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thechaoticplayer · 2 months

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academic rival Ver x reader

Author's note: BAM SLAM IMAGINE BEING AN ACADEMIC RIVAL WITH VER? NAUR... COULDNT BE ME, IM NOT THE TOP OF MY CLASS my ass would get annihilated (lmao)

Summary: me blabbing about being fucked by Ver Vermillion but in bullet points and a bit of paragraphs

Contains: nsfw, academic rivalry, might be ooc, x fem reader, dry humping, Ver using you to get himself off, extremely short sorry I'm yet again writing this at 4 am

None of my works are proofread

Ver Vermillion and you were at the top of your class, always going above the standard

And of course, you became academic rivals.

it was like a flip switched in Ver, he known to be quiet and level headed

but with you? You somehow know where to pluck his nerves

It was always a competition with Ver with tests, quizzes, unit tests, etc to see who would get higher than the other

Lately, both of you have been getting tied scores

Throwing jabs at each other under a veiled smile, you bet that you were going to get the higher score

Unfortunately... you didnt :[ he got one point higher than u

And you said you were willing to bet ANYTHING... yk...

"in a classroom? You're insane," you whisper shout at VER VERMILLION who traps you in between his arms on his desk.

"The door's locked, I'm not stupid," Ver retorts.

"People can still hear genius."

"Well..." Ver places his hand on your mouth and leans close. "You're going to have to be quiet then, right?"

You exhale hard through your nose, obviously protesting against this. You were in the middle of thinking about biting him when he lifts the skirt around your hips, his breaths tickling your ear. You can feel your heart rate spike up, a mixture of anxiety and excitement pumping in your veins.

A harsh jerk brings your hips to Ver's, and a muffled squeak rips from you. Something hard bumps your inner thigh, and you flush hard at the sight of it.

Ver hums at the look on your face, noting the swirl of anticipation and desire. "Who would've thought Miss Top Of The Class could be so naughty."

You narrow your eyes at him because this was his idea! Ver was the one who suggested this, not you! What on earth is he-

Ver grinds his clothed erection against your own clothed cunt and you stifle a moan. He does this ever so slowly, his hard cock pressing against your clit between two thin pieces of fabric. Ver spreads your legs wide for him, looming over you as he ruts against your core.

Your arousal seeps through your panties and it shows on his pants. Ver chuckles shakily, swallowing down moans himself. His eyes watch as your own flutter open and shut and you unknowingly, grinding yourself against him as well. Ver's cock is so painfully hard, and grinding against you offered some sort of relief. But it wasnt enough for him.

Ver tears your panties, causing you to squeal. His hand tightens on your jaw in warning, giving you a quick glare of warning. You glare back at him, breathing hard.

He slides his length in between your folds, groaning at the feeling of your slick coating him. "You're so wet for me. And to think you actually despised me. I guess I was wrong."

You were definitely gonna bite this guy when the head of his dick circles your sensitive bud, causing a low moan in your throat. His girth nearly slips in but never does, Ver teasing you with just the tip. It was embarrassing how soaking wet you are for your rival.

"You don't deserve my cock," Ver whispers hotly in your ear, making you shudder. "So I'll just use you until I'm done."

So that's what he does, cock sliding between your folds to get himself off, teasing your entrance, only allowing a centimeter by centimeter in you. Your hands grasp his shoulders, begging Ver to fuck you with your eyes as his length bumps against your clit for the umpteenth time. But Ver isn't listening, watching the way it seems like more and more arousal cover his cock and drip onto the desk and floors. His pace quickens as well as his breathing, his cock pulsing with the need to spill like your own.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling, pleasure shooting up your back and causing you to arch. Toes curled as Ver used you for his own selfish pleasure. His groans nearly fill the room, but he knows to keep quiet.

Hot liquid spurts out his cock, spreading all over your core as you release with a drawn out moan. Both releases mix together on your bare cunt, and Ver observes with a low laugh.

"You should see how your face looks right now. I didn't even put my cock in you and you came," Ver notes with a innocent smile. You shove his hand off your face with a scoff, chest quivering.

"You're the one who enjoyed it the most," you snap back shakily.

Ver gets close to your face. "Perhaps I did, but I didn't show it as much as you did."

Heat floods your face and gestures to your cheeks. You hop down from the desk, nearly falling but catching yourself before you do so. You stare at the ripped panties on the floor and Ver tosses a roll of napkins at you, which you catch easily.

"Clean yourself up and the desks," Ver calls as he approaches the door of the classroom. A grin on his lips. "You are the loser of this bet today. Would love to have more bets with you in the future."

A quiet click of the door and he's gone. But next week, just as predicted, there would be another bet.

#chaotic.text #nijisanji #nijisanji en #vtuber #nijien #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji smut #Ver Vermillion #ver vermillion x reader #Ver vermillion smut #xsoleil #xsoleil x reader #xsoleil smut

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ferventfox · 9 months

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Saw the Barbie movie and enjoyed it a lot.

Some people on the internet have charged it with being misandrist/man-hating/whatever word you want to use for it, and those people...are kind of correct. Sorry. (Spoilers for the Barbie movie btw)

The standard smug response is “omg sexist dudebros can’t stand that a movie is about women and they are too toxic to understand the message of the film and how it deals with the fact that patriarchy hurts men too.” And sure, it’s made explicit that being in charge and having the material trappings of patriarchal power does not make Ken happy on an existential level (because his real dream in life is to be a horse girl), but it’s not enough to cancel out that every single man in the film is portrayed as an incompetent moron. Stuff like “Men love explaining the Godfather and think playing the guitar is interesting and impressive to women” doesn’t bother me--these are jokes in a comedy film and the characters doing them are doll people who live on a plastic beach. But it’s not just the Kens that are stupid, the men from the real world are all stupid too. The husband of the America Ferrera character is essentially a real world Ken--there just to be there and someone neither the audience or the women in his life spare much of a thought for unless we are laughing at how ridiculous his existence is. The Barbie movie is only “not sexist” in that it’s not as bad as you might expect because the bar for these sorts of thing is so low it’s on the ground.

The messaging around the whole Ken takeover is extremely weird and confusing. As Ken observes, the real world is opposite from life in Barbieland; in Barbieland the Barbies are the patriarchs who occupy all the positions of power and Kens are the “women” in that they are second-class citizens whose lives and identities revolve around the Barbies because they’re not permitted to do anything fulfilling or interesting on their own. But when Ken turns Barbieland into Kendom, the plot seems to run on the assumption that the audience’s sympathies would naturally be with the Barbies fighting to restore the status quo and not with the Kens, who were an underclass until about a day ago. Yes the society they set up is bad--it’s just the reverse of the unfair system that existed before--but there is very little sense that the Barbies are getting a taste of their own medicine and instead the narrative is that it’s tragic that these strong women who have won Nobel prizes have to be nice and pay attention to the obviously stupid and boring Kens for even a day. The main character expresses that she feels bad for treating Ken poorly and this is shut down by another character (meant to be a real human woman from the real world) who basically says she shouldn’t feel bad because Ken stole her house and “brainwashed” her friends but isn’t it just one of the struggles of womanhood that we feel bad about how we treat shitty men~ .

Like, what? All the Kens were homeless before this! I liked the Barbie character and all, but obviously I’m going to feel more sympathy for the person whose example of how the real world made him feel like someone is that a woman found his existence worthwhile enough to ask him for the time than for someone whose arc is dealing with her life being less than perfect for the first time.The former is both very sad and just more like a real experience that most people would have--a lifelong sense of inadequacy rather than having an idyllic existence that went suddenly wrong--yet it’s Barbie who is framed as the relatable one because, I suppose, she is a woman.

I think the movie relies a little too much on this “sisterhood” idea that I’ve always hated. I’m sure I’m meant to be nodding my head at the little speech about the contradictory expectations placed on women and going “yes that’s just what it’s like!”...but I simply didn’t relate to it at all and was left thinking it was sort of a weak, lazy solution to a conflict that was already a bit contrived to begin with. That Barbies would be just as susceptible to rhetoric from some college freshman’s B+ women’s study’s paper as they were to instantly adopting patriarchal ideas actually makes sense, but I don’t think that’s the joke--we’re meant to find it profound. (The human characters in general are the weakest part of the movie. It feels almost like they are remnant of an earlier version of the story that got changed a lot, especially the Mattel executives).

At the end there is some lip service to things not just going back to the way they were, but a Ken cannot have a seat on the supreme court. The point of this, I think, is supposed to be that just like a company releasing toy that is a woman president isn’t going to solve gender inequality, neither is this one event going to immediately change Barbieland into an egalitarian utopia; real equality is hard to to achieve and is a slow process of incremental changes. This is good, but it’s undercut by the movie wanting to have it’s cake and eat it too by having all these girlboss scenes where the Barbies are taking back Barbieland and are clearly better and smarter than the Kens. We’re meant to see them talk about “keeping Barbieland Barbieland” and getting to reinstate “their” constitution (that 0 Kens get to vote on) and feel...good? Inspired?

I couldn't help but feel dissatisfied with how this plotline ended because the situation looks sort of grim.The only Barbie who is ever shown to have any empathy for a Ken leaves, and the Ken with the most personal development gives up leading anyone because it’s not his thing and cedes his leadership position to a Ken who doesn’t have the motivation not to build his life around Barbie that he does. I think I would’ve liked it more if Ken also left Barbieland. He had an existential crisis too; he was also effected enough by his experience that he was capable of tears. If Stereotypical Barbie doesn’t feel like Barbie anymore, does Stereotypical Ken really feel like Ken? After having to completely redefine his entire reason for existing? As it is, it almost feels like the film is saying that Ken is too simple to be irrevocably changed by what he’s been through, like only Barbie’s feelings are deep and meaningful. I just wanted a post-credits scene where he runs a horse ranch with Allan or something.

#I wrote this big long post that could easily be responded too with but Ken was the best part of the movie #he so was!#which is why I'm left vaguely disappointed

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rosainta · 5 months

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Day 2 of Rosain Quivan’s Daily Logs

Started December 7, 2023 at 10:00PM, Home

Finished December 8, 2023 at 10:42PM, Home

Log #2

Author's Notes:

I started this yesterday from a sudden shower inspiration thought. Who would’ve known that the most bizarre of ideas could be generated while cleansing yourself?

Anyway, this idea is just pure dialogue between Sniper and Scout from Team Fortress 2. No romance implied, but you could interpret it that way. I'll be completely honest with you- I'm very adamant when it comes to accurately representing their relationship, whether it be in a canon-compliant friendship / coworker way or in a romantic setting (specifically the latter, since I have to admit that I am an intense Speeding Bullet fan, though of course I love any other old depiction of the two, as well as other ships as long as they are respectfully expressed). Though this adamant demeanor towards accuracy helps me find out what I like to see in works including these two goofballs, I'm not entirely sure if I can transform those standards into my own writing... since I've never tried it yet! So, take this as another practice round, this time more centred on character depiction and dialogue (that, hopefully, doesn't sound like a cringey 15-year-old's WattPad fanfiction...)

Warning: a few colourful words here and there.

If you want a part 2 for this, let me know down below! I'll be happy to write anything, though. And also, if you have any feedback, please let me know! I strongly appreciate it :-)

Title: Intention. Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Third-person objective New Mexico, Badlands, Badwater Basin, (fixed the order; that was bugging me last time), RED Sniper's Campervan Around 3:15AM, sometime during the Gravel War

“Snipes... Snipes, you awake?”

A long pause. Then, the sound of dog chains jingling. A bed creaks violently.

“Sniper, get up, you gotta help me here!”

A low grunt, a shift in the covers.

“Ngh… can’t this wait? It's..."

A shift in the sheets, someone leaning to squint towards a clock.

"Crikey, half past three?! What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to wake your sleepy ass up, stupid!"

A loud groan. Possibly the sound someone rubbing their temples together.

"Did you know that the average human being needs shut-eye to survive? Ain't that wild? Or perhaps you didn't come along to learnin' that at kindie yet?"

"Oh, just... just shut up and help me out, will ya? Look, I'm sorry it's so late, but this is really, really urgent, okay? And this concerns more than just the both of us, but you were the closest person I could find, so I need you here. I promise, I'll be outta your hair after all this."

A sigh.

"... if this is an emergency with the sheila again, go ask Spy. I'm sure he'll be 'appy to see your squirmy little arse again."

"Hah! Yeah, as if. He's probably out screwin' the Eiffel tower or somethin'; wouldn't wanna see, much less hear that, though I can only imagine the snorting sound he'll make when he- argh, anyway, that's besides the point! Point is, it's not about Miss P, it's about..."

A pause.

"...it's about what? Who?"

"Well, it's about Engie..."

Another pause.

"...and? Come on, Scout, get to the point, or I'm going back to sleep."

"Okay, okay! Well, I don't exactly know how to put this, but I think- or at least I have a feelin'- that he might, maybe, possibly, be workin' ... for BLU."

The bed creaks again.

"What, you think we got an enemy Spy in the base?"

"No, it's not that. He passed the security check earlier, because I was on rounds for that today. I think that our Engie, like the real one, well, I think he's double-crossin' us or somethin'."

"And why do ya' think?"

"Well, this afternoon, near the intel room, I was sorting my comics out when I saw him doin' this thing, where he would be all suspicious lookin' and shifty-eyed, then he'd pull out one of those 'computah' things, or whatever they're called, and start typin' really fast, like he was in a rush or something. Then, whenever someone passed him, he'd shut the screen down really quickly like this-"

A clap.

"- and would look at the person with a goofy little grin, as if he wasn't just sendin' some, I don't know, ransom photos of someone's wife a few seconds ago. He even had the audacity to wave to Pyro when it walked by, and I think even it found it a bit weird 'cuz it made this strange garbly noise I've never heard it make before. But anyway, he'd open it again and do the same thing over and over again until it was lights out. It was so suspicious. I didn't say anything then, 'cuz, you know, I didn't want him to know I was staring at him like a creep or somethin-"

"Which you are."

"Whatever, now, get this-"

A dramatic pause. Two hands are slapped on someone's shoulders.

"I go back to my room, and you know how his is right next to mine?Well, I wait outside the door, and I'm about to say 'good night' or something like that and maybe sneak in a question about his secret porn addiction, but... he doesn't go to his room. No, he turns the corner, goes out... and starts headin' in the direction of BLU's base."

Silence for a moment.

"You sure he wasn't just, you know, heading out for a hookup or somethin'? I hear a lot of people south-east go troppo for one-night-stands."

A slight shaking movement from the hands to someone's shoulders, dog chains jingling.

"Argh, Snipes, freakin' please?! I'm bein' serious here. He doesn't usually do that, I'd know because every night he plays those cheesy old cowboy country songs on his radio and goes to sleep, which keeps me up all night because I can hear it through the freakin' wall. And don't you think it's a bit strange how he was reacting when he was on the 'puter? No one would do that, even if it's for a hot night out."

A hand grips one of the latter's on someone's shoulder, as if to push it off.

"Well, maybe for bogans like you, who don't have the slightest bit of public decency when it comes to flirtin' with any skirt you see. And what right do you have stickin' your nose in his business? He could have as well been headin' back to Teufort to buy some quick supplies for his sentries, or hell, maybe even just going to see The Admin."

"Well, actually..."

The hands slide off the shoulders.

"I may have trailed him a bit. You know, just outta curiosity."

"You- you followed him? In the middle of the night?"

"Look, man, I had to do what I had to do to make sure that I wasn't going to have my head end up in someone's refrigerator the next day."

"But you do realize that you were being just as suspicious, more so really, as he was by trailing him?"

"Well, yeah, but- okay, look, that don't matter now, alright? What matters now, is that I found out where he was going. And it was the BLU base, I saw him sneaking in without gettin' shot by a sentry or a look-out, but I couldn't stay for long since they woulda caught me instead. But luckily, his little visit wasn't without a little proof. Check what I found-"

Knuckles slide against firm wood as someone picks up a small metallic object from a nearby dresser, holding it in front of them.

"This."

Someone snatches the object, clicks on a lamp, and observes it intently. A sleepy yawn.

"What is it?"

"I think it's called a U.S. Bee, or something? I don't remember what he called it, but he told me it's like a little key you put inside the compooter and it stores, like, info and crap. I don't know, something nerdy that only he and Medic would understand."

"Hm.... An' how do you know it's his?"

An impatient whine.

"I don't know why you're being so skeptic and shit about this, Snipes, I literally told you the story and brought a goddamn piece of useful evidence! Do you still not trust me? What more do you want from me here? A picture of his ass in blue?! Wait a sec- hold on- are you freakin' workin' with him?!"

A quiet sigh, someone shaking their head.

"Alright, mate, I'm sorry, okay? Veg out, now. No, I'm not workin' with 'im, and I do trust you, I really do. It's just that... I find it hard to believe that Engineer of all people, a man with whom we've been working with for 4 years now, would all of a sudden head up and go against his entire team like that, especially in such a dangerous manner when he knows that someone else could be, you know, spyin' on him."

"I wasn't spyin' on him, I was just-"

"You said yourself it don't matter, so it don't. What I'm saying here is that we don't know his intentions here. For all we know, he could be using his little device of his to gather intel on the other team, or he could be, I don't know, doing a secret contract or something. I just feel that it's unfair that we rush to conclusions like that, especially for one of our coworkers who may really be doing us a service, mate."

Quiet for a bit.

"You alright there?"

"No, I- I get it... I just, I just really feel like I found out something critical, you know? Like, it's not everyday you see one of the team be so secretive like that, well, except I guess Spy."

"Well, we all have our own secrets, don't we?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Quiet. A few gentle pats on the back.

"But... wouldn't it be a good idea to try and find out what that thing, like, has? I mean, you know, just to prove that Engie really didn't have any bad intentions?"

"Yes, but that would be quite a breach, no? He'll most likely be looking for it in the mornin' and if he finds out you were givin' his equipment an unauthorised burl, well, say g'day to your dispenser privileges for the month."

"Well, what if I did it now, while he's still away?"

A pause.

"That's risky."

"I'll be fine."

"Alright, you do you. But how would you know where to start? And if you did get it to work, understanding what you're seeing is another question entirely."

"Hmm..."

Someone rubs their finger over their chin, pondering.

"Oh, I know! Medic, he'll know. Those two dweebs spend so much time doin' those experiments together, I don't doubt he'll know what the heck to do with this. Plus, man probably never sleeps, so it's basically 24/7 with him."

"Okay. Well, chookas with that, mate. I'm heading back to nap. G'night now."

The sheets shift for a moment, before an arm reaches out to stop them.

"Ah, um- thanks, pally. For listenin' and all. I know you don't really believe me or anythin' but, uh, I'm glad you didn't doze off halfway through."

"No worries."

"Yeah."

A pause.

"So, ehm, I'm gonna do that now."

"Oh, yeah, right, I'll head out now. Night, Snipes."

"G'night."

The light clicks out, and a figure scurries away into the night. Then, a sudden shift.

"Wait a minute, how did you get inside?"

Credits: Team Fortress 2 by Valve Image source: Team Fortress 2 Written by Rosain Quivan Cross posted on Amino ( Rosain Quivan )

#tf2 sniper #tf2 scout #scout #sniper #sniperscout #sniper and scout are friends here but you can interpret it as whatever you wish #tf2 #team fortress 2 #writing #writing practice #rosain quivan's daily logs #tf2 engineer #tf2 engineer mentioned #red scout #red sniper #red engineer #tf2 pyro

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mediumtires · 1 year

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i'm rereading copper and wool and did you ever say what christians anniversary gift was for toto 🤔

okay okay SO! this is so funny, a few weeks ago the first person ever (shoutout to FallingStar on ao3) actually guessed right! it's sheep! to me it was so obvious (copper and wool etc) but looking back now, it really wasn't. so christian's anniversary gift is sheep lol.

when i wrote it i was actually planning a tiny little sequel but I abandoned it and now it's collecting dust on my desktop. that being said, i’ll put it here (unbeta-d first draft) for those who might want to read it!

“No. No chance.” “C’mon, be a good sport.” “Nein,” Toto says, trying hard to hide his smirk. “I will not let you blindfold me.”

“What if I were to take you upstairs?” “Are you?” “No.” “Then no,” Toto laughs, a little exasperated, and tries to pull away from Christian’s insisting hands.

“C’mon, darling,” Christian tries again, a wide grin lighting up his features. “You know it’s the standard protocol for surprises.”

“I don’t trust you,” Toto just says and turns away from Christian and the tie in his hands to put the water filter back in the fridge. “Fuck you.” Christian laughs in retaliation and swats the tie at him. “At least close your eyes then.”

Toto sighs heavily and turns back to Christian, propping one hand up on the kitchen counter. “Are you serious?” “Entirely.” Christian knows he’s won when Toto sighs once more in exasperation and rakes a hand through his hair.

“But don’t make me fall,” he instructs. “Or walk me into things. I’m very important.” Christian rolls his eyes. “I know you are. Now, c’mon. Close your eyes. We don’t have all day.” “We don’t?”

But Toto does close his eyes after all and stretches his hands out to curl them around Christian’s hips. As Christian starts walking, he says, “Y’know, if you would’ve gone for the tie, I might’ve taken you to the bedroom after.”

Toto snorts. “If you want me to tie you up and blindfold you, just ask,” he offers with a devilish little smirk and Christian is glad he’s got his eyes closed. Something to consider. “Maybe later.” He’s aiming for nonchalant, but he knows Toto sees right through him anyway.

When they step out onto the patio, Toto pulls up his shoulders and frowns. “Are we outside?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Can you not just let me do this for five minutes?” Christian asks, exasperated. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Toto does shut up after that, but it’s mainly because he’s concentrating hard on not tripping and falling when trailing after Christian.

It’s been a few days since their return from Miami and this is the first lull in both their schedules, both of them home early, so frankly, Christian saw an opportunity and took it. Not that he thinks it would have made a huge difference to wait another day or two. Toto hasn’t set a foot anywhere but the chicken coop in a good week, so the probability of him finding out about this is hilariously low. It does make Christian question the whole idea somewhat, but it’s too late now anyway. Still, the Carrera on his left wrist weighs a little heavier than usual.

Toto trips once they reach the gravel path leading further into the grounds and digs his hands into the fleshy bit of Christian’s hips to catch himself. He grunts, stumbles, and Christian can’t help but crack a laugh. “Careful there,” he offers. “Gravel.” He pats Toto’s left hand and then keeps his palm there.

“You are supposed to guide me,” Toto complains, and he already sounds like he’s enjoying this much less than only a minute ago. “You are making me fall on purpose.”

“I’m not.” Christian rolls his eyes towards the sky but keeps moving. “Not everything I do is to antagonise you, darling. Now stop whining.”

Toto does not stop whining because of course he doesn’t. He’s very vocal about how stupid this whole thing is all the way past the chickens, the goats and the donkeys, the pen closest to the house, past their two old ponies, Jacky and Jim, which they had adopted on a whim from the farmer up the road.

For a moment, Christian is contemplating whether he should just push Toto into the pond to humble him. A while ago a bunch of ducks moved in and don’t seem to want to leave again. Christian has grown quite fond of them. More often than not he finds them with the chickens now or waddling around the farm.

“Are we—Is that ducks? Is that the ducks?” Toto has picked up on the distinct flapping of their wings, affronted at the unusual intrusion of their privacy. Christian chuckles at the drake side eying them and pulls Toto further down the path towards the folding. It’s the one attached to the barn at the outskirts of their main property, and Christian had chosen it mainly because it was the one Toto would be least likely to walk into unprompted.

“Almost there,” he says and takes one of Toto’s hands in his so navigating the uneven grounds becomes a little easier. “Should have put on wellies,” he ponders, as he eyes the meadow, the grass long and wet. It’s perfect for the sheep but not exactly ideal for Toto’s dress shoes. They’re Italian leather.

“What?” Toto makes a sound as the damp grass hits his ankles and Christian’s smirk widens. “Christian, you should’ve told me! My boots were right there! These are Italian leather!”

He knows. “I know.” He pulls Toto along. Surprisingly, despite his bitching and moaning, he keeps his eyes closed. “Might have to throw them out later. Shame.” He’ll make sure to keep Toto out here long enough for them to be soaked through and ruined.

Toto makes another sound, displeased, but Christian can see how hard he’s trying to bite down on his exasperated amusement. Toto’s about to throw a comment back at him when a loud “Baaaaa” cuts him off. “What was that?” Toto pulls himself up a little taller. The sheep must’ve spotted them because there’s another string of agreeable bleating. “Christian, what is that?”

They stop at the fence and Toto, still with his eyes closed, sways a little, gripping Christian’s hand to regain his balance. “Christian.”

“Jesus, yes.” Now that he’s looking at the flock of sheep, all huddled together and warily observing Christian and Toto at the fence, he’s not sure if this wasn’t a silly idea.

He’d come up with it when Toto had one night jokingly suggested they should get sheep.

“Sheep?” “Yeah.” “Do you know how much bloody work sheep are, darling? We can barely keep up with the animals we’ve collected so far! We’re lucky we’ve got Johnny to help us out.” Toto had just laughed and kissed his shoulder and let it go, but then, on a trip to Austria last year, Toto had told him how he’d seen a herd of very specific Austrian sheep every time he’d visited his gran in the countryside and how they reminded him of the better times of his childhood. When Christian started thinking about potential anniversary gifts, it was too perfect to just let go. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the breed Toto had mentioned, but the more he’d looked into it, the more he’d realised that while Austrian sheep are very durable and sturdy, they would probably do less well in the mellow British countryside of Oxfordshire, and so he’d decided on British breeds instead. In the end, he’d just gone for one that looked adorable and was easy enough to maintain. With the accumulation of random animals they already had running around the farm, it wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway. They wouldn’t be using them for wool farming or that, so might as well have them be nice to look at.

The longer he looks at them now, Toto impatient at his side, still holding his hand, the heavier the watch on his wrist feels. Christian isn’t one for huge gestures or anniversary gifts, but somehow things this year felt different. It hasn’t even been a year since Singapore. It still follows them around, the consequences of that day, shadowy and washed out, but he can still feel it, and so can Toto. Christian is just glad they’re still here. They made it to seven years, and beyond, and for whatever bloody reason he thought a flock of seven sheep would be ideal to celebrate an anniversary centred around wool.

“Christian, there’s water in my shoes,” Toto informs him, and Christian turns his head and grins at his city husband, still blind, the corners of his mouth tweaked down.

“That’s a shame,” he says, “You can open your eyes now.”

Toto does so immediately. He blinks, frowns up at the grey sky, rubs at his eyes with the hand that isn’t still holding Christian’s. Christian lets go to lean against the wooden fence instead.

There is a brief pause. Then, “Christian?” “Yes, darling.” “What am I looking at.” Christian turns to Toto with his eyebrows twitching. As if it wasn’t obvious. “Your anniversary gift!” Toto’s eyes go a little wider as he looks back at the flock of sheep, a huddle of white fleece and black eyes. “What?”

“I told you, your gift was waiting at home.”

“You got me… sheep?”

“Well, us, I guess. But yeah.”

“Seven sheep?”

“Well, first of all, Johnny said no less than five.” Christian is getting a little flustered now and so he blusters on in full pretentious confidence of a Formula 1 team principal defending a Max overtake that no one in good conscience should defend. “And so I wanted to get six, but then I thought, well that doesn’t make any sense, does it, when it’s our seven year anniversary and the theme I’m going with is wool. So I got seven. And they’re a family! The two little ones were only born a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to take them from their mothers.” He pulls his shoulders down a little to straighten his back and keeps looking at the sheep to avoid having to look at his husband. “Plus, you were banging on about wanting sheep.”

“You remembered that? That was ages ago.”

“So?”

“Christian.” Toto’s voice is soft in a way it only ever is when he’s about to say something disarming. “Darling. I—” And then he just wraps himself around Christian from behind, chin hooked over his shoulder and nosing Christian’s cheek. “You said they are too much work.”

“Well, you said you wanted them so—” “How do you manage to outdo me every time?” Toto’s voice is awfully quiet. “I really thought I nailed it this year.” Christian breathes a laugh, half of it in relief that he, against better judgement, didn’t mess this up. “You know I love my watch,” he tells Toto, fingers brushing the warmed leather hugging his wrist. “And this isn’t a competition. You got copper, I got wool. Sorted.”

“I can’t believe you got me sheep,” Toto says again. His voice is a little higher than usual, his accent catching on the vowels, making the words come out hitched.

“Well, look,” Christian grabs one of the large hands wrapped around his torso and covers it with his own. “It’s not just—Sure, you said you wanted sheep, but—Look, I know you’re not a farm boy, okay? You’re very much a child from the city and I know you say you love our home, but I want you to feel it, too, I want you to feel at home here and not just come along for the ride and agree to everything I say. Especially after last year, I want this place to be our sanctuary, and if it takes bloody sheep because you said you wanted them, then so be it. There’s your sheep.”

Toto’s smile widens, Christian can feel it pressed to his cheek, and he can feel the pleased little hum too, reverberating down his spine. Toto’s hold around him tightens fractionally. “I feel very at home, darling. You know that, ja? I don’t need sheep for that. Mostly I need you.”

Christian closes his eyes on a deep breath, and sinking further into Toto’s chest he says, “We can put them with the rest of the lot soon. They’ll need another few days or so, until they’re settled in, and then we can move them in with the others.”

“We’ll need a sheep dog now.”

Christian barks a laugh, lets his head thump against Toto’s shoulder in defeat. “Yeah, no, Bernie and Flav won’t do, will they? Lazy little buggers.” “It’s because you feed them at the table.” “Hey, you started that! Flav, with those puppy eyes and you just—Don’t think I don’t know you cut him up steak when I’m not looking!” Toto’s silent laughter comes in short puffs of breath against the skin of Christian’s neck. “No no no no,” he feels the need to clarify even though they both know it’s the truth. “You feed them too, don’t lie.” Christian tries to stifle a smirk. “They are a tad overweight, aren’t they?” “The vet said, last time,” Toto reminds him. “We need to work them harder, or cut out the food.” Christian hums. “It might be time for a third. A puppy will work them alright.” He coughs a laugh, already regretting this, and adds, “Might as well get a cow or two while we’re at it. Not like it matters now.”

“What are we going to call them?” Toto suddenly asks, lifting his chin from Christian’s shoulder to regard the sheep more closely.

“Well, we gotta stick to the theme.” Christian’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “So you better get creative.”

“It’s my turn, isn’t it?” Toto asks. “My sheep, my turn.” “Toto, I swear, if you’re going to name them something stupid—” “You named the donkeys and now I have to call them Max and Daniel!” Christian’s protest dissipates into thin air. “Well, it works, they’re good names.” “Yes, and now it’s my turn.” “Just remember, it’s mostly ewes. One ram, the big one, the rest is ewes, and the two lambs are one of each.” “…ewes?” “Female sheep, darling. So I want no Lewis running around, or George, or whoever you’re already thinking of.” “No,” Toto hums thoughtfully. “Lewis is a goat, not a sheep.”

It's so stupid, it has Christian crack a well-earned laugh.

And bonus (cause I couldn’t work this in):

“You know, they’re like… designer sheep.” “They’re what? Designer sheep?” “Yeah, well, look, we’re not going to use them for breeding, or wool, or meat, are we, so they’re… you know. Nice to look at. Sheep we can keep as pets, more or less. They’re still a durable breed, just. Also nice to look at.”

Toto laughs at him for an hour after that.

Here are said sheep!

“They look a little like donkeys, don’t they?” “You think?” “Ja.” “Well, they’re not, they’re sheep. Kerry Hill.” “Kerry who? Have you named them already?” “What? No, that’s the breed, darling. They’re Kerry Hill sheep. They’re from Wales.” “So basically foreigners, yes? We should give them foreign names. International.” Toto grins at him, then he adds, “We should give them German names you can’t pronounce.”

#this is so stupid lol #this is literally just a rough first draft so bear with #it’s the same twenty words i always use #i have no idea if this even makes sense. probably not i won’t lie i skimmed it once and shrugged #also i know fuck all about farming ok #don’t come for me i don’t know the difference between a hen house and a chicken coop it’s the same to me #and!#shoutout to FallingStar on ao3! they’re the only one who figured it out!!!#(i know i promised i’d name the sheep but i never got there lol sorry!!!)#also i can’t quite remember but i think discord saw this first? it was ages ago but sending love <3<3<3 #toto wolff #christian horner #seven years #christian/toto

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anhed-nia · 3 months

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I have way too much shit to do over the next few days starting tonight, so yesterday I decided to stay on the couch and have cramps and vegetate and watch all the lady movies I've been sleeping on.

EILEEN is pretty much what I expected, it's good but not great and a little pretentious, but the character study with Thomasin McKenzie is really cool. Or maybe I just thought that because she reminded me so much of a close friend of mine that I just decided the movie was about my friend and it was more fun that way.

THE ASSISTANT was also about what I expected, good but not great and sort of predictable--although I like how it plays like a thriller even though what's happening is sadly mundane and unsurprising. That approach works pretty well for this movie.

THE SOUVENIR is not a masterpiece but very strong, and disturbing. One critic called it a type of horror film. Years ago I was in a version of the awful relationship at the heart of this movie, and although that guy didn't have the excuse of [SPOILER REDACTED], all of his behavior and its effects on me were basically the same. It could have literally been him on the screen. My viewing experience was pretty tainted by unpleasant, shameful flashbacks and although I'm confident in saying it's a good movie, it's hard for me to imagine what it's like to watch it if you don't connect it directly to your own biography. I'll just never know what it's like as a pure work of art.

The funny thing about THE SOUVENIR is that it has this weird Rotten Tomatoes ratio were the audience score is really low, I wonder what that's about. Maybe it's just one of those things where general audiences are more resistant to being Very Bummed Out than film critics and aficionados. Or maybe it's that dumb thing where audiences find the choices of the victimized protagonist too hard to relate to because of the media they've been trained on. I often notice this in discussions about horror movies where the characters are motivated by fear, hysteria, dissociation, incomprehension, and other totally normal responses to extreme experience, and shallow unimaginative viewers go "UGH why did she do THAT, THAT'S not what I WOULD DO," and not only is it exactly what they would do in an incomprehensible situation, but their basis of comparison is not even "rational behavior"; their basis of comparison is the behavior you see in THE BOURNE IDENTITY or something where the hero does everything perfectly all the time and because certain viewers are strongly pursuaded by inhuman perfection, they think that's the standard everyone should be meeting, that's what they think is "realistic". It's stupid and ignorant and egotistical, and it's actually part of my secret criteria for who I can and cannot be friends with.

But anyway that's kind of what THE SOUVENIR PART II is about, which has high ratings for both critics and audience. It is a better movie, to some degree, but it was extra fascinating to me because as the protagonist uses her senior film school project to do a post mortem on her awful relationship, she is confronted with the fact that nobody quite gets what the story is about because none of her cast or crew have been in her shoes and they find the whole thing unconvincing. They don't get why the heroine subjects herself to abuse, or how to humanize the guy who seems like a total monster. You know, why is she so weak, he's "obviously" bad, what is the logic of this situation? All this black and white, judgmental thinking from people who are lucky enough not to have had to live through such a thing. The truth is that the abusive relationships are sort of absurdist in nature, they don't play by the normal rules, even the laws of time and space bend around this black hole you're being sucked into, which the heroine finds out as she's trying to put scenes in order. Strong stuff.

THE SOUVENIR PART II reminded me of this great rant Joe Bob Briggs has about "strong female protagonists" that basically amounts to the idea that characters should be whoever they need to be to serve the story. They're not exemplars of some ideal state of existence for us all to emulate--I mean unless they are, but that's under fairly specific conditions. His example is always Laurie Strode, who is typically upheld as a Strong Female Protagonist even though she doesn't become that thing until years down the road; in the meantime, she is a completely normal person with anxieties and phobias and insecurities and perfectly rational responses to Michael Myers. And that's what makes her so relatable, not her perfection, but her humanity.

[EDIT: Pardon me if the tone of this is a little alien to this blog. I don't even know if it definitely is, or if anyone cares, but I couldn't figure out where to put this post because I don't post much autobiographical material here anymore and I try to make the content of this blog reasonably appropriate for colleagues to see in both tone and content (like this feels both too intimate and too casual to me). But, I also try to keep all my movie information over here, so this is what I picked. I'm sure this doesn't bother anyone but me, but I have to justify my own rule-breaking to myself in order to feel better, so there.]

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angel-wings-and-tattoos · 1 year

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steddie modern college au!!

eddie and steve go to the same college but meet on tinder. eddie is 100% an awkward, gangly nerd and the only reason he's even on tinder in the first place is because his friends made his account as a joke on night.

steve is mildly more interested in him than the other people he's matched with as they chat back and forth, mostly because eddie doesn't play games. he is very straightforward, if a little bit of a clumsy texter at times. for steve, this is practically a breath of fresh air. the first time they hook up, it's very obvious how new this is for eddie. steve has no idea why, but inexperienced partners have always gotten him going more than anything else. where eddie is lacking in experience, he makes up for with an abundance of enthusiasm, which means steve can easily guide eddie exactly how he wants him.

(which, needless to say, does it for both of them).

throughout high school and college, steve has been through his fair share of partners, situationships, and hook-ups. this one shouldn't be any different and, honestly? at first it isn't. he likes eddie enough to keep seeing him but they don't see each other more than once or twice a week.

one night, post hook-up, eddie is visibly nervous as he faux-casually asks steve if he's ever heard of dungeons and dragons. steve, who came down from his orgasm less than five minutes before, just hums noncommittally. he looks over at eddie and has the conscious thought that the last thing he wants to do is hurt eddie's feelings (and steve himself is sated and comfortable enough that he would probably agree to pretty much anything at that moment) so he says something along the lines of oh, my friends from high school used to play it and it looked fun, they liked it but i never tried playing.

eddie just lights up.

he is more excited than he's trying to let on and steve can't help but find it adorable. eddie asks if he would like to join their little group that plays on saturday nights and, again, steve is struck with the urge to keep that smile on eddie's face. however, he still has some standards so he decides to meet in the middle. so, no, he doesn't quite want to play it with other people but, if you want, you can show me how to play. maybe even fill out a character sheet or something.

and boy, that was apparently the right thing to say, because steve gets another orgasm pretty shortly after. the first time eddie tries to teach steve about anything dnd related, steve very quickly realizes it's just a direct view into how to turn eddie on faster. the 'lesson' lasts for less than 10 minutes before it just devolves into hooking-up, just involving role-play.

steve has never seen that particular look on eddie's face before and he finds it extremely entertaining that it was steve's stupid accent (he was trying to be a british dude in a tavern, but it came across more australian) that put it there.

so they see each other slightly more after that, but still no more than three times a week, texting a little here and there. steve doesn't really do commitment and he's ghosted people many times before for being too clingy, so it doesn't really register as anything out of the ordinary that they really only text to hook-up. it's when they're in eddie's bed again that eddie brings up the club for a second time. just to come watch a session or two, i think that you'll like it. steve agrees easily at the time, again, sated and agreeable.

later, the more he thinks about it, steve feels like eddie is manipulating him. he only ever asks for things immediately after sex and that feels like its on purpose. it's not like he's asked for anything outside of steve's comfort zone, but still. it takes a few days of low-key stewing about it before steve's horniness overrides his pride and he texts eddie for the first time in a week. eddie responds within 10 seconds of his text and steve is hit with how different eddie is compared to everyone else he's been involved with over the years.

eddie doesn't even know that there are games he should be playing, he just texts steve whenever he sees the notification, no waiting to text back or intentionally ignoring him. steve also realizes that the only time they ever talk outside of planning to meet up is directly after hooking up so no wonder eddie ambushes him then. it's the only time steve has shown any openness to talking about things he's interested in. they hook-up, and eddie doesn't mention steve coming to the club this time, it's steve that hesitantly asks how its going.

the next day, steve sees something that reminds him of eddie. its a stupid poster hanging up in the second floor of the psych building. he walks past it, but the damage is already done. he's thinking about eddie now and, most likely, that will continue for the rest of the day. out of nowhere, steve is kind of sad that they don't text each other more often, which he sets out to fix immediately.

this particular idea leads to a mildly embarrassing, if not entertaining (according to robin, at least), miscommunication where eddie thinks steve is trying to booty call him at 11 AM and very awkwardly rejects him because he has a class in 20 minutes.

steve is very much not thinking about why it kinda turns him on that eddie would turn down sex in order to go to a class they both know he as a 100% A and a flawless attendance record in.

they start texting more, then actually hanging out without the expectation of hooking up and it hits steve that he wouldn't mind actually dating eddie. but something stops him from actually making it official. steve has approximately a million hang ups, mommy and daddy issues, commitment issues; just a list of problems a mile long.

he knows for a fact that the second him and eddie get into a fight, steve will verbally rip him to shreds. steve feels sick to his stomach thinking about it and they're not even in a relationship. and who's to say eddie even wants to be in one? he hasn't shown any signs at all of having an issue with what they already have and who is steve to assume he even wants more from him?

compared to steve, eddie is practically a ray of fucking sunshine, endless grins and loud laughter and texting back immediately. it makes steve want to cry, thinking about it sometimes. steve has no business being involved with him at all but he can't quite stop himself from texting eddie. steve thinks he might be in love with eddie but at the same time, does he even know how to be in love with someone else? he's not sure he's ever actually experienced it long enough to know. steve's one experience with love ended in a party bathroom and even now, 5 years later, the smell of a specific kind of punch still makes him nauseous.

steve understands that he's practically a walking commitment issue. that being said, as the week goes on, he decides that eddie is worth the effort of getting over himself. with help from robin, he finally works up the courage to actually ask eddie to be his boyfriend.

turns out, eddie already thought they were dating, so imagine his confusion when steve showed up to his apartment with flowers, asking him to officially be his boyfriend.

(in eddie's defense, he's never done this before, alright? steve and him were fucking regularly and hanging out a couple times a week, that sounded like dating to him.)

---

i'm just obsessed with the idea that eddie never really put himself out there for fear of getting bullied and so he just. never really thought about getting into a relationship. here comes steve, this confident, hot jock that has no reason to be talking to him in the first place but for some godforsaken reason likes him enough to keep seeing him. he's initially embarrassed by the fact that he has little to no experience, but steve does something specific with his tongue and all of eddie's higher brain functions cease for about an hour. eddie very very quickly becomes sort of obsessed with steve, but he is socially aware enough to back off a little so he doesn't scare him away. eddie just thinks that steve doesn't text very often and isn't that affectionate outside of sex, so he doesn't push at all. he is so indescribably blind-sided when steve shows up at his door and very charmingly asks if eddie wants to be his bf. after that, it's like a fucking floodgate opens. steve and eddie are practically attached at the hip and, when they're not together, steve is almost constantly texting him. eddie had no idea what he was getting into but he can't describe how obsessed with steve he is, especially when steve confesses that he thinks he's in love with him.

essentially i'm just projecting my issues onto steve and i really think that a cute, enthusiastic nerd would fix both mine and steve's relationship problems.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things au #steddie college au #steve harrington x eddie munson #ali's ficlets

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sadwinning · 3 months

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Devlog 1 (1/25/24): Why This Is Pointless

In my intro post, I mentioned how it would be much easier to map the 12 chromatic notes of Western music to the 3 action buttons and 8 directions of Undertale, and how I won't be doing that for purely aesthetic reasons. I also want to mention why everything I'm doing to my violin is completely stupid.

If you want to follow in my footsteps, you shouldn't do it the way I'm doing it. You probably can't.

My violin is a Yamaha EV-205 five-string electric from the late aughts/early 10's. I recently learned that this violin is no longer in production, so there's no way your standard Joe Schmoe can pick up this tutorial, nor would they want to if they were in the market for an electric violin, because they already sell electric violins that are MIDI controller enabled. You should buy that and follow the software specs of CZR drums and their MIDI-to-controller software partner/whatever. I simply do not want to spend more money on an electric violin when I already have one with the right hardware (individual pickups for each of the five strings). So I will be voiding the warranty that likely no longer exists and busting open my violin to see what I can patch together.

When I busted this component (pictured above) open I immediately found a not-so-complex PCB where I could locate each of the individual string inputs. I have yet to see whether those ports will give me the inputs I need - golly, I have yet to learn how to solder enough to access those ports!! - but the visibility gives me hope. it doesn't look hard, especially for someone who has been low-key interested in soldering for like 15 years (since my Pokemon Gold copy's battery died and I learned the ways to replace it) but I can't say I know exactly what data flows through that part of the circuit and how easy it would be to extract and manipulate.

I've done a lot of research into what I would need to take analog audio signal(s) and transform them into MIDI or some other binary/digital data. The first thing I found was an Arduino library, so I knew this wouldn't be hard. I only have one Arduino (knock-off) and I didn't like the idea of buying four more (one for each string) to get the MIDI values when I would probably be connected to a computer the whole time no matter what.

This led me to where I'm sitting pretty right now, at a Python library (Python being my favorite language) that uses its GitHub .md file to explain why Markov chains are important. Reader, do you know how much I love Markov chains? Did you know that in my sophomore year of college I created a musical AI by programming Markov chains in Python??? How is it that all of my interests loop in upon each other in the same way that my first and only job out of college involved natural language processing in Python just like my senior project where I did language analysis on okcupid profiles???? Is time in fact a flat circle? I don't have time to think about this because I want to program violin to play undertale pleas

Where I'll be starting is with this library and with monophonic input (one note at a time rather than interpreting multiple notes at once e.g. multiple strings played simultaneously) to make a controller of any kind work. But I have a lot of reading to do to see how Markov chains are involved. With it being both Python and linear algebra, I have the capacity to adjust the code to do whatever I want it to do. Given this insane opportunity I can't not do all the research possible to finetune things to my precise desires. If I were satisfied with "good enough", I would be playing monophonic input the whole way through. Let's go insane, boys.

#undertale violin%

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dekusleftsock · 2 years

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This is a silly question/topic so feel free to take your time, mostly propelled by a need to share observations on my part XD. Whenever I see adult pro hero Deku art, I only like the ones who keep Deku's haircut or make it longer. I've tried, but I just don't like Deku with an undercut. Then I noticed something cute: I love parallels between Shigaraki and Deku, and older Deku growing his hair out would be a cute parallel to Shigaraki and Deku growing to understand him. Do you think that would look cool? Side Note: I'm a bit of a fashion critic, so I often go looking at hairstyles and outfits. In general modern men's fashion is often lacking creativity compared to previous generations. I tried looking at androgynous fashion, but often it tended to be...oddly very gendered instead. It tries to use very traditionally masculine and feminine fashion instead of creating a unique look instead. This is not meant to be offensive in any sort of way, just an observation of mine. In my experience, fashion and beauty is at it's best when you create looks that work with your body instead of against it. Then again, regardless of gender a lot of fashion fails for me because it tries to force people to fit the outfit instead of making an outfit that works with the person. Interestingly enough, that's why celebrities often look so much more amazing in outfits than common people do. They often get outfits tailor made for them, with their bodies and strengths in mind. From what I've seen as an outsider, androgynous outfits have a tendency to fall flat because they try to make the person fit the outfit/agenda instead of creating an androgynous outfit that perfectly fits whoever that person actually is. Oddly enough, this is why I don't usually like short haired Deku. He's a chaotic mess and his hair adds to the impression, giving him short hair takes some of those qualities away. Katsuki's outfit works with me for the same reason. Some people have mentioned it having some androgynous hints to it, I think it works because it compliments him as a person instead of trying to force him to be something he isn't. I was wondering what someone who is actually trans would think though, since these are just me observations as a fashion nerd. Again, none of this is meant to offend. It's just an odd observation I've made about the mistakes people make when considering fashion and beauty of any type.

I actually love the idea of deku with long hair! I honestly have for a long time. It’s sad to see close to no one who actually like, draws him that way.

I’m not super great at fashion, but I definitely agree that things just aren’t made for peoples bodies. Instead they’re made to shape them in a way that fits the beauty standard (which is why I’m also really concerned about low rise jeans coming back into fashion. Bc of ED’s)

As for my opinions of androgynous fashion, I feel like people nowadays only perceive womens clothing as, yknow, womens clothing, and mens clothing is more so seen as androgynous. It’s probably due to the uptick in women wearing cheap working clothes (jeans mostly) during the 50’s. Ww2 happened, all the men were out at war, etc etc we know all that.

So because of this pre conceived notion that everyone wears jeans, hoodies and whatever else, than THAT must be androgynous clothing. When in reality, all clothing is androgynous! Frilly pink skirts are just as androgynous as overalls or something else.

It’s also made to cover up parts of your body. Specifically breasts because people don’t actually see non binary people as non binary and more just see them as “woman lite”. People being born male and therefore having to do other things to appear more androgynous just doesn’t exist to them.

And god forbid someone with breasts where ANYTHING that shows they exist in any light. You’re called a trender or some other stupid name.

But, back to Izuku and Katsuki, I love how both of their designs fit their characters. I think the reason why Katsuki’s hair and clothes actually fit HIM is because his parents are fashion designers. He yells at deku in one of the exclusive comics for the newest movie about how he can’t add a cape to his undercover clothes lol. I think he was talking about both practicality and also just how it would look.

I think that’s also why Izuku is.. uhm, himself

He’s really rocking those red shoes and knee length shorts ig

Anyway, narrative aside, god I wish horikoshi would give him even the SLIGHTEST SENSE OF FASHION AND HAIR CARE

I mean I can’t say I’m much better (I’ve got the straightest of straight hair alive lmfao. My hair does absolutely nothing) but like, CMON MAN-

I wish he would just grow it out. The undercut idea people have is just absolutely horrendous imo. Please, izuku, just grow it tf out

LIKE EITHER OF THESE SUIT HIM BETTER (mostly the one on the right) AND IT FITS NARRATIVELY

Another design pet peeve I have with the fandom is just how burly they wanna make him, which I am just, not at all okay with. Izuku represents healing from toxic masculinity, why tf would he be the most grade A definition of “the male gaze”? He’s not allmight, his arch is literally about not being allmight. Men are ALLOWED TO BE SHORT. They are ALLOWED TO NOT LOOK VISIBLY STRONG. Another example about how people just let the male gaze and patriarchy get in the way of characters who are supposed to directly contradict that! Yay!

People will be like “oh deku should learn how to be his own hero, hero society is failing him” and then in the same breath will say that he would be burly, number 1 in the leader boards always, he’s the symbol of peace, hope, etc

IDK GUYS

MAYBE THERE JUST SHOULDNT BE A SYMBOL FOR ANYTHING BC INDIVIDUALITY DOES NOTHING????

#this was all in an Americans pov but whatever lol #bias always exists what can I sa #bkdk #midoriya izuku #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #bnha deku #mha analysis

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amischievouscat · 2 years

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This post is literally me bitching about the school system for an obscenely long amount of time. If you don't have the time/energy for that don't press the keep reading button.

I'm going to structure this so that I have a point I hate about the school system, and then an explanation and any related sources. To justify the hatred, of course :). I'm from Canada so keep that in mind. I'm also working with my doctor to get a depression and ADHD diagnosis. Some terms I'll use:

Neurodivergent - Someone with ANY mental health issue, whether it be depression, anxiety, PTSD, BPD, ADHD, etc.

Neurotypical - Someone with NO mental health problems.

Quotes from studies will be italicized, "like this"

References are underlined and are clickable links.

Time for the mindless screaming. Off we go, shall we?

The school system is built for neurotypical/mentally "healthy" people.

The system isn't built with kids/teens who have mental health problems in mind; it's built around the idea that kids don't have mental health issues. According to this study conducted in 2009, "15.2% of school-going adolescents were found to be having evidence of distress; 18.4% were depressed; 5.6% of students were detected to have positive scores on both the instruments." The "instruments" being referred to are the GHQ-12 (General Health Questionnaire, used to gauge general mental health and stability) and the BDI (Beck Depression Inventory, a widely used questionnaire for measuring the presence and severity of depression).

The same study goes on to say "Certain factors like parental fights, beating at home and inability to cope up with studies were found to be significantly associated with higher GHQ-12 scores, indicating evidence of distress. Economic difficulty, physical punishment at school, teasing at school and parental fights were significantly associated with higher BDI scores, indicating depression." and that "Studies have shown that usual care by primary care physicians fails to recognize 30-50% of depressed patients"

Not only is the presence of depression in youth highly documented, it's often underdiagnosed. As a result, when these students are placed in classrooms that are very "industrial looking" (bright, white lighting and muted tones of grey and blue) it puts them in a difficult position. They may find socializing with their peers difficult or may be unable to focus, and because of the lack of engaging content in most school curriculums or assistance with helpful methods, their grades suffer.

The system is built on an inherently flawed method of evaluation.

The way that value is given to a letter/number grade doesn't sit well with me for a number of reasons.

First, they pit students against one another. Getting an A in an assignment opens a child up to being ostracized for being a teachers pet (to which I can personally confirm) or you are held to higher, often stressful standards, while a child who gets low grades is pinned as stupid. It's a never ending battle of trying to get grades just good enough that you're safe from both sides, which can also be stressful and exhausting.

Second, they can cause familial problems. If a child gets a low grade on a test or exam, it opens them up to potential emotional and sometimes even physical abuse at home. Parents may think of a child as lesser, or compare their children, "why don't you get grades as good as x?", which loops back to my first point.

Last, students often sacrifice their mental and emotional wellbeing for the sake of a letter/number grade. This can probably be illustrated best by the Simpsons episode "Bart Gets An 'F'". In this episode, Bart is threatened with failing the fourth grade and heavily sacrifices his emotional and mental health to study for a test, and even though he tried his hardest, he fails the test. This video shows a few clips from the episode., and elaborates on my point.

That's it for me ranting about this dumpster fire of a school system :)

#school #school system #rant #vent #study #tw #tw abuse #abuse #depression #tw depression #the school system is stupid beyond all reason lol #please rb with your take!#or reply #I don't really care

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todaslocas · 5 months

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God I hate it when people say the writing of something is "objectively bad."

I know it's a pretty lukewarm take at this point, but it still needs to be said. The idea that objective standards of artistic quality is so pervasive, and I believe extremely harmful.

The main argument for objective quality in writing existing is things like plot holes, character inconsistencies, etc. Things you can point to and say "this doesn't make sense." There are several problems with this argument, not the least of which being that things "making sense" is subjective. Your own experiences shape the way you view things. A character moment may seem weird and out of place to you, but make perfect sense to someone else because they've experienced something you haven't.

One example of this kind of thinking is a lot of the discussion around Helluva Boss. Many people praise the show for what they believe is clever comedy, while others ridicule it and its fans for finding enjoyment in immature and juvenile humor. I've seen people say things like "if you don't like this you clearly don't understand good writing," or "how could anyone enjoy this? It takes no effort to write jokes like that." But what both of these stances ignore is something even many people who believe in objective quality think is subjective: taste. All the intricacies of making those kinds of jokes funny is lost on people who those kinds of jokes don't appeal to in the first place. And the people who do like those jokes are baffled when others can't understand what makes them so funny. Neither side is wrong, but they both believe their personal taste is universal, and anyone who disagrees is a snob, a middle schooler, or just generally doesn't have basic media comprehension.

But then there are things like plot holes, and these are objective. How could thing A happen if thing B contradicts it? They objectively exist, but aren't necessarily flaws. The problem with plot holes is that they remove your suspension if disbelief. They take you out of the experience because you can no longer convince yourself the story is real. But sometimes that doesn't matter. Sometimes people are able to let things slide because of how deep they are in the experience. To them, it's not a problem at all because it didn't hinder their enjoyment.

The pattern here is that stories are what we get out of them. Their worth is determined entirely by the people who experience them. And because people are complicated and immensely different, because we see the world in different ways, everyone is going to have a vastly different experience with those stories. To claim that any one experience is "objectively correct" is stupid, because the only metric you can base it on is that experience.

Here are a few common phrases I've seen that imply you think a work of writing is "objectively bad." Not necessarily that you do, but I think it's important for those who both do and don't to understand what they're saying.

"It's objectively bad."

This is the most common and overt version of this statement, and all other versions at the end of the day circle back to this one. On the surface, it doesn't seem too bad. If objective quality exists, someone stating the fact of "it's objectively bad" isn't a problem. The problem is that objective quality doesn't exist.

"You just have low standards"

This isn't said as often as it is implied. Memes like "Fans of X when a new episode drops" and it's a video of people dancing around in a pile of trash. I don't know if that exact video exists, but you get the point. What memes like this imply is "the thing you like is stupid, and you're stupid for liking it."

"Your take was so unbiased!"

As mentioned above, we are ALL biased. Our experiences and perspectives are all wildly different. In that context, the only way to be "unbiased" is to be stating an objective fact, implying that quality is objective, and that your take is correct. The only difference between "biased/unbiased" and "agree/disagree" is that the former needlessly elitist.

"A classic example of cringe/millennial writing"

I've seen this take in a number of youtube videos. They seem like good ways to describe things you don't like about stories... until you realize that's the only workable definition any of them provide. They'll give examples like vocabulary, the emotions invoked, etc. It passes itself off as an attribute or pattern that anyone with basic media comprehension could spot, when at the end of the day the only definition that encompasses everything classified as "cringe/millennial writing" is "thing I don't like."

At this point, you may begin to see another pattern emerging. I saw a youtube comment recently that I think sums it up pretty well: "I guess I just have a sixth sense for detecting bad writing." It's ego. The belief that you and you alone can determine what is good and what is bad, and anyone who deviates from that doesn't know what they're talking about. That kind of thinking pervades discussion of fiction, especially online, and I believe it is very harmful. When you're bombarded by people telling you that you're wrong or stupid for liking what you like, it's hard not to believe them. It's easy to believe that they're just better than you at this, and that there's no point in analyzing stories for yourself because you're bad at it. I speak from experience when I say it's really discouraging.

So I need everyone, whether you believe fiction is objective or not, to hear this.

You are not the ultimate authority on what is considered good and bad, nor are you any better than anyone else at "detecting it."

You DO get to judge how the experience of that work of fiction affected YOU.

Your opinion on any given work of fiction is no more or less important and valuable than anyone else's.

#i wrote this at like 1 am sorry that its so disjointed

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bowlfruitsalad · 1 year

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A "kind" boycott that supports LOONA: an idea on a performative boycott

December 8th, 2022

This may be stupid, absurd and ridiculous, but please give it an opportunity.

Since there are Orbits that are worried about a full-blown boycott against BBC (myself included) because of the possible hurt it will cause to LOONA as individuals and as a group, personally and professionally, I was thinking about how to redirect that boycott in a way that shows direct support to LOONA.

In short, a clear differentiation between LOONA and BBC.

With the announcement of a comeback, I believe that will be the first real opportunity at executing a boycott. The most obvious is to actively refuse to buy albums. While low sales would reflect negatively on LOONA, it would also prevent BBC from taking more money from both LOONA and Orbits.

I suggest showing support by proving that Orbits want to give money to LOONA, just not BBC. Instead of purchasing an album, save that money (physical money if possible) and share it. For example, if one album is 25,000 KRW, save two banknotes of 10,000 and one of 5,000 and put them in an envelope. Then, upload a picture of the envelope with the money inside to social media, specifying the amount of money and quantity of copies it would have bought under normal circumstances:

25,000 KRW - 1 copy of [Title] album by LOONA, version C

Of course, this method of boycott is compatible with Orbits willing to spend more money on the comeback:

75,000 KRW - 3 copies of [Title] album by LOONA, versions A, B and D

The important part of this is that is has to be real money that is purposefully stored away: money that is effectively “spent” on the albums but not put into circulation so that it does not end in BBC’s hands.

This money could be used for later comebacks, projects or any other support that benefits the members: when/if they are able to get better working conditions under BBC, when/if they sign under another company that will pay/treat them fairly, fan or members’ projects, donations, fundraisers…

This is a boycott laced with a public protest. To be made more effective, it would be best to couple this proof with a hashtag of some sorts (or similar/equivalent):

#SupportLOONA #BoycottBBC #MoneyForTheFutureOfLOONA #My12centsForLOONA etc.

It is crucial that this is done in best faith, with an honest heart and only good intentions. It is no use trying to inflate the numbers to show “stronger support”. The point of this is to demonstrate realistically what Orbits are willing to spend on LOONA.

I am aware that this protest could be easily highjacked by trolls, haters, anti-fans, etc., due to it being public. There would be no way of officially obtaining the real figures, which is why I reiterate that Orbits should be nothing but honest.

The purpose of this type of protest is:

Boycott against BBC

Support all LOONA members by showing them Orbits are on their side

Bring attention to LOONA’s situation

Set a standard for third parties to be aware of the support LOONA have

Hurt BBC's finances - the only thing they have shown care about

Continue a good artist-fan relationship with the members of LOONA, not abandon communication and encouragement - reassurance, kindness, understanding and compassion

Trending topics, more news coverage if possible, articles, reactions... - anything so that the noise does not die down

Having an approximate record (even if not completely reliable) of the figures that LOONA are capable of managing - for possible investors, contractors, partners, etc., to understand that LOONA are still relevant even if their official numbers do not necessarily reflect it

There has been a lot of scrutiny of recent efforts by fanbases on sending a joint message of support and boycott, as well as increasing doubt from Orbits about the possible negative consequences of the planned and announced boycott.

I hope this serves as an idea to open a door for Orbits to reconsider and find a way to separate BBC the company from LOONA the individuals.

We all want LOONA to be first happy, then successful. We can prove that they can be successful if their happiness is attended to.

Orbits will not leave LOONA and will do anything possible to grant them their much-deserved happiness and success.

We need to make it clear.

Orbits have always been a very creative fandom, so I believe we will all find various ways of making this separation evident in regard to different aspects: physical albums, digital albums, merchandise, streaming…

This is just an idea. A first initiative that can maybe help ease the inner and outward conflict of worried Orbits. I know we have grown used to showing our support by throwing money at the brand "LOONA", but Orbits have always been good at promoting LOONA, and take pride in it. We can continue to do that. It is another way of support. I would say it is the most important right now.

Let’s make sure LOONA know we have their backs.

DISCLAIMER. This is not intended to either encourage nor discourage a boycott. Everyone should do what they consider best.

This is mostly directed at those who are already considering going forward with a boycott.

— bowlfruitsalad

***ADDENDUM 1***

I understand the worry some Orbits are feeling.

I thought of this idea precisely because I also fear the consequences of a boycott, and I wanted to suggest something for those who want to proceed with it: always making sure that the LOONA members are cared for.

The boycott will happen (whether in favor or against), so I thought about finding a way of minimizing the collateral damage.

There will be some who will participate in the boycott and there will be others who won't. It's complicated to persuade Orbits to do / deter them from doing one or the other (and I personally do not want to convince anyone of anything).

I don't know what should or shouldn't be done. All I can do is think of ways to improve the outcome of either decision.

***ADDENDUM 2***

I'm not trying to debate if the boycott should or shouldn't take place.

This is a response in acknowledgement of the reality of the situation. I want to be constructive. I want to help in whichever way I can, and that may only be by sharing any ideas I can think of (even if they will have a limited reach).

We can argue all day "boycott yes", "boycott no". But I think it's important to look further than the initial stance and think about the specifics of the result of each approach.

This is an attempt at bettering the outcome of the premise "boycott yes".

I believe a similar attempt can be made for the opposite, "boycott no".

This situation is divisive. But we should find unity in that divisiveness. The main goal, only goal, is to support the LOONA members. Let's remember that and work towards it, whatever path we may choose to follow.

***ADDENDUM 3***

It's good that there are different views that all stem from the same care for the members. We really should be considering all options if we want the best. I have yet to find the right stance for me, and I can imagine that many other Orbits are still undecided, or have an in-between opinion.

— bowlfruitsalad

#LOONA #이달의 소녀

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stubbornnesskeepsmesane · 2 years

Text

Speak Ill Of The Dead, Chapter 2

I did bring it up the next day. Major Browning was blunt.

"We couldn't spare any."

"Couldn't spare any? Nurse, she was barely functioning!"

"I know!" She yelled at me and we both realised her temper was finally snapping under pressure. "We have practically none left! She'll have got all she needs in Seoul, we need to save what we have for the next lot who come in screaming."

"Sorry, sorry" I apologised, backing off, hands raised. She didn't seem like the kind of dame who'd throw a punch over a thing like this, but I'm far too pretty to take that kind of risk. "Why so low?"

Browning sighed, her temper sinking as fast as it had risen. "It gets stolen. Every single vial of morphine we get, it walks. We've tried hiding it, keeping it locked away, I even slept with it under my pillow one time. It somehow just goes."

That was never a good sign.

"Since when?" I queried.

"Last month or so."

So before Colonel Bailey split then. There goes the theory that it was lack of command then.

"Any suspects?"

She shook her head "Not without suspecting everyone. There's very few new staff here - other than yourself I'm the next most recent transfer, everyone else has worked together for most of the war. We do what we can to squirrel it away but there's nothing we seem to be able do to stop it."

"Leave it to me, Major." I replied, hating myself for getting involved "I'll see if I can find anything out"

I left the recovery ward before lighting up a smoke. Stupid thing to volunteer, but I had a gut feeling that being an outsider might be an advantage in this one. Not that I had any idea where to start, but this is the army. Not knowing where to start is standard operating practice.

I decided to look at the other people in camp first - the medics would all have opportunity but they also had reason to want the morphine available. The hangers on, on the other hand, not so much.

My first stop was the prayer tent, because it was in a set position and therefore easy to find. To call it a chaplaincy would be like calling a bread roll a banquet - it would do in a pinch, but only the army would argue that it was good enough. The tent was was in essence just the Padre's quarters, with an alter at the front and a sheet hanging up to keep his bunk out of sight of sinners.

"Hello?" I called.

A smiling face emerged from the back tent, followed by a strong built body with a beard and a dog collar. Pastor Dean Tuttle.

"Hello there! Mouse, isn't it? What brings you to my humble abode? Looking for a prayer?"

I smiled back, against my better judgement. "Not my area really Padre. God and I have more of a nodding relationship than a close friendship."

"May you be struck down" He laughed, showing a gold tooth. Unusual. Generally they mean it when they say that. "So what are you looking for here?"

I shrugged. This guy did not fit the standard template and it intrigued me. "Just thinking I should get to know my fellow inmates" I replied carefully. A priest shouldn't make one feel intimidated but for some reason, this one did. Intimidated, and very curious.

"Inmates, indeed" Tuttle replied quietly, a tone of friendly menace sneaking in. "You'll be a draftee then, Mouse. Plucked away from a nice cosy private practice and dropped in this dark corner of God's green earth. Never expected to be spending your career under fire in the muck. And the blood."

I held his gaze as firmly as I ever had in my life, and his baby blues kicked onto mine likewise. St Michael and all his archangels could have come down and played the last trump right here in Korea and we'd still have been standing there, waiting to see who blinked.

"You've guessed wrong there, Padre. I signed up straight out of med school. Fourteen years a soldier and I've seen my share. I go where I'm needed, always have done, always will do. That's why I don't agree with bringing civilians into theatre and if I understand right, that includes your good self. Father."

For a long moment the silence hung in the air. I offered a silent prayer to a God I didn't believe in that I'd guessed correctly.

"Pastor" he said finally, looking over to tap the cross on the wall. Breaking off without backing down. "Father is a Catholic term and you can see there's no image on the cross here. Catholics use a crucifix with an image - usually a statue but it's not doctrinal - to give a focal point for prayer. Most Protestant denominations consider that to be bordering on if not in fact fully idolatry, and so have the unadorned cross. That's how you can tell that Father is not the correct term."

"As you wish, Padre."

He nodded "It'll do."

"So what flavor of Christian are you then, Padre?"

He spread his arms expansively. "I consider myself quite ecumenical in that regard."

"An ecumenical preacher. That's pretty unusual."

"I choose to take that as a compliment."

I laughed, genuinely. I didn't trust this guy and I wasn't ruling him out of my list of suspects, but I was really starting to like him.

"You should do, Padre. I like a man who hedges his bets."

"Think of it more as playing my cards close to my chest."

"So let's put our cards on the table then" I decided to be blunt. "I'm looking to find out who's stealing morphine. Know anything about it?"

He managed a horrified expression, but I wasn't buying it and I could see he wasn't intending me to. It did however make it impossible to read his actual thoughts. I felt that I would love to play poker against this guy. Though not for high stakes.

"Are you asking me if I'm breaking the eighth commandment?"

"Of course not, Padre" Unless of course that's the one about stealing. Because in that case yes. "I'm just asking if anyone has said anything to you about it."

"Ah." He let out a knowing sigh, sitting down in one of the wooden chairs around the place and steepling his fingers as he looked at me. "You're asking me to break the seal of the confessional."

I set my face into a mask of confusion.

"Oh I couldn't possibly do that" I replied, trying to keep the smugness from my voice "The confessional seal is Catholic."

I'd like to report that I walked out on that line but the truth is that we kept talking for some time after, the verbal sparring dispensed with. If he knew anything he wasn't talking, but he made a decent cup of Joe and was happy to chat about anything else going on. He was, as I had correctly guessed, a draftee. Cagey about where he came from in real life but I don't begrudge a man his secrets. Lord knows I've got enough myself. He wasn't innocent, but whether or not he was guilty of this particular crime I wasn't going to find out today.

That didn't mean I was letting it lie, but I had other avenues to pursue.

The avenue my feet took me down next was Times Square, at least metaphorically. There was a journalist embedded with this MASH unit and I couldn't wait to see what she had to say for herself.

I didn't have to wait long. She was sitting in the shade of her personal tent - when you pay to come to hell, turns out you get a private suite - the clatter of the typewriter telling me she was home. Mostly in shadow, a long thin shaft of sunlight perfectly illuminated her graceful fingers. As I stepped through the doorway I briefly saw my outline fall across her face and I caught my breath as she stood to greet me.

A mass of soft black curls fell across her beautiful face, striking in the sudden light as I moved out of the doorway. She was wearing a simple t shirt and skirt, army style in all but color, but somehow on her the normally shapeless style did nothing to disguise her curvaceous form. I could tell from the way she moved and the curl of her perfect mouth, this dame was trouble and she knew it. My momma always warned me, I was bad at staying away from trouble.

"Hello there Captiain" She greeted me with an exotic foreign accent, French I think, it maybe Italian. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

She held out a hand and I wasn't certain for a moment if I was meant to shake it or kiss it. Ignoring my instincts, I shook it warmly.

"Doctor Micky Richards, at your service."

"I'll bear that in mind" She smiled back at me, an engaging smile. "Meena Namora, at yours."

"A pleasure, madam." I found myself saying. I should have more sense than to get involved with a dame like this but I could never resist a challenge. "I'm sorry, I appear to have interrupted your writing."

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that, Mouse. I can always pick up where I left off. I'm very capable that way."

Mouse, is it? She'd done her homework. I could smell her perfume, flowery and rich. It's deep scent was all I could smell. I took a step forwards and could feel her closer to me.

"So what are you working on?" I asked, as much for something to say as from any genuine interest. She waved a manicured hand over the paperwork dismissively.

"Just a fluff piece on Charlie Washington. Nothing particularly interesting, but folks back home lap that kind of thing up."

"And where is home exactly, Mrs Namora?" I'd not heard of Charlie Washington, but that could certainly keep.

"Miss" She corrected me teasingly. Which is why I'd asked. "What is it you Americans say? Home is where I hang my hat, oui? So I am at home anywhere I go. But my readership is mainly European."

I was burning to ask further but we were rudely interrupted by Major Sharp bellowing my name across the compound.

"Sir!" I yelled back reflexively, before offering a slight mock bow to the vision before me "Duty calls, I'm afraid."

"But of course, ma petite souris" She quirked her mouth into an exaggerated pout of disappointment and I decided then and there I had to learn French. Or maybe Italian. Basically I needed to know what she'd just called me but cursing my luck I had to go. To my joy she accompanied me, staying the perfect distance to eavesdrop without seeking to intrude. Must be a thing they teach you in journalism school.

However as I said, duty always gets to come first and so I hurried over to Major Sharp and threw off a smart salute. Earning me a look of surprise from everyone in the huddle, himself included. Clearly saluting was a step too far along the protest army protocol line for this unit. Point taken, though I'd far rather be laughed at for being too army, than be spending the night in the stockade.

"Mouse, glad you made it. We've got a shout on, a downed pilot is radioing in wounded and if we don't get to him first the enemy will. I can spare one surgeon but I'd like another medic to accompany them. I understand you've had combat training, I hope it won't be relevant but be prepared."

I looked around at the group as Sharp continued. It included a few I had met the evening before on my tour hunting for Quacks, a few I hadn't and one I had intended to pick up with after Meera.

"Captain Cody will fly the group in as close as we can but the guy came down in pretty dense jungle so be prepared to hoof it a while. Magdalena has agreed to come to translate in case you encounter any hostility: it's a medical mission so you should be able to talk your way out of things."

A medical mission. With three medics, three combatants and a civilian.

"I would like to accompany them, Major, if I may. Get a full rescue to recovery view of your work, oui?"

Make that two civilians. Sharp immediately disagreed with her of course, but I knew Meera would get her way. That put the group as:

Captain William Cody, our pilot and highest priority. Without him, none of us were getting back alive.

Captain Reuben Koppelman, our only practising MD. The one I was worrying about, the one who had somehow acquired the biggest machine gun on base. Oh this was really looking like a medical team indeed.

Private Leslie Bloom, a despatch rider who I'd met last night. He was good at darts, I hoped that translated into being handy with a pistol too.

Corporal Jack "Rooster" McEachan, who definitely seemed handy with a gun.

Private Robbie Mann, quite a reserved kind of guy but he seemed decent enough.

Lieutenant J.J. Baker, a nurse who I hoped has a strong stomach for this kind of thing. Some dames do, and nurses more than most. I hadn't yet found out what J.J. stood for but I'm sure I had that pleasure to come.

Miss Magdelena Hackett, a local guide and recovering former missionary. Apparently she' d spent twenty years trying to deliver God to the Koreans before realizing that what they really needed was a hot meal and decent healthcare.

And Miss Meera Namora, who whatever other skills she had, was clearly very good at being a hard dame to say no to.

Between us, I wasn't convinced we were going to strike fear into the heart of the commies, but with any luck we were enough to carry a wounded man back to safety. Ideally without making ourselves casualties on the way.

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chengxians · 2 years

Note

A follow-up bc chengxian is always on my mind and these twin prides will never leave me alone:

Honestly I've always been a sucker for loss of innocence arc/immense loyalty to a bad system being broken so I really enjoyed LWJ's personal character arc. And his internal crisis between his sect and teachings vs. what WWX has enlightened him to definitely shows.

But, my issue mainly comes from the thing where when he is WWX (post-reseruction) he kind of just follows WWX's lead in the CQL. Like it's one thing to be content with where your morality lies and the fact that the person it aligns with is now with you.

But like there was no debate for example with the Paperman scene where they find NMJ's head (not sure if it played out the same way in the novel). Like they just try to burst in and catch JGY off guard to confront him which is not very different from what happened at Carp Tower when WWX finds out the truth about the Wen Camps. Like correct idea but bad execution to get the outcome you want.

So, like, what I meant by with the blind following (I always adore devotion tropes) is that he never suggests alternative ways to get the same solution. Or even ask WWX to walk him through his plans so LWJ can see if it can be improved or changed in some way (though I do commend him for trying to atleast do some harm reduction towards WWX's behaviour with the "come to GusuLan" thing -> though this also feels like pre-revival and post-revival WWX seemed like he needed a place to hide out).

That aside, I do thing Wang Y!bo did a wonderful job with LWJ, especially since they probably cut down on some development due to Ch!nese censorship and all. Like his face when he calls back the line WWX gave about bridges(?) like the one at Carp Tower was incredible and conveyed so much.

Maybe it's because borderline unhealthy, feral relationships are my jam that Chengxian really does it for me. Like they yell and fight and it gets ugly but you know its that way due to the fact that they love each other, not in spite of it. And just the whole "love is not always enough" thing. It's one of the reasons I also love Chengqing too (like god tier for the CQL for coming up with that one).

Also just JC's face as WWX plays his flute at the temple. Like he's giving permission to WWX to use demonic cultivation, the thing that killed his sister to protect his sister's son, his nephew and the most important person in his life because JC trusts WWX this much? Priceless (Wang Zhuocheng truly is an icon).

god op i literally adore your brain 😩❤️ i actually think your interpretation of lwj is exquisite, like ur gonna make me rethink any possible ways i had ever considered writing him (this is VERY /pos)

i do agree that lwj definitely should have idk…pushed more? during the paperman/jgy scene. that whole arc kinda felt like mxtx going “god im so fucking tired of writing this part” bc i probably would have done the same LOL

lwj immediately telling his brother he trusted wwx with his life/to always be correct/whatever was a very sexy but stupid moment tbh. like if i had been lxc i probably would have burst into laughter 💀

if jc had been in this scene, he DEFINITELY would have been like 🤨🤨 wwx are you SURE. can we go over this again. the foils btw lwj & jc are genuinely one of my favorite things about the novel (fave is actually xuexi4o’s foil to w4ngxian) and probably why i adore w4ngchengx1an as a throuple. wwx gets the best of both worlds and that is just so important to me.

GOD I AGREE…..wang y1bo did a SPLENDID job. first of all his voice is 😳 i have SUCH a thing for deep voices. being able to see his jaw tighten whenever wwx did some dumb shit was so good. i do generally like idol actors (bc my standards are very low and i like having fun) but even by idol actor standards: he did a phenomal job!

i cant even lie bro: the more fucked up the chengxian is, the more i love it. like YES give me unhealthy dependency. give me verbal abuse-turned-self-hatred. give me the inherent nausea of realizing you’re in love with your brother. YES!!!!!!

i also adore chengqing. literally cql director’s brain was so big. i KNOW wen qing pegs him bro

i havent hit that scene in cql yet but i know. i KNOW i am going to be thinking about “the thing that killed his sister to protect his sister’s son, his nephew and the most important thing in his life because he trusts WWX that much?” the entire time. (the scene happens in every other adaptation so dw i wasnt spoiled!)

anyway. i absolutely adore your perceptions of cql, op. i am shoving this ask in my mouth bc its just so good. idk how much sense my 9am-no-coffee thoughts make LOL

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dycefic · 3 years

Text

Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it. They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

#welcome to Evil Mart #good is not just good #evil is not just evil #people are complicated #and so is retail #tw graphic #tw gore #tw violence #tw murder #it's a supervillain story #supervillain shit happens #you are now warned

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wordsfromthesol · 3 years

Text

The Set-Up

Author: @wordsfromthesol Taglist: @zphilophobiaz @anousiemay @malfoys-demigod @pricetagofficial Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: You are Dinah's younger sister. Word Count: 2,410 A/N: I know it’s been awhile so if anyone wants on/off a taglist just let me know!

"Alright, Roy, you got me here. What's so important?" You called out as you stumbled into what the Outlaws deemed a safehouse. Their standards were pretty low.

"We needed a fourth, okay! Go get Jason and I'll brief everyone." Roy hurried you out of the room that he and Kory were already set up in. You sauntered up to the closed door and knocked.

"Jason, you decent?" You shouted as your fist rapped against the wood.

"Well I'm not morally decent, but I'm wearing pants if that's what you're asking. Though I can be without pants if that's what you prefer --" Jason's voice trailed off as he swung open the door and was met with your face. Clearly, he figured the person on the other side would be Roy or Kory. His face slightly reddened as he reached back and grabbed a shirt.

"I mean…maybe not right now. Roy needs to go over the mission with us." You winked at his obvious embarrassment before trotting off in the direction you came from. Jason quickly caught up with you.

"I…uh…I didn't know Roy asked you for help."

"Yeah he didn't really tell me much. Just that you guys needed a fourth. Not sure why he thinks I'll make that much of a difference.

"Guess we should go find out." Jason raced past you, hoping to avoid further embarrassment, but stopped dead in his tracks as he entered the living room. Roy and Kory were both staring at him, trying to hold back fits of laughter. "What is this all-important mission Y/N was recruited on?" He asked in an attempt to redirect their attention. You walked in behind Jason just in time to get the answer.

"Not really all-important…" Roy's voice reeked of mischief, "just better to have four than three. Then we can do two teams."

"You do know that I have my own agenda. I'm not just sitting around waiting for your call."

"Oh Y/N/N! Don't think of it like that, I practically begged him to ask you. I seriously need some more girl time." Kory piped in to release some of the building tension.

"Uh-huh, sure. Roy, what are we doing?"

"Right. Human trafficking, finally got a hit on this group. Think it's their main smuggling port. There are two docks to check, so two teams. See, I do have a plan. Kinda…"

"Hm mm" you mumbled, still not fully believing him, but you let him continue anyways. You didn't fly out here for nothing.

Hours had passed and the four of you sat near the docks, waiting for the cover of nightfall. The smugglers, however, did not. You grabbed Jason's arm and began running towards the dock as soon as you saw a boat pulling into the harbor.

"What are you doing?" Jason mumbled as he ran to keep up with you.

"Are you blind? There's a container ship pulling into the docks. The dock that Roy told us to watch."

"The sun is still setting. There's no way they'd be that stupid." He tried to reason with you, but your pace didn't slow.

"Maybe they just paid the right people. Or killed them." You retorted though the timing was eerily suspicious. Both of you came to a halt when you only saw four guys. Sure, they had guns…but it definitely wasn't enough to warrant extra help. You glanced over at Jason in utter disbelief. "You want me to sit this one out or…"

"Let's just get it over with." Jason was clearly just as agitated as you were. The "battle" lasted only a few seconds and your trip back to the rendezvous spot was completed in utter silence.

"So…Roy. Why the fuck was I needed here?" Holding nothing back, you cried out as soon as you saw his red costume appear in the distance.

"Woah, hold up there. Must've gotten some bad intel. It happens. Better safe than sorry."

"Yeah well next time be sure. I do have my own cases and crime rings to dismantle." You walked off in a huff, determined to find your own way back. You didn't know what exactly Roy was up to, but you knew you wouldn't like it.

Months passed since the pointless mission with the Outlaws. You had gotten back to Miami, your home for the time being as you investigated a new drug trade route coming up from South America. Finally, you had made some progress, only said progress led to you being pinned down behind some wooden barrels.

"These aren't going to last long," you mumbled as you dialed Kory on your phone. No answer. "Fuck." Roy was next.

"Y/N, can this wait --" You hear the wind get pushed out of him just as the sentence finished.

"Hm not really. Kinda been pissing off the wrong people and now I'm pinned down."

"Fuck." Roy mumbled as he threw a punch towards the jaw of the unsuspecting thug.

"I tried Kory, but -- shit…" You watched as the barrels splintered around you.

"Off-world. I'm patching in Jas --" Roy stopped a syllable short, you assumed dodging his own bullets. You didn't wait for him to finish.

"Yeah look. I'm in Miami." You heard Jason mumble your name but continued on. You didn't know how much longer you would have. "Pretty sure they'll take me alive. Heard through the grapevine the boss wants the honors himself." You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt a bullet pierce through your shoulder. You took a few steadying breaths before continuing. "I have a tracer in my mask. I'll try to keep it on as long as I can. If you can't track it for some reason, call my sister." You didn't hang up the call before slowly raising your hands above the splintered barrels. "Take me to your leader," you exclaimed in your best alien impression, all while trying not to laugh.

"Do you think this is a game?!" One of the thugs screamed at you as they inched closer. You just shrugged, waiting to either be killed or taken. "Well grab her, idiots!" Two men hesitantly walked towards you, guns still drawn.

"Should I tie myself up? Would that be easier?" At this point, your sarcasm was the only thing keeping you sane. Finally, they got within striking distance and everything went black.

"Y/N? What's happening?!" Jason frantically began calling out your name as he was met with silence. Roy eventually spoke up.

"Jason. I hope you're on your way. I'll meet up with you as soon as I can, but I need to get ahold of Dinah first." Roy had no idea what he was going to say to her.

"Even in the jet, it's going to take 2 hours to get there…" The reality of the situation set it. "But I'm taking off now." Jason tried to push the horrific thoughts from his mind.

You woke up tied to a wooden chair. Not surprising.

"So, where's the boss?" You forced the words out, willing yourself into consciousness.

"Don't worry girlie, he's on his way…though I suppose there's nothing wrong with having a little fun first." The goon smirked as he flipped a knife in his hands.

"Well, you wouldn't want to damage the merchandise." You could tell he wasn't sold, so you continued. "I mean I'm dead either way, right? Wouldn't want you to risk your life as well…" He just stared blankly at you while the gears turned in his mind. Finally, he let out an exasperated huff and turned his back to you. At least you were able to buy yourself a little more time. Though you had a feeling it still wouldn't be enough. As your head began spinning, you looked down at your shoulder. The blood was still pouring out of the wound. "Of course…" you mumbled as the dizziness intensified. You were going to have to think of something quickly.

"So, how'd you get stuck with this job? Or are you just some disposable errand boy who got lucky?" You began antagonizing him as you attempted to saw through the ropes with the small blade that discharged out of your gloves.

"Lucky?" He turned towards you with a villainous look plastered across his face. He sauntered towards you and placed his hands on either side of the chair. "I've been following you. I know your patterns. When you strike. That ambush was calculated and planned. Boss sent me 'cuz he knew I'd get the job done." Before he could push himself up from the chair, you launched forward, ramming your head into his. As he crashed to the floor, another burly man rushed into the room. You managed to free one of your legs just in time. As he stumbled backward you bent down in an attempt to free your other leg. The man lunged at you again. Pulling the other leg free, you circle around and hurled the chair at him. You let out a huge sigh of relief and slid to the floor as he landed atop the first assailant.

Jason watched as men patrolled around the building. Just as he was about to move Roy's voice came over the comm, "Have you found her? What's the situation? I'm still an hour out."

"I found her. They have four guards patrolling. Heavily armed. I found an opening."

"Four patrolling…you can't get any intel about who's inside? I think you should wait for me to get there." Roy already knew there was no hope of that.

"We may not have a chance if I wait. I'm going in."

Jason heard his best friend sigh, before eventually relenting. "Keep me updated. I'll be there when I can." Jason saw his opening coming up again. He moved quickly and quietly, sliding into the open door. He took in his surroundings, trying to not alert anyone of his presence unless absolutely necessary. He didn't want to give any of them a reason to shoot you…that is, if you were still alive. As he rounded the corner, he came face to face with a brutish man. Jason launched himself forward, knocking them both to the ground as he muffled the goon's mouth with his hand and encapsulated his neck. It only took a few seconds before the guard was out cold and Jason continued lurching down the hallway. He stopped short of a closed door. Jason took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever awaited him on the other side.

You were jolted awake a few moments later and looked around to find the two men still unconscious on the ground. Crawling over, you pulled at one of their jackets and cut off a long piece. It took the last bit of your energy to tie it around your still bleeding shoulder. As your eyes began to flutter closed once again, they shot open at the sound of the door opening. You forced your head upwards and let out a faint chuckle at the familiar Red Hood that looked down at you.

"Solis!" Jason's eyes went wide as he saw the amount of blood in the room. "Shit alright. I need you to stay awake, okay?" You nodded and forced your eyes open as Jason dove down beside you, properly retying the fabric around your shoulder. Jason stared at you for a few moments before pushing himself up and firing a single shot down the hallway. You watched intently as the goons came running in, Jason plowing through them in a matter of minutes. Jason scooped you up, not bothering to try and gather any further information from you.

You woke up in a bed in an unfamiliar room. Your brain began piecing together the events. Jason had come to get you, then put you in a car, brought you here, sewed up the wound…you wondered how long you'd been asleep. The door creaked open and you saw both Roy and Jason standing in its frame.

"You're awake! Thank fuck, D would've killed me!" Roy rushed over and embraced you.

"Yeah probably…" You were speaking to Roy, but you couldn't take your eyes off Jason. There was something there, unspoken, that you couldn't remember. What had happened? How long had you been asleep? As if reading your mind, Jason spoke up.

"It's only been 12 hours," he watched your eyes go wide. "Before you freak out, you lost a lot of blood and were barely hanging on to consciousness. 12 hours is not that many. You'll still be weak." Jason began to step towards you but hesitated. Roy immediately noticed the awkwardness his presence brought.

"Imma just…I'll go get us some food…or something." Roy pointed towards the door and rushed out.

"I feel like I'm missing something."

"No…I just. I was worried." You leered at him, knowing that was not what you were missing. You carefully sat up and swung your legs over the bed, determined to get to the bottom of whatever feeling this was. Once you attempted to stand, Jason was at your side in a fraction of a second. "I just said you would be weak…" he mumbled out.

"Well I have to go to the bathroom and you aren't giving me answers anyways." You tried to push him away. It unsurprisingly did not work.

"How long have I known you? For once, just stop being so damn stubborn!" He grabbed your shoulders, in an effort to steady both of you.

"I dunno like 8 years…" you grumbled out, unsure if the question was meant to be answered.

"Yeah well for 7 and a half of those I've loved you. And it just hit me that you could die…hell I could I die, and you wouldn't know." His hands traced down your arms and collapsed at his side. "I guess that just broke me, okay? Are you happy now?!" The anger in his voice rose.

"So how about those pants now?" You smirked, trailing your eyes over his body. Jason's eyes lit up as he began to laugh, recalling the situation from months prior.

"Maybe not right now…let's wait until you can stand on your own."

"JUST KISS HER ALREADY GOD DAMMIT!" Roy screamed from the doorway. Neither of you knew how long he'd been there, but that didn't deter Jason. His lips smashed into yours while his arms enveloped you.

"FUCKING FINALLY!" Roy screamed as he threw his hands up in the air.

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