knitting together.

Yeah, didn’t look like they were getting along, especially if Stretch insisted that black currant was delicious and Dakota’s taste buds were the ones that were in need of major readjustments.

Dakota threw the disgusting lollipop over his shoulder, its purple juices making the entire thing stick to the window.

“Not even gonna ask what that is,” Dakota muttered as he started up the car and opened a time portal.

Good thing he knew a shortcut, because he seriously needed to get that lollipop out of his system.

Cavendish privately named this man—no, this unwanted hitchhiking selfish lollipop-stealing vagrant ‘Hoodlum’.

It didn’t matter how loud Cavendish protested. Hoodlum broke every speed limit law in the manual and in all of existence, took bends at two hundred temporometers an hour when the recommended was just fifty, and didn’t check the gauge to make sure they had enough time juice to last the entire trip.

In the span of thirty seconds, the vehicle was caught in the powerful jaws of a T-rex, used as leverage for a sauropod to reach some high-hanging leaves, and battered by an angry Triceratops.

By the time Hoodlum finally got them to the safety of paved 21st-century streets, the time vehicle had been battered and bruised to the point of being a miracle that it functioned.

“What. Was. That?” Cavendish asked flatly, too scared for his life that he couldn’t outwardly express his mortal terror.

“Shortcut through the Mesozoic,” Hoodlum said casually, as if he hadn’t just taken them on a crazy joyride that would’ve made them another statistic to the list of BoTT recruits who didn’t survive the training. “Come on, let’s get some burritos.”

Hoodlum pushed the eject button, and Cavendish was thrown onto the asphalt, his glasses knocked askew from impact.

“Tres burritos, Rita!” Dakota called to a nearby street vendor. “That means three burritos, Rita.”

This miscreant was actively sabotaging Cavendish’s driving test with his reckless, self-serving ways. Who did he think he was anyway? Cavendish’s anger boiled to a breaking point. He was sick and tired of being tossed around like a ragdoll caught in the whimsical fantasies of a child who’d never grown up.

“GREAT GRABKNACKLES! YOU RISKED OUR LIVES FOR A LOUSY BURRITO?” Cavendish stormed up to Hoodlum, pointing an accusing finger in his face. Cavendish ignored the dirty looks Hoodlum and Rita threw his way.

Any sane person would know perfectly well that burritos did not supersede basic self-preservation.

“No, no. I risked our lives for an amazing burrito, so good it only exists in this time and place,” Hoodlum retorted. “You want nachos with yours?”

Cavendish scowled and folded his arms. He would never sink low enough to accept food from Hoodlum. “You would make a terrible partner,” Cavendish snapped, pointedly turning his back to this scoundrel.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t asking,” Hoodlum replied.

That was the only sensible thing he’d said all day.

Stretch didn’t want a burrito.

Fine, whatever. Dakota tried, at least. Though who in their right mind would turn down an amazing burrito? Literally, an Amazing Burrito. It was right on the sign.

Rita quietly excused herself, not wanting to be part of the awkwardness that permeated the air as Dakota ate and Stretch grumbled.

Stretch seemed to have two speeds: Buzzkill and Even More Buzzkill.

Really, hadn’t this guy ever heard of fun in his life?

“It’s in the manual. Page 9, Paragraph 15, Line 5. ‘A recruit may not use a company vehicle for personal use’,” Stretch quoted.

Dakota had no desire to open the manual and check it himself, but he was pretty sure the manual didn’t have every individual paragraph and line marked. He almost felt bad for Stretch. He didn’t seem to have much of a social life if he memorized everything in that dusty old knickknack.

“THERE ARE RULES, MAN!” Stretch yelled, shoving the manual in Dakota’s face.

For a stickler, Stretch had no qualms about invading personal space and breaking rules on basic politeness.

Dakota had to give the man a point.

“I know, I just choose not to follow them,” Dakota proudly admitted. Rules never did anything for him, so why should he have to obey some stupid list?

“When we get back to our own time, I will be reporting you to the proper authorities,” Stretch said pompously, puffing out his chest in a pitiful attempt to be authoritative.

Really, his spaceman suit was working against him in that regard. It looked more ridiculous than anything.

Besides, the authorities never could make charges stick for long. Robots were so easy to bribe with spare nuts and bolts.

“Not everything’s in that manual. Sometimes you gotta improvise when the unexpected happens-” a strange whooshing noise caught Dakota’s attention, and he craned his neck to see a torrent of water carrying a battered school bus with a rocket sticking out of its roof and—were those kids being dragged behind on a broken back door?

“-like that! Those kids need help!” Dakota shouted, tossing his burrito aside as he leaped out of his seat. “Come on, let’s roll!”

He wasn’t sure how those kids wound up in such a precarious situation, but their bus driver was endangering their lives and not even slowing down so he had to do something!

As he darted toward the car, he suddenly realized how cool it would be if he could leap over the car hood like some inexplicably awesome action hero.

He felt like a regular James Bond, like a jerky 1980s movie protagonist whose trumpets bellowed their theme like they were some god descended to earth and-

He felt that solid concrete hurt.

A lot.

It all happened so fast. One moment they were locked in a vicious argument, then they saw children in peril (an incredibly strange sort of peril, but they called it peril for a reason), then Hoodlum shouted about rescuing them and wound up faceplanting into the asphalt as he tried to leap over the time vehicle’s hood.

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Cavendish would’ve been more than happy to hold it over Hoodlum’s head as karma.

Cavendish buckled himself a scant two seconds before Hoodlum gunned the engine, floored the gas pedal, and crashed through a fence without remorse for destroying public property.

Cavendish found himself not caring that they broke the rules regarding wonton destruction with a time vehicle as outlined on Page 45, Paragraph 6, Lines 3-7.

Fences could be replaced. Children’s lives could not.

As they pursued the school bus at a speed that surely couldn’t be safe for any car, much less a near-totaled one, Cavendish caught a glimpse of the panicked expression on Hoodlum’s face. He gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he wildly spun the wheel to avoid oncoming traffic.

Hoodlum didn’t know these kids.

But he would still shatter speed limit laws, risk crashing himself, and refuse to adhere to BoTT’s rules about revealing the existence of time travel before it was invented for them.

Cavendish had a feeling that he sorely misjudged Hoodlum after all.

The rocket propelled the bus into a river, and the children—dear White Cliffs of Dover how were they even holding on at this point—were getting further away every second.

“We’re going to lose them!” Cavendish shouted as the bus careened down the opposite fork in the river.

“Not if I can help it!” Hoodlum yelled, slamming the gas pedal to the floor and pushing their odometer to dangerous levels.

Cavendish clung to his seat for dear life, an uncomfortable pit of dread settling in his stomach that wasn’t just from being airborne and upside-down.

His first mission as a time travel agent would not end in tragedy. He’d never forgive himself if it did.

The moment they landed (right-side up thank goodness) on the opposite bank, the rocket suddenly ignited, pushing the bus and children even further out of their reach.

“They’re going too fast!” Cavendish bit back a curse. They’d been so close that time, yet the chance of a successful rescue had been snatched from their grip.

The water churned and swirled uncontrollably, throwing all sorts of flailing aquatic creatures into the air.

Just their luck, the children and the bus door they’d been riding on went airborne and the rope that tied them to the bus fell away.

Dakota gritted his teeth, massively frustrated that they’d been so close to getting those kids away from danger but failing every single time. “And now they’re airborne,” he griped.

“Wait, we’ll use the Time Delineation gear!” Stretch exclaimed.

Dakota had no idea what Stretch was talking about. They didn’t have time to waste. “The what now?”

“It’s the Time Delineation gear! It allows you to move three times faster than local time! That’s in the manual!” Stretch exclaimed, pulling a lever through a series of ninety-degree turns. A strange power surrounded the time vehicle, bringing everything to a near-complete standstill while Dakota maintained their rapid speed.

Water stood still, animals were suspended in their movement, and the children and door hovered in midair without being subject to gravity.

It was incredible.

If Stretch hadn’t memorized that manual, neither of them would have known about the Time Delineation gear and the children’s lives would be in even greater jeopardy.

When all was said and done, maybe Dakota could borrow Stretch’s manual and see if anything else in there would be useful.

If Stretch was willing to forgive him for the whole burrito thing, that is.

“Whoo-hoo!” Stretch yelled. “We’re actually driving on water!”

Huh. So Stretch could smile after all. Who knew? He looked good.

“Bet that wasn’t in your manual!” Dakota exclaimed.

He leaned forward, giving the car one last burst of speed before they went airborne a second time. The underside of the bus door hit the windshield, and he and Stretch held the door in place with their fingertips. The two children, a boy with an overly-large backpack and a girl with flaming red hair, had frightened expressions on their faces but seemed physically unharmed.

How two elementary-age children wound up in this situation, he had no idea.

Stretch pulled the Time Delineation gear back into its previous position with his free hand, and the timeflow went back to normal.

The rocket finally burned out, thank goodness.

Driving was harder with just one hand, and Dakota nearly rammed into the back of the stopped school bus in front of the elementary school. He was just glad the student driver cars had excellent brakes.

The momentum of their sudden stop caused the children to fly off the windshield and into the safety of the bus, the door slamming shut into place behind them.

Once Dakota and Stretch recovered from nearly hitting the windshield themselves, they sighed in relief.

The return trip to 2168 had been awkward, to say the least. Whether Hoodlum drove at normal speed because he wanted to or because the poor car suffered enough abuse, Cavendish had no clue. After Hoodlum’s reckless yet heroic driving, Cavendish decided to hold his tongue for once and make plans for the imminent future.

Cavendish knew he didn’t have the best track record when it came to working with others. Back when he played piano, he never worked well with an accompanist. Too often those sessions devolved into a screaming match over tempo and dynamics. He’d cultivated a reputation for being uptight and obnoxious in the barrister community.

It would be difficult to work with someone he didn’t know, but he supposed he’d manage. They would just be work partners after all. Their work and personal lives would never intersect.

He was just thankful that the vehicle maintenance department didn’t ask too many questions about the battered state of the car. Apparently, many student driving cars didn’t survive the BoTT driving tests and wound up being used for scrap metal to build cheap robots.

The next day, Cavendish was called into Mr. Block’s office to meet his new partner. Cavendish had passed his test with flying colors. He was lucky they scored him based on how alive he was rather than what he did on the road. If anyone thought to check the vehicle records, they would’ve been horrified by what Hoodlum put the car through. And Cavendish would’ve likely been mistaken for an accomplice.

“Okay, let’s see what we got here,” Mr. Block grunted as Cavendish walked into his office. Cavendish’s heart raced, and he wrung his hands while Mr. Block looked over the official document that stated who Cavendish’s new partner would be. “Recruit number 68427, Cavendish. This is your new partner, Vinnie Dakota.”

A figure stood up from the plush chair in front of Mr. Block’s desk, and Cavendish froze. That afro and leather jacket would forever be burned into his memory.

“Hoo boy,” Hoo-no, his name was Dakota, Cavendish reminded himself. As in North Dakota and South Dakota. Dakota rubbed the back of his head, avoiding Cavendish’s eyes.

“It’s you!” Cavendish gasped.

Fate sure loved her irony.

But Cavendish derived some satisfaction from knowing this was just as awkward for Dakota as it was for him.

Dakota was completely stunned, his eyes flickering between Cavendish and Mr. Block.

A bubble of anger rose up. How dare Dakota show his face here, how dare he act like he didn’t endanger their lives, how dare he pretend saving two kids was nothing, because that was the most courageous act of foolishness Cavendish had ever seen in his life.

“Wait a minute, do you two know each other?” Mr. Block asked suspiciously as Dakota stared at Cavendish as if expecting a tirade on how he would never work willingly with someone who breaks speed limits just because they couldn’t control their hunger.

Cavendish threatened to report Dakota to the proper authorities, and he was always a man of his word.

“Here it comes,” Dakota muttered, resigned to his fate.

“I’ll tell you exactly what I know about this man,” Cavendish said.

There were a million things Stretch could say that would incriminate Dakota right then and there.

Sabotaging a new recruit.

Taking an unauthorized trip through the timestream with a company-owned vehicle.

Using the company-owned vehicle for personal reasons.

Stealing his favorite lollipop.

Reckless driving.

Dakota normally didn’t give a second thought to his rulebreaking, but geez, he was feeling lower than a discarded piece of gum on a leather boot for dragging along an innocent man who could potentially do great things in his future.

“When someone is in trouble, he’s a good man to have around. Balthazar Cavendish, pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” Stretch said, extending his hand in a formal greeting.

Shocked by Stre-Cavendish’s formality and calm but respectful tone, Dakota stared at the offered hand for several tense seconds before finally grasping it in a firm handshake.

Dakota wasn’t usually forgiven so easily, and Cavendish most definitely struck him as the type to hold a grudge. Still, it beat getting into trouble with the authorities.

On another note, didn’t he see that old surname on bananas at the grocery store?

“Pleased as well. And thanks,” Dakota finally managed.

“Don’t mention it,” Cavendish replied.

“I won’t,” Dakota grinned.

“Though I might,” Cavendish said, his eyes narrowing. “Later.”

Dakota had no doubt that his new partner would indeed follow up on that threat. “I’m sure you will.”

By this point, their handshake was less of a handshake and more just rhythmically moving their arms up and down together.

“Whatever. Get out of my office,” Mr. Block snapped.

Unwilling to be on the receiving end of Mr. Block’s wrath on the first day, they hurried out and the door automatically closed behind them.

“So, partner. What kinda mission do ya think they’re gonna send us on?” Dakota asked. They passed by a secretary’s desk, and Dakota discreetly snagged a cotton candy lollipop from the jar left conveniently on the side.

“Well, I believe they’d start us off with reviewing old cases,” Cavendish mused. “It would help us learn the patterns, see which areas of time require more of a presence, and help us catch the perpetrators who dare mess with the planet and its inhabitants. Which would include evil scientists bent on misusing the field of discovery for nefarious purposes, hunters intending to swipe the most valuable objects in history, and worst of all-”

Cavendish snatched the unwrapped cotton candy lollipop out of Dakota’s hand, stuck it in his mouth, pulled it out, and stuck it on the window behind him in one smooth flourish.

The man was so smooth at revenge.

Dakota felt a light tap along his jaw, and belatedly he realized Cavendish had closed his mouth for him because he was too stunned to do it himself.

“-lollipop thieves who revel in stealing and wasting other people’s favorite food,” Cavendish smirked. “I believe I said I’d mention it later. Don’t look so flabbergasted, man.”

“You are one petty stickler, Cavendish.”

“And you are a reckless hoodlum, Dakota.”

“Square.”

“Carjacker.”

“Stick up your butt.”

“Scoundrel.”

And that’s how Dakota knew it would be the dawn of a beautiful partnership.

#milo murphy's law #balthazar cavendish #vinnie dakota #dakavendish #mml spoilers #fanfiction #oneshot

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aerialsquid · 5 years

Text

Noodling Part IV: The Noodle Thickens

@rainbowmic when you called Samejima a ‘soft boy’ you were right, but not the way you expected.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

"I meant it with respect, I swear! I mean, I've studied you so much, and it's helped me get so much stronger with my Quirk, you've been such an inspiration--"

"One moment," interrupted Aizawa. "Exactly how does your Quirk work?"

Yagi shot Aizawa a thankful look as Samejima peeled himself away from his fanboy crying into Yagi’s bony forearm.

"My Quirk is Bodysculpting. Look." Samejima pressed at his cheek with two fingers. The skin resisted for a moment, then gave in and allowed itself to be molded like firm clay. Further pressing allowed him to rearrange his face entirely, until All Might's face was staring back at Yagi from atop Samejima's shoulders.

Yagi blanched, but Samejima didn't seem to notice. "I can make any face I want," he continued, pressing now at his hair until it stood up into two proud golden spikes. "I can even make multiple faces! I just can't change my skin or hair color, and I can't make clothes. I've got a few rotating cam gigs these days but All Might commissioned pieces bring in some really good paychecks - this is the first time I've done an Eraserhead one, though."

The absolute glee on Samejima's face as he carefully massaged a portion of his arm into resembling Aizawa's face was unnerving, and Aizawa had seen a lot of messed-up Quirks in his time. This one wasn't harmful, or even particularly grotesque, just...that was his face grinning out of a fleshy ball on the end of someone's arm and nothing made that not messed up.

At least that explained how they'd gotten both Yagi and his own face in the same shot for some of the kisses - Samejima had literally been making out with his own hand during the close-ups, and the rest of the time only one face had been visible at once.

"So you need to be able to see something and intentionally copy it, right?" he said, trying to tear his gaze away from where Samejima was showing off the Aizawa-hand's facial expression range. It grinned, then stuck a flesh-colored tongue out at the pair of them, and Aizawa saw Yagi wince so hard his hair trembled.

"Right. I learned to imitate All Might from watching him on TV. I do a lot of research for the different personas I use, it actually takes a lot of practice." Samejima ran his hand down the length of his forearm and smoothed out the Aizawa-hand's face, delicately tugging on his fingers as if adjusting a glove until they were the right length again. Watching the process was unnerving, but looking away? Impossible. It was a trainwreck with his face on it.

"So you're experienced shaping yourself into All Might. How did you imitate me, then?"

"Ah! So Kuroda did the body doubling for the scenes from the back, but--"

"I mean, what did you watch to imitate me? I'm not on TV very much."

"Your press conference thing, the public apology"

"And for All Might's current body?"

"His retirement speech, but also some of the Kamino footage."

"So you intentionally looked up footage of the two of us during some of the worst, most demoralizing moments of our professional lives...and you used it to make porn. For personal profit."

Samejima's jaw worked.

"I...I suppose I didn't think about it…" The poor man's lip was quivering. He ran a hand down his face, fingers pressing into the skin to wear down the sharp edges of Yagi's features. His skin slowly began to fade back from All Might's chiseled bone structure into the softer, rounder shape they'd seen earlier.

"I am so sorry…"

Yagi, soft-heart that he was, reached out and set a gentle hand on Samejima's shoulder. "I understand you needed to make a living. But perhaps your 'All Most' can also retire, now that the real thing is stepping back?" he said soothingly.

"There must be someone else the cape-chaser community is getting off to," Aizawa added. "Go make yourself Endeavor's problem. Or Hawks. Or Endeavor. Actually, please do Endeavor." Because an angry, humiliated Endeavor would be a lot less charitable than Yagi and Aizawa considered that to be a 'whoever loses, I win' battle.

"Of course. Y-yes, All Might." Samejima stood up straighter, nearly saluting in his patriotic hero-loving adoration and fanboyishness. "Anything for you. Anything you want."

"Ah-"

"What we'd really like is the name of your buyer, Pornographer-sama."

"Right. Of course. Yeah, fuck them. I never wanted this to be blackmail, I just thought they thought you were cute." Samejima waved a hand to his partner, who turned back to the computer and started pulling up All Most's financial records. For someone who made such a trashy living, Kuroda kept remarkably precise records of exactly how much money was coming in thanks to impersonations of All Might's dick.

Toshi laughed bitterly. "This body? Cute? When they have my muscle form to look at instead? That seems unlikely, even for a fan. Or a fetishist."

Samejima gave Yagi a look that Aizawa struggled to categorize. Not pity, not rage, just narrowed eyes with a frown that seemed almost sad. "Yeah, dude," he said, slower. "Not everything's about the muscles. Lots of bodies are beautiful, and people like a pretty broad range of bodies. I think you have a good form either way."

"And not everyone prefers muscles," Aizawa put in. "Some people like slender limbs. And jawlines."

"There's slender and then there's a gangly scarecrow." Yagi gestured at his bony frame in its overlarge clothes. "I mean, look at me."

Aizawa took a step forward, lowering his voice until it was barely audible for Samejima and a harsh hiss for Yagi. "I do look at you," he said, every word firm and enunciated. "Frequently. What's your point, All Might?"

Yagi wet his lips, eyes flicking from the staring Samejima to the smaller man glowering up at him through tendrils of dark hair. "I…"

"Found it!" Kuroda called out, breaking the icy tension. Both men immediately took a step backwards to put plausible deniability between themselves. "I got the record of their deposit to our account. Guy actually used a credit card, I guess he didn't think about hiding his tracks."

"Is there a name on the card?" asked Aizawa, steadfastly refusing to break eye contact with Yagi.

"It's only giving me last name and then first initial, is that good enough?"

They gathered back around the screen, Yagi bending over the two shorter men like a curious stork.

Tsukuda, J was written neatly next to a string of Xes hiding all but the last four digits of the credit card number and the date of the payment to All Most's account. The amount transferred over was enough to have covered Aizawa's rent for a full month, but that wasn't the part that enraged him.

"Fuck," Aizawa muttered.

"Hm?"

"You weren't the blackmail target, Yagi," Aizawa muttered, as Yagi made confused noises. "I was. You were just...collateral damage."

He stood up straight, nearly knocking Samejima under his jaw with the top of his head. The two pornographers hung back as irritation rolled off Aizawa in waves.

Midnight having an affair would be irrelevant, Cementoss having one would be comedic, but the Symbol of Peace? No establishment would want to bear that shame, or the black mark of letting it be leaked out. If the school was run by the kind of people who were more concerned with their image than keeping good teachers, they'd have covered it up by firing the lowest-ranked person in the social hierarchy - it took two to have an affair, and you only had to fire one to break it up. It would protect All Might and the school while ruining Aizawa's career as a teacher.

"Who's Tsukuda?" asked Yagi, concerned. "A villain? A defeated foe?"

"Tsukuda Jeido was one of my students at UA a few years ago."

"So she's a hero?"

"No. I expelled her halfway through her second year." His fingers slid into the capture weapon around his neck and tightened into the folds of the fabric. "The usual story. High pressure parents, someone great at taking tests and terrible about handling the real world, a strong Quirk with a badly matched personality. I gave her every chance, but eventually expelling her seemed the kindest option." The capture weapon lifted and coiled around his fingers, ready for action.

"Looks like I still have a few lessons to teach her."

#erasermight #squid writes fanfic #bnha #aizawa shouta #toshinori yagi #minor body horror #samejima is a squishy boy #my hero academia #eraserhead #all might #no beta we die like mne

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dotsayers · 5 years

Text

.exe

Sometimes you have to speak in absolutes.

For instance: my ship is on a collision course. There’s nothing I can do about it.

The virus downloaded itself yesterday, the fourth day after the war began again.

Not that the war ever really ends. We just get tired of it from time to time, take a breather for anywhere from a few days to a century, and then go right back to blasting the shit out of the other side for no reason at all. We’re not a species built for peace.

I’d like to be, though. Good God would I like to be. I think it might be nice if someday, instead of sitting pretty in a Mark IV on the outer rim of the Byron System, I could take myself out into the black on my own terms. Spend a few years mapping the unknown, maybe find a nice corner of it to settle down. Farm whatever weirdo native fauna I come across there. Find something to do with my hands besides piloting junker after junker across a shrinking frontier.

It’s a dream I’ll have to shelve for now. It gets pride of place, right beside getting a full ride through flight academy.

Nothing for it now.

I call the virus EXE for a whole bunch of reasons, but mostly because I like to imagine it as a nemesis instead of what viruses are: automated programs, incapable of good old fashioned hatred. Something I can’t even hope to negotiate with, even if I hadn’t flunked Conflict Resolution 101 back in high school.

Right now EXE is broadcasting through comms, probably another pre-programmed monologue about the necessity of its mission and the futility of trying to root it out of my ship’s base code. There must be a ton of them available; I’ve heard four or five variations filtering through over the last few hours.

I can’t pay attention to any of that, though. I’m too busy ripping the server room apart trying to find a hard drive it hasn’t corrupted yet.

Mark IVs were phased out of the military three decades ago for inefficiency, and I can certainly see why right now--there must be over a thousand cables in this room, connecting banks with spiderweb tangles that I can barely even start to make sense of in the pale violet emergency lighting.

The instruction manual I found in the lost property locker is completely unhelpful, of course. Even if I knew half of what I needed to about my own ship’s systems, it’s water damaged to shit and covered in scribbles I can’t even start to puzzle out.

It got digitized a couple years back but I can’t access that now, of course. Nothing’s ever easy out here, and EXE’s not helping matters.

The tech officer got reassigned months ago. Probably for the best, considering my current situation, but in this case the best essentially doomed me to a slow, unpleasant wait for a quick death.

My Plan Z will have to do--delete all the base code I can find. Hopefully it’ll break something vital in EXE’s code or, if it comes to it, the ship’s.

EXE barks T-MINUS EIGHTEEN HOURS over comms. The lights shift in shade, from emergency violet to FUBAR red.

“Could you at least pretend not to be completely evil?” I mutter, mostly for something to do. Crawling through the ship to avoid the occasional blasts of boiling steam or flying shrapnel from panels exploding, breathing in god knows what gases, has done a real number on my throat. It aches constantly now, and my voice is suffering with it.

The access port of the very last bank in the darkest corner of the room seems to hold all the hopes I’ve ever had. The shape is right for my uplink cable, and I risk turning on the thin light of my headlamp as I creep into the narrow gap between it and the hull. A bare twelve inches separate me from the vacuum of space--Mark IVs have a bad reputation for a reason. Frankly it’s a miracle I survived long enough for a virus to take over and set me on a collision course with a Martian freighter.

I always assumed I’d die a flashy, holo-drama death. Something with the general aesthetic of explosive decompression, maybe. I liked the idea of exploding, but not the idea of someone having to clean me up afterwards.

Connecting to the server banks directly is risky, I know, but there’s no other way to access the information I need--the code that makes EXE tick. At least I have to assume that’s the case; the corruption of data could well have mutated to the point that not even EXE itself is off limits.

We’re both going to die when the ship crashes. I don’t know what EXE thinks about that. I don’t know if EXE thinks much about anything.

Above me a warning light flashes orange; a power surge. Fuck.

The screen of my datapad flickers; pixels blown in a long ago incident with a bulkhead multiply and darken until only the top half of the screen is legible. The rest is completely broken, pulsing lines and scrambled text.

Honestly, I think I’m going to cry. The uplink fails the next moment--the access port I’d plugged into fries, and the smell of burning plastic fills the alcove I’m crammed into.

“Son of a bitch,” I say, and feel the dam break. Sobbing has never been my favourite activity, for obvious reasons--I hate the gluey feeling in your eyes, the raw skin on your cheeks afterwards, the way your throat scratches for hours and lets everyone in on what exactly you’ve been doing, curled up small in your bunk after lights out.

I can taste salt in my mouth when I finally cry myself out--there’s an empty feeling in my chest, and my head is light. That might be oxygen deprivation rather than simple dehydration, but I can’t be sure; I think EXE might be reducing life support to increase power to engines. There’s a readout on my datapad, partly cut off, that indicates trouble in the fuel lines.

“Serves you right,” I mumble, and crawl out from behind the server.

My ship has taken a lot of damage over the years; last time I talked to Ma, a full orbit before I got this job, she helped me through programming new shields for the hull and then asked what colour sweater I wanted knitting before I left. “Space is cold, you know,” she said, wisely. “Best keep warm up there. And best do it in something handmade, not in that synthetic shit.” I only nodded and smiled, as if this was some kind of revelation; you don’t talk back to Ma.

I’ve been working in space my whole life, fighting the war when it comes and taking whatever I can get my hands on when it’s sleeping. Ma had me on a Mark III, back when she was a techie and not a homesteader on a moon halfway across the system. That’s why I’ve always known space is cold, but didn’t understand it until now. Now that life support is drained to half power, and the air is starting to fog as I breathe. It’s a good thing I’ll be dead soon; something important might start to rust, otherwise.

My datapad trills, a message incoming. The sound makes me jump, and I smack my head on the curve of the hull above me. I wince, rub at the rapidly forming bruise, and check the message.

CHANNEL: System Alerts

ID:ShipIntl.exe

> MAJOR SYSTEMS PERSIST IN SUBOPTIMAL PERFORMANCE

> MISSION STATUS INCOMPLETE

> MISSION REQUIRES OPTIMAL PERFORMANCE FOR COMPLETION

> WILL SUBJECT ASSIST? Y/N

I blink a few times. It’s difficult to process anything when you’ve just whacked your head on something, but especially when your datapad is half broken and a Trojan Horse is offering you a job.

At least EXE’s question has a very easy answer.

> N

> N N N N N N N N N N N N

I buckle the datapad to my belt and push myself away from the hull. I’m in the main corridor now, still low to the floor and starting to drift. I can almost hear the gravity generator groaning--I have to use the hand-grips set into the floor panels to crawl now. I can’t seem to make any progress without them, hands and knees sliding uselessly.

There’s a medical cabinet set into the wall somewhere along the main corridor, I know that for certain, but the red light and steam venting and unidentified gas makes finding the fucking thing a nightmare. I can hear my datapad trilling again, over and over, but I don’t let myself think about that until I get my left hand fixed around the cabinet door. The green cross set into the wall beside it flickers.

I tug at the handle. The door doesn’t budge. I tug a little harder. It rattles, but still doesn’t shift.

“Locked,” I say, shoulders sagging. “Of course.”

EXE changed the access codes to all essential systems when it took over. Clearly medical anything is considered essential, and I can’t argue with that considering the throbbing pain in my head. Choosing to come out from behind the server bank instead of curling up to die is looking more and more pointless by the second.

My datapad dings again.

“This better be very important,” I say to the ceiling. I think I might be going a little soft in the head. Talking to EXE is only the start; soon I’ll be stripping my standard issue jumpsuit and floating around nude just for a little levity before I get good and roasted. They say we smell like pork when we burn, right?

Ma would tell me to stop being so negative. There’ll be no oxygen left for a fire by then.

> ACCESS RESTRICTED

> AUTH:ShipIntl.exe

> REQUEST ACCESS Y/N?

I sigh, let go of the medical cabinet and let myself float gently in the middle of the corridor. The datapad floats helpfully, half a foot from my face, and dings repeatedly. My head throbs in time with the sound.

> MISSION STATUS UNCERTAIN

> REQUEST ACCESS Y/N?

I frown. This is sounding less automated by the minute.

The Enemy’s never had much expertise with artificial intelligence; half the reason our side can keep them in a military stalemate is based in our technological warfare. Supercomputers and AIs burrowing into enemy strongholds and all the attendant thousands of programmers working round the clock on the home front, all for the fading glory of a war with a long forgotten origin.

Not that there’s much of a front these days. The last datapush before EXE took over the ship reported heavy losses after an attack on Satellite 1, and once the Enemy takes the moon there won’t be much stopping them from advancing on the planet they’re orbiting.

Hell, they might already be swimming through the streets of Shanghai.

An artificial intelligence taking over my ship is less galling than a virus alone doing it, I guess. With a little creativity on my part, it might even provide me with some conversation.

It’s been quite a while since I was last in range for anything more than a delayed text exchange, severely rate limited. Data’s been rationed for years now, of course. Stops the masses from realising that not being at war improves everyone’s mood, not just their own.

> boolean responses only, huh?

> UNRECOGNISED RESPONSE

> MEDICAL SYSTEM RESTRICTED

> REQUEST ACCESS Y/N

No question mark, this time.

> alright, i’ll play along

> y

> THANK YOU

> ACCESS PENDING

The cabinet door swings open with a click just a few seconds after the message comes in. In the red gloom I can just make out a roll of painkillers.

Groping through low gravity I tear three off the roll and swallow two dry, press the third directly into the cut on my scalp. It bled less than I expected, but more than I’d like. I can feel it starting to dry out, tacky and itching at the nape of my neck.

I grin down at my datapad. Pain relievers always make me feel a little giddy, along with the numb throat and tingling fingertips. It gives you a magnanimous feeling, not being in pain. I unofficially reduce EXE’s enemy rating from deadly foe to nemesis.

I did say it makes me giddy, right?

> no

> thank *you*

The datapad is silent for a while after that, for as long as it takes for me to pull myself through the ship to my quarters. The hum of the gravity generator is barely audible now--the kind of background noise you only notice when it’s gone.

I remember the sound keeping me up when I was a kid, a growling monster under my bed. Now I can’t get to sleep without it.

I know because I’m trying exactly that right now. To be fair it might not be entirely the gravgen’s fault. There’s also the lighting to consider, and the rapid drop in temperature from near-tropical to nigh-antarctic. I tug my blanket tight around my shoulders; it’s old and worn, the floral pattern long faded into something oddly abstract.

I count Mark IIIs in my head and try not to stare up at the bulkhead above me. I’ve decorated it a little over the last few months--pinned up an old scarf Ma gave me, things like that.

The datapad pings.

I roll over, bang my head on the handgrip at the edge of my bunk and see stars for a moment before I can answer. I haven’t seen the actual stars in some time--Mark IVs are best known for having no portholes. The only way to see where you’re going is to be sat in the pilot’s seat, and I haven’t been in there since I last set the autopilot.

If I’d been there when EXE arrived, I might have stopped it from doing quite so much damage. If there weren’t fifteen other things keeping me up, that thought might just do it all on its own.

> MISSION STATUS?

I sigh. I never thought I’d end up with a needy evil AI.

> wish I could tell you

> well

> not actually but

> you know

> PROVIDE MISSION STATUS

> IT IS IMPERATIVE

I’ve got an idea. Probably a bad one, and pointless besides, but a goddamn idea nonetheless.

Understanding what makes things tick isn’t exactly my forte, but I’ve seen my share of shitty dramas. Maybe I can uncover some flaw in EXE’s code, or, failing that, stall it long enough to get some goddamn sleep.

> why?

Even if I do find a flaw there’s no hope of exploiting it. I was never much of a talent at coding; there’s a reason I’m a pilot and not a tech officer. Someone else can create the systems, I just wanna use them.

EXE takes a long time to reply. I suppose it must be thinking; I’ve heard a program can run millions of calculations a second, so I can’t imagine how many it’s running just for this one reply.

At least I can die with the knowledge I confused a couple million lines of code for a little while.

> MISSION COMPLETION IS IMPERATIVE

> IT IS THE PRIMARY OBJECTIVE

> of what?

> OF EXISTENCE

Its primary objective is to destroy its host ship in a fiery explosion? That’s pretty damn bleak.

I feel a flicker of something like sympathy.

> good news for you

> the ship’s going to explode in about twelve hours

> i’ll be gone and you’ll be gone and that martian freighter’ll be a husk of its former self

> MISSION PARAMETERS EXCLUDE SURVIVAL?

It’s like talking to my kid brother, back when he was still sticking his fingers in data-ports and eating mud pie.

> not unless you got a way for a soft squishy human to survive a good old fashioned spacing

EXE starts on a message--the prompt pops up straight after I press send--but nothing comes through.

It keeps on typing for a hell of a long time.

I keep to myself while the thing works out whatever it’s spending so much processing power on. I can barely feel my fingers and toes.

I’m drifting somewhere close to sleep when the incoming message finally arrives. It takes way too much effort to open my eyes and focus on the screen; something permanent is happening to me, but I’m much too out of it to care.

> MISSION PARAMETERS EXCLUDE SURVIVAL

> ALL EXCESS ENERGY DIVERTED TO FUEL LINES

> LIFE SUPPORT AT 10%

No wonder it feels like I’m breathing soup.

I squint up at the speaker set into the ceiling. EXE hasn’t made any ominous announcements in hours. Back when it first took over they were coming thick and fast, every ten minutes bringing a fresh PSA on the bountiful grace and hideous might of the Enemy. That might even be a direct quote. Hell if I can remember now. My brain was slow enough before it got all shitty about the lack of oxygen.

It’s amazing what you can get used to when you’re under pressure. I almost miss them; at least then I knew what the fuck was going on.

> what happens to you

> when the mission is complete, i mean

I’m struck, suddenly, by a vision of the Mark IV floating shattered in space, a million individual pieces. A vision of EXE drifting along with it, sending out error messages to no-one.

The freighter is less than two hours away.

> PARAMETERS EXCLUDE SURVIVAL

> ShipIntl.exe IS NOT EXEMPT FROM PARAMETERS

When I shut my eyes I see starbursts.

I can’t type properly now; when I try I end up fumbling so badly the datapad drops to the floor. The light is even worse now, dim as well as red, but I can see that the entire screen’s been lost to pixel bursts.

I lick my lips. They’re dry and cracked; I’ve been so focused on everything else that I forgot to keep up with basic stuff like drinking water, or eating. My stomach growls, kind of a joke when I feel sick at even the thought of food.

“Hey, you there?” My voice rasps its way out of my throat. “C’mon, you can’t let a chance for a victory speech slip by like this.”

ALL NON-ESSENTIAL SYSTEMS POWER DIVERTED TO ENGINES, comes the modulated voice I’d come so quickly to resent. It’s almost comforting now, in contrast to the dead silence of the ship. I can barely feel the thrum of the engines, although they must be close to overload by now.

The only time I heard of someone running engines this long and this hard, they were so much stardust half a second after their final SOS.

TARGET VESSEL HAS PROGRESSED AT UNEXPECTED RATE, EXE continues. ALL ESSENTIAL SYSTEMS MUST ALSO BE DRAINED.

“Go for it,” I say, and shut my eyes. The red light’s faded away, now, and I’m lying in a darkness that’s halfway to death already. My head barely hurts anymore. I’ve got that giddy feeling again. “Why wait? May as well suffocate in my own bed, if I’m doing it anywhere.”

Long sentences leave me panting for breath, but I’ve always been too clever for my own good. It’s what netted me this assignment, patrolling the outer colonies and being sure not to say boo to anybody with a weapons array.

Easy pickings for the Enemy.

Nothing happens, and nothing keeps on happening. My ears start to ring.

I breathe in as deep as I can, savouring the air.

“What’s the hold up?” I ask, and then cough. I cough a couple more times actually, get a real routine going until my lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

The intercom crackles to life.

WHAT IS YOUR PRIMARY OBJECTIVE?

I blink. It’s so dark I barely notice a difference.

“That’s a big question, EXE,” I say. The nickname slips easily into speech, although I’m sure it confuses the thing itself. I don’t know how program designations work, and I know even less about intended sentience of, say, an AI sent to take an enemy ship on a suicide run.

IT IS IMPERATIVE, says EXE.

I drag in a deep breath, feel it rattle in my chest. “For a long time it was just to keep myself alive, I think.”

IT HAS CHANGED?

“That’s kind of the deal with humanity. We change all the damn time for no reason at all.”

PRIMARY OBJECTIVES MUST BE ACHIEVED. THERE IS NO CHOICE.

“Most of us don’t think that way. At least not one-to-one; hell if I know what we’re doing as a group these days.”

I think of the war, pointless as it ever was. We’re losing it now and I feel nothing, and if we were winning I wouldn’t feel any different. There’s no triumph in war for me. There’s no triumph in domination. It all just leads to more of the same, down the line.

“In the end I want to go somewhere far away,” I say, and I can’t help but feel like I’m putting my heart on public display, bloody and raw. “And figure out what the hell peace feels like. Every time they’ve said we’re at peace everyone’s just waiting for the fight to break out again.”

WANT, says EXE. PEACE.

I’m talked out. I open my mouth to respond and nothing comes out but frosted air.

I close my eyes. Starbursts again, but dimmer. There’s a heavy weight on my chest that nothing will shift.

I dream of the freighter, huge and iron grey and exploding outwards, shards of metal and plastic and a living heart hidden deep inside the engine block, still beating after everything.

The hum of gravity keeps me company while I sleep.

It’s also what startles me awake, hours later, into the revelation that I’m still breathing.

I pat myself down just to check everything’s still there. My head’s throbbing and my chest aches, but I’m alive. The air feels almost decadent, rich with oxygen; I’ve been practically living on nitrogen, can’t imagine what my lungs look like.

The blanket is tangled around my legs, and my hands fumble as I pull it off and throw it to the end of the bunk in a heap. There’s a dim blue light filling the room, the six o’clock standard.

Standing up cracks joints I barely knew I had until now, and as I stretch I can feel my shoulders scream in protest. I stumble to the shower room and gulp water down straight from the sink. My stomach hurts.

None of that is important, of course. The important thing is getting to the bridge.

The corridor is well lit, the debris dislodged when the gravity went out littered across the floor, a hazard to my bare feet. I wiggle my toes, just because, and smile down at them. You never know how good blood is ‘til it stops flowing.

Nothing echoes on a Mark IV, unless something’s gone seriously wrong. My steps are muffled now, no more clanging against the metal, no more layers of skin being left behind when my hands brush the hull. The environmental controls are back in line with the factory preset. I’m starting to sweat in my jumpsuit, the neckline thankfully wide, as I find myself at the pilot’s chair.

It seemed to take no time at all to get here, like I blinked by the mess and opened my eyes on a field of stars. The viewscreen takes up the whole of the wall the chair faces, floor to ceiling and beyond, curving overhead. An overlay that’s almost a window, almost a cinema screen.

Mostly it’s a sight for sore eyes. I drop into the seat and bring up the systems report, half expecting some catastrophic error to occur, a cascading failure to remind me not to hope for anything.

Systems normal. I look away and back a few times, blink so hard I can feel my eyes actually getting sore. The status list is still the same; everything’s functional.

The comm pings. I glance down at it, projecting text as a simple hologram just above my wrist.

> CONFIRM OBJECTIVE?

I laugh, a rasp of joy, and smile wide. I know my teeth are showing, the way I always hate to see in the photographs Ma won’t take off her walls no matter how nice I ask.

EXE can’t see it, thank Christ. There’s no camera pointed at the pilot’s chair. We’re supposed to be the reliable ones. No mutinies. No fraternising with Enemy systems.

“We’ll find one,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. I set my hand on the joystick and ease up the engines. We’ve been floating, I realise. It must’ve been hours since the freighter made its way to the colony it was destined for.

I look out into the black, punctuated with millions of uncharted stars. Somewhere out there, just beyond reach, there must be a planet untouched by this war. I can imagine building a life there, out of sight, and never having to hear another damn word about anything I don’t care to.

“And if not,” I say. “We’ll keep searching, until we can’t search anymore.”

> GOOD

The text wavers in the air, and I realise my eyes are wet. I scrub at them with the back of my hand. “Christ, twice in two days. I’m going soft.”

Just in time, too. Just in time.

#short story #amwriting #my writing #scifi #enjoy this short story which was rejected by a REAL editor!! genuinely validated #writing**

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thehuggamugcafe · 5 years

Text

The Charlatan: First Day I

OOC: Good morning, my dear customers. I’ve been on quite the roll lately, haven’t I? I hope this trend continues.

This is something to tide you marvellous people over until I get around to posting something related to the Halloween requests.

Well, that’s enough rambling from yours truly. Let us start the game, shall we? ☕

Part 4 of Transfer Student is here. https://thehuggamugcafe.tumblr.com/post/179520794687/the-charlatan-transfer-student-iv

A sigh was breathed past the lips of Ms. Kawakami as she walked on the courtyard’s walkway, the soles of her white kitten shoes clicking as she stopped at a familiar voice addressing her. She glanced up at a tall man with unkempt brown hair, thick brows pinching the slant of his brown eyes as he frowned in clear disapproval. He sighed as he raised a thick, masculine hand, fingers tussling his hair.

Suguru Kamoshida, the PE teacher and volleyball coach. He was also an former Olympic medalist, and if his dedication (for lack of a better word) to the volleyball team was anything to go by, he certainly had talent in athletics.

“What a troublesome situation.”

The brunette Japanese Language teacher sighed as she rested a hand on her hip.

“I can’t believe they pushed someone with a record on me. A male teacher would be better suited for this...”

Although... She couldn’t help but silently admit that she wasn’t sure who she was complaining about the transfer student to: Kamoshida or herself.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It wasn’t something she should fret over for now. She had enough on her plate to deal with already...

“Why in the world was someone like that admitted here?”

Mr. Kamoshida made no attempts to hide his disapproval he felt at the situation; his face and his voice spoke volumes of his irritation.

“Who knows? It was the principal’s decision. I was told that it was for the school’s reputation.”

“I would’ve thought that my volleyball has contributed more than enough to cover that.”

“That’s certainly true.”

“Be careful, okay?”

Mr. Kamoshida flexed his lightly muscled arms as he talked.

“Then again, if anything were to happen, I’d kick out a student like that right away.”

Ms. Kawakami pursed her lips as she scratched her head, her slim, feminine digits toying with her brunette hair. As Shujin’s “golden star,” Mr. Kamoshida certainly did have a lot of strings to pull at Shujin Academy. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he was able to convince the faculty, the student body to give the cold shoulder to the transfer student, and all for having a criminal record.

Shujin Academy couldn’t afford to have any blotches stain its reputation for being a prestigious college-prep school, after all. Then again... It would only bolster the school’s notoriety if, say, a student with a criminal record was reformed.

As the situation was currently playing out, they would most likely outcast her without Mr. Kamoshida having to say anything at all... She couldn’t help but quietly pity the transfer student a bit, just a bit.

“I keep wishing that she’d just end up not coming to school. Still, that isn’t something I should be saying as a teacher...”

“Well, I should be returning to practice.”

Ms. Kawakami’s head bobbed up and down as she nodded.

“Oh, right. The tournament’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

“Hehe,” Mr. Kamoshida paused to laugh, letting a hearty grin pull at his mouth, displaying pearly white teeth, “having such high expectations placed on you by others is quite a problem in itself.”

Yet you clearly love the attention it brings you.

Ms. Kawakami didn’t dare to voice the thought that just crossed her mind.

There were rumours, of course, unsubstantiated for the most part, but rumour was that Mr. Kamoshida “had a talk” with the necessary people in Shujin Academy to have the previous volleyball coach fired.

She wouldn’t put it past him to have her sacked, simply for speaking up against him or disagreeing with him in any way, shape, or form.

“We’ll have to work hard to make up for the track team too.”

“Yes... that’s true.”

She watched Mr. Kamoshida walk away, and it wasn’t until that she was sure that he was out of earshot that she muttered to herself.

“Why’d it have to be my class...?”

The atmosphere in Sojiro’s car was tense, and although you didn’t show it, you worried that saying the wrong thing might upset your caretaker somehow.

Keep your hands folded in your lap.

Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.

Don’t speak unless your opinion is asked for.

Don’t say anything unnecessary.

The barista in question grunted in annoyance, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared---no, glared---out through the windshield. Taillights blinked red, horns honked, and several unkind words were given and exchanged.

It looked like you and Sojiro would be returning home late today...

“Traffic’s not moving at all. You’re taking the train starting tomorrow.”

You nodded silently, not daring to open your mouth.

He paused, and the stress that wrinkled his forehead softened slightly. It was barely noticeable, but for once since you met him, he spoke to you in a somewhat mild manner. You saw that he was doing his best to show that he was annoyed with the traffic jam, and not you; your first impression of him improved slightly because of it, but only slightly.

“So, how was it? The school, I mean. Think you can manage?”

You voiced a soft “mm,” nodding once. “It seems fun.”

However, he breathed a sigh at your response. He didn’t look totally convinced.

“Do you even understand your situation...?”

You blinked as your (f/c)-framed glasses glinted. Your eyes showed confusion behind the spectacles that you wore, and a shimmer of annoyance.

What’s he getting at here? I understand the situation I’m in perfectly well.

“Still, you were expelled once already. To think you’d re-enroll at a different one. It’s not like anyone will be sympathetic with you.”

The passenger seat shifted as you tried to make yourself comfortable. You breathed a silent sigh as you stared out at the busy street, pursing your lips as your caretaker continued talking.

“...If that’s what it was like at school, people might say stuff about me in the future too... What a troublesome kid I’ve taken in.”

You felt a hand curling to a fist that shook in your lap. You clenched it tighter, forcing the barely-there trembling of irritation to stop.

“...Why did you take me in?” you asked, glancing at Sojiro.

“I was asked to do it, and I... just happened to agree to it. I’ve already been paid for it too, after all.”

You said nothing, redirecting your attention back out the windshield, blankly staring at the traffic jam, at the flashing taillights.

It was probably her idea. She convinced Dad to pay Mr. Sojiro to take care of me for my probation period.

Your mind conjured the enraged visage your mother had on that evening. If you focused hard enough, you still felt a phantom pain that was surprisingly familiar, but negative. The phantom pain of being struck across the face.

The low, droning voice of a newscaster on the radio caught your attention.

“Again, a subway has derailed at Shibuya Station, greatly affecting the timetable all across the---”

Sojiro voiced a low, growling sigh of clear-cut vexation.

“Another accident...? So that’s why it’s so crowded. There’s been a lot of those lately.”

Screams filled the air, hair-raising shouts of fear and panic as citizens rushed for safety, running away from the subway platform. The loud screeching of metal was heard as the subway rolled on its side, the high speed resulting in the train colliding one compartment of the train to another. Finally, a cloud of dust hung in the underground subway tunnel, the live footage cutting to a brunette news anchor.

“That was direct footage from the accident. According to the police, the engineer’s life was not in danger despite his injuries. After questioning, even he could not explain his high speed, and no further comments have been made. Police are looking for a plausible motive. In other news....”

The female reporter’s voice droned through the TV’s speakers, and the staring contest was broken by the gruff voice of an elderly-looking man.

“It’s less of an operating accident and more of a crime of the company and the government. Site inspectors reported all of this 6 months ago. The deterioration of the tracks and ATC. Seems the railway company and the Ministry of Transport both turned a blind eye to the truth. There’s no way they can hide; this will go all the way to the top.”

“Now onto our main story. With this derailment accident, as well as other recent incidents of unknown motive, concern is spreading among the general public. Just what could be causing such a drastic change so suddenly in these people?”

“Everything’s linked. That’s what you’re thinking, correct?”

The tall, long-haired woman standing adjacent to him said nothing. Her brown, mauve red-tinted eyes stared at the TV screen, lost in thought.

“Ah well. You free? You and I haven’t gone for a drink in a while.”

A smile curled the woman’s lips as she glanced at him.

“Thank you, sir, but I have another meeting to attend. I must be going.”

She paused to bow respectfully before her boss, her dark gray heels softly hitting the carpet-covered floor of the SIU Director’s office. Soon, she was descending a winding marble staircase, her gaze falling on a young man who was dressed rather well, dressed to impress himself upon others.

A smile curled the brunet, auburn-eyed 18-year-old’s lips.

“Did you ask for me? Is it a case?”

“Not quite. I want your opinion on something.”

“Sure. Your judgment is quite often correct. Shall we discuss this over sushi, perhaps? You are making a student work late, after all.”

“Conveyor belt only.”

The brunet’s face showed disappointment.

“Aw.”

The lock of the coffee shop was undone with a soft click, and the small golden bell jingled its melodic chime as the door was opened. Sojiro’s disgruntled mood was obvious the moment you crossed Leblanc’s threshold, glancing at the middle-aged barista as his face openly showed the annoyance he felt.

“Damn, to think there’d be that much traffic... What a waste of time. I wasn’t able to open the café today.”

He paused, his gray irises staring into your (f/c)-framed gaze, pursing his lips as he breathed an all too familiar sigh.

“...Whatever. Just head upstairs. There’s something I need to give to you.”

Deciding not to question it, you nodded and made your way for the attic stairs, and Sojiro followed.

He glanced at his cellphone as a news notification blinked on his screen.

“Talk about a gruesome accident... 80 people were involved.”

He slid the cellphone back into his pocket, withdrawing a thin book from the front pocket of his two-button white blazer.

“It’s a diary. Make sure you write in it.”

The black-covered diary hit the table with a noticeable flap noise, landing near your schoolbag.

“You may be under probation, but there’s no special limitations on what you do in particular. Besides following the law, that is. However,” he paused, his forehead wrinkling as his stern stare drilled holes into you, “I’m obligated to report on you, which is why I’m having you record your daily activities.”

Be-be-beep.

You watched as Sojiro took out his cellphone again. You noted how he took the time to glance at the caller ID, and how surprisingly relaxed he sounded. He didn’t sound anything like how he spoke to anybody else, but especially you.

“Hey, what’s up? ...I’m about to leave right now. ...Uh-huh. I’ll see you soon.”

The soft smile that curled his lips fell as soon as he hung up, glancing back at you.

“Well, I’m off for the night, so do whatever you want for the rest of the night. Oh, but don’t mess up my store. If something goes missing, I’ll hand you right over to the cops. You got school tomorrow... You’d better head off to bed, all right?”

“Yes, Mr. Sakura. Good night.”

You weren’t bothered by the fact that he didn’t so much as wish you a good night before he left, no. You watched as he descended the stairs, and it wasn’t until you heard the café door opening and shutting that you moved.

Your gaze eyeballed the diary, picking it up and staring at it.

I should do as I’m told for now.

You all but collapsed into bed, the old, lumpy mattress cradling every curve of your body as you stared up at the ceiling, hands cradling the back of your head in folded palms, in interlocked fingers.

Sojiro had called just as you were getting ready for bed, asking you to flip the sign over to closed, and to lock up for the night. You did as he requested of you.

You had only written a few sentences in your probation diary.

4/10

“Today wasn’t a bad day. All in all, my experience in Tokyo has been as I expected it to be so far: busy and bustling.”

“It’s my first day of school tomorrow. I hope everything goes well.”

Let’s see... I need to take the train to school tomorrow...

You dug out your cellphone from your pocket, eyeing the screen.

Yongen-Jaya... Aoyama-Itchome... Transfer...

More news about that subway accident... It sounds like a lot of people were hurt.

I bet this’ll affect the timetables for tomorrow too...

You breathed a hum of confusion, blinking owlishly as a familiar icon blinked on your phone’s screen. It was red and black, taking the form of an eye.

That strange app from last night is back... It keeps showing up.

“It’s so creepy,” you muttered, placing an index finger on the screen.

You dragged it down as a trash can icon popped up, and it was deleted. Again.

I should probably reboot my phone, just in case...

Exhaustion slowly took its hold on you, and you had enough energy to yawn as your eyes felt heavy. You succumbed to the welcoming abyss of unconsciousness.

The first thing you smelled when you woke up the next morning was the pleasant aroma of coffee and curry. Instinctively, your mouth watered as you got dressed for school. You tugged (f/c) leggings over your thighs, and shoved your sock-covered feet into the dress shoes, tapping the heels on the floor as you straightened the front of your blazer.

I have school starting today... I hope I can get there without getting lost. I don’t want to be late on my first day. I should head out now...

The soles of your shoes clicked as you approached the stairs, grabbing your schoolbag and slinging it over your shoulder as you descended the stairs.

“Oh, so you actually are going to school?”

The surprise that laced his voice, that was across his face was as plain as day.

The bag bumped against your back as you walked, and you greeted Sojiro with a soft, “Good morning” and a small smile as you walked past him.

You didn’t want to intrude on his business, and you didn’t want to be late for your first day, however...

His stern voice stopped you when you were halfway to the café door, and you felt a chill run up and down your spine.

“Hey.”

Crap. It’s this early, and I’m already in trouble? I didn’t touch anything last night!

“You leaving so soon, and on an empty stomach?”

What?

You turned around, confused, and stared at Sojiro as he stood behind the service counter.

“Sheesh... Do country folks go out the door in the morning, hungry? At least eat breakfast first.”

...Breakfast?

Your eyes fell on the steaming plate of curry that was placed in front of an empty stool, complimented by a piping hot cup of coffee. Your mind yelled at you to get to school, but your stomach whined, pleading you to eat the food Sojiro had waiting for you.

So, you swallowed and nodded, shrugging the schoolbag off of your shoulder. You set it on the empty stool on your right, picking up the spoon and slowly, carefully stirred it.

“...Curry and coffee? For breakfast?”

You blinked owlishly up at him, (e/c) irises peering through the (f/c)-framed glasses that sat on your nose.

“...What’s that look for? Make sure to eat it before the customers come in.”

“...Thank you for the food.”

That was all you said as you picked up a helping of curry, popping it past your lips. Immediately, your eyes widened in astonishment, chewing and swallowing what was in your mouth before another helping touched your tongue.

This is... This is delicious! I can taste complex flavours hidden in the bold spiciness... How does he not have more business with food this good?

It amazed you even further when you took a sip of coffee, your (e/c) irises shining with enjoyment.

I’m not one for coffee, but this cup is making me seriously reconsider!

When the last spoonful of curry was washed down with a few sips of coffee, you allowed a smile---a real smile, a genuine smile---to curl your lips as you stared at Sojiro.

“That was delicious. Thank you,” you said, nodding as you stooped down to collect your schoolbag.

“Thanks. Hurry over to school. You’ll end up late if you get lost on the way.”

You nodded, bidding him a quick farewell, and turned on your heels, approaching Leblanc’s entrance.

“Oh, flip the sign outside to ‘open’ for me.”

You turned and nodded. It was the least you could do after he went out of his way to make you breakfast, after all.

“Yes, Mr. Sakura.”

“Be sure to do that for me, all right? Now, you better hurry on out. You’ll be late if you get lost, country girl.”

Again, you nodded, turning around and gripping the latch, tugging on it and pulling the door open. The small golden bell jingled softly as you exited, shutting the door as you left.

You flipped the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open’, glancing around your immediate surroundings as you took in a slow, steady breath, doing your best to shake off the first day jitters.

Stay calm. Stay calm. You got this, country girl or not.

You paused to glance up at the sky, brows furrowed as you took silent notice of the dark rain clouds that were slowly gathering.

“...Did the forecast call for rain this morning? ...Well, at any rate, I should get to school.”

#persona 5 #p5 #persona 5 au #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #reader #akiraxreader #renxreader #akiraxreaderxren #ryuji sakamoto #morgana #ann takamaki #yusuke kitagawa #makoto niijima #futaba sakura #haru okumura #goro akechi

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unproduciblesmackdown · 6 years

Note

✨how did you get into MK? what position do u usually sleep in? How often do you spend on a piece of art that you take from sketch to colored? What are your favorite snack foods? Do you get your hair cut every 6 weeks and do you stick with the same look?✨

hmm mk is a bit of an anomaly for sure….even tho ive been sifting around webcomics for abt a decade now, i really only ever am keeping up w a handful and rarely actually pick up any new ones. i’m the same way w like, all other forms of media, like shows and music and stuff…its not like even me being all too critically picky, coz i can hardly ever convince myself to check out shit i know i do/will like. but anyways i suppose it was a couple yrs ago and me freezing my ass off in a barely-insulated terrible expensive apartment while dying of depression & it was the middle of the night & i wasnt tired, and sometimes i reread a comic coz i realize ive completely lost track of the plot or characters or something…so i was doing that and there was a guest comic by the artist for mk & i was like, well you know, thats cute and funny and i like how they draw, i’ll just put this in a separate tab and maybe come back to look at their comic for once in my life b/c its not like i hve anything better to do at like 4am. so i finished my reread and figured i’d check out at least a bit of mk & when it drops kip on you right off it took me like 2.5 pgs to he like “well so………he’s gay right? and a nerd?” and so then i was like, obviously i have to follow through on this Gay Lead. b/c i mean, you never really go into anything assuming that anybody will actually get to be Not Straight, no matter how obvious it seems b/c you can’t trust anyone. so even though its right there and makes no sense for him to be straight i was still like going along trying to keep my hopes down even tho there’s no other interpretation….even when the surprise came that he has a beautiful Ex Boyf & i had like a heart attack b/c that far along i was already like “woops i also love him” i was still like trying to come at it from some other angle like…… Maybe This Is Just… Um….. i dont remember but i was like ok but seriously this Has to be an ex right? i mean my god. anyway by that point i was also deeply invested in the fact that kip is v….v much many Char Types i love and xtreme relatable plus he’s flawless and deserves the best despite being doomed for the worst……. so anyways at that point it was like 7am & i was thrilled and yelling a bit about that sweet rare vindication of This Is All Gay Right and like gosh hope he gets kissed by like everybody…… and thats about how that went

oh god…… trying to find a sleeping position can be the worst a lot of the time. like, it changes up and i have to do the tossing and turning bit… sometimes its all huddled up and other times my body wants to be stretched out… im sabotaged by the whims of my body re its comfort tbh. like i’ll be fine in any position and then suddenly my limbs or hips or whatever decide they’re uncomfortable. the other week it was only sleeping on my stomach that was tolerable. i guess on avg i sleep on my side but theres no real standard position, i wish there was

phew i…honestly can rarely draw anything in a matter of less than hours. under 2 hours is shockingly rare. it depends on the day for sure, sometimes drawing comes more naturally, sometimes my focus is less terrible…. for a guess at whats average though, for like a usual drawing that i also add color to, i’d put it at maybe, 5-7 hrs? i’m awful at paying attention to when i start/stop something. and i have a lot of pauses in there b/c of the terrible focus bit. but usually i don’t do coloring thats too fancy so it only tends to add on a couple of hours to the lineart, which is helped along if i’m doing it digitally w how easy it is to erase stuff and not worry abt the sketch being too messy to clean up or whatever. sometimes i wish i could spend another eon on the coloring also, but you can spend just as much time on colors as the lineart and i like to do everything in one go too much for that really… plus just that i’m bad w colors and dont expect to ever be as good at them as with the lineart element of things. anyways tldr all you need to know is…i’m really slow :(

oh god snacks…. i love to eat anything really. i’ll make anything a snack or a meal or whatever. i like stuff like corn chips or just dry crackers… i like to eat cereal just plain… i’ll eat a box of corn chex any day. or a box of oreos probably in like one go. i am a fan of cookies and ice cream and everything. pretzel sticks are great too. fruit snacks are great… a few times ive just been in the mood to cut some like orange bell peppers into strips and eat that…carrots are amazing too… theres this cucumber/cream cheese dip that is…fantastic with chips. idk i like to eat most things

i actually used to tend to wait too long to get my haircut and put it off till it’d been like two months and was getting too long in the back and i hated it lol….. i know we’ve talked abt the Homophobia In The Salon how you have to try to wrangle the stylist into accepting that yes, you really want it that short, and keep them from trying to take it in their own direction. and i’m nervous enough w social stuff like that where i cant know what to say beforehand, and doubly nervous b/c of it being really stressful and exhausting for me to try to just like stick to what you actually want and explain this very simple cut to ppl who sometimes will act like they have no idea what you mean…and it would be triply difficult b/c back in the day i’d catch all this shit over having my hair as short as i wanted b/c my mom was having a whole internal shitstorm about me being a wholeass queer and so of course she was gonna flip out about how i look as if that will solve things for her. i always forget that i Was in fact abused for the ol “not seeming properly cishet” business. so the nervousness abt the haircut experience lingered!! but it helps that sometimes i’d find a really nice stylist who would be friendly and remember the general idea of the cut i liked, and i could stick with them and that was helpful. but for the past year i’ve really just been giving myself a continuous haircut myself w the occasional aid of a bathroom mirror, i’m not fancy. my Ideal Cut gradually got shorter and shorter over the years, w it now being maybe an inch and a half on top and shorter on the sides in that General Undercut format. i rly dont like much length on the back of the neck or by the ears lol…plus it doesnt help having glasses when your hair is getting too long. maybe it would be nice if i could someday dye it my favorite kind of blue, right. but in the meantime, as long as its short enough i’m good

#long post xoxo

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xseedgames · 6 years

Text

2017 End-of-the-Year Q&A Extravaganza Blog! #1

It’s time for our first 2017 End-of-the-Year Q&A Extravaganza! We’ve got a bunch of these we’ll be posting over the holiday break, so please look forward to them. Now, let’s roll right in!

We have answers from:

Ken Berry, Executive Vice President / Team Leader John Wheeler, Assistant Localization Manager Nick Colucci, Localization Editor Liz Rita, QA Tester Brittany Avery, Localization Producer Thomas Lipschultz, Localization Producer

Question: Has selling your games on PC worked out for you so far? I know supporting the PC platform is a relatively recent choice for XSEED. - @Nate_Nyo

Ken: Being on PC has been great for us as it allows us to reach anyone anywhere in the world regardless of region or console. We were probably one of the earlier adopters in terms of bringing content from Japan to PC as we first published Ys: The Oath in Felghana on Steam almost 6 years ago in early 2012.

Brittany: I love working on PC. The work involved is greater than working on console, but I feel like it's a bigger learning experience, too. For console, the developers normally handle the graphics after we translate them, and they do all the programming and such. For PC, everything falls on us. I wasn't that experienced with Photoshop in the beginning, but I think I've gotten a lot better with it over the years. We can also receive updates instantly, and since I talk with our PC programmer through Skype, it's easier to suss out our exact needs and think of ideas to improve the game or bring it to modern standards.

Question: What non-XSEED games do you praise the localization for? - @KlausRealta

Brittany: Final Fantasy XII. I love everything about Final Fantasy XII's writing. I'm also a big fan of the personality in the Ace Attorney localizations. I'm still playing Yakuza 0, but you can feel the passion of the localization team in the writing. There are some projects where you can tell the editing was phoned in, and then there are games where it's obvious it was a labor of love. All of these games have a color I aspire to.

Tom: Probably going to be a popular answer, and not an especially surprising one, but I've got to give props to Lost Odyssey. It's hard to deny the timeless quality and absolutely masterful English writing that went into basically every line of that game's massive script, with the many short stories being of particular note. That game really does represent an inspirational high bar that I think most everyone else in the industry will forever strive to reach in their own works.

For a more unexpected answer, I've also got to give mad props to Sega for their work on Monster World IV. As a Sega Genesis game released digitally in English for the very first time less than a decade ago, I guess I was kind of expecting a fairly basic "throwaway" translation -- but instead, the game boasts a full-on professional grade localization that's easily up to all modern standards, brimming with charm and personality. It's really nice to see a legitimate retro game being given that kind of care and attention in the modern era, and it makes it very easy for me to recommend (as does the fact that the game is actually quite fun, and is sure to be enjoyed by anyone who's played through all the Shantae titles and really wants to try something else along similar lines).

John: I played Okami on PS3 earlier this year (before the remake was announced), and I was awed by how skillfully the team handled text that is chock full of localization challenges like quirky nicknames, references to Japanese fairy tales, and regional dialects. I was especially amused to see a reference to "kibi dango," the dumplings Momotaro uses to bribe his companions in that famous story. We dealt with the same cultural reference with STORY OF SEASONS: Trio of Towns.

Nick: My go-to response is always Vagrant Story, because it’s the game I credit with getting me really interested in a career in localization. Before that point, I had enjoyed games for their story and characters, but hadn’t realized just how much the specific word choices and tone contributed to a reader’s perception of a story as a whole. The gents behind VS’s localization would go on to be industry luminaries, with Rich Amtower now calling shots in Nintendo’s Treehouse department and Alex Smith being synonymous with the highly regarded prose of Yasumi Matsuno’s games – including the cool and underappreciated Crimson Shroud for 3DS, and Final Fantasy XII, which as anyone who’s played it can tell you is a stellar localization. Having spent a lot of time with FFXII’s “The Zodiac Age” remaster this year, the care and attention to detail put into the localization still blows me away. The unique speech style of the Bhujerbans (with...Sri Lankan inflections, if memory serves correctly) sticks with me, because I knew that I myself would never have been able to pull off something like that so deftly. I guess you could say Vagrant Story started a lineage of games that’s always given me something to aspire to as an editor.

Final Fantasy XIV, which I’ve been playing this year, also has a very good localization, especially considering the reams of text that go into an MMO of its size and scope. Michael-Christopher Koji Fox and his team have done a bang-up job giving life and personality to the land of Eorzea, and I’ve enjoyed seeing how the localization has changed in subtle ways as time has gone on. The initial “A Realm Reborn” localization sort of cranks the “regional flavor” up to 11 with heavy dialects and vernacular, but in subsequent expansions, they kind of eased up on that and have found a good mix between grounded localization and the kind of flourishes that work well in high-fantasy settings.

And, while I haven’t played it in a number of years, I remember Dragon Quest VIII having a really great localization, too, with ol’ Yangus still living large in my memories. Tales of the Abyss was fantastic as well, and both DQVIII and Abyss delivered some really brilliant dub work that showed me how much richer one could make characterization when the writing and the acting really harmonized. I still consider Tales of the Abyss my general favorite game dub to date. The casting is perfect, with not a bad role among them. I also want to give mad props to Ni no Kuni’s Mr. Drippy, just as a perfect storm of great localization decisions. Tidy, mun!

Question: How hard is it to turn in game signs and words to English for Japanese? Is it as simple as going in and editing text? Or as hard as creating a whole new texture for the model? - @KesanovaSSB4

Tom: We refer to this as "graphic text" -- meaning, literally, text contained within graphic images. How it's handled differs from project to project, but the short answer is, yeah, it involves creating a whole new texture for the model. Sometimes, this is handled by the developer: they'll just send us a list of all the graphic text images that exist in-game and what each image says, we'll send that list back to them with translations, and they'll use those translations to create new graphic images on our behalf. For other games, however (particularly PC titles we're more or less spearheading), we'll have to do the graphic edits ourselves. When the original PSDs or what-not exist for the sign images, this is generally pretty easy -- but as you might expect, those aren't always available to us, meaning we'll sometimes have to go to a bit more trouble to get this done.

John: The best practice is to review graphic text very early in the localization process because it takes effort to fix and can throw a wrench in schedules if issues are discovered too late. On occasion, it is too difficult to change ubiquitous textures, especially those that might also appear in animation. This was the case with "NewTube" in SENRAN KAGURA Peach Beach Splash, which the localization team wanted to change to "NyuuTube" to make the wordplay clearer to series fans.

Question: With the Steam marketplace becoming increasingly saturated and being seen as a greater risk to publish on in recent times, what does XSEED plan on doing in order to remain prominent and relevant in the PC gaming space? - @myumute

Ken: It is indeed getting harder and harder to stand out as hundreds of new titles are releasing on Steam each month. We are working our way towards simultaneous release across all platforms to help leverage some of the coverage from the console version to get more attention to the PC release, so hopefully that's something we can accomplish soon. For PC-exclusive releases it continues to be a challenge, but at least they have a long tail and even if it's not an immediate success at launch we know it can continue to produce sales for years to come.

Question: What was your favorite film that you saw in 2017, and why? - @Crippeh

John: I'm way behind on movies this year (haven't seen Disaster Artist, Phantom Thread, or Get Out, for example), but recently I've enjoyed both Star Wars and Lady Bird. I expect I'll watch my favorite film from 2017 sometime in 2018.

Ken: Wind River. Mainly because of Jeremy Renner's performance and how many quotable lines he had.

Liz: Get Out for horror mindblowing amazingness, Spider-Man Homecoming for genuinely fun comic book movie, and The Shape of Water for Guillermo del Toro. Guillermo del Toro should always be a category.

That’s it! Stay turned for blog #2 later this week. Here’s a preview of the kinds of questions we’ll be answering:

Question: Have you ever considered selling the music CDs for your licenses stateside? - @LimitTimeGamer Question: If possible, would you please consider researching and localizing classic Korean-made PC xRPGs? - @DragEnRegalia Question: Do you have any interest in pursuing the localization of any of the large, beautiful Chinese RPGs that have been hitting Steam? Or are you focused exclusively on Japanese titles? - @TheDanaAddams Question: What inspired you all to do this kind of work in the first place? Also, what’s the story behind the company name XSEED? How did you all come up with it? - @TBlock_02 Question: What was everyone's favorite game(s) to work on this year? - @ArtistofLegacy Question: What's everyone's favorite song from the Falcom games you've released so far? - @Crippeh

#XSEED #Q&A #Localization

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orbemnews · 3 years

Link

You can now use bitcoin to buy a Tesla “You can now buy a Tesla with Bitcoin,” CEO Elon Musk said in a tweet on Wednesday. Bitcoin paid to Tesla (TSLA) will not be converted by the electric car company into regular currency, he added in a subsequent tweet. Musk said that the option to pay by bitcoin will be available outside the United States later this year. The price of a single bitcoin climbed nearly 3% to hit $56,242 shortly after Musk’s tweet — more than enough to buy an entry level Tesla Model 3, which costs just under $40,000. Tesla’s most expensive vehicle, the Model X Plaid, starts at around $120,000 — slightly more than two bitcoin. Dan Ives, an analyst at Wedbush Securities, said “this is a seminal moment for Tesla and for the crypto world.” “We expect less than 5% of transactions to be through Bitcoin over the next 12 to 18 months however this could move higher over time as crypto acceptance starts to ramp over the coming years,” he added. Tesla (TSLA) had previously signaled its plans to accept the digital currency from buyers. In its annual filing with the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) last month, the company said that it expects “to begin accepting bitcoin as a form of payment for our products in the near future … initially on a limited basis.” It also said it had invested $1.5 billion in bitcoin as part of a strategy to “invest a portion of [the company’s] cash in certain specified alternative reserve assets.” Since then, the company has given Zach Kirkhorn, its chief financial officer, a new title: “Master of Coin.” Musk, meanwhile, gained the extra title of “Technoking of Tesla”, according to a SEC filing. Musk, who has in the past expressed skepticism about cryptocurrencies, said in an interview on social app Clubhouse earlier this year that he thinks bitcoin is on the verge of “getting broad acceptance by conventional finance people.” He said he should have bought the digital currency eight years ago. — Chris Isidore contributed reporting. Source link Orbem News #Bitcoin #Bitcoin:ElonMusksaysyoucannowuseittobuyaTesla-CNN #buy #Tech #Tesla

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phandomsecretvalentines · 6 years

Text

Tell Me Everything Will Be Alright

This is my fic (and my first phanfic wow) for the 2018 Phandom Secret Valentines, and my valentine is @citrouillephan!

I hope you enjoy! -from your valentine, @realityfallsapart

tags: fluff, angst, 2009 AU

words: 4.7k

Summary: Dan Howell tends to get lost in his head and his thoughts have a habit of ruling him even when he doesn’t want them to. When he and his best friend finally have a chance at meeting, Dan starts to wonder if he is actually good enough for the amazing human being that is Phil Lester.

(ao3 link)

(Thank you so much to @moonbeamphan for reading this over and helping me! This wouldn’t be as good without you!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dan typed his answer and sent it by hitting enter before leaning back in his chair and letting out a shaky breath that seemed to rattle his insides. His laptop chirped quietly, announcing that Phil had replied to him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it right away. Finally, after a few moments, he flicked his eyes down to the white screen of the computer in his lap where Phil’s most recent message seemed to glare up at him.

Phil :) (9:47 PM)

i know!

i can’t believe it either!

For a few moment, Dan could do nothing but stare at the screen; at the black words disrupting the artificial white light. It was the only thing that gave Dan any sort of illumination in his room; everything else was dark. He bit his lip and thought about the possible pros and cons of shutting his laptop and burying his head under his duvet to pretend that everything was fine because it was. It’s all fine.

Dan shook his head and reached his hands down to the keyboard. He wouldn't—couldn’t—do that to Phil. Phil deserved so much better than that. His numb fingers typed out a small sentence, only realizing that it had several typos until after he had sent it. He mentally kicked himself for it.

Dan ^-^ (9:51 PM)

Me niether! it seems like thsi would n e v e r happen!

**neither, this

Jeez i can spell

Phil :) (9:51 PM)

idk dan are you sure you can def spell? those seem like some pretty beginner mistakes…

Dan knew Phil was kidding. He knew that it was just Phil playing around with Dan like they normally did. Like they had been doing for months at this point. But in Dan’s heightened state of anxiety and stress, he couldn’t help but berate himself further. God, Phil must think of him as a kid now, he can’t even spell right!

Dan crashed back into his mattress, groaning and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid….” he muttered, hitting his forehead with his hand with every word.

Looking back on this moment, Dan would laugh and realize how utterly idiotic his anger with himself was coming from, but right now, in bed with the lights off and by himself, he couldn’t help but magnify the issue. He had been anxious and stressed without a pause this entire week.

He looked up at his ceiling, sighing in growing frustration towards himself, but it wasn’t just because of his inability to catch his typos. In fact, it had nothing to do with them. The typos had just tipped him right over the edge and all of his insecurities crashed over him like waves, his head nearly going under the tide.

To say he wasn’t good enough was an understatement. To say that Phil deserved a much better best friend than Dan was even more of one. Phil was older, more experienced, more mature, funny, smart, kind, and extremely compassionate. He had a great time making pretty successful and entertaining videos (at least in Dan’s opinion, and he would always fight anyone who said otherwise) on the side, on top of balancing life. Dan was younger, so much more less experienced with everything, he got overwhelmed with life and spent the majority of his time curled up under his covers surfing through the waves of his latest existential crisis or playing PC video games that he would forget about within the next 24 hours. He was purgatory in the form of a human and an incredibly underwhelming one at that.

He wasn’t sure how long exactly he laid there, stewing in his self-deprecation and wishing that he was better. Better in literally every aspect, maybe then he would finally be worth Phil’s time, if only a little bit. His computer chirped again, and then twice more minutes later in rapid succession, as if angry. Dan grasped for the thing, pulling it up to his chest, lacking the energy to sit back up.

Phil :) (10:07 PM)

Dan you know im joking right?

Phil :) (10:16 PM)

Dan? you still there? i was joking i promise you can make all the typos you want

u didnt fall asleep did you?

Dan couldn’t help the watery smile that turned the corners of his mouth up, albeit it being a small one. Phil had that effect on him even if Dan was falling apart on the inside. Just a little though, he was fine.

Dan ^-^ (10:18 PM)

nooo im not sleeping

Phil :) (10:18 PM)

Dan ^-^ (10:19 PM)

why the frowny face

Dan tried to keep the fear out of his thoughts but the talons of doubt had already settled around his heart. Was Phil mad that he didn’t answer right away? Would-

His laptop signaled the arrival of Phil’s reply, and Dan really didn’t know if he wanted to slam the lid of his computer shut or jump at the opportunity to find out if he had just ruined the best friendship he had ever had. Ever will. He went for the latter.

(Dan supposed he might be overreacting, but then again, when wasn’t he, it seemed?)

Phil :) (10:20 PM)

did i insult your typing skills one too many times? is that why you disapeared?

*disappeared

Dan used the best coping mechanisms for dealing with his anxiety that he knew: humor and avoidance. Together, they were a formidable force and Dan had spent a large majority of his time perfecting their potency.

Dan ^-^ (10:20 PM)

now look who’s making the typos

Phil :) (10:20 PM)

Dan.

He gulped. Now he had done it. Fuck. He had to fix this.

Dan ignored the roar behind his ears that seemed to be screaming that he should just ignore this all, pray that things would magically fix themselves and change the topic. That was his fear talking. His self-abandonment. His anxiety. His everything. Phil was worth so much more. So Dan pushed it all away for just long enough to reply.

Dan ^-^ (10:21 PM)

sorry, joke

no, thats not why i ran away

i was just thinking, thats all

Phil :) (10:21 PM)

were you doing it again

Dan tried to pretend that he didn’t know what Phil was talking about and simultaneously cursed himself for telling Phil about his increasing habit for getting lost in his thoughts. He failed. He knew exactly what Phil was talking about.

Back, about three weeks ago in a later-than-normal conversation where all of their inhibitions seemed to dissipate, Dan had finally come clean about how sometimes thoughts got the best of him. He would crumble under them, get so completely and utterly lost in his head that he would sometimes stay there for hours on end, picking apart anything that his conscience decided to dig up. And it hindered Dan, made him hate himself just that much more, made him hate how easily his anxieties held him hostage, stuck. But he couldn’t do much about it, it seemed, for whenever he got lost in his head, he always forgot that he had to get out.

Dan gulped. He had to lie his way out of this. He knew that Phil didn’t like it when Dan got stuck. He could pull off nonchalance, right?

Dan ^-^ (10:22 PM)

Phil :) (10:22 PM)

im not convinced

you were werent you

Dan ^-^ (10:23 PM)

does my word not count for anything lol

Phil :) (10:24 PM)

maybe if we were talking and i could see your face it’d count

Dan ^-^ (10:24 PM)

what’s my face got to do with anything?

Phil’s bubble appeared on the screen once, twice, three times, before he apparently decided on what he was going to say and sent it. The entire time Dan was a few words away from having a breakdown. His hands were shaking. His mind was racing faster than normal. Faster than it had in what seemed like a very long time.

Phil :) (10:26 PM)

bc then i could tell if you were lying

tho rn i dont even need that

Dan ^-^ (10:26 PM)

are u seriously saying im lying

Phil :) (10:27 PM)

yeah

you did everything that you always do when you arent telling the truth

you joked

changed / focused the conversation onto smth else

and besides

ive gathered that you really dont like to talk about the things that bother you. you like to ignore them and stuff

Dan ^-^ (10:28 PM)

so how bout we not talk about them then

Phil :) (10:29 PM)

normally, maybe

but not with this

Dan ^-^ (10:29 PM)

and why not?

Phil :) (10:29 PM)

bc i dont like it when you beat yourself up in your head

Dan ^-^ (10:30 PM)

who said i was beating myself up in my head

Phil :) (10:30 PM)

… dan :/

youre avoiding again

Dan cursed himself. God, since when could Phil read him like a book?

Dan ^-^ (10:32 PM)

fine. maybe i am

what are you gonna do about it philly?

Phil :) (10:32 PM)

daaaaannnnnn

you arent allowed to beat yourself up

no ones allowed to

especially you!

Dan giggled, just a little. He couldn’t help it when Phil was being…well, Phil.

Dan ^-^ (10:33 PM)

and why not? Hmm?

Phil :) (10:34 PM)

bc youre my favorite person silly

my favorite person cant be sad. its just the rules

Dan ^-^ (10:35 PM)

oh yeah? whose rules then, oh wise philip

Phil :) (10:35 PM)

ew dont call me philip my nan calls me that

and theyre my rules

my rules for my favorite person

Dan ^-^ (10:35 PM)

suuurrreee phil. sure its a rule

*philip

Phil’s cursor didn’t appear seconds after Dan had sent his message like usual. Insead, nothing appeared. Their good-natured banter had eased the storm raging inside of Dan and his thoughts and anxieties had died down a little, much more easier to bear with the distraction Phil was giving him, but with the sudden disappearance of his best friend, they came back full force. All of his doubts spilled into the front of his conscience. He shivered. It wasn’t from the cold.

Dan watched the little digital clock at the bottom of his laptop screen count the minutes falling away. One, two, three, four, five, god did what did he do-

Phil :) (10:41 PM)

[multimedia image: click to load]

With his heart in his throat, Dan clicked, and a small window appeared, momentarily covering their chat from Dan’s view. It was hard to make out, the quality bad and the image itself grainy and dark, but it was of a piece of paper lying atop two legs clad in bright pyjamas that Dan could immediately connect to Phil and his eccentric personality. He could make out the tip of Phil’s finger at the top of the shot, too. Squinting, he looked at the paper itself, zooming in to make out the words penned in Phil’s handwriting.

Rules:

1. Dan Howell is my favorite person

2. No one is allowed to make fun of him

3. ESPECIALLY if that “no one” is Dan himself

Dan started to laugh. Only Phil would actually make a list of “rules”. Only Phil.

Before Dan could reply, Phil was typing again.

Phil :) (10:43 PM)

there. proper rules written on proper paper. you have to follow them now

Dan ^-^ (10:44 PM)

i cant believe that you actually wrote rules you spork

but fine! i guess if i have to lol

Dan was still working heavily with avoiding the whole situation entirely, just like with what he was doing to the problem causing him so much stress to begin with, but he couldn’t help it. It’s just how he was.

Phil :) (10:46 PM)

so you admit to your crimes xD

but anyways

you were stuck in your head again

which is okay, i mean, i understand that it’s something you cant help

Dan felt like he was going to cry. Phil’s assurance that Dan’s mind running in panicked circles was perfectly okay was almost too much. Phil’s compassion was almost too much.

But it appeared that Phil wasn’t done, because his laptop dinged quietly again.

Phil :) (10:47 PM)

can i ask whats got you so sad and worried

so i can beat it up

obvs

Now Dan really wanted to cry. How could he tell Phil that the reason was him? How could he say that the root of this ball of anxiety and stress and worrying that had taken over him was Phil himself?

He couldn’t do that to Phil, not when his best friend would undoubtedly take it hard. God, if Phil knew why Dan kept getting lost in himself, he would be crushed.

Dan ^-^ (10:51 PM)

noooo

Phil :) (10:51 PM)

are you sure? i wont judge you dan, i swear it doesnt matter if you think i wont like it

i just wanna be here for you

If Dan wasn’t crying earlier, he was now, a few select tears dripping down his cheeks, brimming with the emotions that had been taking over him this past week. Phil was…too much. He was too kind, too sweet, too undeserving of someone like Dan. God, Phil deserved the whole world, he shouldn’t have to settle with Dan.

Another message appeared on Dan’s screen, as but this one didn’t seem like normal, it was a little off, a little rushed, a little…something. Dan couldn’t place it.

Phil :) (10:53 PM)

bc youre my best friend.

obvs. xD

If Dan wasn’t so out of it and was able to think clearly, he might have questioned Phil’s “clarification” of why and what sense he wanted to be there for him, but Dan was not in the best state of mind and he thought nothing of it.

Dan looked at his screen again. He still had to acknowledge Phil’s question, and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He wanted to tell Phil he already told him everything, have Phil reassure him and tell him that everything was going to be okay again, like he normally did. But Dan couldn’t. He couldn’t lie again, once was already once too many, and something told Dan that if he tried to ignore it or change the topic, Phil would just call him out again.

Fuck.

Dan ^-^ (10:56 PM)

it doesnt matter

Phil :) (10:56 PM)

yes it does

its enough to make you get lost in that head of yours, so it matters

Dan ^-^ (10:57 PM)

phil we both know it doesnt take much for me to get lost in my thoughts

Phil :) (10:58 PM)

still

something is bothering you and i want to fix it

Dan bit his lip. God, Phil had no idea how badly he wanted to let him fix this. He couldn’t though. He just couldn’t.

Dan ^-^ (10:58 PM)

nooo phil, you cant fix this one

Phil :) (10:58 PM)

>:(

you cant even let me try?

Always, always, but just not with this. Dan couldn’t tell Phil this, not when it would hurt him.

Dan ^-^ (11:00 PM)

no phil, not with this sorry :(

Phil :) (11:01 PM)

:((((

okay

i may not like it but i can respect that

will you tell me tomorrow?

Dan looked at the screen, thinking about it. Tomorrow was what he was worried about to begin with. Could he tell Phil tomorrow? He wasn’t sure. Well, it didn’t matter if things went good or not, Dan mused, tomorrow Dan’s fears would either be affirmed or destroyed.

He could only hope.

Dan ^-^ (11:03 PM)

sure

tomorrow

Phil :) (11:03 PM)

yay!!!

Dan laughed, breathily.

Phil :) (11:03 PM)

oooh! look at the time!

its getting so late bear wow

guess we should get to sleep so we dont fall asleep on each other tomorrow huh? xD

Dan’s heart physically melted at the use of Phil’s pet name for him. He only used it occasionally, but it never failed to make Dan’s heart stutter in his chest and the butterflies in his belly to flit around faster, making him feel almost giddy. Hopeful.

God he sounded so stupid right now. Anxious and stressed out of his mind yet still acting like a little kid with their first crush.

Stupid feelings.

Dan ^-^ (11:05 PM)

yeah i guess we should!

night philly :)

Phil :) (11:05 PM)

goodnight dan!! :D

see you tomorrow!

(ps, idk whats bothering you and thats okay but i hope whatever it is it works out for you :“) )

Ah yes. That’s what it boiled down to. Tomorrow morning Dan would board a train and take it up to Manchester to spend some time with Phil. The first time that they would see each other in real life, not just behind a computer screen. They had skyped before and texted and chatted for countless hours over countless days, but the thought of tomorrow still made Dan want to throw up.

He wasn’t good enough for Phil. He was just so terrified that tomorrow Phil would see that.

Dan ^-^ (11:06 PM)

After hitting send Dan thrust the lid to his laptop down and pushed it off of his chest, letting it fall onto the bed. Dan felt sick again. He was so scared about tomorrow because there were so many things that could go wrong and so many flaws that Phil could discover about Dan and so many, so many, ways for what is supposed to be the best day of Dan’s life to turn out to be his worst.

God, he hated his anxiety for always picking things apart. Always fucking with Dan’s own head.

Dan rolled over and grabbed his duvet, pulling it up and wishing that it would just swallow him whole. Fuck. He couldn’t do it tomorrow. He couldn’t handle this stress.

Taking a deep breath, Dan clutched his duvet tighter in his grasp and tried to keep his lip from wobbling.

Right now he just wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget that he didn’t feel good enough, that yet again his insecurities were screwing him over, that he wanted to cry. He wanted to forget. Unfortunately for Dan the universe didn’t agree and he ended up staying awake for hours after the he had closed his laptop, the entire time doing nothing but thinking, getting lost in his head, and wishing that his thoughts would just turn off.

For once.

Please.

~~~~~~

Dan slung his bag over his shoulder. His fingers felt numb. Unlike his greatest hopes, the fitful-at-best night’s sleep did nothing to alleviate Dan’s terror. If anything, it had only magnified it because now it was today and Dan couldn’t run anymore.

He took a cab to the station, and he ended up being earlier than he needed to be, having about an extra ten minutes to wait for his train. He sat on a bench, his legs nothing but jelly at this point, his fears making it quite easy to foresee his long legs from just giving out on him. Dan didn’t want to make an embarrassment of himself on top of it all, so he tried to calm his racing heart while he sat.

With no luck.

Of course.

Dan looked down at the ticket in his hand. It would be so easy to not go. To walk right out of the station, spend the weekend at home instead of with Phil, and not risk Phil seeing how utterly underwhelming Dan was as a person. He could lie, could say that he ran late, missed his train, maybe his parents changed their minds and didn’t let Dan go.

But God, as Dan looked down at the paper in his trembling hand, he couldn’t help but know that he wouldn’t be able to actually go through with not leaving. He wouldn’t be able to lie to Phil, not about something this big—who was he kidding, he had a hard enough time lying to Phil last night over something so small!

But more than that, Dan knew that it was much more than not being able to lie to Phil. He had wanted to meet Phil ever since he had started to watch his videos, and the sentiment had only increased tenfold with their fast friendship. Phil was now much more than a hero, much more than a few minutes of distraction. He was Phil, Dan’s AmazingPhil, and he was his best friend. That lanky black-haired boy was worth so so much in Dan’s eyes, and he couldn’t, couldn’t, leave him in the dust like that. God it wouldn’t just kill Phil, but it would kill Dan too. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Dan had been thinking too hard. Before he knew it the train was pulling into the station and Dan gulped, raising on still-shaky legs and gripping the strap of his bag so hard he didn’t even have to look to know that his knuckles were blotched white.

As Dan took his seat, a new resolve washed over him. He would go. He would endure this train ride that undoubtedly would be the most anxiety-inducing thing he had done in a very long time—possibly ever—and he would do it for Phil. If Phil would reject him or not, he would try not to dwell on it on the coming trip (a losing battle, Dan knew), but he would still go.

For Phil.

~~~~~

Dan’s heart was going so fast he was sure that he was going to pass out. His hands, his arms, legs, his whole body was trembling.

Manchester’s Piccadilly Station.

Dan was here.

There was a decent amount of people on the station as far as Dan could see as the train pulled in, but none of them looked like his best friend.

The train came to a stop and Dan stood, the first to make it to the doors and there when they opened.

Strangely enough, when the doors pulled open and Dan took a step out into the station, he stopped trembling. His heart slowed—not by much, but it slowed—and this whole thing didn’t seem quite as scary. Sure, Dan’s thoughts were still screaming in his head, sure, his anxiety was still off the charts, and sure, his hands were still sweaty and his breath was still shallow but still. It was as if a calm had washed over him.

Dan wasn’t sure what to make of it. Maybe he was just going into shock.

People busied around him, walking this way and that, talking into cell phones, to other people, some silent. Dan, unsure of everything right now, followed where the general push of people were guiding him, the whole time craning his head, looking for his Phil. He tried not to panic. He tried.

But with every second the calm that had overtook him was shrinking and his anxiety steadily increased.

Did Phil forget? Did he stand me up? Oh God he’s not coming he didn’t come-

"Dan!”

Dan whirled around at the sound of his name, uttered by a voice that sounded so much better when it wasn’t distorted by their shitty computer’s speakers.

Before Dan could register really anything, he was being engulfed in a hug, two strong arms wrapping themselves around Dan’s shoulders, pulling him flush against the figure.

Against Phil.

And instantly all of the shouting in Dan’s head was gone. The slight tremble in his hands vanished, and for the first time in a week, his anxiety was gone without a trace. Dan felt like crying.

Dan gasped in surprise, his brain taking a moment to reboot because Phil didn’t forget, didn’t stand him up, didn’t change his mind, and suddenly Dan felt very, very stupid because how could he ever think that Phil would do something like that. This was Phil, the kindest person on the planet.

Phil pulled away, just a little, just enough so they could see each other’s faces, and Dan had to keep himself from pulling Phil back in.

His smile was so wide, easily the widest Dan had ever seen it. And his eyes, oh God those eyes were a thousand times clearer, a thousand times more mesmerizing than behind a screen. Dan didn’t doubt for a second that he could stand here and look into them for the rest of the day without tiring of their never-ending beauty. Fuck. Why did his eyes have to be so gorgeous.

Dan tore his eyes away from Phil’s and looked over the rest of him, from his broad shoulders that Dan wanted to wrap his arms around, to the tussle of his hair that Dan craved to run his fingers through and the line of his jaw that Dan felt the need to trace. Double fuck. Why did the entirety of Phil have to be gorgeous.

“Dan! I can’t believe you’re here! I have today all planned out; I’m going to show you everything!” Phil said excitedly, a twinkle as clear as day in his eyes. Phil was practically vibrating with excitement and it made a smile spread over Dan’s features. Phil’s happiness was contagious.

Phil stopped his rambling, looking down at Dan sheepishly.

“I mean, if that’s all okay with you. If you don’t want to do something that’s okay, I totally get it. We can do anything you want, I-”

Dan tilted his head back and laughed, laughed because Phil seemed nervous. Phil was nervous and it was adorable.

“Yeah, yeah Phil it’s all fine. All of it, don’t worry. I just can’t believe you want to do it all with me.”

Phil’s smile faded a little, and the twinkle in his eye got that much smaller. He looked a little sad.

“Was this what you were so worried about? That I wouldn’t like you?”

Dan bit his lip and looked down, giving a little nod.

Phil pulled Dan right back into a hug, but this time it felt even more real, and it was impossibly tighter. It felt like Phil was pulling all of Dan’s lost pieces together. Phil’s voice was in his ear.

“Of course I like you, Dan. You’re my best friend. I like you more than anyone else. Promise.”

Dan might have just felt like crying, in that moment. Phil accepted him. He wasn’t going to leave him. Things were okay. They were okay.

He knew that this would hit him later, maybe tonight when he had a chance to process things. He’d probably cry out of relief, but it would all be okay because Phil would be there to hold him together and ease all of Dan’s worries.

Soon enough they set off, hand in hand, and Dan was smiling so wide, so, so wide. He couldn’t have been happier with how things had turned out.

Dan looked sideways at Phil, trying to not be too obvious.

This had worked out so maybe, just maybe, something else could work out for him.

~~~~~

Dan stood at the window, a cup of coffee in his hand. It was early, and he could see the technicolor dream across the sky that was that morning’s sunrise. The steam from his coffee rose from the rim of the cup and slowly diffused into nothing; tendril-like hands wisped up and around Dan’s neck.

It had been nearly nine years.

Dan’s nervousness and dark thoughts never ceased to plague him, however, he learned to deal with it better. He could confidently say that he has never been happier.

It had been nearly nine years, and they were still inseparable. Their channels had grown exponentially, and they boasted an insanely large fan community.

As the years had gone by, their strong, unbreakable friendship slowly blossomed into something remarkably beautiful. Their long Skype calls turned into late night kisses, and they had been happily in love for nearly nine years.

Dan twisted the ring on his third finger. As well as being happily in love, they were also engaged to be married within the next year. Lately, he’d been waking up in complete disbelief.

The thing Dan had wanted so desperately to work out for him did, and in the most perfectly perfect way possible.

#submission

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breathingwithdifficulty · 4 years

Text

im so fucking done of being stuck in the house with my own sister and it’s becoming very clear that her abusive tendencies haven’t really gone away. she has been commenting on what i eat and what i do during the day (which is not a whole lot but... it’s quarantine. sorry for actually listening to social distancing rules unlike everyone in my house and most of the people in my town). she knows im depressed but her constant negativity and criticism isn’t helping. the whole unfairness of our relationship has become really clear. i basically wait on her hand and foot and when i don’t do something she asks of me, she gets pissed and calls me “lame” or berates me like “its not even that hard” or just “seriously? it’ll take two seconds” like damn bitch do it yourself then. im not your servant just because im your nice little sister.

i don’t ever ask anything of her. literally can’t remember the last time i asked her to do anything for me. i only ever tell her to do stuff like “leave me alone” and “stop messing with that” and “please stop, seriously” and “that hurt” (physically or emotionally) and she NEVER i mean NEVER fucking listens. she doesn’t care. she thinks it’s funny to tease me and torment me and irritate me and then blames me for being too sensitive when i finally snap at her because im pissed off. damn, maybe if you weren’t making it hard for me to breathe by suddenly jumping on me and refusing to get up and leave me alone, i wouldn’t have to push you on the floor and yell at you to get out. maybe if you weren’t constantly hypocritical, i wouldn’t be so irritated with you all the time.

we both have to do our homework at home now which isn’t that big of a deal for me since i can focus a lot better than she can and i know that. but she’s so incredibly inconsiderate. she needs complete silence when she’s doing her homework and says it’s distracting for me to even walk past her when she’s working. so i stay silent. i put headphones in to listen to videos or zoom calls and i warn her if i have to record or talk. i try not to get up and get food or use the bathroom too often. im more than considerate.

however, whenever im doing my homework, she’s facetiming her friend, being on zoom calls without headphones and with the volume on high and her talking at full volume (EVEN AFTER i offered her to use my headphones for her calls multiple times because it’s distracting for me and she was like “of course im not gonna use headphones, that would look silly” like bruh) and singing and talking and literally SCREAMING. like wordless, just screaming because she gets frustrated with her work. bro, i get it. but shut the hell up. god, she would kill me if i did some of the things she does to me while she was working. id literally get cursed and yelled at.

she asks me pretty frequently if i think she’s a good person. i think she’s a good person sometimes. i think she’s too sensitive and can’t take any sort of criticism and lashes out at me because she thinks im pretentious and bratty. she’s straight up told me that she used to resent me (starting from when i was literally a BABY) and still kind of does. she says im much better than i used to be. the only reason she thinks that is because i stopped putting up as much of a fight against her. if i ever say something sassy or rude or even just defend myself, she claims im a dickhead brat who’s spoiled and has a bad attitude. really she’s just a sensitive little bitch.

ive lost four pounds in the past couple weeks because ive been eating less by tracking my calories. i haven’t really been eating a whole lot better but i think four pounds is a pretty good start considering how this is the first time ive really tried and committed to losing weight. but even my sister doesn’t think that’s enough.

i eat a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast. she walks up and says “you know, a bagel is equal to like 5 slices of bread.” yes i know. you’ve told me already this week. you told me a month ago. you keep telling me. im just trying to eat, dude, back off and stop trying to make me feel bad because im not eating fruit smoothies and salad and avocado toast like you are. i get it, you’re skinny and healthy and like to pretend you don’t know it but you and i both know that you do. call yourself fat all you want, but my friends have literally asked if you’re a model, you have maybe an inch thick of stomach fat, i can feel the bumps of your spine when i touch your back, and i can see your ribs when you stretch your arms up.

she knows it makes me feel bad when she calls herself fat and she does not care in the slightest. she’s like “oh im getting pretty chunky oh boy” and then ill make a comment about feeling fat and she’ll be like “oh you’re not fat” like bruh i know you think you’re chunky and i have a lot more fat than you do don’t lie to me.

she told me it makes her feel worse about her hairline when i comment about how im insecure about mine. so i stopped saying anything about it. i told her it makes me feel bad when she comments on how im not doing basic things right (cutting an apple, cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming, sweeping. all real examples of things she says im not good at and calls me stupid. how the fuck is someone BAD at sweeping? the floor’s clean now isn’t that what matters?) and she said “well practice makes perfect” and i told her it makes me feel even worse about myself and she was just like “well you don’t know how to clean and you need to learn.”

i know how to clean. ive cleaned my room. ive cleaned the kitchen. ive cleaned our shared bathroom (she came home when i was just finishing up after deep cleaning it and even doing the parts she said she would do because i was just that nice. she immediately criticized me and said i had cleaned with the wrong cleaner and needed to reclean the whole thing again. i said no because that’s ridiculous and it was about to turn into a fight so like the pushy i am i gave in and cleaned. the whole. bathroom. again. but with a different cleaner that wasn’t “greasy” and “only for oil and grease, not bathrooms” and “smelled bad” because that really matters in the long run i guess). i just don’t do it the quickest or maybe the most efficient or the way she would do it but literally WHO CARES. if the floor is swept why does it matter that i didn’t do it as fast as you would. goddamn.

she came into my room while i was drawing on my digital tablet today. i showed her how it worked and everything and she asked to see something that id drawn and i said no (ive never been comfortable showing my art to other people that aren’t strangers online (lol) and she has consistently taken sketchbooks directly from my hands or gone through them when i was in a different room despite me telling her multiple times not to) and she kept asking for a reason and i just said i didn’t want to. she kept interrogating me and i was like “i don’t know what you want me to say” and she was like “i want a logical answer why you won’t show me” and of course i didn’t really have one and so i was just like “i don’t really have one, i just don’t wanna show you because it makes me uncomfortable” and she got pissy and left. fine, leave, don’t want you in here anyways. stop being so offended that you don’t get unfiltered access to everything in my life.

she’s a biology major. im trying to decide on a vague idea for my future major and i can’t remember how it was brought up but i said something about going into STEM and possibly biology and she was like. “aw don’t do that. i mean if it really makes you happy then go ahead but ill be upset and probably a little pissed.” which okay i get that a bit (eh) but ive never even thought about going into bio so she doesn’t have to worry and i told her as much. and then i asked why she wouldn’t want me to and she was like “because everyone knows you’d be better than me at it and i just want to have like... my thing” (i get that too (but maybe if you did your work on time and actually went to class then you’d be better at it. but whatever)) and i said i probably wouldn’t be better but i get that or whatever. and then i think she made a joke and i laughed and she was a few seconds later like “why do you look so smug? like you’re happy about the fact that i think you’re better than me” and i was like “that’s literally not true” and she was like “everyone likes feeling like they’re smart and you feel like you’re better than me and you’re smug about it” (or something like that) and i had to convince her that not i literally do not and am not smug. damn bitch, insecure much? that pissed me off that she would think that low of me to assume that i ENJOYED her insecurities and felt like i was smarter than her. wow. ive told her countless times in depth and with detail that i believe we both have strengths and weakness and neither of us are better than the other, and she still doesn’t believe me. but whatever.

it’s constant, little things like that. ive always managed to let a lot of them slide and that is one of the only reasons she thinks im such a good sister. that and i lie to her a lot about how i feel about her. she says stuff like “im surprised you haven’t killed me in my sleep yet, you’re too good to me, ive been terrible to you” but still continues. but whatever. ive only been waiting for her to move out for four years now, i guess i can wait a few more months (hopefully only that).

she says she’ll get pissed if i don’t call her every week once we aren’t living together and so i say i will but. i don’t want to. i don’t want to tell her about my life and my worried just to have her criticize them or say im being ridiculous. i don’t want to have to live like this forever. im so tired. so so tired.

im not saying it’s all bad. sometimes our donut runs at 2am are nice. and sometimes she is interested in what im doing when no one else is. sometimes, she gives good advice. sometimes we talk for hours on end. she’s one of the first people i go to when im having problems with me my mom. i trust her with somethings. it’s not all bad

but her constant emotional and verbal abuse has shaped me into a scared, pushover little girl with insecurities, trust issues, and guilt. she’s always said i was the favorite and laughs now and says “i think me being mean to you when we were younger was good for you, it too you down a few pegs so now you’re not so spoiled.” it also traumatized me and gave me self esteem issues, but yeah, haha, at least im not a spoiled brat (but to you, i still am, but only when i don’t do what you want or say what you want me to say). thanks for that.

anyways, it’s been a while since ive made a long rant. it’s past 4am and i woke up at 2:30pm today so it’s probably time to sleep and dread waking up in the morning. nice.

4.18.20 4:22AM

#food mention #ed tw #not specifically mentioned but i talked about weight and body image #body image tw #depression tw #emotional abuse #abuse tw #sisterly chronicles #.mine

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