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kitcat992 · 10 months

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(PREVIEW) Identity Within︱Chapter 7 - Something Tried and True

If Peter concentrated any harder on rebuilding his web cartridges, he was sure that he’d give himself a juvenile stroke — not that Tony would’ve noticed, too busy across the workshop with welding goggles covering his eyes and sparks of molten metal igniting the room with bright flashes of heat.

The two were so caught up in their individual tasks that for once, the music playing overhead could barely be heard. Tony’s protective gear blocked out the sounds on his end, with earmuffs snugly fit over his head — whereas Peter’s intense focus kept his attention strictly on the machine in front of him; his hands carefully removing a freshly molded web cartridge that he not-so-carefully tossed into the tray on the opposite side of the table.

He was so focused on creating the next cartridge that he almost failed to pay any mind as DUM-E came wheeling by, carefully picking up the tray with an advance grip of his pincher claw and taking it across the workshop.

Peter was just about to push down on the hydraulic press mold — far more advanced than the dinky old model he had back home, and for good reason — when he saw the robot come to a stop near Tony’s work station.

“Wait, wait, wait — no, no, no, no! Not over there, DUM-E — not over there!” Peter rushed out in a panic, his one hand waving frantically in DUM-E’s direction. “If that heat gets too close to the cartridges before they mold, they'll explode!”

Despite the commotion that suddenly erupted, Tony never looked up from his own project. The intense sparks of metal continued to reflect against his goggles as DUM-E slowly retreated away from the dangerous heat, taking the tray with him until he found a safe spot to discard it.

It clanked and clattered as he dropped it down onto a cluttered bench.

“Yeah, yeah — right over there, that’s perfect, that’s great.” Peter’s bulky, heavy-duty work gloves kept his thumbs-up from fully forming, but he tried nonetheless. “Thanks, DUM-E, you’re the best.”

Tony never looked up from his welding as he said, “Stop complimenting him, he’ll think he’s doing a good job.”

Peter spun around on his stool until he faced Tony — nearly spinning all the way around had he not scraped his sneakers against the floor to prevent a complete three-sixty turn.

“He is doing a good job!” Peter defended, his smile reaching ear-to-ear while his arm extended straight out like a stick. “He’s only caused like, one fire so far.”

The sizzling heat of Tony’s welding torch came to an abrupt stop, with the sparks that flew off the scorching metal eventually dissipating in the air like embers.

“Him?” Tony asked, the hand not holding his welding torch lifting the safety goggles over his head — exposing his eyes in full. “Or you?”

Peter wished he could blame the heat of Tony’s welding for the embarrassed blush that dotted his cheeks. Unfortunately, it was hard to say whether the look on Mr. Stark’s face, one-hundred percent ‘not buying it’, was the cause of his humiliation — or the fire extinguisher that laid used and now trashed across the workshop, with bits of foam still dripping down the sides.

In his defense, he wasn’t expecting an entire tray of his web cartridges to explode from a few nearby flames of Mr. Stark’s welding torch. And in double his defense, he wasn’t expecting DUM-E to have a full blown panic attack when struggling to find the fire extinguisher that Peter misplaced the last time they were in the workshop together.

From the look on Tony’s face, Peter figured neither defense was going to win his case.

“I just gotta get a stronger casing on these things,” Peter mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. The bulky safety glove that covered his hand massaged half-heartedly at the nape of his neck. “The aluminum shelling of the cartridge is way better than the original design, but the melting point of six hundred degrees is still too low.”

DUM-E’s whine of discontent towards the situation almost sounded like he agreed with Peter — who felt lowkey bad for startling the robot with a very unexpected fire that, to Peter’s surprise, seemed to barely phase Mr. Stark.

“What are you trying to do,” Tony started to ask, yanking off his safety goggles and earmuffs with one quick motion and tossing them onto the table with ease. “Jump into fires?”

Peter gave a dramatic shrug, one that brought both his shoulders all the way up to his ears.

“Maybe,” he murmured, insecurely turning back to the machine in front of him. His fingers fiddled on the handle of the press mold without any real intention of continuing his work. “Wouldn’t be the first time I wound up in a burning building.”

The sigh that escaped his chest was unintentional, and halted mid-exhale. Peter clamped his mouth shut and clenched his jaw with frustration, shaking away the lingering thoughts of self-doubt that had so rudely managed to creep into his head lately.

Seriously — who would’ve thought the pressures of being brought back from the dead would top the stresses of maintaining his GPA in high-school. He sure didn’t.

Though music still played overhead and throughout the workshop, and was far louder now that Tony’s welding had taken a pause, Peter had a gut feeling that sigh still managed to be heard — even with his best attempts to stifle it.

A dead giveaway was the lingering stare that burned a hole in his back. It felt hotter than if Tony’s eyes were actual welding torches blowing fire right against his t-shirt, with the large print text of ‘Think like a proton and stay positive’ catching the overhead ceiling lights.

Right along with ‘that’ look Peter was all too familiar with.

“Just…gotta make sure I’m prepared. For the next time,” Peter muttered, not daring to give ‘that’ look any acknowledgment as he ripped off both his gloves with the desperate need to fidget his hands. The heat that spread across his cheeks — this time for a reason other than one impromptu use of a fire extinguisher — kept him from turning to face that stare head-on.

That was, until, Mr. Stark finally spoke up.

“You’re distracted.”

Peter spun in his stool so rapidly, he didn’t stop until the entire three-sixty ride gradually circled him back to Tony’s direction

“Of course I’m distracted!” Peter practically shouted, tossing both his arms wildly in the air. “There’s a spaceship outside!”

Tony gave a sharp, concise nod before turning right back to his work. “And there it is.”

Peter either elected not to hear his exasperation, or was way too excited to pay it any attention.

“You gotta let me meet them, Mr. Stark — c’mon!” Peter all but exclaimed, to the point where his voice cracked in pitch and he couldn’t even be bothered to care.

Tony didn’t even look at Peter as he wagged the welding torch his way.

“That homework finished yet?” he asked, deadpanned and serious — so deadpanned and serious that at first, Peter swore on his young life the man was joking.

It took a solid five seconds to realize he wasn’t.

“What!?” Peter, once again, was too worked up too notice the crack in his voice. His arms flew down from the ceiling until a rigid hand pointed right at Tony. “You said if I spent two hours working on my paper then you would compromise and let me spend two hours working on my cartridges—”

Tony nodded. “Yes, I know, I never said that I didn’t say that—”

“You just said that!” Peter hastily interrupted.

Tony made a face, one that words failed to describe. “I just said that I never said that, I didn’t say—”

Peter kept his hand pointed at Tony. “You totally said that, Mr. Stark—!”

It was Tony’s turn to spin around on his stool, the look that followed so hot it put his welding torch to shame.

Peter elected to keep his mouth shut after that.

Reluctantly.

And with much struggle.

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sroop · 9 months

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guided (i) - discont.

"This is my puck, so either we both go together, or you stay behind." It's her way of saying: kriff off.

Author's Note: always wondered about the Mandalorian with an apprentice and wanted to write a bit about what I think Din would try to be as a mentor. This is definitely not the most canon accurate and Grogu isn't mentioned

Summary: Bounty hunting is precarious, even more so when it becomes personal. Din is determined not to let his apprentice learn that the hard way.

{}{}{}{}

Reyza is a good listener. Which was inconvenient because Din was a good listener too, and that meant it was mostly just silence between the two of them.

Normally, Din enjoys the quiet. He's used to nothing but the hum of the engines, the rattling of the carbonite system, or the firm whoosh of atmosphere thrumming against the ship. Even the more talkative quarries he brings on board are quickly silenced. So it's not the quiet that unnerves him, just the fact that it's silent when someone living and breathing and certainly not encased in carbonite is within arm's reach.

Plus, Reyza's silence today seems... cool. Din has been privy to companionable silences before, even from Reyza, herself. Today, she's faraway somewhere, and he's not so sure if it was just as simple as an off day for her. He tips his helmet towards her, watching.

"We don't have to go."

"We do. We should."

Din frowns beneath his armor and glances at the navigation system. Only a few hours before they reach Corellia. From what he's gathered about Reyza, she was either born on Corellia, or spent some harrowing years on it. He's not entirely sure if she was anywhere near their destination, Coronet City, or if she had even seen it before; but he was willing to put down a hard bet that she had, judging from the begrudging determination in her voice. He sighs too quietly for the modulator to pick up.

"Run interference from the ship."

That has her snapping to attention, all the distance and distraction of the last few days crashing in the face of the present. Din can't see her face, but he can imagine she's livid.

"What?" she growls.

"Run interference from the ship. Nonnegotiable."

There's a cold pause as Reyza races to find the right words for the Mandalorian. He was treating her like she was a child, as though she hadn't saved his life on multiple occasions or survived on her own as a full-fledged assassin long before he had ever made himself known to her. And the word nonnegotiable ate at her ego and insecurities in a way she was reluctant to admit, even internally. She could take care of herself. She could take care of this bounty, even alone. Reyza ground her jaw.

"This is my puck, so either we both go together, or you stay behind." It's her way of saying: kriff off.

"I'm not staying behind, you don't have the firepower. I'm not taking you with me until you're honest about what's bothering you about this bounty. It's dangerous to be distracted," Din replies. His voice is level and Reyza resents his composure.

But he's right. She's not childish enough to deny that, and certainly not naive enough to believe that she was above the dangers of human emotion under pressure. She glances at him guiltily, feeling a little juvenile.

Maybe it was a good idea to stay on the ship and let Din handle this one himself. She wasn't exactly rearing to see the city again, or the people in it. But she also hated the idea of standing by on a mission so personal to her. Reyza was left a simple choice: confess, or stand by.

The words feel slow and heavy in her chest, crawling their way up her throat and complaining about it the whole way up. It was like vomiting, but worse.

"I wasn't born on Corellia, I know that's what Karga's file on me says. I was born somewhere else, don't know where, and I was abducted to Corellia when I was really small." She huffs through her nose and shrugs. "I was there until I escaped, and that's all. I went to Nevarro, started working for Karga-" she shrugs again, "- and you know what happens next."

Din mulls over the brief story. It contained the absolute minimum amount of information she could have given, but he knew what it was to want to forget.

"Coronet City?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He recalls briefly why he had taken Reyza on as his apprentice in the first place. It wasn't just Karga complaining that the Nevarro guild would have no reliable hunters once he decided to retire. It was the starburst sigil she wore on a silver chain around her neck.

He'd recognized it immediately as the mark of Polaris. In their heyday, before the Empire, they'd been a deadly force of assassins and spies. A network spanning galaxies, infiltrating and plucking fate strings so expertly that it was unclear where their influence started or ended. But somewhere along the way, their name faded and the work of their assassins dwindled and they became more myth than reality. Almost like the Mandalorians.

Except Din was willing to assume that the Mandalorians valued their foundlings and assets a little more dearly than whatever or whoever it was Reyza went through.

"Polaris?" he asked, a pitch quieter.

"Yeah," she answers, a beat slower.

Reyza's knees go to her face and she spends the rest of the flight curled to her right, away from Din and his pesky questions and unfortunate truths. Reyza wonders what this means. Was her answer acceptable enough for him to deem her not a threat to their mission? Was he waiting for more? Was she still stuck a passenger on her own bounty hunt? Leftover irritation scratches at the back of her neck and she bristles again. Stupid Mandalorian and his stupid, self-righteous moral high ground. She turns to glare at him.

"It's my puck," she declares again, though she's not quite sure to what end.

Din chuckles under his helmet. Gods, for someone more competent than most, she could be such a child.

{}{}{}{}

Thanks for reading, and I'd love to hear feedback!

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mandalorian oc #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x female reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #platonic #mandalorian fanfic #the book of boba fett #guided reyza

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hierarchyproblem · 2 years

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There's a couple of posts that occasionally do the rounds here that stake out a position on what punk is supposed to be, or what constitutes "real" punk. And one might observe that to suggest that "real" punk is basically about kindness (or what have you) is actually a bafflingly ignorant claim, and you can point out that the Dead Kennedys would hardly have felt the need to write Nazi Punks Fuck Off if there weren't a sizeable contingent of Nazi punks around and that therefore positioning anarcho-punk or other progressive tendencies as the only "true" punk is at best a little reductive, no? And so on.

I think this comes from like. Even if you don't listen to punk music let alone engage with a punk subculture the aesthetic is cool, and hey it'd be nice if those cool guys were broadly like, your friends, in some vicarious way. And like, whatever I guess, punk aesthetics are cool, and there have been elements of punk culture that align with your politics (whatever those politics are, actually! though the peak of the distribution is of course leftish), and I totally get the discomfort with the dissonance of people ideologically on your good-guys team also being aggressive dickheads on a personal level.

Pretty much what I'd like people to understand is that the most basic ethos of punk isn't really anything so noble as liberatory politics or solidarity or anger against injustice or whatever; when you drill down to the foundation what you find is adolescent discontent. That's a fine thing to build a musical genre on (that's what punk is, remember!) and in Thatcher's Britain that found political expression in some ways that were good or progressive or anarchic, but also in shit like, say, Rock Against Communism.

So which is the "true" punk, the anarchism of Crass and Conflict or the fascism of Skrewdriver, or just the unprincipled provocative whatever of the Sex Pistols? I could tell you which bands I like (and to be clear, fuck Skrewdriver and fuck John Lyndon too) but the point is that in general the politics is downstream of a basic state of pissed-off-ness. Anyone might wish to "stick it to 'the man,'" but "the man" is extremely ill-defined, because we're talking about an aesthetic not a politics.

This is not to excuse reactionary politics within punk, but rather to say that, hey, playing No True Scotsman is frankly not helpful. Of course it'd be nice if the entirety of punk as a culture shared my politics - I actually have a greater investment in this than most! - but let's not kid ourselves as to whether that is, or ontologically "should" be, the case. You have to make that happen yourself!

So anyway this was supposed to be a post about why Neuromancer is a pretty juvenile text - the "punk" of "cyberpunk" meaning, as above, basically adolescent discontent - and why that's a fine thing and I like it anyway, and why demanding cyberpunk (or mutatis mutandis steampunk, solarpunk, whatever) share whatever politics you impute to the word "punk" is a bit silly, but. That's apparently not what I ended up writing and this post is too long anyway, so. I leave that as an exercise for the reader.

Anyway the last punk show I went to the headliners turned out to be this radical-progressive socialist-adjacent covid-denier hardcore outfit. If you were gonna try and plot that on a political compass, maybe instead touch grass the sticky floor of a grimy basement

#go listen to Discharge or something #punk

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goodnessgraciousgal · 1 year

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It’s equally terrifying and terrifically satisfying when one realizes that life is truly void of pinnacles. We as humans seem to have this innately wicked desire of wanting to be someone else, somewhere else and doing something different. Yes, society inflames this vice, but we truly do own it

If you take in this revelation to your mind and not your heart as well, it can lead to nihilism. Dare I say it will indefinitely lead to nihilistic tendencies. Say it ain’t so

But if you bask and live life knowing that you will—

fall, fail, progress, succeed, change your mind again, grow some more, become discontent, find joy—

the illusion of a once much anticipated pinnacle will seem lofty and quite juvenile

A thought to be continued

#writing #illusions #life is worth living #personal thoughts #human behaviour #innateness #nihilsm #but i’m not #the beauty of suffering #grey areas #society and humans

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heretherebedork · 2 years

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You know I have criticism for KP, but funnily enough it’s all worked out for me. I know you’ve been discontented with Kinn and Porsche’s relationship from the start. And I see your points. For me thankfully I was entertained by then until I guess the end of the Tawan arch, and then ever since I’ve been bored to death with them. But luckily for me that’s when Vegas and Pete started up, and they have now taken over like 90% of my brain space. And even Kim and Chay’s relationship has started to be a little teeny bit more interesting for me, now that the teeny bopper high school romance is done, and it’s more involved with the mafia.

Kinn and Porsche’s romance was so much more interesting in the beginning. Though I hated the sexual assault element. But there was still more complicated dynamics going on. Now they’re just… idk too soft? I don’t mind some softness, but it’s just too sugary sweet for me now. Vegas and Pete have the exact mix I was hoping for with the show. Even Kim and Chay, as juvenile as it felt to me in the beginning, at least now have a bit more angst to balance it out.

KP are now 2gether 2.0 Mafia Edition and I just... don't care. I liked them more when they had depth and were complicated and weren't just literal... cotton candy.

I am very much enjoying VP and I like KC for exactly what it is, a teenager taking a chance on a crush that turned out to be way more complicated than he ever could have expected. And I'm really, really loving C realizing that P is no longer someone he can trust with his issues and the way the lying has broken their relationship but he's trying to pretend it isn't.

I just...

I just don't care about KP any more and it has retroactively made me care about them less because they lost all their depth and just... meh. Done. So done. The tone just doesn't work.

But I also just don't care or have any investment. At all. I know how they work now, I know the exact formula they follow with every single conflict and I just don't care. At all.

I love the side pairings and the side character, though. Like, a lot.

#no tags here #spoilers #spoiler #criticism #negative

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drsahilsingla · 2 years

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Appropriate Age to Perform Mammoplasty to Rhinoplasty

From mammoplasty to rhinoplasty, find out if there is an appropriate age to perform these interventions

Any plastic surgery is only performed after a psychological evaluation. But is it advisable for a child to have a rhinoplasty or for an adult to have an otoplasty? Dr Sahil Singla, the best plastic surgeon in East Delhi explains everything in this article.

Cosmetic surgeries have long ceased to be taboo, and more and more people are turning to medicine to change something they feel discontented with. Although an intervention can greatly change our self-esteem, Dr Sahil Singla, a specialist plastic surgeon in Delhi, warns that not all surgeries are capable of doing it and the fundamental thing is that people learn, above all, to like themselves.

Therefore, no cosmetic surgery is performed without the patients first going through psychological follow-up, because only in this way will it be possible to perceive the positive or negative impact that the intervention will have on the person. Dr Sahil Singla reveals that there are surgeries that are more requested at a young age and others at an older age.

With regard to breast augmentation in east Delhi, the spciealist identifies two major age groups that seek this type of intervention. "There is that group of girls who don't have any breasts, and they feel that they are smaller than the others. In these cases, we analyze, and when we see that they have completed their entire body development and don't have any breasts, we realize that they actually have hypomastia."

In these cases, the plastic surgeon in Noida explains that he has no problem doing this type of surgery at younger ages. However, in situations in which the patients present breasts and in which there is a lack of psychological follow-up, before performing any type of operation, the young women have to undergo an evaluation.

In the case of reduction mammaplasties (although cosmetic surgeries are only recommended after the age of 18), these can always be performed earlier, as long as the parents consent. And, according to the expert, there are cases in which it is justified. "Juvenile gigantomastia and mammary hypertrophy, from 14/15 years old, for example. It makes no sense to deny them that because there are children of that age who can't even run because they have big breasts. It has everything to do with a matter of good sense", says the plastic surgeon in Noida.

The other major age group that seeks this type of surgery corresponds to women over 50 years old. According to the expert plastic Surgeon in Vaishali, many do it at this age because that's when they feel they have the financial stability to make the investment. Despite this, there are details to take into account. "The skin no longer has the same quality and it is necessary to manage the volumes very well", he warns.

"Rhinoplasty in children doesn't make sense" and otoplasties in adults over 45 years old don't either.

Although in the case of mammoplasty, age is just a factor of advice, there are cosmetic surgeries that should not be performed in certain age groups, as is the case with rhinoplasty in East Delhi.

"A rhinoplasty in a child, for example, does not make sense due to facial development. To do it at these ages it is necessary that the person has an important anatomical or functional deformity", explains the plastic surgeon in Vaishali, referring to the example of cleft lip and palate extending to the nose.

"Here there is a protocol in stages that defines an attitude that we can take right away when babies are small. Then there is another attitude at 2 years old (which is the first rhinoplasty) and, later, there are others. the last one is carried out at age 14. But there are exceptions", he explains, referring that in "pure aesthetics" these interventions are only carried out from the age of 18 "with the development of the complete skull".

In the case of otoplasty in Delhi (aesthetic surgery that allows changing the shape and position of the ears), it is advisable that they are performed as soon as possible. "We know that between the ages of 4 and 5 we have 80% of the size of the cartilage of the ear formed, which is already an acceptable situation. So, we put in the balance what is the harm of a child entering an elementary school and being made fun of. for having big ears. This also has an important part from the psychological point of view, so, normally, from the age of 5, this surgery is performed", explains the plastic surgeon in Delhi.

Later, it can continue to be done, but other techniques will be needed. Dr Sahil Singla also explains that, often, when children are very small, the ears can even be molded. According to the specialist, cartilage is a part of the human body that has a large component of hyaluronic acid and, as this component is fed by estrogen, "when a baby is breastfeeding, as milk has a lot of estrogen", it is possible to shape the ears during the period of breastfeeding.

However, at older ages, especially after 40, the body loses estrogen and cartilage is no longer moldable. "While in the first half of life the best technique for this operation is the so-called 'fascial technique', which does not even touch the cartilage, when we reach an older age, the cartilage no longer has that elasticity", says the plastic surgeon in East Delhi. Thus, the only option would be scarification (shaving and weakening the cartilage), which leads the specialist to choose not to perform otoplasty in Delhi on people over 45 years old.

#Plastic Surgeon in Vaishali #Plastic Surgeon in Noida #Plastic Surgeon in East Delhi #Rhinoplasty in East Delhi #Otoplasty in Delhi #Breast Augmentation in East Delhi

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selfcarecap · 2 years

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I finally have something to report, be it the most juvenile and bland story – so buckle up and let me underwhelm you with my tedious day-to-day problems! (not me using this as an excuse to message you within reason…) I've had severe issues with my right ear for the past few months to the point where I straight up couldn't hear anymore. I'm one of those insufferable people who'd rather silently suffer than make an appointment at the doctor's – who would've guessed? (Not to mention the obsessive pre-emptive research, insecurity and self-diagnoses I obtained. Could it be more serious? What if there's more than meets the eye? What if they start questioning my hygiene or judge the state of my being…) But my sister had had enough and took it into her own hands, booked an appointment, and decided to accompany me. (me and my social anxiety are eternally thankful for her existence – bless her!) That being said, we got ourselves ready for the appointment today, and she, for reasons unknown, decided to step out (while in a hurry) in heels. Her straps ripped on the way to the tube, forcing her to struggle along behind me. Great start, indeed. Seated in the tube, she started going on a rampage, expressing her discontent quite loudly. You see, the straps tore in a way, where her heeled sandal could no longer hold onto her foot, unintentionally repurposing it into a flip flop. (albeit a poor version) She started nagging, not at all unwarranted, in her usual way: unabashedly throwing around profanities with no ill intent. I know that, she does too, but the passengers didn't – so our ride turned into an awkwardly uncomfortable occassional side-glance fest. (anxiety dialling up to the max) Finally arriving at our destined location, the doctor's office, we checked in. (Very grateful for delightful people at the reception who, with their patient and calm presence, manage to wind down some of my anxiety!) Everything went by quick and easy. Turns out I have, to my over worried disbelief, no lasting damage or serious condition but a mild infection that I now have to treat with daily ear drops until it heals on its own. Thanking the doc for her quick and very friendly treatment, I stand up, making my way out, only to trip and nearly fall – embarrassment barometer once again rising. Before we take off, we quickly step into a DM close by, getting my sister the cheapest shoes. (Flip flops are her enemies, though it's better than walking barefoot downtown) Nearly home, we turn up at the pharmacy to get the ear drops, and it's my first time paying with a credit card. To no one's surprise, I make a complete fool of myself and act like a human experiment that only recently got loose, new to human inventions. Bless the pharmacist for talking me through this and trying to calm my panicky arse, but the barometer at this point has reached peak measure of humility.

I'm now finally at home, concluding today to be a disaster. Though, I've got to admit that my anxiety perhaps dialled everything up worse than it was, as was my reluctance to get my ear checked. (But guess who won't learn anything from this and will repeat it shall a problem arise once more? Me. Without question.)

How was your day? :)

-sparkles

Your anxiety probably did make everything feel worse than it actually was (I’m the same 😭) and I can also promise you none of the people who witnessed you doing those things that you thought were embarrassing even remember it anymore! They‘ve all forgotten about them 100% 😌

But bless your sister! I am her in this scenario, both for taking you to the doctor (ear stuff is no joke😭 YOU COULDNT HEAR??? I‘m glad it‘s nothing bad!!! Also what are ear drops like? Sounds kinda cool but uncomfortable at the same time lol) and also bc flip flops are her enemy lmao sameee

And pls I didn‘t pay with card for the first three years that I had one bc I was scared of embarrassing myself 😭😭 i feeeeel you on that dhdldk

The day you sent this I had two exams (I think I already said that) and by now I‘ve found out that I failed the first one 🙂 but I passed the second one even tho I was 100% sure I was going to fail lmao. Either way they‘re only in my Nebenfach so I can do the failed exam again without any consequences (except I have to obviously pass it at some point lol). So yeah it seems like that day wasn‘t exactly amazing for either of us but there were some good things! You now know your ear is going to be okay and you can pay with card from now on and I passed an exam!

#sparkles #i‘m glad you used this as an excuse to talk to me 😌#i know i‘m not on here regularly but i had exams and now holidays so dhdkd but i‘ll always be here for your asks 🥰#i meant i haven‘t been on here regularly LATELY i will be again soon lol

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queerthoughts-gaybrainrot · 2 years

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INSTEAD OF “SAID:”

Affirmed - to confirm or ratify, to state or assert positively; maintain as true.

Articulated - to utter clearly and distinctly; pronounce with clarity.

Belittled - to regard or portray as less impressive or important than appearances indicate; depreciate; disparage.

Bemoaned - to express distress or grief over; lament, to regard with regret or disapproval.

Bid - to express (a greeting, farewell, benediction, or wish), to command; order; direct.

Blurted (out) - to utter suddenly or inadvertently; divulge impulsively or unadvisedly.

Chimed (in) - to break suddenly and unwelcomely into a conversation, as to express agreement or voice an opinion.

Chuckled - to laugh softly or amusedly, usually with satisfaction.

Conceded - to acknowledge as true, just, or proper; admit.

Concurred - to accord in opinion; agree.

Contended - to assert or maintain earnestly, to strive in debate; dispute earnestly, to struggle in opposition.

Conveyed - to communicate; impart; make known.

Cried (out) - to utter or pronounce loudly; call out, to utter inarticulate sounds, especially of lamentation, grief, or suffering, usually with tears.

Croaked - to speak with a low, rasping voice, to utter a low-pitched, harsh cry, as the sound of a frog or a raven.

Deplored - to regret deeply or strongly; lament, to disapprove of; censure.

Disparaged - to speak of or treat slightingly; depreciate; belittle, to bring reproach or discredit upon; lower the estimation of.

Divulged - to disclose or reveal (something private, secret, or previously unknown).

Folded - to yield or give in.

Fretted - to feel or express worry, annoyance, discontent, or the like.

Giggled - to laugh in a silly, often high-pitched way, especially with short, repeated gasps and titters, as from juvenile or ill-concealed amusement or nervous embarrassment.

Grinned - to smile broadly, especially as an indication of pleasure, amusement, or the like.

Grunted - to grumble, as in discontent, to utter the deep, guttural sound characteristic of a hog.

Hissed - to express disapproval or contempt by making this sound, to make or emit a sharp sound like that of the letter s prolonged, as a snake does, or as steam does when forced under pressure through a small opening.

Hollered - to cry aloud; shout; yell.

Howled - to utter a loud, prolonged, mournful cry, as that of a dog or wolf, to utter a similar cry in distress, pain, rage, etc.; wail.

Inquired - to seek information by questioning.

Lamented - to feel or express sorrow or regret for, to mourn for or over.

Mewled - to cry, as a baby, young child, or the like; whimper.

Moaned - to utter moans, as of pain or grief, to utter (something) inarticulately or pitifully, as if in lamentation.

Mocked - to attack or treat with ridicule, contempt, or derision, to deceive, delude, or disappoint.

Murmured - to make a low or indistinct sound, especially continuously, to speak in a low tone or indistinctly.

Muttered - to complain murmuringly; grumble, to utter words indistinctly or in a low tone, often as if talking to oneself; murmur.

Nagged - to find fault or complain in an irritating, wearisome, or relentless manner (often followed by at), to annoy by persistent faultfinding, complaints, or demands.

Proclaimed - to announce or declare in an official or formal manner, to announce or declare in an open or ostentatious way, to indicate or make known publicly or openly.

Recited - to give an account of, to repeat the words of, as from memory, especially in a formal manner.

Retorted - to reply to, usually in a sharp or retaliatory way; reply in kind to, to answer (an argument or the like) by another to the contrary.

Roared - to utter a loud, deep cry or howl, as in excitement, distress, or anger, or to laugh loudly or boisterously.

Scorned - to reject, refuse, or ignore with contempt or disdain.

Seethed - to be in a state of agitation or excitement.

Shrilled - betraying some strong emotion or attitude in an exaggerated amount, as antagonism or defensiveness.

Snarled - to growl threateningly or viciously, especially with a raised upper lip to bare the teeth, as a dog.

Snickered - to laugh in a half-suppressed, indecorous or disrespectful manner.

Snivelled - to weep or cry with sniffling, to utter with snivelling or sniffling.

Sneer - to smile, laugh, or contort the face in a manner that shows scorn or contempt.

Snorted - to express contempt, indignation, etc., by a similar sound.

Sobbed - to weep with a convulsive catching of the breath.

Taunted - to reproach in a sarcastic, insulting, or jeering manner.

Uttered - to give audible expression to; speak or pronounce: said.

Wailed - to express in wailing; cry or say in lamentation.

Waived - to refrain from claiming or insisting on; give up, to put aside or dismiss from consideration or discussion.

Weeped - to weep for (someone or something); mourn with tears or other expression of sorrow.

Whimpered - a whimpering cry or sound, to cry with low, plaintive, broken sounds.

Whined - to utter a low, usually nasal, complaining cry or sound, as from uneasiness, discontent, peevishness, etc.

Yielded - to give up or surrender (oneself).

#writing tips #because I too am guilty of forgetting words #have a list #what to use instead of basics like said or shouted

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noirbriar · 2 years

Text

FFXV AU: Coeurl-Kin

Head canon that Nyx is not only old nobility but his clan was still rather well to do before Galahd fell.

prompts: ( storm / scars )

——

If you were to ask Nyx, he will tell you that younger Nyx was not a dumbass.

Just. Not very smart.

Out on his First Hunt and he had gotten the stormiest monsoon. Ramuh must not like him very much. Selena is probably back at home having a laugh. She had literally mentioned about wanting rain just as he wanted to leave, when its been days of dry heat and boom! The Fulgurian had granted her wish. Great, just great.

The young boy huffs and quickly hid himself in Etro’s ruined Shrine at the sign of the first heavy drops of rain. Though not before giving a prayer and thanks to be given shelter by his Clan’s Goddess.

Nyx doubts that he will find any decent game or beasts worth of his coming of age ceremony. Unless the weather miraculously turns in his favour. Armed with his kukri and some dried meats he had carried for his journey, he takes a bite and prepares for the long wait. The rain continues to pour relentlessly.

The First Hunt marks the maturity of every Galahdian child at 13 after they stop being the Goddess’ children at 7. Its not much of a legal thing, as 16 is the official legal age in Galahd. It is more of a formality and tradition to show they are old enough to understand and help their Clan in their everyday. To provide and protect. This year, Nyx has obtained the spiritual elders, Shaiks, blessing to do his hunt with a day chosen by divination and consulting the patron gods of their choosing. His naturally, was Etro. His clan’s patron goddess.

Nyx is not sure how long it has been as the rain continues to pour, but he soon realises that in this Shrine, he is not alone. There is another being here with him. The young hunter wisely chooses to play a waiting game with it, hoping to catch this presence off guard. The minutes drag on, he feels more than he hears. Once Nyx feels the tickle of a breath, his kukri strikes. Yet his swing falls short as his target dodges away.

The young hunter did not expect THIS at all.

A Coeurl. A Galahdian Coeurl! His clan’s patron beast and Etro’s beloved creatures. A young one judging by his horns, and comparing it to the one his mother has as one of their many family heirlooms. However, it was still pretty big, all muscles underneath the lush white fur. The beast’s whiskers flicker with sparks of discontent. At this point, any proper Galahdian would have backed away with a prayer. Any sane man would retreat. Any smart hunter would know their limits and leave.

But sadly, young Nyx was neither of those.

The Coeurl attacks, trying to pounce onto the human. In that moment, every bit of his spiritual teachings by his elders had disappeared, respect to Etro and hers gone. Its just plain survival now as the Coeurl lunges, pushing him into the storm.

Nyx uses his lithe form and struggles, getting free and strikes again, this time, his kukri falls true. Blood sticks to the glinting blade and the Coeurl cries. It quickly shakes itself and glares at Nyx. Blood staining its beautiful immaculate white fur, a bloody scar across its nose. Thunder and sparks fills the ozone charged air mixing in with the rain as the magic infused whiskers whips wildly. The beast jumps, fangs bared-

“Ahhh, shit.”

——

There was no winner to the fight, Nyx’s young body was not prepared for a clever Coeurl. The Coeurl too juvenile to know how to deal with a human hunter. As the storm subsides, it reluctantly chooses to back off, but not before throwing a final baleful look of disdain at Nyx. It quickly disappears into the deeper parts of the Shrine and deeper into the forests, possibly to lick its wounds.

Nyx, in his exhaustion, slumps onto the ground bloody and scarred. The boy is more frustrated that he had to return empty handed as the time limit for his hunt is almost up.

In thinking back, Etro had probably taken pity later and sent a Nidhogg in his path as he trudges back home. A large crimson canine looking drake with tough scales native to the isles. With adrenaline still flowing through him from his previous encounter, he manages to best the creature and takes it down. The difficult beast almost nothing compared to the Galahdian Coeurl. The dazed hunter then pulls the carcass along and returns to his tribe with something to show for it.

His people were joyful at the sight of his success as he approached the town. Selena greets him excitedly, jumping into his arms and giving a prayer of thanks for his safe return. His sister eager to hear of his trip as she tugs the other side of the Nidhogg along with her brother. Libertus, Luche and the others had all jumped on his back, congratulating him. His proud mother striding over elegantly from the crowd and attends to her battered son, but quickly spots the curious mark on her son’s chest. She pulls his shirt open and pales.

The Ketua of the Ulrics in all her wisdom, knows immediately what it was.

The Ulric matriarch pulls her son close and demands an explanation despite Selena’s gentle persuasions. His sister clearly worried as Nyx recounts to her and the tribe of the encounter.

The tribe is amazed, taking it as Etro’s sign that the boy will be a magnificent hunter. Thana though, not as much. The matriarch screams, and chases after the boy with her sabre, dismayed by his blatant disrespect and ignoring his duty as Etro’s Keeper. Nyx’s cries for his mother’s leniency.

“What am I to do, Mam? Let it eat me?!”

“You foolish boy! A Coeurl-kin attacking Etro’s familiar is as good as attacking Her Grace! You would have been taken and dropped at Etro’s door right there! Leaving me without a son and your sister missing a brother! I ought to smack the foolishness out of you!”

In the end, it takes some convincing from the other Ketuas and Shaiks. With Selena’s pacifying their mother until she finally relents. Nyx nonetheless had survived Etro’s test and came back with a prey successfully in their eyes. The Son of Ulric is now reached maturity and the tribe celebrates. Thana Ulric huffs, but nonetheless she is still proud of her foolish boy and his achievement in his First Hunt. Although the Ulric matriarch thinks that her son still has many a ways to go in life.

——

Years later, as his lover traces the electric mark idly in the safety of their room, Nyx recounts the tale to him. Which draws a laugh from the older soldier and hunter. Cor remembers another boy as reckless and foolish as the Galahdian youngster. Only difference was that he had instead taken on the undead spirit of the first Shield and came out sword-less, with only scars to show for his stupidity.

——

Extra:

In that exact moment. Somewhere else in a cold wasteland under the depths of unforgiving snow, a young man cradles a shivering babe close beneath his coat. Under the cover of Shiva’s wrath, the soldier and the baby slowly makes their way towards Lucis.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #ffxv au #nyx ulric #scarred coeurl #selena ulric #mama ulric #mentions of cor and one happy stolen baby #the lion the coeurl and the cub

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i-try-to-write-stuff · 3 years

Text

Secrets Chapter 6

‘We have some unfinished business,’ Steve said gently, his intense gaze wandering slowly all over you.

And you went from feeling cold to hot and bothered. You felt your face warming up because you knew you did not look prim and proper with your hair loose around your face and only a touch of tinted lip balm on your face, not to mention the worn-out jeans, oversized sweatshirt, and tattered boots.

Even though it was contrary because you wanted nothing between you and Steve to be passionate as it had once been when you had had no control over yourself, you resented his cool stare and politeness, it was the ultimate rejection of you as a wife, as a partner. You didn’t know what you expected him to do, but needless to say, you were disappointed. You looked up to observe him, and for a microscopic second, you saw his sculpted jaw clenching, his hardened gaze narrowing. Then you knew he had felt something just as you did after seeing him. The atmosphere was bubbling with tension. You felt a disturbing loss of courage and obscure your gaze, taking a step back while being startlingly aware of him. It shocked you that a man you now hated as much as you once loved could still have such a powerful effect on your body. ‘You always look so enticing,’ Steve commented with a roughened edge in his voice that made her tremble, you wanted to block, or at least tried to block the reckless attraction you still felt. ‘Do I really look that desperate to you?’ he continued. The brutal rejection may have cut you like a knife had you not seen the way his extraordinarily beautiful eyes stayed on you. You tore your attention from the face that haunted your dreams and nightmares alike and you suddenly found your nails really interesting. ‘What are you doing here?’ you demanded again. ‘I want a divorce. I need your address to mail you the papers,’ Steve spelled out. ‘Or did that not occur to you? Your vanishing performance was selfish and juvenile.’ Steve added. You wanted to throw something at him. ‘You forced me to behave like that,’ you replied angrily. ‘How?’ Steve snarled, advancing towards the counter, obviously more than ready for an argument. ‘You wouldn’t listen to a word I said. There was nothing more I could do.’ ‘I told you that we can work it out,’ Steve reminded you in a tone of maddening disdain.

‘But you never did work anything out with me, not in our relationship or our marriage. How could you…. when you wouldn’t talk to me? When I told you how unhappy, discontent and miserable I was what did you ever do to make anything better?’ you demanded as your eyes shimmering with heartache and reproach you remembered the lavish gifts Steve had given her instead of more tangible and meaningful things like his time and his attention.

Straight away, anger flared in Steve, his stunning blue eyes flaming to counter the point you made…Bell on the shop door rang. Sandy, your assistant had arrived. The tension inside the shop was palpable and tense.

Sandy’s eyes filled with confusion. ‘Am I late?’ ‘No, no,’you hastily reassured your employee. ‘I have to go back home for an hour, so you’ll be in charge.’ You notified.

Without even looking in Steve’s direction, you went out to the back to get Mattie, pulling him into your arms and hurrying back to tell in an exhausted voice to Steve, I live a down the road at number seventy-four.’

But before you could reach the door a broad-shouldered young man with cropped brown hair strolled in. ‘Fresh out of the oven!’ Peter exclaimed. Chocolate croissants for you and his highness…’

‘Oh crap, Peter, I totally forgot you were coming today!’ you suddenly remembered. You made the arrangement the last week when you had last seen Peter at May’s place.

‘Look, I have to go out for a little while, I better show you where the laptop is,.’

Securing Mattie firmly to your hip, you dived back behind the counter with Peter close behind her and pointed out the barely working laptop that kept restarting.

Peter rested love-struck eyes on your delicate profile. If you want I can come back when you’re here.’ Peter countered.

‘No, that’s fine, Peter. Today is perfect,’ you insisted, turning back to head for the door where Steve was waiting in silence, his perceptive gaze pinned to the hovering young man, who was not attempting to hide his disappointment that you were leaving. Sandy will look after you.’

You stepped out into the fresh air, aware of Steve’s presence by your side and also confused because if he had even looked at Mattie for ten seconds

‘I’ll see you at the house,’ you said flatly, setting Mattie down and holding his hand because he was too heavy for her to carry anymore. ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ Steve offered.

#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve x reader

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vaniccio · 2 years

Photo

call it fate, call it karma (3/?) | pt 2 | pt 1

When he first learns that she, too, possesses the Echo—not to mention the Blessing of Light—it’s on the heels of a crippling wave of gut-sinking dread that freezes his limbs and turns his blood to ice.

It was a mistake to bring her to the Praetorium. It was a mistake to bring anyone to the Praetorium, and he’s got only a brief moment to be absolutely furious with himself for falling for the same delusion yet again when Ultima unleashes a teeth-rattling attack that sends him skidding harshly across the metal floor.

Bodies of the adventurers who’d offered to venture into the imperial’s territory lay scattered by his feet, each burned and battered to various degrees. Evidence of the ever-yawning gulf between himself and everyone else.

He should’ve known better; it’s why he’s always done everything alone. Even Mihren, who had boldly matched him step for step up until mere moments ago, wasn’t capable of it. No other adventurer has been able to keep up with him—not for years. Not since the sky rained fire and seared gaps into his memory.

The air sizzles like liquid on Ul’dahn stones on a hot summer day, prickling his skin with levin and scorching his eyes with such heat they water. He forces his gaze away from the blackened mark tainting the floor.

Gaius drones on about something relating to Garlean superiority once more, but Meteor hears none of it. It’s hard to hear anything over the shrill crescendoing in his ears. Something cold shrivels in his chest, gripping his lungs and threatening to claw its way out of his throat.

He doesn’t have time for grief. Not here, not now.

“You will meet your end here, Hero of Eorzea.”

Meteor sets his jaw and adjusts his footing as Gaius pilots Ultima into position once more. He’s so damn tired of this man’s voice.

Then—a wince reaches his ears. The faint rustle of clothes as someone straightens out. "That sure smarted... remind me not to stand in one of those beams again.”

Her voice doesn’t register over the shrill of machinery, not at first. Only when familiar wisps of blonde hair enter his field of vision does his greatsword nearly slips from his fingers. He snaps his head left so quick he hears his neck crack.

Mihren stands posted at his side as though she’s always been there, brushing soot off her arms with an irritated scowl. She raises a brow at his incredulous look. “What? Did you think you’re the only one with tricks up your sleeve?”

He stares and stares until the white noise in his ears dulls out all else.

“Hm.” Her smile turns strained, borderline a grimace, as if reading the flurry of emotions flashing across his eyes. “Well, come on, let’s not keep the high and mighty imperial waiting. And I can feel Lahabrea still lurking nearby, so be on your guard.”

At the mention of the Ascian, his mouth slams shut.

He shoves down everything but the simmering anger. At this point, he can no longer differentiate who it’s directed towards. He takes a deep breath, reels in the whirlwind in his head, and lets it sharpen his focus to a razor-fine point.

It isn't until half a moon later—after Thancred has been seen to, after the Scions are called upon to address another fire—and after the anger has bubbled into a steady boil that he finally voices the discontent that’s been festering in his chest.

In the middle of Coerthas of all places.

"You never told me.”

She doesn’t react to his low, pointed accusation. Her eyes remain fixed straight ahead, braving the windchill without hesitation even when her cheeks and nose have both long since turned red.

She says, "You never asked."

Twin flares of anger and frustration zing through him with such force he nearly slips on a patch of ice. How juvenile did she think he was?

"You never asked me to fight primals with you," she tells him, trudging forward when he lags behind in incredulity. "Not Titan. Not Garuda. I only found out days after the fact from Tataru that you faced them at all—in passing, at that. And at first I thought that the matter was too pressing for you to call on me, but you know I can navigate the aetheryte network in my sleep—so distance is of no consequence."

Her footsteps grow more forceful until she's practically stomping ahead of him, crunching snow underfoot. "Then I thought you may have believed I was otherwise preoccupied. And yet, you know you can reach me at any moment through the linkpearl, for anything—therefore, time is of no consequence. So I finally came to the conclusion that you simply didn't want me there."

The heated irritation he'd felt steadily melts in the Coerthan chill. His lips press into a white line as silence stretches taut between them, and lingering wisps of bitterness keeps him from speaking first. He’s entitled to this—this frustration. He's lost enough companions for a lifetime. Just the thought of it happening again—

Mihren continues to charge ahead until she eventually runs out of steam. Fists clenched at her sides, she frowns heavily at the crushed snow by her boots.

“Or am I misreading things?” she asks the ground. “Because I thought we were a duo. A team. Partners in adventuring, in whatever adventure that may be."

Partners share with each other, he wants to bite out, but the loaded look she gives him keeps his mouth clamped shut.

It’s not that he doesn’t recognize the hypocrisy—he does. He knows full well that he, too, is guilty of keeping cards close to his chest and guarding his own secrets. To ask of her that which he is unwilling to do himself is unfair. The feeling of resentment and frustration at being kept in the dark, however, makes it difficult to see past the fact.

Cold air nips at his skin as he inhales deeply and tries to sort through his thoughts. Part of him is tempted to say that they should go their separate ways; it’s what he’s done before.

Mihren sighs as if reading his mind. “Do you want me to go?”

Something in him shrivels at the thought. Alone, again. “Do you?”

“I’d rather like to avoid a repeat of this.” Her brows furrow once more as she looks him over. She must not find what she’s looking for in his guarded expression, because her shoulders eventually drop. “Do you trust me?”

His hesitation speaks for him.

In true Mihren fashion, she presses past it. “Well, I trust you. And I’d like to keep traveling with you because despite the heroics—which I don’t think either of us signed up for, really—being around you is fun. There’s never a dull moment, and—and I think you enjoy that, too.”

Snow crunches beneath her feet as she hazards two steps forward. “Which is to say: I’d like to stay… on the condition that we both agree to put a little more effort into talking to each other. I’m willing to try if you are.”

It’s a reasonable enough request. Even so, he doesn’t understand why everything is off a step to the left this time around—and why he’s hesitating to begin with.

Part ways, some quiet part of his mind whispers. It will be better in the long run. Safer. One less life to weigh heavy on your shoulders.

Instead, he offers a stiff nod.

The small, relieved smile she gives soothes some of the fight in him. It’s going to take time to build out that trust—hells, he still keeps the Scions at arm’s length despite everything—but it’s a start.

He knows that Coerthas wasn’t always cold and unforgiving, that it once had lush trees and rolling grass. Sunshine and warmth and trickling rivers ripe for fishing. It once had a welcoming sense of home—a notion that he now struggles to imagine.

The memories are jagged and incomplete, chafing against each other like a puzzle missing too many pieces. It’s hard to miss that which is barely remembered, yet every now and then his heart gives a dull pang in longing.

“Cold weather not to your liking?” Mihren lightly prods, knocking her knee against his.

He blinks the room back to focus before hunching forward, hands curled around the steaming mug before him.

Haurchefaunt always had some sort of drink ready for them no matter the hour. Meteor decided early on that he liked the elezen. Liked the honesty and earnestness, liked that his was always a friendly face among the Coerthan snow and harsh, stone fortresses of the Ishgardians.

Mihren hums at his silence before leaning inwards, brushing against his shoulder to peer into his cup. “Not the weather, then. Is it the drink? Because I think Haurchefaunt outdid himself this time. It’s very sweet.”

“No,” Meteor says, because he knows if he doesn’t she’ll keep guessing. “Neither. I was lost in thought.”

“I gathered as much, though I couldn’t pinpoint as to what.”

It’s said casually but he picks up the gentle invitation there and remembers their conversation on the road. A furtive glance at her from the corner of his eye confirms it; she busies herself with swirling her mug and sloshing the liquid inside, all deceptively nonchalant in a way he knows she isn’t.

It’s enough to bring a small smile to his lips.

“Coerthas wasn’t always like this,” he mumbles, mindful of how their voices echo off the stones. “There was warmth, once. Before the calamity.”

Mihren stills beside him.

“I lived here. Or I think I did.” He gestures at his head. “Dalamud—the meteor…”

“Meteor,” she repeats softly, and he can’t help but tense at the uncharacteristic seriousness in her voice. At how her eyes seem to pierce right through him, alight with sudden understanding. “That isn't your birth name.”

He shrugs, half-hearted, unable to squash the rare flare of vulnerability as his smile turns wry. “Serves as good of a name as any.”

She twists back around, elbows on the table, fingers flexing around her mug. He counts the seconds as they pass, content to watch flames lick at the fireplace Haurchefant granted them.

She gingerly takes another sip of hot cocoa. “Carteneau?”

“Carteneau,” he confirms quietly, lifting his own mug.

Another silence settles between them—more subdued this time, weighing on them both—interrupted only by the crackling logs. Relief floods through him when he realizes that he doesn’t have to explain more than what’s already been said.

Mihren sighs again—a deep, weary exhale that doesn’t fit her at all—and leans back in her seat. She chews on her lip. “I was in Ul’dah when it happened.”

And before he can tell her that she needn’t tell him, that his offering wasn’t meant to be transactional, she quietly recounts her own tale of survival. He listens as her voice fills the space around them and learns about the series of events that put her on the path of an adventurer.

#*sweeps ARR under the rug*#masq writes #the mihren tag #the meteor tag #otp: call it fate / call it karma #char: mihren #ffxiv #kisses to ember for editing #i'm taking msq and running with it #CCtag

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hopeshoodie · 3 years

Note

what do you think of the independent article about fusebox games??

For those who don’t know, here’s a link to the article (luckily not behind a paywall).

In summary, we knew that Fusebox laid off all of its writers and a bunch of unity engineers on July 30th. What we didn’t know, is weeks before there was conflict about Seduction Games on matchmaker (which imo is super misogynistic and not even erotic enough to make up for it) being biphobic, and the staff wrote an open letter to management. Then they all... Got fired....

And oh boy I have THOUGHTS on it

Before even reading the article I knew what the homophobic issue the writers were concerned about was. I wrote about it when first playing Seduction Games on matchmaker (lol fuck Matchmaker)- there's a scene where the player dares the love interest to embarrass a man by pretending he's gay and making a scene. And that's just... So gross.

After reading the article I guess it was more that Seduction Games is fetishistic and treating bisexuality as a voyeuristic game for het relationships. And that's valid (but also imo not the worst thing FB has done in the department, see Boah in CMM and how they hide their mlm ships from straight players).

I want so badly to read the internal letter sent by the staff because I'm nosy but also I wish I had their words on the matter specifically. I wonder if they were more frustrated with not having control/input in Matchmaker (understandable, it was the precursor to losing their jobs), being lied to that the offending content would be removed only for it to then be released, or just that Fusebox would let offensive content be put out under their brand name to begin with.

Some other disorganized thoughts

The COO sounds like a real piece of work. I don't remember which article I read awhile ago that made it sound like the leadership (CEO and COO) changed and then Fusebox swiftly pivoted to prioritizing shorter content for an international audience. It sounds like he was a part of that. He has a ton of op eds about how to monetize free-to-play models and generally has Bad Takes. But walking out of a meeting and refusing to hear constructive criticism? What an absolute man baby. But also, doesn't he look the part

a real nathen mazri looking dude.

From a business standpoint, I see why they released Seduction Games despite their writing department vocalizing discontent with it. I've seen this shift on a bunch of other story apps. There's money in romance games that target a 13-22 year old female audience that incorporates softcore porn or questionably sexy content. It's a huge issue on Episode, which is technically a childrens app, but the stories that skirt the boundary of appropriate and not are the ones that get the most reads/gems spent/revenue. If you've played Seduction Games, you know it's exactly that. Written with really bland, simple language so that younger readers are engaged, with juvenile, surface-level romance elements and attempts at erotic writing. The characters aren't unique or interesting (the love interest is a massive creep), but it's optimized to appeal to the most amount of people. If they were planning on firing and outsourcing their writing department anyways, it's a win-win for the executives- put out content that establishes their new direction and communicate to the writing staff that they're not in control.

Fusebox's direct comments to the reporter, that their content is "subjective" and 'based on reality shows' is such an aggravating cop-out. The first is literally gaslighting their writers, saying they're reading too much into someone and it's a matter of perspective instead of just... something that they did. Like that story just IS sexist and biphobic, no wiggle room there. The second is just 'other people make bad content so we can too', which... oof. I see why the writers were mad enough to risk their jobs.

I've just got to wonder what's the financial benefit to not releasing S4. Like I totally get that they're shutting down the main LITG game to focus on Matchmaker which makes more money, but at this point we KNOW they have the S4 art assets because we've seen then in promos. They must have some if not most of the writing done, because this all went down close to the scheduled release of S4. Since Fusebox has been clear they're just money grabbing with no integrity for their story or their writers' intentions, why not just release S4? You're not going to /lose/ money- if there are art assets incomplete they can just reuse past assets or cut out scenes. It seems like it'd make financial sense to wring the last bit of gems/interest out of the LITG fandom that won't transition to matchmaker, then full pivot to matchmaker.

IDK anything about Britain's workplace protection laws (in the US it's at-will employment so retaliatory firing is a-okay as long as it's not on protected actions) but maybe in the UK it's not? Like you can't argue this is discriminatory, but it could be argued that the firing was a retaliation for the employees complaining to HR about inappropriate behavior, which is a protected action. But then again you could say that more than just the people who complained got fired so it's a moot point.

tl;dr it doesn't surprise me that Fusebox openly disrespected and antagonized their writers before the mass layoff, but it's super disappointing.

All the more reason I encourage yall to leave poor reviews on LITG/matchmaker, uninstall the games, and not give FB a penny more.

#litg #fusebox layoffs

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lupinsx · 4 years

Text

Hopeless Romantics

masterlist

Request: Hello love! I loved petty rivals! Would you consider writing a second part?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: After a near-death Quidditch incident, Draco becomes the target of some juvenile teasing, leaving the formerly unconscious Y/N terribly confused. (Sequel to Petty Rivals)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Brief usage of swear words.

part one

a/n — I'm so happy y'all enjoyed Petty Rivals enough to request a part two. I hope this gives the storyline enough justice. Make sure to read part one first! (link provided above)

tags: @bi-andready-tocry

——————————

Numb. That was all you felt as your eyes slowly crept open, adjusting to the harsh light.

You found yourself sitting on the uncomfortable hospital wing bed. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you attempted to bring to mind the string of events leading to your arrival here. The last thing you remembered was being in the middle of a Quidditch game, and the surge of determination as you reached for the Quaffle.

Ah, yes, I got hit by the Bludger, you recalled with a slight grimace.

With the intent to stretch out your sore limbs, you tried to sit up properly, only to be restricted from further movement. You felt something heavy on your abdomen, holding you down. Glancing towards your lower body, you nearly yelped at the sight.

There, laying on your stomach soundlessly, was a head of platinum blond hair. The very head of your notorious rival, Draco Malfoy.

You held back from making a commotion, knowing Madam Pomfrey or any of the others might rush to the scene. Instead, you kept quiet, wondering why in the hell would he be here. Draco was still clad in his emerald green uniform, meaning he stayed for the duration of time you were unconscious. Seeing how tired he was, asleep on the chair with his head on your stomach, you could assume it hasn't been a mere hour. You almost felt a little sorry.

With a tentative motion, you tapped his shoulder. "Uh, Draco?"

His body stirred gently and repositioned before falling back into a deep slumber, this time in a more uncomfortable position. His head was now facing you, body inched closer, and arms wrapped around your waist as his face laid comfortably over your abdomen. Your cheeks took on a cherry shade at the increased contact. Although you'd hate to admit it, seeing him peaceful without any discontent made your heart flutter ever so slightly.

No, you interrupted your thoughts, don't think that way about him. He's your enemy. With those words in mind, you proceeded to tap his shoulder again, this time a little more aggressively.

"Five more minutes," Draco croaked, his raspy morning voice sending shivers down your spine. Ignoring the sensation, you nudged his body impatiently. It was then when he finally opened his eyes.

"I said five more—" Upon sight of your unamused glare looking down on him, he immediately shot up, eyes wide as he got up from his chair.

Glancing at him suspiciously, you cocked an eyebrow at his behaviour. "What were you doing here?" you asked, desperate to know the answer before your delusional mind took over.

Draco diverted his gaze to the floor, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he scrambles to find a reasonable excuse. "Flint told me to stay here. As, uh... punishment! Yeah, a punishment."

Since when was he ever nervous around me? "Did he tell you to stay for the entire time?"

"Uh, yes—I mean, no, I just fell asleep on accident."

"Alright then," you mumbled awkwardly, playing with your fingers. You didn't know what else to say at the moment, and neither did he, judging by the way he still wouldn't make proper eye contact.

Clearing his throat, he hesitantly turned towards you. "Madam Pomfrey said you're free to go once you wake up. So, uh, I guess I'll head out now..."

And with that, he strode towards the door, leaving before you could even think to respond. While you got off the hospital bed and stretched your body, there was a nagging feeling you couldn't ignore, present ever since you caught sight of his heavy-eyed countenance on top of you.

Why is my heart beating this fast?

~~~

The next day, you were finally able to return to your classes. You felt bad when Madam Pomfrey told you it has been nearly two whole days before you woke up. Was Draco there for that long? You hoped this wouldn't end up being a ploy for him to acquire blackmail material. Strangely enough, you completely didn't doubt it.

Walking into the Grand Hall, you were met with the sight of an angry Draco speaking aggressively to the Slytherin table, only to receive puckish grins in response from them. Although the words were incoherent, you managed to catch one ominous line at the end.

"Don't speak of it to her."

It was at that moment when all eyes suddenly diverted to your frame. Draco sat back down upon noticing your presence, eating silently as he kept to himself.

"Hey Y/N!" Pansy shouted, patting the seat next to her for you to come to sit. "How's your head feeling?"

With a tired plop, you settled down and shoved a spoonful of eggs into your mouth. "Wonderful. Madam Pomfrey is a miracle worker."

As you spoke, you failed to notice the various teasing glances shot at the boy sitting across from you. But still, he merely kept his glance downwards, refusing to utter a word.

"How did it feel when you fell down?" Blaise asked, biting back his tongue in case a laugh threatens to emit. You paused your chewing, trying to recall the sensation.

"I don't remember. Right as I got hit I was knocked out, so the fall was mostly unconscious."

After sending conspicuous looks to each other, Pansy continued, "Do you recall, perhaps, hitting the ground at the end of the drop?"

"I don't think so?"

Before the pair can press further, a fist to the table interrupted them. With a murderous glare, Draco lifted his head and stared at the two Slytherins dead in the eye.

"Guys," he growled, earning nervous gulps from Blaise and Pansy, "cut it out. She fell, simple as that."

"Okay Drakey," Blaise muttered under his breath before him and Pansy burst into a fit of giggles. Rolling his eyes, Draco stormed off, presumably to head to class early. Although, the effort went in vain as the bell chimes shortly after his departure.

"You seriously don't remember anything after getting knocked out?" Pansy asked in a final attempt as you two stood up. You simply offered a shrug in response, wondering why they asked those questions when they saw everything. As you headed towards your class, a stubborn question remained in your head. Why did Draco storm off so angrily?

~~~

"Settle down, class, today we'll be learning about some more advanced potions."

There was a chorus of groans following Professor Snape's announcement—yours being particularly loud. You were always filled with worry whenever a potion of higher difficulty was to be attempted. To you, it was just another opportunity to make a fool out of yourself in front of your peers.

"Now, can anyone tell me what this potion is?" asked Snape, lifting the lid to reveal an intoxicating scent. Rather than eager hands shooting up, everyone slowly inched closer, desperate to get another whiff.

While you appeared to be in pure bliss, Draco took a couple of curious sniffs before leaning back in his seat with an expression of revulsion.

"Doesn't it smell wonderful?" Blaise sighed, addressing the moody boy by his left. Draco gave a slight scoff in response.

"Gross, no. It smells like whatever Y/N douses herself in every morning."

With a suspicious glance, Blaise sat back down. Soon, Professor Snape put the lid back on, and the rest of the students snapped out of their dreamy trance. It was then when Hermione raised her hand.

"Sir, it's Amortentia," she started, taking a small pause before continuing. "The most powerful love potion to exist. It causes the drinker to feel a powerful infatuation, and it smells different to each person, according to what attracts them."

Upon seeing the description confirmed with a nod from Snape, Draco's cheeks took on a prominent red shade. His friend had his mouth wide open, staring at the blond boy with a puckish sort of surprise.

"We do not speak of this," Draco muttered through gritted teeth. Blaise merely nodded in response, a teasing grin still visible on his face.

Before Snape could go on, a noisy Gryffindor spoke up from the corner, inciting a string of laughter with his comment.

"Malfoy, was that what possessed you to play Prince Charming out there? Or was it your own sheer will?"

It seemed it was only you left confused by the jibe. While you pondered over why Draco of all people was supposedly playing Prince Charming, the said boy glared at every giggling student. It was only until Professor Snape cleared his throat when the class went silent again.

"Today, we will be recreating this potion in groups of two. I'll allow you all to sort this amongst yourselves."

Thank god, you thought to yourself. The result was horrid last time you were forced into a pair with Draco. Looking towards your usual partner, Pansy, you frowned at the sight.

Pansy immediately went to Blaise, ignoring your curious gaze. Everybody had already gone with their usual picks in the class, leaving only Blaise's former partner alone with an angry expression.

Of fucking course, they left me with him.

Burrowing your head into your palms, you waited until a presence was felt next to you. Cautiously looking up, you were surprised with the sight of Draco's face merely inches away. He paused for a moment, staring deep into your irises before you broke the eye contact with an awkward cough to your left.

"So, uh, I guess we should start," Draco mumbled, pulling out his textbook and flipping to the instructions page. As you leaned in slightly to read the fine print, Draco found himself distracted by the smell of your hair.

It was the very same scent found earlier in the steam of Amortentia.

"Should I begin cutting the peppermint? Or do you think you're a better fit for the task?" you interrupted his thoughts with a faint snarl. His eyebrows furrowed at the comment before he remembered the events of the previous Potions class.

"Hey, I really am sorry—"

"Don't worry, you already apologized. I'm just being petty," you chuckled, patting his shoulder jokingly. However, Draco kept his gaze on you, staring with a solemn expression.

"It wasn't a proper apology if I acted like a git afterward. What I said was uncalled for, and frankly, I was just being jealous."

"You? Jealous? Very funny, Draco, but you don't have to lie to make me feel better," you sighed with a bitter smile, but he was quick to shake his head.

"I mean it!" he piped up, rubbing his neck with that same awkward look from the hospital wing. "You are absolutely brilliant at everything else. I guess it made me prideful to be more adept in this one class."

You stared at him with an unreadable expression. He paused, assuming you were weirded out by his words and thus went back to focusing on the textbook. Meanwhile, you felt a growing admiration for the boy.

"How about you cut the peppermint?" Draco said, offering a gentle smile.

"You're not afraid I'll mess it up?"

"You won't. I'll teach you how to do it."

The whole rivalry was momentarily forgotten as Draco guides your hands in cutting peppermint, spending the rest of the time in class with airy giggles and crimson cheeks.

~~~

Later that day, you decided to get some fresh air, opting to practice Quidditch for a while to clear your head. The entire day has been very puzzling to you. With Pansy and Blaise's strange questioning, Draco's odd behaviour, and the teasing comments suddenly directed towards him. You felt out of the loop, confused with everything despite only being gone for three days.

Something had to have happened while you were gone, and you were determined to find out. After blowing off some steam with your trusty broomstick, of course.

However, you were quick to realize you weren't the sole Slytherin there when a voice speaks up from behind you.

"Oh, Y/N? You've awoken?" said Marcus Flint, walking down the stands to approach your figure by the railing.

"Yeah, just yesterday. I came to catch up on the practice."

"Cool. How are you feeling?" he asked, briefly scanning your body only to find no visible bruises. You sent him a thumbs up in response, earning a sigh of relief from the Slytherin team captain.

"Ah, this could have been a lot worst. Thank god we still have one of our best Chasers."

You paused, eyes squinting as you let out a small chuckle. "What do you mean it could have been worst?"

"It was bad enough you got knocked out by a Bludger, but at least you never hit the ground. That would have been deadly," Flint explained with a playful tone. You simply stood in front of him with more confusion.

"How did I not hit the ground?"

"Wait, you don't remember?" he asked, emitting a loud chortle. "Oh god, it was the funniest thing ever! Draco flew past us so quickly just to catch you."

You found yourself taking on a red shade as you hear his words. Ignoring the burning sensation, you pressed further. "Draco caught me?"

"Yeah. Held you bridal-style and everything. Quite a charming fellow, isn't he?"

Failing to notice your wide-eyed expression, Flint continued with an amused tone. "Even after Madam Pomfrey arrived, he still wouldn't let go. Carried you to the hospital wing himself even though I told him to get back into the game. Poor boy even slept there."

At that point, your frame was motionless as you stared off into the distance. You had trouble grasping his words, believing what he says was really the truth, but his explanation seems to justify the teasing and odd looks from the morning.

As if a lightbulb went off in his head, Marcus Flint piped up once more with a sly grin. "I think Malfoy has a not-so-little crush on you."

"W-what?" you snapped out of your trance with a defensive look. "Draco doesn't like me!"

"Yeah, definitely, he only refused to leave your unconscious side because he sees you as a friend. His uncontrollable need to hold you was certainly platonic."

With a scowl on your face, you grabbed your broomstick while slinging your bag over your shoulder. "I need to talk to him," you mumbled under your breath, storming off with determined strides.

You wanted answers. You needed answers. Because why in the hell would Draco care that much? He's never expressed the slightest bit of concern for you, so what's with the sudden change in behaviour?

He even had the nerve to lie and say Flint made him stay with you at the hospital wing.

You entered the castle with a glare capable to kill. Marching through the corridors, you made your way to the dungeons in record time.

"Draco Malfoy!" you shouted upon entering the portrait hole. A small crowd of onlookers formed at the sight of your furious arrival, though most lingering students seemed to file out instantaneously.

Scanning the common room with narrowed eyes, your eyes landed on the couches where a group of fifth years laid. Amongst them was Draco, sitting nonchalantly as if your call was left unheard.

Striding over there, you stood in front of the blond boy, arms lazily crossed. With an unreadable expression, Draco mumbled teasingly, "Yes?"

"Come with me, now."

"I don't know, I got quite comfortable here," he remarked with his usual smirk painting his face. You rolled your eyes, deciding on resorting to physical means rather than verbal negotiation.

Without further consideration, you grabbed Draco's arm and yanked him up. His eyes widened at the action, and before he could protest against the forcefulness, you dragged him out of the portrait hole and into the hallway.

"Where are you taking me?" he groaned as you pull him by the wrist towards the nearest exit. Once located, you yanked harder as you turned your direction. It was only when you two finally touched the grass that his wrist was released from your grip.

"What the hell Y/N?"

Instead of replying to his angry self, you stared at him, eyes holding a mixture of confusion and anger. "Why did you lie to me?"

"Lie?" Draco asked, his expression morphing into one of nervousness. "W-what do you mean lie?"

"You told me Flint made you stay at the hospital wing. As a punishment, remember?"

It was then when the colour drained from Draco's face. His lips parted slightly, shock evident in his widened eyes. With a tentative pause, he stammered, "He told you everything... didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Were you planning to stop being a coward and tell me, or keep quiet about it forever?"

It seemed as though your comment got to Draco since his anxious demeanour turned angry in nearly an instant. Stepping closer in an intimidating manner, he snapped, "Well what did you expect me to do?"

His fuming expression told you it wasn't a question needing an answer. Instead, you stayed still in anticipation of his next words.

"What the hell did you expect me to do? Watch as you fall to your death? Get back into the game after my heart gets physically ripped from my chest?"

There was a pause in his speech, where he scanned your face for traces of emotions within them. Then, he took your silence as permission to continue.

"I almost thought I lost you! I thought you were going to fucking die out there. So yeah, I apologize for not telling you how afraid I was. For not explaining how goddamn desperate I was to see you awake and healthy again that I'd stay in the hospital wing for days with no hesitation."

Draco's voice was rising with every syllable, to the point where he shouted this last statement. "Don't you get it? I'd do anything for you.

"Heck, I'm in love with you!"

It was then when his angry countenance wavered, and Draco repeated in a softer tone. "I'm so hopelessly in love with you, Y/N. I always have been."

Your stillness remained throughout his rant, though your face altered with shock and confusion upon his confession. He's in love with you. The notorious Draco Malfoy has admitted to being in love with you. You didn't know how to respond, but one thing kept repeating in your head; you most certainly felt the same way.

"Now, I don't expect my feelings to be reciprocated—" Draco was promptly cut off by you crashing into his arms, holding his frame tightly in a hug.

"But they are. Draco, I love you too," you replied, voice muffled by his chest. Although his face wasn't visible, you could practically feel the warmth of his smile radiating as he hesitantly wraps his arms around you.

However, before much time could be spent enjoying each other's embrace, a shout from the distance pulled you two out of your dreamlike trance.

"Ask her out already!"

Heads whipping to the side, the majority of the Slytherin fifth year population was made visible in their position by the entryway. As you two glared at the pesky onlookers, Blaise and Pansy held a sheepish grin in front of the crowd.

Rolling his eyes, Draco turned his attention back to you shortly after sending a less-than-friendly hand gesture towards them. "You know, I think I do have something to ask you."

"And what might that be?"

"Would you, Y/N L/N, do me the honour of accompanying me to Hogsmede next Saturday?"

"Of course, Draco Malfoy," you drawled through widened lips. The smile painting your face soon became replicated onto his as he became giddy at your reply, though quickly afterward, he went back to his usual stoicism. It was a poor attempt overall to hide his excitement.

Ignoring the loud cheers coming from not too far away, Draco kept his eyes locked on yours, the silence between you two broken when he mumbled, "I'll meet you by the portrait hall at 10. See you later?"

"Yeah, I'll see you later." Draco then took his exit, but not before landing a small peck on your forehead and turning away before his cheeks went visibly red.

As a small grin took over your expression, you stared at the retreating figure of Draco Malfoy. You couldn't help but think about how he used to be a mere petty rival. Now, he's the one person running through your mind at every waking moment, the one who turns you into a hopeless romantic.

And you wouldn't want it any other way.

——————————

a/n — Ah, this was definitely a fun one-shot to make. I love writing about a flustered/angry Draco! Please like, comment, and reblog to show support. Feel free to submit requests in my inbox or let me know how I did with this one. 💘

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter one shot #my prompts #writing #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x reader #draco one shot #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader imagines #draco x reader #draco imagines #harry potter

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beeblackburn · 3 years

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The Anti-TBR Tag

I was tagged by @books-and-doodles! Thank you! And poor you, for I am a long-winded bastard.

1. A popular book EVERYONE loves that you have no interest in reading?

On general principle, I feel like the really popular stuff (Twilight, Throne of Glass, Divergent, The Mortal Instruments) ends up being stuff I’m inherently not going to be attracted to and some of them have their own hatedoms going on, so going after them in detail would be punching down (though I don’t particular like any of the above). So I’m going to try to go off the beaten path with these seven:

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab = nothing against her personally, though I heard her The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue was baaaaad, but apparently, she’s similar to Sanderson in the magic system being better than the characterization and I heard her writing’s got a white faux-female empowerment sort of thing going that I’m growing increasingly... discontent of by itself. I might try it out later, but I also got hundreds of books to drill through first and I’m in no rush.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo = I’ve been increasingly getting the sense that Six of Crows was a flash in the pan, Bardugo’s style more defined by fun than genuine substance. And given a rather scathing review that points out unearned shifts in characterization, lackluster supporting cast, and two really uncomfortable exploitative sexual assault fantasy scenes (one of which was underaged!), I’m gonna say no.

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik = I generally like Novik! She’s a very solid writer to me and I’ve bought most of her books, so this is purely me not taking to the Wizarding School genre. Sorry, Novik, "a twisted, super dark, super modern, female-led Harry Potter" isn’t the selling point it once was, and even then, I probably wouldn’t have taken to it. Especially when I’ve already got The Gray House by Mariam Petrosyan to read.

The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson = I’ve got mixed feelings on Mistborn looking back: it’s hardly the worst of his oeuvre (Elantris is that and was admittedly his first book) and The Final Empire took a few narrative risks that I admire, I also found the resulting books a tad juvenile and I don’t take to steampunk, genre-wise. I’m not even that much of a Sanderson fan, so I’d rather just read the summary for all I care.

Storm Front by Jim Butcher = given what I’ve been told about The Dresden Files’ lessening of noir roots past the first few books, how it later became more flashy-and-bang magical, and how it’s pretty sexist early on (and from what I’ve been told, doubled down on it later on and having worse treatments of its female characters), I’m in no particular rush to read them. The urban fantasy genre on them only turns me off more.

The Doors of Stone by Patrick Rothfuss = hahaha, I’m sorry, I did read The Name of the Wind, and read select parts of The Wise Man’s Fear, but everyone, instead of waiting and devoting your time for this book to come, I would suggest reading Fitz, Who Is Actually Good and Can Wring More than Disgust and an Eye-Roll out of You in Robin Hobb’s Realm of the Elderlings, given she is far better at characterization than Rothfuss.

Anything by Paul Krueger, Sam Sykes, and Myke Cole = fuck all three of these men and the idea that I’ll pay for their stuff. While I can’t demand any of you not buy from them and I’ll hardly claim to be a saint in terms of ethics, purchase-wise, I would beseech you all please don’t buy from these three authors who have a history of inappropriateness.

2. A classic book (or author) you don’t have an interest in reading?

Charles Dickens = look, I know his word count is padded because of serial installments back then, but I’m sorry, I wasn’t that impressed by the child-sanitized versions of Great Expectations and Oliver Twist. They were easily some of the most boring of out of the child-sanitized classics I read. It was the pictures that kept me going and barely at that. No thanks.

Emily Brontë = look, if I wanted shitty people being shitty to each other, I’d much rather read Joe Abercrombie because at least I’ll get some intentional dark comedy out of dumb shitheads being terrible to each other (Best Served Cold comes to mind). And I know we’re not meant to like these self-destructive people, but I’d rather not hate everyone that much.

Alexander Dumas = Three Musketeers really didn’t age well, just from the TV Tropes page and I’m not really looking forward to an adventure that goes out of its way to valorize its protagonists being adventurous assholes who dueled, drank, and womanized harder than anyone else and we should commend that because they were men. Ugh.

3. An author you have read a couple of books from & have decided their books are not for you?

Leigh Bardugo = like I said, I feel like Six of Crows (and Crooked Kingdom, to a lesser extent) was a flash in the pan and she’s been increasingly running on fumes ever since then. Good and fun with a decent eye for characterization, but hardly revolutionary, considering how I think Crooked Kingdom isn’t quite as good as Six of Crows, and the less said about Shadow and Bone, the better.

Neil Gaiman = I’ve read some of his stuff (and I didn’t quite see the hype over his writing, but liked it decently enough) but having heard that, in his Sandman run, he wrote in a transwoman solely to get killed for an emotional ending and how he defended that choice for awhile left a battery acid taste for me to read more. He’s a formative part of people’s childhoods, so I don’t blame anyone for being fans, he’s just not for me.

Steven Erikson = really nothing against the dude, I’m sure he's probably a decent guy, but I didn’t take to Gardens of the Moon at all and skimming Deadhouse Gates and Memories of Ice (which were admittedly better) made me realize its prose was something I would need a hard and sharp shovel to crack through, and the darting around of many, many POVs made me feel not invested in anyone.

4. A genre you have no interest in OR a genre you tried to get into & couldn’t?

I’ll answer both because I have the time:

I’m not interested in romance, mostly because it’s an entire genre built around the build-up. It’s usually the story about the beginning of a relationship, not the relationship itself. I’d genuinely like to read about the story of a romance that doesn’t stop shortly after the hook-up or before the honeymoon period ends. The City Watch parts of Discworld by Terry Pratchett, The Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan and The Sharing Knife by Lois McMaster Bujold all have romantic elements that are relatively undrenched in melodrama or frills, but none of them are pure romances, which is a huge problem. I can take romantic subplots in fantasy, but I can’t take the genre as-is.

Urban fantasy is a genre I’m not against having my mind changed on liking, but right now, I generally find it insipid, a shortcut to good world-building, short on great characterization, and an excuse to lampshade and pretense to being above fantastical clichés in a tongue-in-cheek attitude while still committing to them. I do genuinely like Rivers of London by Ben Aaronvitch, but that’s really the concession I can give the entirety of the genre. I took a crack at Rick Riordan and Cassandra Clare’s stuff, but it didn’t feel like my sort of thing. Again, would like to be convinced, but I’d much rather read a domestic or slice-of-life fantasy set in a more overtly fantasy world than the urban one.

Also, sci-fi, but I’m trying again with the Wormwood trilogy by Tade Thompson, An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon, and either the Imperial Radch trilogy by Ann Leckie, or the Teixcalaan trilogy by Arkady Martine. I snoozed through Azimov’s Foundation and generally bored myself of hard sci-fi books, so I’m hoping contemporary sci-fi changes my mind on the entire genre.

5. A book you have bought but will never read?

A book I personally bought? Honestly, Traitor’s Blade by Sebastien de Castell. No particular reason, I just bought it at a closing-down sale at a branch of my bookstore on the cheap because the cover looked nice and didn’t really take to its blurb. I heard good things though, so if anyone else wants to read it...

I tag @vera-dauriac, @xserpx, @autoapocrypha, @kateofthecanals, @turtle-paced, @insecticidalfeminism, @secretlyatargaryen, @helix-eagle-hourglass-nebula, @xillionart, @jovolovo and whoever else that is following me and wishes to do this tag (I’d like to read your posts, so please tag me! :D)

#tags #book tag #anti tbr tag

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