Adolphus Longestaffe

Fanfic. Multiple, possibly conflicting ships because I write whatever strikes my creative fancy. Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada, McHanzo, Reaper76, etc. NSFW. Header image by ssaravinter

[lysanderrr]

"What I want, Cloud, is to sail the darkness of

the cosmos with this planet as my vessel."

[sephirthoughts]

so we need to talk about this...thing

not caelus, i mean this…whatever this thing is.

apparently it's associated with the trailblazer's new ability. whatever it is, it's godawful, and i am very unhappy to see it in star rail. it looks like it was made by an AI specifically to be the most lazy, cloying, repulsive, corpo-cutesy object in existence. it's assembly line design trash and worse, it seems to be the irrelevance bell tolling for star rail. it happened a lot faster than it did for genshin, too.

this sucks especially bad considering all the really GOOD character designs and interesting story stuff and environments we've seen that will be coming with the amphoreus update. but it looks like if we want to enjoy any of that, we're going to be stuck with this obnoxious sentient carbuncle stuck to us.

i was SO RELIEVED to be rid of paimon and this is how you do me hoyoverse? also who is the target audience here? do you seriously think all your players are six-year-old girls?

what it looks like to me is the first warning signs that star rail is following genshin down the garbage chute into incomprehensible design trash. don't believe me? this is the kind of garbage genshin has been subjecting players to for the past 18 months.

most people are probably not bothered by this stuff and will just tolerate or ignore it, which is fine. i am simply venting some frustration i have and have heard often from other players. if you actually like this kind of rancid aesthetic, there is no help for you, comrade, and i am not talking to you in this post (also what are you doing on tumblr you have to be at least 13 to have an account).

but for myself and most other players i know, the downhill slide into this cloying, overwrought, over-designed garbage is literally the reason most of us stopped playing genshin and moved to star rail. that and a lot of fontaine was intensely boring, and natlan is a complete top-to-bottom shitpile.

this is coming from a place of caring deeply for genshin and being burned pretty badly, and starting to see the same thing happen to star rail. it's just...extremely disappointing. especially when there was SO MUCH i loved about both games, and SO MUCH that was good and truly fun and wonderful to experience.

i know it's too late to turn the design ship back since this is the way it's headed now, and no amount of bitching by the players who care will help, so i'll just say i will always appreciate and miss the sense of wonder and joy these games brought me, for the time that they did.

also seriously screw you hoyoverse THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS

[sephirthoughts]

transfem tifa and i WILL die on this fucking hill dont @ me cowards

[caprart1]

Took my dog to the park, look at him go

[adolphuslongestaffe]

such a puppy

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Are you on Ao3?

yep! https://archiveofourown.org/users/adolphus_longestaffe/profile

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Are you walking the razor's edge between heroism and villainy? Do you have a dark past to atone for? Is your pet the only thing that stands between you and killing everyone who looks at you cockeyed? Are you an asshole with a heart of gold? Are you just an asshole?? Results guaranteed accurate we did all kinds of science about it, trust us.

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Scientifically proven to be 100 percent accurate and fully guaranteed, unless you have an issue with it. We do not offer refunds.

[afronerdism]

The conversation surrounding cultural appropriation has been so severely mutilated by white “allies” that the original intention behind that conversation has become almost unrecognizable in most social contexts.

[afronerdism]

To explain what I mean, the conversation around cultural appropriation was started by black and native people to discuss the frustrations we feel at being punished socially and financially for partaking in our cultural heritage while white people could take, I.e. appropriate, aspects of our culture that we are actively shamed for and be heralded as innovators. It was about the frustrations we feel when the same white people who shamed us would take our culture and wear it as if they were the ones who created it while still actively shaming us for doing the same.

The original push behind naming cultural appropriation and having these conversations were so that we as a society could evaluate why we were punished for our heritage while white People were not. It was supposed to be about seeking solutions. The idea was to create a society where we could celebrate our cultures with impunity. It was never about telling white people that they “weren’t allowed” to do certain things. We did ask that white People stop doing certain things because they weren’t doing them respectfully and were not invited to do them, but the primary reason we asked them to desist was to reclaim the things they had stolen and to reassign them culturally back where they belonged.

White “allies” saw these conversations happening and instead of trying to aplify our own voices or even try to learn about the complexities behind why we were saying what we were saying, they instead began screaming over us and creating a narrative that was hardly even the bones of what we originally set out to say. It was like they took the conversation we were trying to have, completely decontextualized it, and stripped it of all it’s nuance in order to gain social currency by seeming progressive.

So the conversation around cultural appropriation went from “This aspect of our heritage belongs to us and we find it egregious that we are shamed for it. What steps can we take to address the racism that’s creating this situation as well as rehome the things that have been stolen” to “you’re not allowed to do that because if you do that you’re racist, we don’t really understand why that’s racist but you’re not allowed to do that and if you do that you’re a klansman no exceptions. So you’re not allowed because because”

At the end of the day, did I like the fact that sally was wearing dreads? No. But my primary concern was not that sally was wearing dreads but rather that sally could wear dreads and I couldn’t. THAT was the intended focus of those conversations. It was about addressing the inequality. It was about us. Now the conversation is just about sally and were completely forgotten.

White People are always asking me what they can do to help. You want to know? Stop talking. Aplify our voices and shut the fuck up because you all have pretty much derailed this conversation and many more like it to the point that we no longer are trying to make steps to understand and dismantle the racism around cultural appropriation and instead are just using it as social shaming tactics.

[afronerdism]

TL;DR: read my post. Most things worth learning about can’t be summarized in the bullet points of a buzfeed article. Don’t come into academic circles and complain because everything hasn’t been conviently summarized for you. Stop pretending that things aren’t accessible to you because you refuse to do the intellectual labor that is learning.

[tartrazeen]

I like that the first post is actually the tl;dr for the second post, and how the third post is like, “you really couldn’t be bothered to read the first post but now you want a tl;dr?!”

It’s true

[afronerdism]

Thank you for pointing out that I basically started all of this with a tdlr in the first place

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Absolutely scientific and guaranteed accurate unless you're a lying liar and you pick answers that are lies.

[wordsdrippinginink]

For a prompt maybe Marco/Ace? Featuring Ace having Hanahaki Disease towards Marco? 🙈💖

"You look exhausted," Marco says slowly, raising an eyebrow at the stack of papers that Ace slams down on his desk. "Did someone get sick?"

"I," Ace says tiredly. "Am coughing up flowers. Please remove them from my lungs. I've spent the last six hours trying to burn them out and failing horribly. Then, I did that," he gestures at the paperwork as he falls back into a chair. "I hate paperwork."

Marco hums, skimming the top page. There's a handful of flower petals taped to the sample square, but nothing to identify them, which meant that Ace hadn't recognized them. Which actually knocked a number of them out of the running, since Ace could identify anything with medical or nutritional value.

"If I missed something, I will throw myself into the ocean."

"Don't. Namur might just let you drown," Marco states, turning to the next page and skimming it curiously. "I thought you would have told me if you had fallen in love."

"Yeah, apparently magical flowers get to know I've fallen in love before I do. I didn't even get a chance to confess, not that it would change the fact you have to remove the flowers."

"There's still time, I don't have time to do this surgery for at least a few more days," Marco taps his pen against the date written almost too neatly as the start date. "You got this in faster than I expected."

"Flowers are not fun to cough up, Marco."

"Petals, you're not going to be too advanced by Wednesday. Think you can hold out until then?"

Ace frowns, eyes narrowing for a moment before he nods, "Unless I start coughing up whole flowers, I should be fine? It's just uncomfortable."

"I'll start running tests to see what strand you've picked up, but it's probably the same kind that I had to remove from Izou last month. When you figure out who it is, let them know. It's awkward enough having to watch those two dance around each other again because Izou had to bring home the kind that doesn't go away after confession and reciprocation."

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Ace rolls his eyes, standing up slowly to crack his back. "Hope you can convince me to fall in love with you all over again when Kotatsu still hates you."

Marco groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I am going to take your cat back to the island you got it from and have Thatch tell you it died."

"No you won't, you're going to try and trick him into helping you win me over a second time. And just think, now that I've had this strand, at least I won't be able to catch it again."

"Would have preferred that you never caught it to begin with," Marco yawns, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll make sure there's ice cream after the surgery."

Ace leans close, brushing a kiss to his temple, "At least we won't take as long to work things out as Shanks and Benn did. Poor Benn, catching a strand that actually erases the memories instead of just the feelings."

"Helps that you spit out an invitation for a date two days after officially joining the crew," Marco adds, tugging Ace down into a proper kiss. "Go arrange things. I'll be here."

"If you figure out what flower that is, let me know. I know it's not roses, but it's been bothering me."

"I'll let you know as soon as the results are back."

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Ryuugyo

Zhao has an unrequited crush. Obviously, the most reasonable thing to do is call the most unreasonable man he's ever met for advice.

Chapter 1

Everything about him is huge. His hair, his body, his voice, his personality. He’s just…huge. He laughs like a thunderstorm, and speaks every word like it might be his last. Whether he’s defending the human rights of some oppressed group, or ordering a beef bowl, everything he says sounds as if it comes from the depths of his soul and is spoken with according emphasis and intensity.

One would think a wild-haired, six-foot-two-inch ex-gangster with a volume control problem and a tendency to resolve arguments with a baseball bat would be frightening, but he’s not. Because alongside every other outsized aspect of him, he’s got a huge heart. He’s passionate, not angry. Violent, but not cruel. Invincible and somehow intensely vulnerable at the same time. And he is possibly the world’s most oblivious man when it comes to his own raw sex appeal.

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Heat

Chapter 1 Ryuu Ga Gotoku | Yakuza 0 Picks up the story between Yakuza 0 and Yakuza 1, when Kiryu is 21 and Majima is 25. Two idiots trying to figure out what the hell is going on between them, besides all the punching. Nishida needs a goddamn vacation.

Hand-to-hand combat, like any religion, requires devotion. One must practice it every day, or wisely avoid its temple and its acolytes, as it can only be a source of pain and frustration. For those who observe it devoutly, however, the violent collision of muscle and bone is both prayer and worship. Communion and confession. A ritual to clear the mind and purge the soul. A pure, sensory meditation. Iron-hard fists raining blows like cannon shots. The teeth-cracking, bone-jarring thunderclap of impact. The intoxicating heat. The acrid tang of sweat and blood. The aromatic scent of petrichor from a freshly rained-upon city street. A hint of cigarette smoke and a man’s cologne.

When he comes back to himself, he is standing over his opponent, battered but victorious. Stars dance in the corners of his vision. His knuckles are throbbing and he tastes blood. Then he sees blood. On his fists and his opponent’s face. For a split second, he’s sure he’s gone too far, this time. But the man lifts his head and looks up at him. Takes the outstretched hand to be helped back to his feet. Though he springs up with suspicious buoyancy, considering the beating he just took.

“What’s with the face, Kiryu-chan?” he pants, smearing the crimson droplets across his chin with the back of his black-gloved hand. “Mad at me for jumpin’ you?”

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Baron Zemo's American Cookbook Chapter 8

**This chapter includes explicit sexual content**

Excerpted from Baron Zemo’s American Cookbook

Seafood Gumbo

I must admit that I have become something of a cynic in my later years. Hardened, perhaps, by personal loss and extensive travails, or perhaps inclined to such a temperament by birth, as my mother was of very much the same bent. However it is, I find that it has been my custom for some time to view the world with a scornful eye, through a misanthropic lens. But even an old cynic like myself may find he has a chink or two left in his armor.

For example, he may turn a corner one day to find himself face to face with absolute perfection, and fall in love then and there, unexpectedly and completely, like the proverbial bolt from the blue. Of course, you will say that this kind of thing is nonsense, fit only for poetry and children’s tales. Until now, I would have said the same—or have said nothing and been counted wise. But like all lovers, I am a fool who cannot keep my own counsel. I have fallen in love. The United States has won me over, at last, and I can say truly now, that I love her as I have loved my own homeland.

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Baron Zemo's American Cookbook

Chapter 7

“You can put me down any time, now,” Sam says, to the Winter Soldier’s impassive black mask and tactical goggles, which are reflecting the flashing red and blue lights of the many police and emergency vehicles parked around the building. “I know you can hear me, Judge Dredd, I told you I can walk on my own.”

Bucky draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly, as if contemplating this idea. “I mean…I’d really like to care what you said about that, but I’m not done embarrassing you. So. Gonna keep you right here for now.”

“You motherf—Barton! Shoot him!” Sam calls out, as Clint exits the building and comes over to meet them. “He’s activated again or something, you gotta save me! ”

Clint raises a blonde eyebrow. “You sure you want to be saved? Looks like you're in a pretty good spot to me.”

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Baron Zemo's American Cookbook

Chapter 6

Mouth dry, pulse pounding with adrenaline, arm wrenched halfway out of the socket by this six-foot three-inch slab of blonde iron he’s carrying. He’s not even sure his wings can support a guy this heavy. But he hangs on. Gets him to the helicarrier. Steve makes some stupid quip about a big breakfast, then a black blur comes out of nowhere rams him right back off the edge. Sam dives after him but his left wing gets caught on something. The momentum throws him down against the bulkhead, but the thing that has caught him hauls him back up with a disorienting lurch, and throws him like he’s been shot from a cannon. Instinct works faster than thought, and by the time he sees what the thing is, he’s steadied himself in the air and has his machine pistols out.

The barrage of gunfire barely fazes the soldier. He’s already out of the way by the time the bullets reach the spot he’d been standing. Sam tosses the pistols—they were just a distraction to buy him a split-second anyway—and fires his rockets. He thinks for one exhilarating instant that he’s home free, but the soldier has come prepared. Something whizzes through the air and skewers his wing. He doesn’t see the wire till it’s flipped him around. The soldier yanks the line and pulls him out of the air like a kite. He hits the tarmac with a spine-cracking thud, just in time to see his wing ripped off. He’s barely on his feet, when the soldier charges him like a hunting lion. In less than a second he’ll be on him. He will literally tear him apart.

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Baron Zemo's American Cookbook

Chapter 5: Chili Dogs

Excerpted from Baron Zemo’s American Cookbook

Chili Dogs

What can be said of the chili dog? As I sit contemplating it, I feel the faith that I will discover some inherent goodness in this land ebbing away. Perhaps it is the scotch speaking, but this…this may be the food that has defeated me. The average American, I am told, consumes seventy hot-dogs per year, of which some number are more likely than not to be of the chili variety. Seventy. I pride myself on my culinary fortitude, my dear reader, but how can a man hope to bear himself up beneath the burden of such knowledge?

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Baron Zemo's American Cookbook

Chapter 4: Macaroni and Cheese

Excerpted from Baron Zemo's American Cookbook

Macaroni and Cheese

Macaroni and cheese. Where to begin. If your answer is, "with a box," you are likely an American. Boxed macaroni and cheese was introduced in the US in 1937, when the nation was in the throes of the Great Depression. Austerity during World War II, when fresh meat and dairy were in short supply, further increased the popularity of this boxed blight, adding it to the other devastating results of the war. Sources disagree regarding the historical origin of the dish, with some claiming Northern Europe, and some Southern Italy. I cannot imagine such a bland and frankly inedible concoction issuing from the kitchen of any self-respecting Italian nonna, so I must defer to the Northern Europe theorists.

When considering how to approach this recipe, I first had to decipher the primary attractions of macaroni and cheese. If I am correct, they are pasta, cheese, and simplicity. While I frankly refuse to tarnish my reputation as a host by having macaroni and cheese prepared or served in my home, I am not unsympathetic to the desire for a simple pasta dish that can be prepared in a short time and with limited ingredients, for the purpose of enjoyment more than its nutritional value. Allow me to introduce you to a far preferable alternative to this box of powder and converted starch.