greetings-programs

Honeybee

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

 A/N: Exceeding 200 follows!!! OMG I love y’all so much! Please keep sending in requests! You all have such great ideas. Also, flashbacks are formatted like:

This

 Inspiration: An amazing anonymous person had requested this of me, and I can’t resist a little awkward and cute Peter. Also, the reader’s alias kinda spurred from a cheesy promposal.

 Summary: The reader wants to confront Peter about choosing the world or her, and recounts flashbacks of when his “job” tore him away from their dates. She gets to the tower, but Peter has a surprise in store for her.

 Warnings: Maybe a little language

 Word Count: 1,361 Words

 Masterlist Under Construction


 Honeybee


You and Peter always had fun times together, but you were starting to worry that he wasn’t as invested as you were.

 Countless times now, he’d been pulled from one of your dates-that-aren’t-actually-dates to go be Spiderman and save the world. Countless times, he’s whisked away by the one and only Tony Stark to go fight the evil in the world. And you supported it wholeheartedly. Heck, you even wanted to help. But you were tired of it all.

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Master Control Program: You’re getting brutal, Sark. Brutal and needlessly sadistic.

Sark: Thank you, Master Control.

Master Control Program: We’ve captured some military programs. I could arrange more lethal matches. Interested?

Sark: Sure. I’d love to go up against one of those guys. Make a nice break from those accounting cream puffs you keep sending me. What branch of the service?

Master Control Program: The Strategic Air Command.

Sark: Nice.

Crom: Look. This… is all a mistake. I’m just a compound interest program. I work at a savings and loan! I can’t play in these video games!

Guard: Sure you can, pal. You look like a natural athlete if I ever saw one.

Crom: Who, me? Are you kidding? No, I run to check on T-bill rates, I get out of breath. Hey, look, you guys are gonna make my User, Mr. Henderson, very angry. He’s a full-branch manager.

Guard: Great. Another religious nut. [pushes Crom into the holding cell]

Ram: I’d say “Welcome Friend”. But not here. Not like this.

Crom: I don’t even know what I’m doing here.

Ram: Do you believe in the Users?

Crom: Sure I do. If I don’t have a User, then who wrote me?

Ram: That’s what you’re doing down here. Master Control Program’s been snapping up all us programs who believe. If he thinks you’re useful, he takes over all your functions so he gets bigger, and if he can’t use you, he sends you down here to the game grid to get the bits blasted out of you. What’s your name?

Crom: Crom.

Ram: I’m Ram. They’ll train you for the games, but… (WHISTLES) I hope you make it. Hey, what’s been going on in the other sectors? You know, I’ve been stuck here for 200 microcycles.

Crom: It’s murder out there. You can’t even travel around your own microcircuits without permission from Master Control Program. I mean, sending me down here to play games! Who does he calculate that he is?

The Trick is Slick Code

Summary: Bond decides to woo Q in a way that Q will surely understand–with technology! Meanwhile, Q strongly suspects that Bond just wants a new Aston or something. 

Notes: Last August, @coffeeisagoodstart won a 007 Fest drawing for a ficlet by me, and gave me the prompt “Bond being a decent hacker/pretty good at computers.” What started as a ficlet turned into the longest thing I’ve ever written. <.< A thousand apologies for the super late fill, coffeeisagoodstart! I hope you like your fic <333

If all goes according to plan, this fic should update on a weekly basis.

Also on AO3


Chapter one: The mobile app 

Q woke to find Mephistopheles and Beethoven curled up next to him instead of in their usual places—sleeping, he realized belatedly, in what must have been Bond’s warm spot.

Of course Bond had snuck off; he’d got what he’d come for, which hadn’t been a potentially awkward breakfast with his coworker. Oh, well. Not like Q had expected anything different.

He yawned and stretched, enjoying the lingering aches. Oh yes, Bond might have spirited himself away, but last night had definitely happened. He took a moment to admire the red love bites trailing down his chest to his thighs. He’d have to check the mirror to see if there were any on his arse.

Q reached for his glasses only to freeze mid-motion. His laptop, which he kept on his bedside table, was open.

Good morning, beautiful man, a message on the login screen read, plain black print in a small grey window.

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Greetings Programs!

I hope you are all having fun (and safe) holidays!

I figured that Sam and Quorra needed to look a bit more festive so I made them some cozy vests. I tried my best to knit the ISO symbol and Tron’s symbol on the backs but it’s hard working on such a small scale.

Wishing you all a great new year,

Your Resident Lunar-monster

(thanks to @tassiekitty for encouraging me to post these)

The Crawlspace

Um… hi there. I guess you could say I’m writing this as a cautionary tale to those who plan on studying abroad in the future. I don’t mean to discourage you from going in the first place, it’s more like I just want you to be aware of this so that something like this doesn’t happen to you too.
I guess I should explain a little bit. Last summer I was selected to participate in the study abroad program that would be centered in Rome for several months. Like anyone would be, I was elated. I had never been out of the states before, so this was going to be a real adventure for me.

In the weeks that followed I happily packed anything and everything I could fit into my suitcase. (I will be the first to admit that I had way over packed for this trip.) I was nervous about leaving my parents for the first time but I was also excited for the newfound freedom I would have while in Europe. Before I knew it my parents were dropping me off at the airport, and I was boarding a 19 hour flight to Rome.

Despite being long and tedious, the flight wasn’t all that bad. When I exited the airport I was greeted by the program supervisor and several other students who would be studying with me. They were about the same age and all looked just as excited as me. From there we went to our mandatory orientation meeting, and afterwards we went to pick up our apartment keys.

In the months that preceded the trip, we were responsible for getting to know our would be roommates as well as finding a place to stay that we could all afford. There were three girls I would be staying with. They were all nice enough and made an effort to make me feel welcome, though I will admit it’s a bit hard to get close to the group of preformed friends. But despite my slight alienation, it seemed that things were all going to work out well. All of us were on a similar budget plan, and by that I mean none of us really had much money to spend. Because of this we were all on the same page while searching for the cheapest apartment we could find.

After several days of searching we stumbled across an ad for an ancient apartment located above the Campo di Fiori. That was a prime location and we couldn’t believe it that it was still available, no less listed for an unbelievably low price. This immediately sent alarm bells off in my head. The place was enormous yet the rent was cheaper than the much smaller apartments in a far less desirable part of town. However reason never really wins out in a group of excited young women. They had already made up their minds and if I would be staying with them this was my only option.

We each received our own set of keys as well as a map with walking directions. Because of its prime location it really didn’t take us long to get there. The Campo was amazing. During the daytime it was filled with a vibrant market, while during the evening it was lined with lively street performers. All of the apartments surrounding it looked to be ancient, so ours really didn’t stand out all that much. After circling the square three or four times we finally noticed the number nailed to the front of a massive old wooden door. This would be our home for the next three months.

I fought with my keys for a moment until there was an audible click of the heavy old lock. The thick old door swung forward with a screech. We were then met with a long winding staircase. We all looked at one another and groaned. None of us had accounted for the fact that the building had been constructed before elevators were common. So three sets of stairs and countless complaints later, all four of us, with luggage in hand stood outside our new front door. Once again I reached for my set of keys and fought with the stubborn lock. As soon as the front door was opened there was a stampede of young women trying to claim the best rooms. Being a three-bedroom apartment, it meant that two of us would have to share. I personally didn’t really care so I let the others battle it out. When the dust had settled, I found that I would be sharing a room with a girl called Stephanie. That was fine with me. Stephanie was nice enough and she was also very quiet, my ideal feature in a roommate.

Over the course of the rest of the day we ran around exploring our new home. There were two bathrooms, a full kitchen, and a living room with an ancient TV. Once again I began to feel uneasy. Just how was it that we were able to get all of this for such a low price? But before I could finish the thought I was interrupted by a fit of loud squealing. My initial reaction was to panic, however I soon learned that all the noise was from excitement. Down at the other end of the apartment near the front door, apparently there was another part of the flat we had missed. I followed the noise until it led me to a long dark hallway. There at the end, behind the group of squealing women was a washing and drying machine. For those of you thinking “what’s the big deal?”, I should explain that these things are incredibly rare in Rome. Generally exchange students have to wash their clothes by hand in the sink before hanging them up to dry. What was a luxury item like this doing in such a cheap apartment?

Just as the screaming quelled it picked right back up again as the girls noticed a door adjacent to the washing machine. Beyond that door was a master bathroom. It had a balcony, a claw-foot tub, and even a bidet. The girls immediately started fighting over “who’s bathroom this was going to be”. I didn’t really see why we couldn’t share, but apparently the others were dead set on having ownership. As it turned out it ended up being my bathroom. Stephanie had made a logical argument that because she and I had to share a bedroom, while the other two each got their own, it was only fair that she and I got share the master bath. And I’ll admit that at first I was actually kind of excited, it was after all, a really nice room. However over the course of the next several weeks I began to grow more and more wary of the room. I don’t know how to put it into words. It’s like every time I went into that room I could feel something’s eyes on me. And the voyeuristic element wasn’t really what had me so unnerved. It felt like whatever was watching me was angry, that it didn’t want me there and that it wanted to hurt me.

I began doing everything in my power to avoid the room. I asked Alisha if she would mind if I were to use her restroom occasionally. I made up a lame excuse about how it was far more convenient since her room was so close while my bathroom was at the other end of the flat at the end of the very long hallway. She happily agreed though, when I told her that she could use my bathroom anytime she liked. This worked well for a while. For about the first two months of my trip I was able to completely avoid the eerie room. It wasn’t until the final month that everything began to unravel. One night as I prepared to brush my teeth, I found that Alisha was already occupying her bathroom. I could hear giggles coming from down the hallway, it was clear both Stephanie and our other roommate were both getting ready for bed in the master bath. I decided that since there was strength in numbers, it would be all right just for tonight.

So I made my way down to the large bathroom where I joined the boisterous girls in brushing my teeth. They were in the midst of some conversation when Lindsay, our other roommate, had broken into such a furious fit of laughter that she had to lean on the wall for support. But suddenly she jolted upright as if she had been shocked. We all looked at what had been the cause of her reaction: there on the wall, about the same level as the bathtub was a tiny door. None of us had noticed it because it was the same color as walls. The landlord had even painted over it. Naturally this made me a bit nervous. Whatever it was, the landlord clearly didn’t want anyone opening it. But as usual, throwing all caution to the wind Lindsay reached for the handle and began tugging with all her might. Stephanie clucked her tongue in disapproval before pulling out a small pocket knife. She began delicately carving along the seam of the door. I wanted to beg her to stop, but I really didn’t have the energy to argue that night. So within a few minutes, Lindsay had yanked the little door open with a loud crack.

It was… a crawlspace. It was fairly large. My guess would’ve been you could have fit at least three or four people in there. I was rather curious as to why the landlord would’ve sealed up an empty little room. While I thought about this, Stephanie and Lindsay began calling for Alisha to come see their new discovery. She was just as excited as they were when they first discovered it. However, as could be expected, this excitement waned over time and eventually the crawlspace was just turned into storage for a few towels and laundry baskets.

In the following days after the unsealing of the crawlspace, things started to go from eerie to downright terrifying. Annoyingly, Alisha had changed her nightly routine so that I could no longer use her bathroom in the evenings. Once again I was back in the large bathroom, all the while, the feeling that I was being watched growing worse and worse. I began to get so paranoid each time I went into that room that I would literally jump at the slightest noise of pipes settling, and as soon as I was finished I would run at full speed down the hallway and close the door behind me. For some reason I seemed to be the only one feeling this way. It’s not like I could’ve told the other girls either. I was already enough of an outcast as it was. So I just kept to myself and hoped it would go away eventually.

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. One night as I was getting ready for bed, I found myself alone in the bathroom. As I stood in front of the mirror brushing my teeth something set the hairs on the back of my neck straight up. There was a faint rustling noise. Not the kind that could’ve been caused from my roommates at the other end of the flat. Any noises caused by them would have had to have been quite loud to reach me all the way at the end of the long hallway. No this noise was very faint, the sound of someone gingerly shuffling things around. I stood completely silent, terror filling me. The soft rustling noise was coming from inside the crawlspace. I turned on my heels and ran down the hallway to grab the attention of my roommates. I tried to explain to them what happened, but all that came out were incoherent murmurs.

Eventually I managed to stutter “S-Something. Something’s inside the crawlspace!”

They looked at me with fear and confusion in their eyes. As a pack we moved together down the hallway into the bathroom. I nearly fainted when I saw the tiny door hanging fully ajar. Though this discovery filled me with horror, Alisha immediately pointed to the balcony’s sliding door. Stephanie had left it open to air out the bathroom after having taken a shower several hours ago. She peeked her head out the door and pointed to the slanted rooftop adjacent to ours. There was a pigeons nest occupied by few birds. The girls surmised that a pigeon must have found its way in and was the cause of the disturbance. They all had a good laugh as we made our way back to the living room. I pretended to shake it off but I knew it was not a pigeon that caused the rustling noise. First off, the tiny door had been shut tight all day. None of us really cared to leave it open because it smelled quite musty inside. And secondly, the door had been shut when I left the bathroom, I am certain of this, yet there it was wide open when I returned. You’re not going to tell me that a pigeon knows how to and is capable of opening and closing a door all by itself.

It was at this point that I began to suspect that something was terribly wrong with this apartment. When I got back to my room I pulled out my laptop and called my best friend via Skype. She had always been the skeptical and methodical type, however she also kept an open mind towards things that were hard to explain. I decided that out of anyone she was probably the best to talk to about my situation. As I expected, she was initially quite doubtful. Though she also agreed with me that a pigeon was quite likely not the source. She asked me if I had any photos of the crawlspace. She said that if she could see it, that would help her to understand a little more clearly, and possibly help her to come up with a more logical explanation.

Relieved at her willingness to at least hear me out, I reached for my camera and made my way back down the eerie hallway. When I arrived I found, to my relief, that the door was still closed. I stood in front of it for a moment, gathering my nerve before finally pulling the little door open. Despite the clutter left inside by my roommates, it was empty. I snapped a quick photo before closing the door once more and running back to my room. I immediately plugged my camera into my computer and uploaded the photo. When I finally opened the image, I was petrified by what I saw. There in the upper right-hand corner was a face, baring its teeth at me. My whole body began violently shaking.

“Dear God. That thing is in our home!” I muttered to myself.

Fear began to overtake me. Someone had sealed whatever it was inside of that crawlspace, and we had let it out. I was so absorbed in my panic I didn’t even notice when my roommate returned. She was so blissfully unaware of the imminent danger we were in, yet even if I tried to warn her she would not believe me. I was at a loss of what to do, and finally decided that I would deal with it in the morning. Though not by a large amount, I did feel braver in the sunlight. From there I attempted to get some sleep. Though for the first time ever since being there I closed and bolted my door before getting into bed. Stephanie eyed me suspiciously while doing so, but I just told her jokingly that Lindsay had been sneaking into our room the previous nights and had been stealing my nutella. She laughed heartily, shaking her head before settling down for the night. I will admit that the only reason I was able to find any sleep that night was because of her presence. Something about not being alone can give one a sense of false security.

It was about two o’clock in the morning when the sound woke me. I had always been a light sleeper so the faint noise was enough to stir me. It sounded like a door being pushed open at the other end of the flat followed by footsteps. But these weren’t just normal footsteps. They were far too fast. It sounded like someone was running at full speed from the foyer to the living room and all about the apartment. But these weren’t heavy footfalls like the kind you would expect from a running person. They were very light, almost unnaturally so. My initial reaction was to assume it was either Alisha or Lindsay, so I got up and stuck my ear to the wall behind me that separated Lindsay’s room from mine. I could hear her faint but steady breathing. She was clearly asleep, it wasn’t her. I then crossed over to the other side of my room near the door and once again stuck my ear to the wall. Alisha’s snoring was quite audible, there’s no way it was her. I slowly began to grow fearful as I turned in a last resort to see if Stephanie had perhaps gotten up, but I could plainly see her resting form silently rising up and down. A shiver went down my spine and I nearly screamed when I realized that the footsteps had come to a stop outside of my door. Despite all the lights being out, I could clearly see the looming dark shadow of a form through the tiny crack at the foot of my door.

I dared not move. Whatever it was, it was just standing there. Waiting. Then to my horror, my doorknob slowly began to jiggle. Gently at first but then growing violent at the realization of it being locked. The noise of it eventually woke my roommate. She sat up, blinking in confusion. That instant the jiggling of the doorknob stopped. She asked me just what the hell I was doing and if I knew what time it was. I told her it wasn’t me! I told her that whatever had opened the door to the crawlspace the previous day had come back. But she just furrowed her brow at me and said that I needed to get more sleep.

The next day I made an appointment with my programs supervisor. I told him that I just needed to go home. He tried to tell me that I was just homesick and that it would pass, but I insisted. He eventually gave up and let me call my parents. They were confused but understanding. They were able to change the date of my return flight to the following morning. I really wanted to get out of there that day, but understandably that was the soonest they could manage. Unfortunately this meant that I would have to stay one more night in the apartment.

When I returned I tried to tell the others about what had been going on. I knew I was going to be getting out of there and would be out of danger, but I was still immensely worried for their safety. But none of them took me seriously, they looked at me as if I was a mad woman. They didn’t say anything but I was sure they all thought I was going home because of some sort of mental breakdown.

At that point there was nothing I could say that would convince them. So that night I locked my door and hesitantly went to bed. And right on cue, once again around two o’clock in the morning I was awoken by the rapid footsteps scampering around the apartment. I could hear the door to the bathroom begin to creak open, followed by the door at the end of the hallway. The footsteps grew louder and faster as they moved through the apartment. And finally, once more they came to a pause outside of my door. I could hear breathing this time, slow and heavy. I sat up in panic, and to my horror I saw that Stephanie had forgotten to lock the door behind her after getting up to use the restroom.

It was right outside my door and I did not know if I had time to jump up and try to lock it before the thing realized there was nothing blocking its way. I hesitated a moment too long and by the time I had sat up straight in my bed, the handle slowly began to turn. I froze in terror as the door cracked open revealing my tormentor. It stood there ominously in the doorway, staring me down. Its eyes protruded slightly from its skull and gave off a very faint bluish light. It didn’t appear to have a nose, only slits where the nostril should have been. It had the teeth of a man, but had no lips, giving it the impression of an eternally toothy snarl. Its grayish white skin was waxy and stretched tight over its bony face. The rest of its skeletal form was hard to make out as it was almost entirely enveloped in shadows.

After pausing for a moment in the doorway, it began to head toward me. As it moved, its body let out sickening cracks. I sat there, still petrified by fear until it had made its way to the foot of my bed. Its heavy breaths were deafeningly loud. I don’t know how Stephanie slept through it. The air had begun to smell sour and stagnant.

With frightening speed, it jolted to the other end of the bed, mere feet from me. I gagged at the smell of it, like sulfur and rotting flesh. Slowly it unfurled one of its along the gnarly hands and proceeded to reach for me. Not until it was several inches away did I finally find my voice. I screamed as loud as I possibly could and it halted in its tracks. Stephanie shot up from her bed, visibly frightened. The creature hunched over on all fours and fled from the room with unsettling movements that recalled those of the spider. A moment later Stephanie switched the light on and looked at me furiously. She demanded to know what the fuss was all about. I told her exactly what had happened, but she just called me a nutcase.

The taxi came to pick me up very early the next morning. The sun had not even risen by the time it arrived. None of the girls came to see me off, but I expected this. After loading my luggage into the trunk I climbed into the back seat of the old cab. It had driven right through the square and was sitting at the base of my apartment. When I leaned to look out the window I could see where my room had been. My face contorted into a mixture of panic and concern. There, looking out of my old window was the creature. Its unblinking eyes bore into me and its lipless mouth curled into a snarling grin. Before I could say anything, the cab driver had taken off, leaving that hell house far behind.

I tried to warn them. I really did. I did everything in my power to try to warn them of the danger that they were in, but none of them listen to me. There was no way I could’ve stopped what happened after I returned home. You see, several weeks after returning to the United States I received a phone call from the program director. He informed me that a day before the program ended, all three of my past roommates had been reported missing. The authorities had no idea just how long they had actually been gone for, as they were only recently discovered to be missing when the program director went to check on them after none of them made it to the end of the program wrap up meeting. They assumed it had been at least a week or two, since all the food in the apartment was expired. There was no sign of forced entry, and no valuables were missing. The only notable detail mentioned in the report was that when they arrived on the scene, there was a strange little door hanging ajar in the bathroom. And when they approached it, they were met with a powerful odor coming from no visible source. The official report has them declared as missing, but I know that they’re all dead.

I know that I’m incredibly lucky to have made it out with my life. I think the only reason I’m still alive today is because I fled thousands of miles and across an ocean. Despite their unwillingness to listen, I still feel an unimaginable amount of guilt over what happened to those girls. That’s why I’m writing this now. I may not be able to go back in time and save them, but maybe I can prevent this from happening to you. Please, PLEASE heed my warning. If you ever get the opportunity to study abroad, keep this in mind: if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. And WHATEVER you do, don’t stay on the third floor of the ancient yellow apartment complex above the Campo di Fiori. There’s something there. Something evil.

[Interview] Junjin “I have yet another goal”

“I have never done anything half-heartedly after saying I will do it, not once" At the end of the interview, when I asked Junjin, “What makes Junjin most like Junjin?”, he said, “When I sweat because I’m doing something with passion,” and added that line above. In a tone full of conviction and with confidence. He had gone for an IV drip the day before the shoot, as he wasn’t feeling well but once the shoot started, you couldn’t tell he wasn’t feeling well. He just gave a shy smile at the various requests from the photographer. When the shoot was progressing, people around said, “You’re like an elf!”, he joked, “My ears are elf ears!”, smoothing out the atmosphere. Living 17 years as a celebrity, and returning with his first solo album release in 7 years, you could guess how he has, till now, stood at the peak, and continuously received love from the fans. From the start of the interview to the end, he spoke joyfully of “Shinhwa Changjo”, the fans who have become his goal, his dream, and you can clearly discover a happiness from him.

Q. Just like your ‘WowWowWow’ performance, and how you actively communicate with the fans, you seem to be full of energy. Where does that energy come from?
Junjin:
My stamina is still ok even after growing older, so I can move like how I did when I was young but I think my mentality plays the biggest part. I’m releasing my solo album after 7 years of preparations, and the fans are showing even greater support than they had for Shinhwa promotions, so I get a lot of energy from that. Although many fans often come (for music shows), personally, this is the first time I feel this way…That’s why I’m so happy. Not long ago, I did something on a live show…

Q. Ah, Mwave ‘Meet&Greet’ program.
Junjin
: I was so surprised because so many fans came. We (Shinhwa) have group promotions but I once again received that feeling I had felt when we were promoting as an idol group in our prime. I think I received more energy because even the fans looked like how they were back then. Wanting to quickly do something, quickly show something, those feelings grew stronger.

Q. The reason why the concept for today’s photo shoot is “innocence” and “boyish” is because you showed a Junjin much like the one seen in the early days of Shinhwa. We wanted to do something that was an extension of that.
Junjin:
It isn’t like how, when I was young, I would frown on stage. I’m doing it with ease but because of the choreography itself, and the song itself, there is a powerful part to it that’s why it’s possible it might seem that way. This time round I worked really hard to find the middle ground between being powerful and charismatic and other feelings. The expression I should have while dancing, isn’t like this, it was made that way.

Q. Even the fans say that Junjin still has that pretty boy look.
Junjin:
I’m thankful if I can hear that. Even the photos taken today, won’t the fans like it if they saw it? Obviously I know that many staff members are working hard to make one person but this time, I feel it more.

Keep reading

The Crawlspace

Um… hi there. I guess you could say I’m writing this as a cautionary tale to those who plan on studying abroad in future. I don’t mean to discourage you from going in the first place, it’s more like I just want you to be aware of this so that something like this doesn’t happen to you too.
I guess I should explain a little bit. Last summer I was selected to participate in the study abroad program that would be centered in Rome for several months. Like anyone would be, I was elated. I had never been out of the states before, so this was going to be a real adventure for me.

In the weeks that followed I happily packed anything and everything I could fit into my suitcase. (I will be the first to admit that I had way over packed for this trip.) I was nervous about leaving my parents for the first time but I was also excited for the newfound freedom I would have while in Europe. Before I knew it my parents were dropping me off at the airport, and I was boarding a 19 hour flight to Rome.

Despite being long and tedious, the flight wasn’t all that bad. When I exited the airport I was greeted by the program supervisor and several other students who would be studying with me. They were about the same age and all looked just as excited as me. From there we went to our mandatory orientation meeting, and afterwards we went to pick up our apartment keys.

In the months that preceded the trip, we were responsible for getting to know our would be roommates as well as finding a place to stay that we could all afford. There were three girls I would be staying with. They were all nice enough and made an effort to make me feel welcome, though I will admit it’s a bit hard to get close to the group of preformed friends. But despite my slight alienation, it seemed that things were all going to work out well. All of us were on a similar budget plan, and by that I mean none of us really had much money to spend. Because of this we were all on the same page while searching for the cheapest apartment we could find.

After several days of searching we stumbled across an ad for an ancient apartment located above the Campo di Fiori. That was a prime location and we couldn’t believe it that it was still available, no less listed for an unbelievably low price. This immediately sent alarm bells off in my head. The place was enormous yet the rent was cheaper than the much smaller apartments in a far less desirable part of town. However reason never really wins out in a group of excited young women. They had already made up their minds and if I would be staying with them this was my only option.

Keep reading

10

there is so much i couldn’t cover because i’m shit but this show needs a lot more love and there’s only 19 episodes so it wouldn’t take very long to marathon

it’s on netflix and usually any other cartoon watching website (animeflavor.com or watchcartoononline.com probably have it)

there apparently was going to be a season finale (aNGER) but it ended :(

disney hated it for some reason and basically screwed it over but you can love it and make me happy

art by the lovely skullvis and some screencaps from here but most are mine

i recommend watching the 1980’s tron first but hey what do i know

if you wanna see just how dark tron canon can get

On Christmas Eve, he fucked me against the marble counter in the bathroom of his parents’ restaurant. It was the old Inn on Main Street, the one that faced the Presbyterian Church. He was 44; I was 20, both of us home for the holiday.

He’d been telling me that my mother babysat him as a child, that, at 24, he’d installed my grandparents’ swimming pool covers, that he’d essentially been saving my life since before I was born.

When he finished, I swiveled to face the mirror, reapplying red to my lips. His arms circled my waist, his breath warm and damp against the nape of my neck.

“This was fun,” I said, smoothing my skirt. I broke free from his grasp.

The stairs of the old building moaned as I descended. I had told my father to run ahead to church; I said I’d meet him there.

Chris hurried down behind me. “You’re leaving?” His belt was half-buckled.

I nodded, pointing to the cross around my neck and then to the sky. “Jesus is waiting.”

//

Back at school, I’d been sleeping with a tall Jewish boy from Colorado, as cold, hard, and distant as the mountains from which he came. The sex was painfully average; I never caught a glimpse of God in the curve of his spine. But, when you’re dying to be saved, even painfully average sex is better than none.

On the days I got off from work early and my apartment was too interminably dark and empty to stand for even a moment, I’d text Micah and he’d do his best to find me fuck me in a timely manner. And in the moments just before and after I could almost pretend that I cared about Micah. I could almost pretend that I cared about anything at all.

//

They were halfway done singing “O Come Emmanuel,” when I crashed my way though the heavy wooden doors, realizing too late that my father and grandmother had chosen to sit in the first row of pews, directly in front of the pulpit.

The interior of the old Presbyterian Church was as large and white on the inside as the outside suggested. The entrance was made up of two white doors twice my height, which, had I been on time, would have been flanked on either side by smiling women handing out programs, greeting everyone who passed with a “Peace of Christ be with you.”

The women were white. Their smiles were too. Apart from burgundy carpeted aisles, and the narrow cushions that lined each pew, it was all white.

I thought something to myself about purity and symbolism. I thought that if I were to have a piece of Christ with me, I’d probably want it to be his blood. I thought that maybe I could be in constant communion.

At the very front of the room hung a red curtain, and, in front of that, an empty golden cross with a ring around the center; no one hanging for my sins.

I could feel their gazes on me, the women. Their narrowed eyes gravitated to the skin shown by the backless dress I’d chosen to wear, cutting into the nakedness there as I passed. I glanced back, smiling at their husbands.

“Emmanuel” ended as I took my seat and the organ blared the beginnings of some new hymn I didn’t recognize. The old building moaned, protesting the decibel. The golden chandeliers that hung from the ceiling shook precariously, menacingly, their threat out of place in this large, sacred room filled with gilded guilt and light.

When Pastor Tim began his sermon, I began turning my encounter with Chris over in my head. He knew my grandmother, said hello to my father, asked about my mother, poured me a glass of the blood of Christ before introducing himself to me. I maintained eye contact with him while I sipped. This, I learned in college, is a way of increasing sexual tension. This is the way you let a man know you are interested.

//

The flags of Israel and the US hung side by side above Micah’s bed. Sometimes they rustled when we moved, when we opened the window to introduce cool night air into the small, dark room. His bed, too, would creak as we pushed against it, the bed he built himself.

Once, he’d taken me to a dimly lit wine bar with ceilings so low he had to stoop. We sat across a small wooden table from each other and he gestured to the cross I wore on a silver chain. He asked me if I wore it ironically. I lied and told him yes.

//

After church, I drank more wine with my father, the atheist. We’d stopped attending church every week when my mother got sick. Stopped praying when we should have been doing nothing but.

Chris’s number was scrawled on a cocktail napkin in my coat pocket. I wanted to call and ask to see him. Call and ask if he could see it then. If he could see her flawed brain chemistry when she cared for him as a child. I thought that maybe, if he did, he’d be able to see the same in me.

My father drunkenly fell asleep in his armchair as he often did when my mother spent holidays hospitalized. We’d share a fuzzy phone call the next morning and she’d probably ask me to pray for her. And I would, of course, though I’d long since abandoned hope that anyone listened to the prayers of a person like me.

Covering my father with a blanket, I carefully removed his glasses, placing them next to the crèche set out on our coffee table. The baby Jesus smiled up at me, so I took him in my hand and went outside.

The night was an endlessness intermittently interrupted by the colored strands of LEDs beaming through my neighbors’ windows. I lit a cigarette and asked for absolution and, when none came, I dialed Micah’s number. As the phone rang, I stared down at the tiny figure in my hand, maintaining eye contact so he’d know I was interested.

He didn’t answer, so I hurled the ceramic baby at the pavement. And as I pressed my bare feet into the shards, giving my own blood as sacrament, I was sanctified.

—  “Saviors and Other Sinners” - Kate Olsson

prompted by reallybadacid

accidentally called your number while drunk asking for a ride and you actually came au (from this post)

It’s all quick-rapid motion, Erik’s transition from comfortably sound asleep to bolt upright wrench open bedside table grab knife turn on light look around wild eyed and alert and poised to strike. It takes a long beat and another tinny ring to realize the only thing that’s interrupted his slumber is the ringing of his cell phone. He sighs deeply, letting tension ebb from his frame as he thunks the knife back onto the bedside table, picks up his phone and frowns at it. A string of numbers greet him, not somebody programmed into his phone. He has a moment of indecision, but - well, it’s 2:30 am, what if it’s important?

He jabs the green circle on the screen and brings the phone to his ear. “What.”

He immediately pulls it from his ear again, because a blast of sound is issuing from the tiny speaker. Some kind of atrocious music, loud enough to be distorted over the phone line, thumping bass. People talking as well, but not particularly anybody talking into the phone. “…Hello?” Erik tries, patience nearly run out.

“HANK.” Erik nearly drops the phone. “HANK, CAN-… CAN YOU HEAR ME.”

Keep reading

Good job breaking it, Hero

Flynn really was a stupidly craptastic god (which I do like because it does fit his personality from the first movie, but still…)

(Weaponised) ID discs were originally imposed on programs by the MCP regime as a method of enslavement, oppression, and murder. It hardly seems surprising that Clu flipped his shit given the brave new world he was made steward of was built upon such a flawed pillar of the old.

I’m also seriously side-eying the way lightbikes in the series are allowed to so recklessly generate lightwalls in public spaces that seem to be scores of metres long. That’s some serious lack of public safety protocols in your basic design right there.

missed last week= 2 photos coming up!

i was going nuts last week with my university studies i did not manage to make a post!! this picture time around ill post two pictures instead, wee! :D

the man and the moon



two programs checking out the human creations…


see you soon! Tron Lives!!

End Of Line

Watch on evillordzog.tumblr.com

All the cutscenes from Tron: Evolution edited into a single movie.

The game’s intro really smacks home just how utterly, um, clueless Flynn is when it comes to The Grid.

The movie showed us that Clu worked out how to forcibly reformat programs on an industrial scale while the series showed us it could also be done non-enduringly via constantly-reinforced viral agent. Clu’s method doesn’t seem particularly detrimental to higher functions – Rinzler’s sinister taciturness could be argued as something of a unique case, but Cutler’s personality remaining intact might equally be an effect of refined treatment beyond the industrial production of cannon-fodder. Certainly I think it’s capable of degrees of… effectiveness.

The movie also shows us Flynn hacking the idisc of one of the soldiers to get authority for the lightjet. As we saw in the series, there are programs well aware that idiscs can be maliciously hacked in some fashion or another – and that, just as it birthed the isos, the grid itself has provided at least one means of doing so (the code worms).

So what does this intro show him doing instead of using the control mechanism he’s forced everyone on the grid to carry to just globally edit the bad code that creates the antipathy leading to genocide? He creates a single system monitor program that at best works as a bandaid solution (ah, the problems of being a character in someone else’s story). It’s no wonder that in the scene we see during Scars preceeding the actual coup he just completely missed Tron’s prompting that since the dude copped the injury in Flynn’s name maybe he should do something about repairing Dyson’s face.

Clu never had a choice about going darkside. It was his destiny.

I’m not faulting the story here. Uprising & Legacy are very clearly technoir Flynn dies not because it make sense within the world of the story – Given Clu is a subset of Flynn, reintegration being a mutual death sentence is inexplicably arbitrary – but because it’s a requirement of the genre. But, yeah, fuck Flynn. He’s a prick who got what was coming to him.

Damn. Shout out to the Tron fandom for having my back and being extraordinarily helpful, as well as being enthusiastic and knowledgeable about the canon. AND being super creative and insightful with their headcanons. You guys have made my day.