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#the peak experience

alchemisoul · 1 year

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"Hard times create strong men. Strong men create good times. Good times create weak men. And, weak men create hard times."

- G. Michael Hopf, Those Who Remain (The New World #7)

#colin wilson #the outsider #angry young men #the robot #the peak experience #g. michael hopf #authors #writing #philosophy #quote

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foxofninetales · 2 years

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I want to thank all the gif-makers of tumblr for allowing me to experience all of the best, funniest, hottest, most poignant, most romantic, most intensely heart-tugging moments of shows that I will absolutely never watch.

#some because i know how they end #or because i know that there is a lot else to the show that i will not enjoy #and some merely because i optimistically add them to the end of a 'to watch' list that will never be finished #whatever the reason at least i got to experience the peak two minutes of that media

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pulsingvoid · 6 months

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not negating anybody's experience i know black sails is outstanding regardless of how or when or how quickly you watch it. but also, as a gay person who watched it in real time, you really had to be there. they introduce anne bonny and you know your pirate history so you KNOW she's a girlliker. she has a moment with max but youre not sure where it's gonna go. because it's 2014. you wait over a year for 2x01 and she and max fucking obliterate you with the sword drop kiss scene. all anybody is talking about in the tags is vaneeleanor. a few weeks later 2.05 drops and flint is not only textually gay and kissing a man but he is waging war on england, on all of civilization for taking away his male lover. you find this out after investing fourteen hours on this show that have spanned over a year and a half in your real life. not to mention the miranda stuff and silver's arc and mr scott and madi and the death march that seasons 3 and 4 feel like when you have no inkling of how it's gonna end. but you stick with it regardless because it's good and besides it's 2014-2017 and the only genre show with gay people in it is fucking... the 100? lol anyway. more gay people flock to black sails between seasons and the tag becomes more about the gay shit than vaneeleanor, thank fucking god, finally. you all dread the last season. you brace yourselves for the worst. you thank the stars this show airs weekly because watching even just two episodes together is too overwhelming. 4.08 airs. you cry. 4.09 airs. you cry. 4.10 airs. your life will never be the same. you cry so hard you catch a fever and have to stay in bed all week to recuperate. you know this was a once in a lifetime experience never to be repeated again but you can't help but hold every other show to this impossible standard.

#black sails #i cherish this experience so much #i never rewatched. i had seen each episode exactly once shortly after it aired and never revisited it because it was so dense #and unique and overwhelming #i never rewatched‚ that is‚ until i showed it to my girlfriend #and not to be a wifeguy but it was such a special experience rivaled only by the winter she sat me down and showed me all of twin peaks #watching with someone you Love that Gets storytelling the exact same way you do comes with its own warmth and excitement #the only way to follow up my real time fucking odyssey with this show #i moved CONTINENTS between seasons.

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andromeda3116 · 9 months

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look, i know everyone said that the new interview with the vampire show was incredible but holy shit i was not prepared for how incredible this show is

like, not only is louis interesting now, he is incredibly compelling! his once-bland internal dilemma is now given actual weight because it's not just the same old Thou Shalt Not Kill But I Am Hungry story, it's tempered through his righteous fury at how black people have been treated all these years, how many people have wronged him and laughed and expected him to laugh along, how his ties to the community that once saved him are now turning to nooses around his throat, how his family that he once provided for and relied on have now come to fear him

that, combined with his explicit homosexuality, and with lestat being the only one who seemed to accept him and love him for all that he is, and how that is both comforting and incredibly toxic and combined with sam reid's insane charisma and mania and gravity as lestat that make it completely understandable why louis would still be drawn to him in spite of everything

and how they've used the changes from the original to this one to examine how memory shifts regarding someone who was so intense and formative in your life even if they were ultimately so controlling and abusive but still left such huge gouges in your personality like knives

fuck

this is the best-written show i have seen in a long time like this is top-tier writing holy shit

#interview with the vampire #iatw #i kept thinking ''eh idk if this is for me'' but now i'm just. frothing at the mouth over the quality and the nuance of the writing #and the incredible acting and the shifting timelines and the nods to the original not as easter eggs but integral parts of characterization #i mean. mind blown #at the sheer level of writing going on here like holy shit this deserves so many awards #FUCK AND CLAUDIA IS JUST #FUCK #like if i had to pick the ''worst time to be made immortal'' it would undoubtedly be 14 #i mean kirsten dunst being 10 is definitely awful but 14 would be so much worse #because you are on the very *cusp* of adulthood #and to be denied ever reaching that adulthood would be an unspeakable torture #like you're just old enough to *know* but just too young to really *experience*#and you're at the very peak of being Your Worst You #like 14 is undoubtedly the worst time to be made immortal #literally nobody would ever even remotely want to be 14 forever that's everyone's idea of hell

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steddielicious · 9 months

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There’s all this discourse on bi Steve that assumes that either Steve has always known or that Eddie was his awakening. But what about a dumbass Steve whose first kiss was with a guy, but he didn’t clue in until much later? In this essay, I will elaborate on…

Steve, who at age eleven is best friends with Tommy and Carol. They’ve come up with a pact to all have their first kisses with each other (Steve and Carol and Tommy and Carol, obviously), but the day before, Steve and Tommy are scared that they’ll be bad kissers and Carol will tell everyone. So the two boys decide to practice ahead of time. Of course, this is where Steve’s reputation as a Casanova starts. He just has this natural ability.

And as years pass, Steve and Tommy never really talk about it; but whenever something new comes up, they always practice before Carol. French kissing and necking and dry humping. They don’t want to blow their loads too early with their first handjobs with her, so it’s only natural that the first hands on their dicks that don’t belong to themselves are each other’s. When they’re fourteen, Tommy and Carol lose their virginity to each other and Steve fucks her right after. But it changes everything, and Carol actually wants to date Tommy. In an exclusive relationship.

Steve starts serial dating, taking first kisses and virginities all over town. None of the girls feel any different from Carol (or Tommy), so when he’s alone with Danny Mahoney in the showers after a swim meet in sophomore year and it turns into making out and sloppy handjobs, Steve doesn’t expect anything more. A mouth is a mouth and a hand is a hand, right? It’s just guys helping each other out. After all, they’re not doing anything really queer, like blowjobs or anal. At some point, Danny admits that he actually is gay. (It doesn’t bother Steve as much as he expects.)

When Steve is a junior, he starts dating Nancy Wheeler and stops fooling around with Danny (and various girls). Even though it doesn’t really count with Danny, something deep inside him tells him it does. So Steve has a proper girlfriend and doesn’t really think about anyone other than her.

And then Jonathan Byers straddles him in an alley and beats the shit out of him for calling him a queer. Steve isn’t a fan of the fists, but as he feels Byers on his hips, the clouds part and it clicks that he’s being a massive hypocrite and asshole. When all is said and done and the demogorgon is defeated, Steve still stays with Nancy. But now he knows. He’ll never tell anyone, but it really doesn’t matter what gender the other person is. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s in love with Nancy and they’re going to be together forever.

Months later though, Jonathan is still wary around Steve and can’t quite bring himself to trust him, despite the new camera. And Steve needs to prove that he’s changed, so makes an effort to get to know Jonathan better. And one night in April 1984, when they’re baked out of their minds in the Byers’ backyard, Steve swears that he doesn’t care if Jonathan (or anyone in his family, for that matter) is a queer, because he himself likes guys. Jonathan is the one who puts a name to what Steve is - bisexual. No one really knows what it means, but David Bowie once said that he was, and if Steve has this thing in common with Bowie, it can’t be that bad.

That winter, when Steve is suffering through a broken heart and Danny is back from Berkeley for Christmas, Steve sheepishly admits that he’s actually into guys the same as girls. Danny rolls his eyes and they fuck all winter break long. Steve is eighteen now and really doesn’t have any real friends to hang out with (at least not until he’s comfortable around Jonathan and Nancy being a couple), so he spends a few Saturday nights in spring up in Indy’s gay clubs figuring out what he likes. And he likes it all.

Well, not quite. In May, after a basketball game, Billy Hargrove corners Steve in the locker room and aggressively kisses him. He then threatens to kill him if he tells anyone. Steve believes him of course, because Billy is a fucking psychopath with issues that run a mile deep.

And no, Steve doesn’t have the chance to tell Robin about himself in the Starcourt bathroom, thanks to Dustin and Erica barging in. But once they’ve been released from the hospital, he sneaks in her window that night and tells her that he gets it.

After all, gender is such an arbitrary factor in who’s hot or not, right?

(Robin says no, boys are gross.)

See more in the series at #peak bi experience

Crossposted to AO3 here

#steve harrington #steddielicious writes #bisexual steve harrington #stranger things #steddie headcanon #steddie drabble #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #I swear this will eventually tie in to steddie #so I’m leaving the tags #stommy #peak bi experience

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rusquared · 2 months

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imagine reading a novel about the apocalypse and how fiction can save your life in both an ordinary and extraordinary tragedy... and two years later watching the novel wrap up in the middle of a worldwide pandemic ??????????????

#god imagine being a korean reader who followed orv from the start #that's like. that's the WORST kind of mental illness. peak orv experience i almost envy them for it #'wow im learning so much from this novel about love and survival and stories and- there's a what spreading across the globe?'#also kdj is 9 years older than me that's horrifying #orv

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willowser · 7 months

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one thousand lonely stars, hiding in the cold—

android!shouto x reader

wc: 2k+

tags: angst, cyberpunk dystopian setting, financial vulnerability, explicit language, minor mention of sex work + sex workers, reader has strong/conflicting feelings about their situation, and — as always — the question of true humanity.

notes: what a great opportunity this was for me to continue exploring this idea !! tysm to @shoto-brainrot for not only giving me the chance, but also for being such a support and helping me to figure out all this commission jazz !! i so appreciate you, and i hope you enjoy it ! 🩷

original post

You’ve yet to find out what caused the damage to Shouto’s faceplate.

By the time you discovered him outside the credit exchange, he had been busted open and left for—whatever the equivalent of dead is for an android. A gaping hole in the left side of his disturbingly human face exposed his inner circuitry to the rain and you think that should have finished him off, truly, but—he's still kicking.

Technology in the lower district is distinct. The most careful hands could have crafted him down in the best underground salvage yard and he still wouldn't have lasted half an hour with his face submerged in a shallow mud puddle like that. Wiring would have been shot, fuses blown.

Even if the Todoroki Corporation symbol on his wrist wasn't glowing, a blinking light in time with his would-be heart, you'd know what he is. You'd know he didn't belong down here, beneath the smog, in the industrial bones of your dying city.

And yet—

The left side of Shouto's face took the brunt of whatever blow he'd been dealt, and the scarring—if it's even called that?—has extended down over his cheekbone and backward, so violently that his ear had only barely been hanging on. Without the bandage you've wrapped him up in, he's quite a sight: half a tangled mess of wires and pins, a dull cyan light glowing in his orbital socket. With the wrapping, however, he’s almost exactly as he was meant to be: seamless.

The fate of his detached ear had been unknown. Until this morning.

It still works, much to your surprise, learning so only after wondering aloud the whereabouts of your data docket and hearing Shouto answer from across the apartment. Whoever put him together, you realize, took great care to make him durable, adamantine; the carbon nanotubes and polymer arrays that make up his cochlea were hardly affected by the assault.

Someone—or something—meant to harm him, and you know that for certain, now. Such wreckage couldn’t have happened naturally, not to a Skin-Puppet like him.

(When you look at him, you can’t help but consider his creator. How far he is from them and why. If the hands that made him and the hands that ruined him are the same, if he meant to leave or if he was cast out. You haven’t asked, but it’s odd that a machine could keep such information to himself—itself.)

(Given the brutality behind his mutilation, perhaps it’s best you don’t know the answers.)

Working tech from the richer district—KōkyōLuxuria, above the smog, built high into the clouds—could not only earn you enough to eat this week, but also to pay off all your debts to the League. Maybe even finance a decent apartment a few stories up.

And that’s why you’re here: racing through the slums in the rain, doing your damndest to make this sale before time runs out and you’re forced to find another buyer. Coming across a Hack with 1,640,254 credits in their docket is rare; who knows when you’ll find someone from the Trade in Musutafu sector again? You’re likely to sooner perish—either from your empty stomach or that broker that demanded payment two days ago.

Shouto, however, doesn’t see the urgency.

“Hello, handsome! Awful cold out tonight…care to warm me up?”

“Oh, hello.”

At the even, all-too-friendly lilt in his voice, you halt your sprint again, and spin around with a hiss. “Shouto!” You snap—but it comes too late; the Entertainers have struck like lightning, already scrambling his code.

Out of habit, you’d pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head before leaving the apartment, and now the material separates his image from view—though you can easily imagine the pleasant expression showing on his face, illuminated in pink under the NanotechNymph advertisement.

At his easily captured interest, two women strut from the open doors of the low-lit den, all allure and swaying hips, mirage flickering beneath the heavy rain. They only meet him halfway—too far from the emanator deep within the club—and you dash forward to stop him from wordlessly accepting their offer. You can’t afford to owe anyone any more than you already do.

“Shouto,” you say again, mouth twisting when he looks at you simply. Despite the hood, his bandage grows dark from the rain and—despite his framework, worry fluxes in your stomach at the thought of him getting too wet. “We have to go.”

“Aww,” an Entertainer says to you, girlish pout pulling down her full lips. “You don’t want to come inside and play with us?”

“No,” you try not to look at them any longer, just in case that racks up a charge, too. Rock solid as he is, Shouto allows himself to be steered away, much to your relief. “Buzz off, holo-ham.”

“I’d like to play.” Shouto pipes up, peeking behind his shoulder when the girls squeal in excitement. “Can we come back once we’ve finished?”

“Not for that kind of play.” You put a hand on the back of his head and swivel it, all while shoving him down the sidewalk. You almost remark on how man-like he’s acting, before chasing the thought away.

“What other types of play are there?”

“Just—hush.”

And he does, finally, when you loop your arm through his: a presumably innocent gesture that draws his attention fully back to you, as physical touch seems to do, with him. Beneath the material of the jacket, he feels natural, all muscle and bone, even leaning into you as if the weather has made him cold. You can feel him tracing your face with his one-eyed gaze—scanning you—and you pretend not to notice.

“Your heart rate has gone up. Have I made you angry?”

“Yes,” you tell him, though he hasn’t, really. “You and your curiosity are gonna make me late, and then we’ll be in some serious shit.”

He looks away then, down to the soaked pavement, a mimicry of disappointment. From the corner of your eye, you can see his manufactured Adam’s apple bob, and the muscle beneath your hand shifts.

“They seemed nice, the holograms.” He says, and you can’t help the soft snort such a comment merits.

“Yeah, they’re nice, alright, until you can’t pay them.”

Shouto looks at you once again, stride threatening to falter until you tug him along. “Do you know them?”

You already know where he’s going with his question, and the corner of his lips quirk up when you cast him a filthy look. “Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know—”

“I just do, alright?” You frown at him and he accepts it in full, studying once more. Whatever he finds in your expression amuses enough that he’s placated for the moment, though you know it won’t be long before he’s piping up again.

He does it often—studies you: body language, physiological changes, speech patterns, vocal cues. Human behavior he catalogs and streams to someone back at the Corporation headquarters, finding the miniscule details he can use against you, some day. Whatever the reason behind his damage, he is still a product of his evil overlords, made for reasons you can only imagine.

This is what you tell yourself.

As his fingers shift until their smooth pads are brushing the delicate veins in your wrists, as he tightens his arm around yours when another stranger on the streets knocks your shoulder, as he leans into the warmth of your humanness: this is what you tell yourself.

You’re overcome with a sense of loss and you don’t know why, and you clear the strange lump hardening in your throat. “Life lesson number six, Todoroki,” you murmur it closely to him, nearly into the fabric at his shoulder, though he doesn’t react to the name. “Everybody wants something from someone, holo-hams included.”

Shouto seems to process your words, for a moment, and his face is expressionless when you steal a peek up at him. Technicolor rains down on your both, swathing him in a wild array as advertisements dance on the buildings that tower above you, and again you think of his creator. The careful hands that crafted his smooth cheeks, the sharp line of his nose, the leanness of his body. You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious.

Nearly all of the residents relegated to the lower districts owe the Todoroki Corporation in some way. Be it through credit loans or applied interest rates on subsidized housing or hidden costs and high premiums on mandatory, shit insurance—Enji Todoroki sits in the lap of KōkyōLuxuria, has probably never even stepped down from his pedestal.

There’s no good reason a product of his could have found its way to you: this is what you tell yourself.

“And you want my ear.” Shouto says, looking back down at you as your shoulders tense. There isn’t a byte of hostility in his voice, but he must understand the sharpness to what he’s saying.

“Yes,” you admit with a nod, and some underlying, rogue streak of guilt has you pressing into him, as if your proximity could make up for your selfishness. “The sensors in your ear are gonna pay for our dinner tonight, handsome.”

His stride falters once more, and despite the time clock ticking in the back of your mind—you let him stop you. Maybe you want him to. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him and you know that and maybe it’s cruel of you to say such a thing, to offer a comfort you can’t admit to, but Shouto looks down at you in all his ruination and—

Before he can say anything, a fat drop of water hits the tip of his perfectly manufactured nose. It makes him flinch, delayed, and the surprise he wears and the scrunch of his brow seem so—human, there before you. Shouto tilts his face to the dark, smoggy sky, and again that worry bites you, about too much water trickling into his core.

“We’re going to be late,” you repeat, though it’s much weaker than it was earlier. This is one those moments in which he overrides all your defenses, uploads something warm and hopeful and frightening into your chest cavity; you can’t tell if you want to run because you have to, for the sale—or if it’s a result of watching him now, haloed in neon.

He’s not one to ignore you, but he doesn’t respond, instead retracting his arm from your grip in order to push the hood back off his head. Raindrops soak into his bandage and the excess pools, dripping down over the line of his jaw and the column of his throat. So close to him, you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin.

(You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious. You wonder if he meant to leave, or if he was cast out. You wonder if he was created for continued corruption—or if someone out there wanted him to experience life, no matter how rusty.)

(You wonder if he feels as human as he looks. If he can blush, or if the soft skin below his ear can bruise.)

A small sound bubbles out of him, like a light laugh of disbelief.

You found him face down in the rain; you’re not sure why it could cause such a reaction now, but he turns to eye the commercial playing behind him, before watching the path of a man walking by the two of you. Rain collects in his perfect cupid’s bow until he licks it away, and his hair slicks to the side when he pushes it out of his face.

Shouto turns his attention back to you rather plainly, though the edges of his smile pull up a little higher than they usually do, enough that the apples of his cheeks round. He asks you, “What’s going to be for our dinner?” and the question is oddly worded, but each one is intentional.

Maybe it’s not the rain that amuses him—and maybe it is. Maybe it really is that simple, that innocent. Maybe it’s the microtremors in your voice and your increased heart rate, all the little details that could never go unnoticed.

There isn’t a way that this could end well: this is what you tell yourself.

You nod once and turn to face back the way you came, resigned, before looping your arm through his again. You trace the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist, careful not to cover the slow-blinking symbol embedded there, and you decide it doesn’t matter what his creator did or didn’t want. Because he has wants of his own, just like anyone.

“Okay,” you sigh, and when you slosh through the puddles collecting on the sidewalk, Shouto seems happy to follow along, this time. “I can probably sweet talk Toyomitsu into buying us some takoyaki, but you’re gonna have to play it cool.”

“Is this the kind of play you were talking about?”

That lilt has returned to his voice, even and friendly and amused.

“No,” you swat at him to hear his little huff of laughter, “now stop asking about that.”

Of course he doesn’t.

#NOTE that this was written with fem reader in mind but i don't think it reads that way explicitly ?#i........actually had so much fun with this #i love any human x robot pairing like it's a true weakness for me #anything centering on a robot/android wanting to understand the human experience and wanting for emotion is like PEAK #i am so so thankful i got to work on this idea again i really truly enjoyed it #i wrote this while being so emotional about 'ex machina' i hope the emotion isn't too abstract LOL #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: shouto #✿ theme: android shouto

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thatswhatsushesaid · 6 months

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man okay like. i am not trying to be an asshole! i'm really not! but when you add tags like this onto my meme post about nhs having to do jgy's job post-canon

while my initial reaction is mostly just annoyance, i'm also just... really tired. because just based on what we know about nhs and what he does to the qinghe nie in the intervening years between nmj's death and the guanyin temple confrontation, he is... not. going to do a better job than jgy as xiandu. he's not even going to do an equally good job as jgy as xiandu. i'd argue that he's going to do a much, much, much shittier job, because he ran his own sect into the ground.

"ohhh see he was only pretending to be a bad sect leader to lull everyone into a false sense of security!!"

listen. at some stage, after you have spent a decade and a half committing to the bit of being a bad sect leader for the purpose of furthering your revenge quest, to the point where completely unaffiliated strangers on the street know that the qinghe nie are languishing under your leadership, you're not just pretending to be a bad sect leader anymore. you are a bad sect leader.

nhs is not going to be a good chief cultivator. he's not even going to be a more-or-less okay chief cultivator. he's going to be bad at it.

#salty peak sect 🧂#slowly drags my fingers down my face #i'm not dropping this in the tags because i do not want to experience The Horrors of this discourse unprovoked today #edited to add: this is not an invitation to dunk on nhs wholesale just ftr #i love nhs and i enjoy his descent into madness #but he is what he is #and what he ISN’T is a good sect leader or chief cultivator

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