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loganlermanstanaccount · 2 years ago

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Rigor Mortis (part 1)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Prologue, Part 2

summary: After the breakup, you move into a new place.

warnings: no warnings! cheeky bit of angst at the end

a/n: this is me admitting that realistically, miguel would be sick of our shit.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

or in the cold, crisp morn:

"These are the keys," Your new landlord hands you the copies, clinking against each other as you transfer them to a dish by the door. Your first thought is that there seem to be too many for this modest apartment: of varying shapes and sizes, and at least half a dozen. He steps through a wide archway to the kitchen, eerily clean. It's not modern by any means, the top half of a hulking brownstone some time away from college.

It’s been… a trying summer. Moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend had seemed like a great idea at the time. Younger you (barely 2 years ago) had been enamoured with the promises of city life: fast-paced, bustling, and never a dull day. Naivete and big ideas that you'd been too stupid, or maybe too desperate, to let go of. After being locked in a loop of the same 3 or 4 places, the same dozen faces - in a place as big as this, mind you - maybe your ex-boyfriend had freed you. Forced you from that halfway-home; as cold and empty as it had become; and back out into the world.

The reality was less than ideal - apartment hopping across the city for the past 4 months or so. You’d seen it all: glorified shoeboxes, fancy duplexes, viewing sublet rooms that were at least a little illegal. A box within a box within a box; coat closets rented out for double your monthly take home; and you had just about given up.

So this place seemed like a godsend: a brownstone, tucked away. Its interior is dated, but gorgeous. It had character: quirks and rich history in the brick and mortar. A fireplace tucked into the corner, window alcoves, wood panelling. Yes, the wallpaper was slightly warped with damp but it’s affordable - a reasonably priced gem that had made you jump when you saw the ad. With the overexposed and pixelated images, they didn’t do it justice.

You pad into the kitchen, running your hands on the smooth countertops. They’re bare and spotless - suspiciously so. Not many personal items, no fridge magnets, photos; nary a blanket on the sofa or half eaten plate of toast on the worktop. It’s so clean it feels staged, and it makes you squint. Isn’t there meant to be…

“I let Miguel know… he must’ve cleaned up the place-”

“Miguel?”

“The other tenant.” He pauses, boots clicking on the grain of the floorboard. “I don’t think he’ll be back until later tonight. Should give you some time to settle in.”

Nodding, you give him a small smile, and he steps out of the apartment. Your apartment.

~~~

You fill the rest of day with unpacking, putting some life into the place. You’d visited not long ago, fantasising about how you’d decorate. Something about sharing an apartment with your boyfriend for the past 2 years had done something to you: flattening and squeezing into a space not built with you in mind. How Jamie didn't like things on the walls, or how he needed the space for his textbooks, so why don't you find somewhere else to put your little stories? If his desk took up half the front room, then that makes sense, he needs it for work. But God forbid you needed a quiet space to study; what if the guest bedroom has your shit everywhere when his friends come over? A million compromises that didn't seem much like compromises: you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile. And so, the space to spread your wings without knocking over a gaudy plaque or two was very much appreciated.

You want to walk around the neighbourhood, map out the convenience stores, bodegas, community hotspots and hubs. Where's the best place to get a drink? The cheapest meal? Your usual haunts were a fair distance away, so maybe you'll make the trek and pick up waffles from Pam's, as a treat. Tired already, you slump on the sofa - a tattered old thing that can clearly take a beating. Looking around the place, something settles solidly at your chest. Contentment, maybe, a strange feeling considering the past few months. This will do, you think. This will do.

Perhaps it's not a very feminist thought, but you're not thriving . Thriving felt presumptuous, and yet coping seemed too complete a word - its implication too tidy, too neat. A mess, before; better, now…? And it didn't quite span the width and depth of the past few months; how long it had taken for the numbness to make way to anger, hot and intense - its flame fueling many a long night. And yet, maybe coping was just the way to describe your foray into this new chapter: a new year, new apartment, and whatever that brings. You had forgotten what it felt like to be alone; not lonely, but with only your own self for company. Without the ache of another person, for the first time in a while.

…except, you had a roommate. Which you had known when signing the lease, of course, but it's taken some time to sink in. What that means for you - a new person to tiptoe around and appease - you're not too sure yet. What is he like? He's out late, so maybe a chronic partygoer - sloppy drunk and vivacious, the life of the party. He might clatter into the apartment, chattering and bubbly. What do you know about him? From the apartment, as is, it doesn't tell you much. At first glance, it had looked too clean, but not unreasonably so if he had anticipated your arrival. No, it was the lack of personal effects that confused you. How long has he been living here and there aren't any pictures or knick knacks? To clutter is to be human, you think. And with the front room as blank as it is, you wonder just what kind of man he is.

It's getting late. Naturally, you do some snooping, lazily padding around in search of life. Onwards and upwards, to new frontiers: the cupboards and drawers in your new apartment.

He likes coffee, you learn. There's a fancy machine on the kitchen counter, glossy and shiny and clearly taken care of. Little packets of beans and filters line the cupboards, all with names you can't quite pronounce. The fridge is similarly well-stocked, with none of the junk food you've gotten accustomed to in the past few months. Its innards are leafy green and plush; labelled tupperware with leftovers notwithstanding. All the spices in a tray above the oven and fancy knives on the wall tell you he likes to cook, or rather, he likes to eat well. The lack of junk would take some getting used to - maybe he's a health nut? The type to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, to blend oddly coloured smoothies, and "reflect" after a long day of… dog walking or something.

You move on to the living room, running a light hand over the deep walnut of a side table behind the sofa. Again, it's oddly bare. When you tug at the drawers, it's brassy handles are solid. Locked. Kneeling, you run a hand across the larger cupboard door at its base. You pull at it, and it pops open with a click. Inside, it seems empty, save for a dusty box nestled in the back corner. With your top half almost completely inside its depths, you move it into the light.

It's old, a battered shoebox adorned with coloured sharpie - shaky drawings of flowers blossoming from its sides. The cardboard crackles when you open it. It's full of junk, mostly: half-dead pens, broken crayons, dried flowers, and little plastic toys - the kind you get from cereal boxes and happy meals. And, there's something peeking out. Confused, you dig a little deeper, to uncover a pair of… soccer cleats? They're tiny, clearly for a kid but seem barely worn, with minimal scuffing on the plastic blades.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A voice from above rumbles, and your head snaps up like a rubber band. You hadn't noticed the door open, and you are met face to face with, who you assume to be, your roommate.

He doesn't shout: tall, broad, and back straight by the door. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks. His name was… Miguel? Miguel crosses his arms, brows furrowed in quiet rage. Fuck.

"I was just looking for.. uhh…"

You know how it looks. It's the worst time for your brain to go blank, and you're left holding the hypothetical bag. You stand up a little too quickly, and smack your knee on the lip of the table. Half of the box spills onto the floor and you dart downwards, embarrassed.

" Shit. Sorry, let me-"

He leaps towards the floor, and you're forced behind him, as he scrambles to put everything in its place. You start to help and he stops, stock-still. As if in slow motion, his head turns to the side and he gives you a look that could kill thousands. Retreating, you shrink back, only able to watch helplessly.

" Chica tonta... ¿se crió en un rancho? ¿qué clase de persona entra en casa de alguien y toca todas sus cosas?" He's muttering something under his breath - too fast and not saying anything you can understand. Pausing, he throws you a look. "...y luego me ve como si yo fuera el que está mal- ojos grandes y bonitos como de perrito pateado...oh dios mío.-"

[silly little girl… was she raised in a barn? what kind of person walks into someone's house and touches all of their stuff? // and she looks at me like I'm the one in the wrong - big, pretty eyes like a kicked puppy… oh my god-]

He's gentle with the box, the way he puts it in its place contrasting his mood a couple of seconds before. He closes up the door and you stumble to your feet. In the glow of halogen bulbs, he follows, arms crossed like a mother hen.

"I think… I think I'm your new roommate?" You say your name and stretch out a hand, but Miguel doesn't move. You watch as his eyes sweep over your body, shameless.

"Are you asking, or telling me?" He sighs, pinching at his temples.

"...Telling?" You offer him a weak smile, and he cracks.

Softening, ever so slightly, he grumbles. "I know. I know. Mr Estévez said you would be in tomorrow, though."

"I like to be early."

"Right. Well… don't do that. Again, I mean." He clears his throat. "Don't touch my shit either. It's too… fuck , it's too late for this. I'm going to bed."

He kicks off his shoes, and all you can do is watch as he saunters off; the door to his room shutting with a resounding slam .

~~~

His name is Miguel O'Hara - not that he told you that, or anything. He hasn't spoken to you much at all, leaving you to figure out who he is and what he does from vague clues around the apartment. You don't go snooping , learning quickly from previous mistakes; but his full name on a letter slotted through the mail was fair game, you think. The most you've gotten out of him were grunts and frustrated requests to keep to your shelf in the fridge.

Passive-aggressive wasn't in his vocabulary, you’re convinced. A plethora of dirty looks in his arsenal? Sure. Plenty of vulgar swears in Spanish? Absolutely. Miguel was not, however, passive-aggressive. Just… aggressive. Not angry, of course. Upfront. Abhorred any passivity and indolence: umm-ing and ahh-ing for the sake of it.

So naturally , you were sent to kill him.

You tiptoe around the apartment, avoiding him at all costs. At first, it wasn’t on purpose, just the awkwardness of your first meeting bleeding into the next week. But you dodge and weave like an expert boxer - particularly impressive in the small space. Miguel’s in the kitchen? Suddenly, you’re not very hungry. He’s curled up on the couch for a movie? Wow, look at the time: and you're heading to bed. You can’t read him very well, and don’t trust yourself enough to look him in the eye without fear of melting under his gaze. The few short interactions you have, you crumble; a brush against his shoulder in the kitchen, or legs against his on the dining table. Not that Miguel offers a peace branch, pursing his lips when you’d make eye contact, somewhat frustrated at your theatrics. Call it cliche: you’re avoiding confrontation at all costs. It manifests itself in peculiar ways: the Shower Incident being the most memorable.

The Shower Incident, aptly named, happened not too long ago. The apartment is old , as you soon learnt, coming with its own plethora of quirks. What you had first taken as character and charm - window seats and wood panelling - also came in the form of a building half falling apart. Creaky floorboards, leaky pipes, and a distinct lack of central heating. The discounted price, that had seemed like a bargain before, clearly lacked some creature comforts… like heating. And a working shower.

As you’d been in a rush, you clattered into the bathroom; stripping in no time at all. Bare feet on the tile, and you turn the knobs at the base of the shower unit. You’re not going to pretend you know how it works, just yet, but… it’s not rocket science, is it? The brassy spout sputters; but with no luck. Groaning from the pipes makes you jump, before huffing in frustration. This is not the time; late to yet another 9.00am? You want to be different this year: organised, put together, and on time to your lectures. On your tiptoes, you peer down the shower head hesitantly, like it’s the barrel of a loaded gun. With cruel irony, it sputters to life, sending a face-full of ice-cold water your way.There’s a scream, as you scramble at the handles, scurrying out of its brunt; desperately trying to turn it off.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel leaps out of his room towards the shouting, with a fumble and clunk of his feet on wooden floor. He’s quick , hand hovering on the bathroom door before you can register it; his voice echoing outside.

“Are you…” There’s scuffling, which you can just about hear over the pounding of the water against tiles. “Are you okay, in there?”

You wince, stepping out of the shower – legs shaky like a baby deer – as you gurgle. “...Yeah?”

“Can I –” He clears his throat. “Are you.. clothed ? Can I come in?”

You scramble for something to cover yourself, settling for a plush towel on the rack. Wrapping yourself up, you brace yourself for the grimace that's sure to be on his face. Tentatively, you crack the door open. There Miguel is, face knitted with worry.

There's a flash of confusion at the scene, and then, what you think is relief. Relief you haven't cracked your head open, most likely: the blood would be hard to clean from the grout. You feel guilty, as you've probably broken it, or touched something you shouldn't. The shower is still on; sputtering, starting, and it becomes a strange sort of background music to your silent exchange.

"I don't know how to use the shower." You say with a small voice, guiltily.

" No me digas…" No shit, he mutters, face back to the furrowed brow you're starting to become more familiar with. He sighs, easing up. "You hurt?"

You shake your head, and swear you see a small smile on his face. You looked like a waterboarded rat, probably: big watery eyes and shaking with the sudden cold.

A mess , he thinks. But not a bad view.

He's still in workout clothes from his morning run, compression shirt and lazy shorts that hug his ass on; as he turns towards the shower. With some sense of shame, you try not to stare, to not watch the muscles of his back and arms flex as he angles the shower head away from his face. It's not enough that you've embarrassed yourself – twice, in the space of a couple of days – but the fact it was in front of your roommate, who is maybe the most beautiful person you've seen up close. Which, granted, narrows the field; but Miguel is gorgeous, a flash of pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates, wide palms toggling the dial.

"You need to be careful… push it in slightly when you turn the-" You crane your head towards his movements. "Come closer, or you won't see what I'm doing."

You move towards him, half naked and shivering, trying not to buckle with the heat of his body next to yours. This is what you get for not having spoken to a man since your ex: a tight coil at the base of your stomach for someone that you've done nothing but unwittingly terrorise for the past week.

He explains, patient and even-tempered; how to use the shower and you half-zone out to the low tone of his voice. There's no malice, or pomp in his words when there are a million things he could make fun of you for - that Jamie may have made fun of you for. You look up, at the sharp lines of his face, and chew at your lip, deep in thought.

"...and this side is for hot water. Next time, just ask me – instead of almost drowning."

You nod, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"...For what?" He says, softly. "Place is falling apart, anyway. It's not really your fault." You're convinced everything you touch in this house breaks, but with the way he looks at you, you believe him.

"Just ask me, next time." He echoes and makes for the door, stopping to drag his eyes up and down your frame. Oh… oh. You like that, the way he looks at you shamelessly, practically undressing you.

He smiles, amused at your deer-in-headlights expression.

"...I think that's mine."

He nods to the towel wrapped around your body and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. " Fuck , I didn't realise-"

He shrugs, noncommittal.

"...Seems like you need it more than me, anyways."

~~~

It's a rough first couple of days, and then a week, and then two. The rhythm is all off: like the jerky stop and start of an old car. He wakes up early to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, and you stay up late to finish papers and assignments. He has a job, you think, darting out at the same time once or twice a week in smart clothing and a backpack. Sometimes, you catch him hunched over a laptop or scribbling something in a beat up old notebook. Maybe, he’s a student - even if he doesn’t seem quite like the fresh-faced 19 year olds you see around campus. Although, you suppose it’s not implausible; you were one of the older people in your classes, after all. It’s hard to imagine O’Hara, stony-faced and serious, at a… dorm party, or something. To be that carefree, he’d need to get rid of that stick up his ass, first.

You’ve got a day off from lectures, using the time to catch up on the reading you should’ve done over a hectic break. The list seems to go on and on, already, this early into the year. Internally, you’ve made a promise to be on top of it all - the little hiccup with Jamie, notwithstanding. You’d knuckle down this morning, reading ( scanning) and summarising ( liberal use of the copy-paste function) in preparation for the rest of the semester. Miguel’s locked up in his room, somewhere, so you use the opportunity to spread out onto the dining table.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you look up from the muddle of words on your screen.

When you open the door, there’s a woman there with a notebook in hand. She’s pretty, in a classic sort of way, ginger braids cropped to her shoulders and lips slathered with gloss. Her outfit is relaxed, but carefully curated: a tight jumper and long brown legs stretching out from a black skirt.

“Hi.” She says, visibly keening. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting you, but she quickly recovers and gives you a blinding smile.

“...Hi,” Honestly, you’re a little confused. You haven’t seen her around the complex before; so who she was, you hadn’t a clue. Too pretty to be a door-to-door salesman, and too hot to try to convert you to Mormonism, you think. Whatever that means.

You wait expectantly, as a beat passes.

“Oh!” She laughs, and it sounds like puppies and rainbows, much too bright and airy considering the time of day. It makes her next words even more of a shock. “I’m looking for Miguel.”

With her last words, she steps a little closer; scanning the apartment from her vantage point. Something in you bubbles up, but you try to choke down the laughter.

“You’re looking for...Miguel?” Even out of your own mouth, it sounds absurd . The man had no friends, as far as you could tell. He seemed like the type to lock himself away in his enclosure, only stepping out for work, school, the bare minimum. In the short week that’s passed, his ‘enrichment time’ had consisted of a dry documentary on spider mating cycles - which had been a shock to walk into, the first time.

So someone here, at the apartment? Looking for him? Fidgeting, you scratch at your neck. “Uhh, I ca-”

“Sorry about that, Jia. You can have a seat.” His voice comes from behind you, and Jia breezes into the apartment, perching on the sofa. Legs crossed, she reaches into her bag, taking out a laptop and a pen and paper. He’s changed out of his workout clothes, donned in a loose white sweater and casual trousers - relaxed, for once. With a limp thud, you close the door. There’s an odd feeling as you look around at the scene: tension, and you feel like you’re interrupting. Miguel clatters around in the kitchen, fumbling for mugs and coffee filters and God knows what else.

“...was it two sugars, or three?”

“Three!” She throws over her shoulder, tapping away at her open laptop. “I like it sweet, Miguel.”

You squint. He laughs : a small chuckle that comes with a heat at the base of your stomach. Your head almost aches, trying to recalibrate; reconcile with the version of the person you’ve barely seen around the apartment to now - present, engaged, and personable. Exasperated is the only word for it. Miguel O’Hara was, in fact, capable of joy. Dickhead.

He barely acknowledges you, but Jia does; batting her wispy eyelashes in your direction, curious. The tapping stops, and she curls the corner of her mouth up with a hint of a smile.

“You gonna introduce me?” She calls out to Miguel, and then smiles to you; warm and genuine. It makes you feel a little more at ease. You catch the end of a sigh coming from the kitchen.

“Jia, this is my roommate.” He glances up to gesture towards you. “...this is Jia. I… help her out with work, sometimes.”

From the couch, she rolls her eyes. “He’s too modest. He’s my tutor, technically.”

With that, your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything you’d imagined him doing, tutoring students wasn’t one of them - especially considering he seemed barely out of college himself.

“...Technically?”

“He doesn’t like to advertise it, because he’s picky with his clientele.” She giggles and he scoffs. You get the feeling there’s a joke flying over your head, just out of reach. “Word gets out on campus that Miguel’s tutoring again…”

“ Vale, vale ,” He grumbles, but his tone is good-natured and light. “S’enough, Jia.”

She gives you a wink, before turning towards her work.

You walk towards your things, still on the dining table. He’s got his head buried in a kitchen cabinet and you look on, wanting to ask a lot of things. The words seem to die in your throat: too big, too small, not the right shape. She's a stranger; that knows where the coffee’s kept and the best spot on the couch. That makes Miguel laugh . You want to ask him about the stranger in your home; but you’re too scared he’d turn and point the finger at you.

He walks to the couch, balancing two cups of coffee. You look back. Next to him, her presence is an oddity - a blip in his carefully crafted universe. With the warm sheen of familiarity, she nudges his shoulder. Taking careful sips, he pointedly ignores her, tapping a finger at her screen - as if to say, pay attention. She smiles, wide; an asteroid across the depths of space, dazzling and brilliant in the night sky.

The exchange… it makes you think. If Miguel is the Sun, and Jia, a bright body in orbit: what’s your place in this four-walled cosmos? Where do you belong?

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@teacoffeeflavored @chuuyara@qiapia@rotten-zombi3@bonbyon @tianyhi @noelsilly @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @peachsteven @thesquidni@fatenpara @verr-uckt @kurakasabe @kamiko32 @mushy-mushroom04@izzys-hawttea@theandromedastar @wicked-futures @truthuntolddd @prettygirlpattinson @hellokittylover202 @angel-eyes05 @lacedinweb22 @starguiders @buggiecrawls @eugeab @tarjapearce @whoreloll @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @ancientbeing10 @shartythefarty@royalhearts

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #eventual smut #angst #kat_writes😼

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kitkatkey · 8 months ago

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HarryKim AU fic recs? I gotcha. Heed each fic tags and double check for smut if you'd rather avoid that.

1) "in the car outside" by paisleycowboys, gym teacher Harry/rcm Kim au fic. They're neighbors, Kim's new in town, and Harry can't help but observe Kim observe him who's observing Kim. They don't get along at first but when feelings catch!!! Oh boy. Oh brother. They're so good for each other.

2) "at this point it was years before..." by RaccoonScientist, originally written in Mandarin translated into English, BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN AND SO MUCH FUN!! Harry and Kim met as children, grow up together as best friends, alternate universe where they do not become cops. I read and reread this fic bc I couldn't get it outta my head.

3) "Static over voice" by sosioban, SO SO SO SO FUCKING GOOD I REREAD THIS RECENTLY (March '24) OOOOOO FUCK!! Harry and Kim meet by chance online playing video game. It is silly. There is pining. They do figure it out.

4) "Du bois coffee" by harvestar, modern au where they work at Harry's coffee shop. Of course they fall in love. Of course they inevitably kiss. Cute fluff. Cuno is mentioned, wish there was more of him in this one.

5) "My Dear Elf with the Clipboard" by Sosioban, more fluff!! Set modern day during Christmas. Kim is a pining mess. He wants Hot Santa so badly it's stupid. Hot Santa is ofc Harry.

6) "Your Turn with the Frog" by sosioban, OH GOD ANOYHER ONE BY SOSIOBAN??? YES!!! love this, read it in one day instead of doing schoolwork. Rushed all that work. Don't regret it. So silly and filled to the brim with smut. Alice, Soona, and Ruby are Kim's friends, Kim is gay, Harry is trans, they're fuck buddies who are both teachers, what can wrong? Kim definitely won't catch feelings. Definitely... WILL BE REREADING THIS ONE

7) "All In Due Time" fic series by Oxycontin. Love love love- so sad sad sad. Kim ages in reverse. His days are numbered. He slowly relearns how to live and how to love and what comes next for everyone else has already happened for him. As time goes on he forgets things. He grows younger. Aging in reverse like Merlin. Some good ol Pale fuckery ya know? I love this series. Extremely well written. Tears my heart up. Read it. I promise it does not disappoint with the angst.

8) "Pale Moon" by greatdistractions, is a werewolf Harry fic set post game. Harry doesn't remember being a werewolf, Kim goes to find him when he doesn't go to work and doesn't answer any calls, and finds a wolf in his apartment instead. They go back to Martinaise. Some cute shit happens. Quick, simple, cute read.

And these last two are set post-game and serve more as continuations than AUs but they're still So Fuckin Good:

9) "birds of a feather flock together" fic series by Thegrimreaperisanerd. OH OH OHOHOHIHHHHHH!!!! I love this series, the second fic is currently in progress and is getting so so so so good!! Taking place post canon, the first fic (Imprinting) is a casefic with Harry and Jean and Harry is so desperate for his new bestie (Kim) he buys a pink phone second hand and does some very illegal very questionable things. DUCKLINGS THAT DROWN is the sequel exploring more of their (Harry and Kim) relationship and their relationships with the 41st. The author is incredibly sweet, highly recommend yall to read and leave em a kudos/comment trust me they'll notice.

10) "Birdcage-verse" fic series by Sarielle, phenomenal writing, excellent execution of a case fic- ADOPTED CUNO ALERT!!! SEAMLESS ORIGINAL CHARACTERS!!! There is so much world building that has gone into this series. I cannot recommend this series in particular enough. Really it has it all.

Wow, genuinely thank you anon, I wasn't expecting such a detailed response! I've read some of these already (incredible tho so i should reread) but I will absolutely check out the others!

#fanfic recs #disco elysium #harrykim

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demonslayedher · 2 years ago

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Tengen's Favorite: Fugu

A.k.a., the pufferfish, a flamboyant way to flirt with death by tetrodotoxin.

"Sempai, you didn't!" you might be shaking your screens as a way to shake sense into me. "Sempai, I thought you wouldn't risk your life for Kimetsu Kitchen!" So you say, but I'd like to remind you that I am a bad cook and I could probably find less flamboyant methods of culinary death. But also I am here to educate, and guess what? This isn't my first time eating fugu. It's time to knock the flamboyance down a notch by telling you that fugu is more commonly consumed than you might think, as well as give you the details about Uzui Tengen's favorite food in a safe way.

Because yes, you should mind safety.

Cutting out the liver and other toxic organs is a very precise, very crucial process, so let's allow Hinatsuru to concentrate and ask our local fish-fan and poison expert to tell us more.

"Thank you for asking! Did you know pufferfish don't make this neurotoxin themselves? They get it from eating things like mollusks and bacteria, so I'll bet in the future raising these fish in farms with controlled diets will be popular. The tetrodotoxin, or TTX, blocks the passage of sodium ions into a nerve cell, thereby not letting signals to contract reach the muscles. Although there is no antidote, it's a poison humans can metabolize rather quickly, provided they have artificial respiratory assistance. The paralysis and all the other symptoms sure won't be fun, though!"

Thanks, Shinobu! Taisho Secret: Shinobu's goldfish is named Fugu.

She's right about the farmed fugu, and I've heard it said that people who can taste a difference between farmed fugu and wild fugu tend to prefer it farmed anyway. What's also important to note is that there are many varieties of fugu, and "torafugu" (tiger puffer) is the safest variety, and what is typically consumed. Although some people say the livers are the best part, they are typically rich people who wind up eating their words later on. Don't listen to them, they are dead.

We'll pause here to acknowledge the history, because not everyone who has ingested wild fugu has doomed themselves to consciously watching themselves suffocate over the course of a few hours. There are records of use their use in Chinese medicine, and even though Toyotomi Hideyoshi (one of the three great unifiers of Japan) formally banned their consumption and the Tokugawa shogunate upheld this ban, people continued to consume them anyway, especially in areas where the Tokugawa shogun was not popular. (I'd like to imagine some Uzui ancestors ate fugu out of spite.)

One region not especially privy to the shogunate was the Choshu domain, in modern day Yamaguchi prefecture. This domain played a major role in overthrowing the shogunate and establishing the Meiji government, and the first prime minister, Itou Hirobumi, was from Yamaguchi. The story goes that in 1887, it was on visit down at the very western tip of Japan's main island that he stayed at an inn and wanted fish, and the lady of the establishment had no fish to serve him except the illegal pufferfish. She decided it was better to risk what might look like an attempted assassination of the top guy in the country than to serve him a subpar meal.

Well, bam, it was so good that pufferfish was legal the following year! By my calculations and presumed dates that KnY takes place, that means it was already legal before Tengen was born. Sorry, buddy, you don't get to be that edgy.

As for how to eat it, the most iconic way is to eat it raw, sliced so thin that you can still see elaborate patterns on the dishes through the translucent flesh. This is called "tessa." It's often arranged in elegant patterns evocative of chrysanthemums, or on festive occasions, like a phoenix. It's most often a winter dish, but you can get it all year round. It has a very, very light, rather unflamboyant flavor, and is therefore typically eaten with a special variety of onions grown to accompany it, and other condiments like ponzu, citrus, and momiji-oroshi (grated daikon with chili pepper).

The main draw is the texture of the fish. As someone who enjoys sashimi, I did find the texture of tessa very, very nice when I recently got a chance to try it. The same meal also served the skin, and the flesh cooked into a rice porridge dish.

I wonder if Hinatsuru is almost done?

Not yet. Then let's talk about incidents and safety!

Basically, if you're not in Japan: DON'T DO IT. Heck, if you're in the European Union, it's illegal in the first place. There are very, ve-r-r-r-y slim opportunities of eating it in the United States after it is sourced from Japan, and although frozen tessa can travel, really, why bother eating in New York City? If you have that budget to spend, just fly to Japan. Anywhere else... just don't do it. The restaurant fatalities in recent years have primarily been in countries that don't have as stringent of a training and certification process as Japan. Japan also has a small handful of cases each year, but they don't usually end in fatalities because the accidental poisonings may not always be a large dose, and the victims received medical attention that got them through the crucial hours of paralysis. Also, those cases have typically been due to overconfident fishermen, not mistakes made by industry professionals.

But if you're in Japan----oh! It looks like Hinatsuru is done.

All of those examples? Things I have eaten in real life, often under the mistaken impression that "fugu" referred to two different kinds of fish (as happens sometimes), as there was no way I'd have eaten fugu without signing a waiver first, right???

No. Not at all. It is totally realistic to find yourself in a situation where you are served fugu without realizing what it is (though I imagine most tourists don't find themselves in these situations unless they have a guide who planned things without asking about dietary preferences). To demystify this fish a bit, there is so much fugu consumed without incident that you can get to a point where the possibility of poison doesn't even cross your mind. They sell it at a regular grocery story just down the street from where I live in a place that is not famous for fugu or anything like that. (Also, no one brings it up as much, but raw eel is toxic too! You never see it available for sale unless it's been precooked or specially marinated. Again, industry standards.)

Granted, I was still nervous about eating tessa, and the danger is still part of the thrill of fugu, though the industry stresses its merits as a tasty and (otherwise) healthy fish. I get the feeling that if Tengen lived in the Reiwa era, he'd find pufferfish disappointingly lower risk now than suits his thrill. Nonetheless, although I'll eat it if it's served to me, it is not something I go out of my way to eat.

But I will state it again: ONLY eat pufferfish that has been prepared by a professional in Japan. Otherwise, DO NOT.

#kimetsu kitchen #uzui tengen #uzui makio #fugu #uzui hinatsuru #uzui suma #my art #my dumb art

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sitp-recs · 2 years ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you could provide any recs for stories that show Draco being redeemed with character growth and unlearning all of his biases (also with slow burn Drarry, and Harry starting out disliking him for being canonically terrible)? I have already read all of lettered's and astolat's works, which I really enjoyed as good examples of this.

Hi anon! Ahh yes love me some Lettered and Astolat, especially the fab duo By the Grace & Heal Thyself — both have incredible Draco arcs. I think these 2 stories (and authors) explore the immediate post-war/ Draco redemption combo flawlessly, and it’s really hard to find similar fics. Aideomai focuses on 8th year but is also great at writing young, traumatized and emotionally stunted Drarry navigating the post-war reality and their feelings. Here are some other fics that came to mind:

Turn and Face the Strange (time may change me) by punk_rock_yuppie (T, 16k)

Draco and Harry and how their relationship—and themselves—change over the course of eleven years.

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Here Be Dragons by birdsofshore (E, 22k)

Harry doesn’t want to waste his time investigating illegal dragonhide trading, whether it involves a fetish club in Knockturn Alley or visiting a remote island in Wales. Why the bloody hell does Malfoy always have to be up to something?

Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (T, 29k)

Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works.

measures of our days and nights by flimsy (E, 40k)

Draco returns to London to help the Ministry decipher a spell, but things aren’t quite as simple as they seem.

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout (M, 49k)

Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

Wild, orphaned (E, 92k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

Such Great Heights by aideomai (E, 93k)

Draco Malfoy, wide-eyed and pale and in a decidedly ragged shirt, was crouched next to the pile of whatever the dragon had been eating. Harry threw himself to a halt and yelled, “Merlin, how many times do I have to save your life?”

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (M, 131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Thank you @amindamazed for adding:

The Man Who Lived by sebastianL (E, 254k)

Draco breaks a cup, and one thing leads to another. A story of redemption, tattoos, dreams, mistakes, green eyes, long conversations, and copious amounts of coffee. Set in New York twelve years after the war.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #enemies to lovers #redemption arc

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wangxianficrecs · 2 years ago

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❤️ Across the street to another life by danegen

❤️ Across the street to another life

by danegen

M, 99k, Wangxian

Summary: Wangji stays on the piano bench as they’re closing up. Wei Ying chews his lip, knowing what he’s going to do but horrified at himself. But what’s the alternative: kick the guy out and find him sleeping beside the dumpster in the morning? And that’s if the cops don’t take him in for vagrancy. “Wangji?” Wangji looks up. Please don’t be a serial killer. “So, we’re closing up for the night, but A-Yuan and I live upstairs. Do you want to join us for dinner?” Wangji blinks. His head bobs in what’s probably a yes. “Great!” Fuck. Or a ragged monosyllabic man wearing a collar shows up at Wei Ying's music store. Wei Ying and A-Yuan ask, is anyone going to adopt this guy? And then they don't wait for an answer.

Kay's comments: This story really had me hooked and I could hardly wait for each new chapter. It's a modern AU set in America based on the movie Unleashed. I didn't know the movie and thankfully, that didn't matter, because no knowledge is needed! Wen Ruohan is a crime boss here and Lan Wangji is his top-fighter that he keeps in a cage and collared and uses to commit violence on his enemies and to win illegal fights (he gave me Winter Soldier vibes!). One day, Lan Wangji manages to escape and he gets taken in by Wei Wuxian and his son A-Yua. Cue lots of hurt/comfort, some drama, family feels, tragic pasts, Wangxian getting together and having to deal with Wen Ruohan. Lots of angst and a well-deserved happy ending. Despite the author warning that Lan Wangji is way out of character here, it didn't really feel that way for me. Like, it totally made sense given his circumstances. I really loved the character dynamics in this story. The Jiang parents are divorced for example and now Yu Ziyuan is trying to be a less shitty parent and mostly doing it by bribing her grandchildren with gifts and one of my favourite parts, though he doesn't play that much of a role, is what the author made of Wen Zhuliu, because I'm really weak for him! I also really loved the slow thawing of Lan Wangji and him growing into his new life and finding a place for himself. Mojo's comments: Fucking spectacular, and I'm in a car and not able to make a good bookmark, but DAMN, y'all. Lwj has been kept in a cage and made to fight all his life, and finally slips his chain and sinks into domestic bliss with wwx and a-yuan: learns to read and use a fork and it's beautiful. But of course, his past doesn't want to let him go.

Excerpt: “Was that woman your mother?” Wei Ying’s smile falls. His mouth opens in a pretty O. “Oh, you mean Yu Ziyuan? The one who picked A-Yuan up?” Wangji nods. “No. Well, not really. My mother died when I was about A-Yuan’s age. My father, too. Yu Ziyuan and her husband—well, ex-husband now—raised me after that. More or less.” Wangji nods like he understands and stares down at the counter. He doesn’t know what to call a woman who is sort of a mother but not really. “Where are your parents?” Wei Ying asks. His voice is soft, like he isn’t sure he wants Wangji to hear. “Dead.” He doesn’t remember his parents, but when Wangji was younger, Wen Ruohan told him that he had taken Wangji in after they died. “Oh. I’m sorry.” Wangji doesn’t understand why Wei Ying would apologize. He’s afraid to ask why. “A-Yuan’s mother died, too,” Wei Ying says. When Wangji peeks up at him, Wei Ying has gone back to staring at the computer screen. He isn’t smiling. “She died when he was a baby.” It hadn’t occurred to Wangji that Wei Yuan must have a mother. He knows about mothers, but he’s never actually met one. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says what Wei Ying said: “I’m sorry.”

modern setting, modern no powers, pov alternating, family feels, set in america, based on unleashed (2005), past wei wuxian/others, wei wuxian is lan sizhui's parent, wei yuan, single parent wei wuxian, addition, implied/referenced drug addition, amnesia, ableist language, musicians, angst with a happy ending, found family, @danegen

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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holystormfire · 10 months ago

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John 8:31-42

"Everyone who commits sin is a slave."

Stratum, Nepal, Modern Day Slavery

Photograph by Lisa Kristine (b. 1965),

Photographed in 2016,

Giclee print,

Gospel Reading

To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said: ‘If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples, you will learn the truth and the truth will make you free.’

They answered, ‘We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean, “You will be made free��?’ Jesus replied: ‘I tell you most solemnly, everyone who commits sin is a slave. Now the slave’s place in the house is not assured, but the son’s place is assured. So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed. I know that you are descended from Abraham; but in spite of that you want to kill me because nothing I say has penetrated into you. What I, for my part, speak of is what I have seen with my Father; but you, you put into action the lessons learnt from your father.’

They repeated, ‘Our father is Abraham.’ Jesus said to them: ‘If you were Abraham’s children, you would do as Abraham did. As it is, you want to kill me when I tell you the truth as I have learnt it from God; that is not what Abraham did. What you are doing is what your father does.’

‘We were not born of prostitution,’ they went on ‘we have one father: God.’ Jesus answered: ‘If God were your father, you would love me, since I have come here from God; yes, I have come from him; not that I came because I chose, no, I was sent, and by him.’

Reflection on the photograph

We all want to be free, in the fullest sense of the word. If the opposite of freedom is bondage and slavery, no one wants that. To a certain extent, we are all enslaved to some bad habits or to sin. If some of these bad habits bring us temporary pleasure or make us feel good, we can even love our slavery, not wanting to give it up. Faith however sheds clarity and shows what slavery is. Sin is bondage, making us unfree. We are chained to the things of earth, and so cannot fly towards the things of heaven.

Our photograph is by Lisa Kristine, an international humanitarian photographer. In many of her photographs she highlights the issues of modern-day slavery. There are currently 27 million people enslaved or in forced labour. That's more than double the number of people trafficked during the entire Transatlantic Slave Trade. In our photograph we see people, probably entire families, working in bonded labour. These people don't have a choice. Often they become enslaved through loans they take on. Slaveholders, the only people in these poorer countries who have money to lend, trick the borrowers into slavery through illegal, exorbitant interest rates that are impossible to repay. Children inherit the massive debt from their parents, and thus start working from a very young age too. A vicious cycle, vicious indeed.

Whilst the slavery to sin and the slavery in our artwork are different, underlying them both is the same human desire: that everyone, including us, be liberated from any slavery and so be free. Through grace, we hold it in our own hands to break away from the bondage of sin, but it is otherwise for the people depicted in our photograph, who are powerless to break free from their enforced modern slavery….

We pray today for those who are being trafficked and forcibly put to work. Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.

Article by Father Patrick van der Vorst

#christian blog #jesus #bible reading #christian doctrine #bible scripture #biblical #glorytogod #bible #faith in jesus #bible study #photography #modern art #artists #artwork #art history

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sobbingdistantnoises · 11 months ago

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❌

📚

🎢

🎶

🦅

😈

🛒

🤡

SKY SKY, HI <3

�� What's a trope you will never write?

HM, I had to think for this one, but probably hanahaki sickness stuff. I don't think I've ever read one of these where I found it memorable and enjoyable, and especially when they have happy endings, it just seems a bit silly to me that one of the people involved is like...deathly sick before they decide to confess. Not for me

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

I do think it'll be cool to turn storytelling into a career one day, but I don't think writing itself is the way for me. It's fun, but there are SO many ways that I want to be able to tell stories in (notably. GAMES), and I think writing by itself is a tad limited for my purposes. Plus I do not write nearly enough to make it a career </3

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

This DEPENDS HEAVILY on criteria.

Sid Is Dead And Cupcake Killed Him. Paul McCartney of the Beatles murders Sid Vicious! Johnny Rotten is framed for Sid's death because he discovers that he can talk to ghost!Sid while Sid is near his corpse and thus carries it from town to town as they try to figure out what the frick happened! They meet Paul McCartney on some random intersection! Find out what happens possibly never because the last thing I wrote was them taking an ILLEGAL LEFT TURN, which I now realize is extremely dangerous, but when I wrote that, I did not know how to drive!

But even knowing that, he never expected to be framed for Sid Vicious’—his bandmate and best friend’s—murder. What he expected even less was to be able to see and speak to Sid’s ghost, because, hello? that’s not normal, and what was even less normal than even that was to be required to be in the vicinity of Sid’s corpse to do so and therefore end up, with Sid’s enthusiastic consent, escaping from the law who came to arrest Johnny with his friend’s corpse in tow. In all fairness, he could see why the officials thought he was guilty.

4AM Ramones Cult. Message sent at 4:02am in my private server containing the satanic summoning of the Ramones (or just Dee Dee, who says goodnight to the first person narrator who I think was me in a disguise). I told him I liked his hair.

You know, I really need to work on how I act when tired. It's not professional, and it would probably get me taken to several professionals if word got out.

Volcano Sacrifice Ramones Fic. There is planned out logic for bacteria in this one somewhere! The Ramones don't know each other but are deemed "saviors" by the local cult. They get sacrificed to volcano. Everything inside volcano underworld is based off of the Ramones' music in a meta-way, not necessarily known by Ramones. The first area they end up in is jungle train place based off their album for Subterranean Jungle. They have to start the train on the tracks as if it's the game Siberia! The jungle is on an infinite loop on the inside with wall boundaries that are a plus sign so that you can't even go straight forever.

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

YES INDEED, I am constantly listening to music forever <3 Currently, obsession is Doom music, both original games and modern :D I'm currently actually listening to Mick Gordon's Vega Core (modern doom), which OHHHH, I love, Mick Gordon is a god <3

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

I pretty much NEVER have a proper outline, so pants it is by default! I always sort of want to have an outline so that I can finish a longer thing some day, but I've yet to find motivation to do that

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

I do not really have readers for most of my things since I don't publish the vast majority of what I write, so not really? I will indeed likely do many mean things when it comes time for me to run the mafia game(s) I am in the midst of planning though. Returning to my roots of writing out the brutal murders of my friends! <- command game murders

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

GHOSTS AND STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS MY BELOVED. ALSO PEOPLE BEING SAD BUT I IMAGINE THAT'S MOST PEOPLE :D

GHOSTS, I have so much to say on that. Like...probably most of the stories I've actually been invested in for a while involved ghosts, and AHHHH, I love doing ghost logic because it's like, rules, but then you make the rules... <3

Stream of consciousness is a more recent thing I've put into my writing, but it's SO fun to do, and it's also EASY which is great. I get to give my little guys patterns of thought and think about how their thinking overlaps itself and eeee, it's so fun :)

Currently in the mafia game I'm in (Pumpkin Nights my beloved), I have a character named Ivory, and her thing when I roleplay her is that her thoughts are really...unevenly spaced? and it gets even more unstable when she's not well mentally (which she very much was not until this morning <3) She is also currently a ghost because she was executed (for killing people because her warrior cats book was messed with), so that ties in :D

(Did Ihurt...it...my...belovedyoudon't...deservethis...whyNebbie mistake...youresobloody...whereare...you?) (They...started ittheystartedittheir...fault it'stheir fault) (Emptyemptenter...tainmentarebooks...pl...ease...I want back...backbackback...they gave me...osomuchplease...I wasted...it...)

And then PEARL stream of consciousness. Basically, if you've heard of what Evolution SMP/Hermitcraft related/Grian related Watchers are, they were basically...sort of gods who are actually implied the viewers but people sort of leave that last part out a lot because of what it's been turned into by fanon. Essentially, I have very differing headcanons from most of fanon, and in there Pearl(escentmoon) was a Watcher during the start of Evo that was cast down because she got too attached to doing "player stuff" and stopped acting according to Watcher principals (which are actually fairly justified in a POV, I disagree HEAVILY with "Watchers are bad" most of the time). She has a lot of repetition and parallel structure in her SoC thoughts alongside an mostly-lack of punctuation and stopping because a lot of her thing is that her views on stuff are, say, very difficult to change. She believes, and she believes heavily (the Watchers are fair). I also use the same italics and brackets for her thoughts as I do for some early exposition stuff that references her in third person which I think is neat

(I was a good Watcher I helped I built I made ou all them all angels I gifted I loved I punished forgave guided loved loved loved I loved them I love you please keep me with you I love you I love you I love you) (Grian? Grian Grian it's Grian he's here he's next to me) (They decided for me I love you I love you please take me back) (Angels angels I built you all angels)

ONE MORE THING FOR THIS QUESTION. THE DOOM PLAYER. This is a little fella who is part oc, part canon, part rpf of everybody who has ever played Doom. Basically, the premise is "what if the character you play is real" except they weren't aware of their consciousness 2 seconds ago, still adhere to video game logic except they're irl now but in the game's version of irl, and now they get to have a crisis. It's like the opposite of those fics that make poorly planned canon believable. There's rules, just strange rules, and now the 2 sets of rules get to fight. What I try for the Doom Player's thoughts is a lot of inconsistency. Their thoughts are in both 3rd person and in first, and a lot of sentences overlap and become mixed together

(The pain the pain the pain it's everywhere everything's ending they're dying they're all dying at once) (I’m one I’m whole feel quiet do more think think don’t move don’t alert what happened a bug maybe weird bug never happened WHO before AM I remember lots I want to go back no intermission why not it’s a bug but why how did it happen it was normal this isn’t how am I thinking WHO AM I thinking can think but never as one though I remember so much never like this bugs head so full too much think help ing don’t move okay WHO AM I feel weird can feel taking damage I think full health never felt pain WHO bug AM I can think) (Deep in the code deep out of the code there is no code why can I breath think WHO AM I ing I can't think think breathe think what is thinking so scared what is scared not breathing?)

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

There are 2 types of funnies in my writing. Intentional and "HELP"

Ghost Clive. I wanna redo this fic but make it better because I actually really like the concept of the Iron Maiden guys hanging out together dead but don't like where the idea came from anymore and am more interested in the concept of Eddie doing a thing. The following may be scrapped because I don't think the way I portrayed Clive is all that great, but I do think it's funny to read

"No!" Clive flinched at the raise in volume, "You're sitting a few meters away from your fucking dead body while your former bandmate—who's been dead for a year!—is talking to you! Are we on tour?!" "Um...probably not." Clive decided with a shake of his head. The other person let out an exasperated sigh, "Good god, Clive. I'm glad you finally noticed." Clive nodded seriously, "Me too."

Ghost Cliff.

"Then- how..?" Jason vaguely gestured his hand at Cliff's ghostly figure, unable to find the proper words to describe what he meant. "No idea, man. Guess this is the afterlife or whatever." Cliff shrugged, "Got to say though, you're the first person who's shown any signs of seeing me." "Wait, really?" Jason's eyebrows raised, surprised, "Just me?" "Yep." "Is that why you're...here now, I'm guessing?" Cliff snorted, "No, that's because I follow random guys to their hotel rooms all the time. It's a hobby of mine." "Ah, that explains it." Jason shook his head, a smile tugging itself onto his face despite the absurdity of the situation.

Frantic Fanfic. The best my writing has ever been.

JOTARO TOOK A MOMENT TO THINK, ADJUSTING THE DUCK EATING HIS HEAD AT ALL TIMES (HIS HAT).

"WOW!" SAID FIRESTAR AS HE ENTERED THE SUSPICIOUS PREMISES OF THE GROCERY STORE. HE WAS DAZZLED BY WALLMART. IT WAS SIMPLY INCREDIBLE. H

WALTER THEN WALKED TO HIS KITCHEN, DEEP IN THOUGHT. HOWEVER, AS HE WAS "THINKING", HE SLIPPED ON A PUDDLE OF BLOOD LEFT OVER FROM LAST NIGHT AND FELL. AMNESIA. :(

"SAAAAAAANS!!!!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" HE CRIED IN A FONT THAT WASN'T COMIC SANS, BECAUSE SANS WAS DEAD.

I've written more in this ask than I did for my writing recently. Ooooops. Thank you for the ask <3

#asks #sky

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 5 years ago

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Merchant of Death

One-Shot

Description: Mob!Thanos is a collector of the most precious things in the world. But what happens when his eyes upon you?

Warning - Mentions of violence and beheading

Words- 5400~

This one-shot is my entry for @sweater-daddiesdumbdork 's writing challenge. I used the following image prompt. Check out this link to participate in the challenge!

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

Nobody knew his real name. Nobody cared. Named after the Greek God of death himself, Thanos was modern day's omen of slaughter. Being the leader of one of the oldest mob families in New York, Thanos commanded a certain level of respect amongst his peers. It wasn't just that his heritage was daunting. His towering height, broad shoulders, vast expanse of muscled torso and legs were enough to intimidate even the toughest of the fighters. Always dressed in an impeccably crisp suit, his bald head, sharp eyes and a strong, set jaw easily gave the impression that he was the owner of a multi-billionaire corporation.

It wouldn't be wrong to call his drugs and weapons empire a well-oiled corporation. His 10 fingers were dipped in blood in multiple countries throughout the seven continents, yes even in Antarctica.

Thanos was a well-known figure. Everybody knew who he was, knew what he did, but nobody, not even the law authorities, could ever connect him with any illegal activity, be it harbouring and selling of illegal guns and drugs, or smuggling goods to his centres across the globe.

For all his wrongdoings, Thanos did donate 10% of his revenue to the poor, the homeless, the downtrodden. Almost like a twisted version of Robinhood, where he ripped off the rich with highly priced drugs and paid a part of the amount to the poor.

For this reason, there were two sides of him which were portrayed in the media, those who earned his favour called him Messiah of the Poor, while the others who had witnessed his ire addressed him as the Merchant of Death. But in both the iterations, it had been made ample clear that nobody could make Thanos bleed.

That's why it came as a shock when the Chief of Police, Steve Rogers, had managed to shoot Thanos in an encounter. Looking at their leader fall to the ground, Thanos' men commenced their feral attack on the protectors of the law, driving them back.

The bullet had pierced his left forearm, but hopefully hadn't made it far into his body, thanks to the bulletproof vest sewn into the jacket.

His men rushed him to the nearest hospital as he put pressure on the wound.

...

Being the night of 31st December, the ER was more crowded than usual, with drunk idiots involved in car accidents, accidental weapon discharges, or some even sustaining injuries by bursting fire crackers at a close range.

You silently cursed yourself. Yeah saving lives was noble and all, but spending the entire New Year's Eve in the hospital, surrounded by blood and equally bloody cries of their families and friends really got on your nerves at times.

You steeled yourself as you entered the operation theatre (OT) for another surgery. This moron's druggie friend had shot him in the chest because he thought he was someone else. This would be a complicated surgery, as the bullet was deep inside the muscle, almost touching the heart. One miscalculation could result in more complications.

Halfway through the surgery, you heard a commotion outside the OT. Furrowing your head, you tried to concentrate, but the noise grew louder. You focused your mind on removing the bullet. As if choreographed, your instrument touched the bullet just as a gun was fired right outside your door.

Your colleagues jumped, but you set your concentration on removing the piece of metal from this man's body.

The doors to the OT were kicked open as a tall, thin man entered weilding a gun, asking for you. Your staff promptly pointed at your bent figure.

You were still focused on extracting the bullet when the gun cocked next to your ear, "C'mon out Doctor, we need you to treat our boss," Maw commanded you.

Ignoring him, you carefully pulled the metal upwards, looking at the live scan feed on the screen for direction.

"I don't think you heard me Doctor. Leave this man and come with me. Our boss needs you. I will not repeat myself," warned Maw, his venomous voice laced with concern for his boss.

You did not move.

When he pressed the gun to your forehead, your staff gasped in terror, but you refused to budge.

As soon as the damned bullet was out, you dropped it onto a tray along with your gloves, instructed your staff to stitch up the wound, and wordlessly looked at the greasy-haired Maw.

He beckoned you to follow him into Thanos' room where he was being prepped for surgery. You saw Dr Yellowstone tending to him as you approached. "I am sorry Doctor, I told them that you were in a surgery but..." you brushed him off, asking to see the preliminary reports. Dr Yellowstone explained that the bullet wound wasn't deep, and that a simple surgery headed by him would have sufficed, but they were insistent to get you to do the surgery.

"Of course," Maw's sickeningly smooth voice was back in your ear, "We wanted someone who's the best for our boss. And you are the best surgeon in the entire state, aren't you Doctor?" he asked with a sneer.

You continued to ignore him, coordinating with your staff. As Thanos was put in a wheelchair, Maw pulled out his gun again, cocking it near your forehead, "Our boss better be able to move that hand again miss, or tonight will be the last time you use both your hands."

That threat pushed you over the edge. All evening and night of dealing with insensitive jerks like this guy over here had finally made you snap.

You turned towards him, looked at the barrel of his gun and slapped him right across his cheek.

Whether it was the force of your slap, or the fact that your assault had been completely unexpected, nobody could tell, but Maw staggered backwards, his free hand resting on his long reddening cheek where you had struck him.

Thanos jerked in attention at your action. His pain seemed forgotten as he looked at you. Your plump figure stood tall as you glared at Maw.

"Put that gun away or there's more where that came from," you warned him spitefully.

"Nurse, take him to the OT. Dr Yellowstone, coordinate with the blood bank, we might need extra blood. I will see to it that the anesthesia is ready to administer," you left the room after instructing your team. As if you were going to wait around to witness the reaction of Thanos's right-hand man.

In the OT, you saw Thanos' large figure laid on the bed. You approached him with the anesthesia, but he held your hand with his uninjured arm. "Don't," he spoke in his thick voice. "It will hurt. The pain might lead to further complications," you explained. "No. I want to feel your touch," he said simply.

You rolled your eyes and cringed on the inside.

As the surgery began, Thanos kept his dark eyes on you. Neither once did he wince with pain, or avert his gaze. Ignoring him, you set about to remove the bullet from his arm, a quick procedure.

"Dr Yellowstone," you said from behind your mask, "stitch the wound and dress it."

"Where are you going?" Thanos asked you plainly, as if you both were sitting in a coffee shop. You ignored him and removed your gloves as Dr Yellowstone approached the patient.

Thanos moved his arm, "No. You will not. She will," he nodded towards you.

Audibly groaning, your assistant helped you in wearing a new pair of gloves.

Finally, with the wound stitched and dressed, you left the OT to tell Maw the good news.

…

3 hours after the surgery, Thanos looked at your file while resting on his bed. Compiled by Maw, this file had every detail of your life, no matter how minute. You had captured his attention unlike anything else, anyone else. He flipped through the pages, learning more about your family, friends, hobby, and profession.

His member twitched when he saw your images from social media. Beneath the doctor's coat, you were plump, curvy and thick, just the way he liked his women. He paused, drinking in your appearance in a swimsuit. Placing a finger on your face, he slowly traced your outline, his finger respecting every bump, every bend till he reached your covered mound. He pressed it, as if hoping to see you react, but you kept on smiling in the image.

Eyes heavy with sleep, he looked around his room. His quiet quarters screamed with opulence. Decorated with the world's most expensive marble, motifs covered in 24k gold, diamond chandelier and Persian rugs, his room paid homage to some of the priceless wonders of the planet. But looking at them now, Thanos realised that none held a candle next to you.

As he settled in to sleep, he smirked. You would make a nice addition to his room.

…

A week later, Thanos surprised his men by driving himself to your hospital. He had taken an appointment, afterall, his wound needed to be checked.

He knocked on your cabin door, entering only when you said to. He smiled warmly at your startled expression, standing patiently next to the chairs across your desk.

"Dione," he interrupted you, "Please call me Dione."

You gathered yourself quickly, "Mr Thanos I-"

He smiled cheekily, he knew he had struck at the right place, at the right time. Extending his arm, he reached out for your palm, holding it gently in his. "Please come in. You must be tired," he said, leading you into your own house.

You squinted your eyes. You remembered reading the strange name on your list of appointments today. "What can I help you with Mr Dione?"

Thanos smiled. He liked the way his name rolled off your lips. "May I take a seat?" You nodded.

Thanos barely fit in the chair, his vast thighs almost bulging out from the sides of the chair. "I think my wound needs to be redressed."

"I thought Maw said he had the best doctors at your beck and call," you spat at him.

"I owe you an apology," he said slowly, "Maw's behaviour that night was appalling, to say the least. I have never hurt or intended to hurt healthcare workers. I regret his actions. Please accept my sincere apologies."

Thanos or Dione, surprised you for the second time that day. His acknowledgement of his staff's misbehaviour left you dumbfounded.

He cleared his throat, "As I was saying, I think my wound needs to be redressed." He turned to his side as much as he could, and displayed the bloodied bandage on his arm.

You asked him to sit on the patient's examining bed in your office and unwrapped his bandage.

"Does it bleed everyday?" you asked.

"No, it started bleeding today. As soon as it did I thought I should visit you."

Thanos looked at you closely. He studied every contour of your face. His right hand fought the urge to cup your cheek and pull you closer to him.

You traced the wound on his left arm and straightened your back, fully aware of his intense gaze on you.

"Mr Thanos…,"

"Mr Dione, please," he interrupted you.

"Mr Thanos," you asserted, "This wound has been reopened by a knife. And judging by the angle of the cut, I think it was you who did it," you stared at his eyes.

He whispered your name, "I just wanted to see you again."

"It's Dr (Y/N) for you," you spoke sharply, "I will fix this wound now. But if you inflict harm upon yourself again, then I will not be able to help you."

Thanos saw you grab your kit and come near him, "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"I don't think there was any foot involved, Mr Thanos. The only things that were involved were a gun and my palm on Maw's cheek."

He chuckled softly at the memory. He loved the fire burning in your eyes. He wanted to see what would you look like burning up on his bed, riding waves of pleasure with him.

"Let me make it very clear, because people like you need to get everything spelled out for them," the venom dripping from your words brought his attention back to you, "I do not want to be involved with you Mr Thanos. I have no intention of being a mobster's trophy girlfriend. If you are really thankful for what I did, then you will leave me alone and never set a foot in this hospital again. Have I made myself clear?" you stared at his hungry eyes as you finished bandaging him.

Nobody on the entire planet, not even the President himself, dared to speak with Thanos in that tone. And here you were, staring him down as if he was worthless. It only made him hungrier, knowing that claiming you would be the sweetest reward he can give himself.

…

The rest of the week was thankfully uneventful for you. On Saturday night, you slowly climbed the stairs to your floor, feeling relieved. At least you had the whole of tomorrow to relax.

Reaching your apartment, you found the door unlocked. You stepped backwards, deciding to call the police from your building's security office.

Just then, your door swung open and a smiling Thanos cheerfully greeted you, "Welcome home doctor! Dinner is almost ready. Why don't you take a relaxing hot bath? I have already filled your tub with warm water."

After the exhausting week you had, you had never expected to find Thanos in your home, cooking dinner and preparing a bath. All you could do was stare at him with your mouth open, his black pants draping his thighs perfectly, the blue shirt hugging his muscled arms and torso as if second skin and to top it all, he was wearing your apron, the one with the cute pandas on it. The apron didn't even cover the distance between what you guessed were his nipples.

"I am not Thanos. I am Dione," he voice sounded sincere, "You asked Thanos to leave you alone, not Dione."

You barely felt his touch as he held your palm, again astonished at how gentle this huge beast of a man can be.

He locked the door behind you, took your purse and coat and knelt to untie your shoelaces. You jumped back at that gesture, finally coming to your senses. "What… what are you doing?" you managed to ask.

He looked up at you, "Wouldn't you be more comfortable if your shoes were removed?"

"No."

"No?" Thanos asked.

"Yes, I mean no. No, I meant what…"

Thanos shook his head, amused as he reached down to untie your shoes, ignoring your protests. He got up slowly, his body a mere inch away from yours. He held your eyes with his as he reached behind your head, unclipping your hair. He stood mesmerized as your hair fell down your shoulders, his hand massaging the spot where they were bunched up on your scalp.

You purred at his ministrations, your eyes suddenly widening as you heard the sound escape your lips. He let you move back as you held his gaze. Why did he have to be so goddamn attractive?!

You closed your eyes. No he's a mobster. You cannot be involved with him. No. No. No. Control yourself.

After that evening, you saw Thanos, (or Dione, you didn't really care) everyday in your home. You saw him first thing in the morning as he cooked you a hearty breakfast, and the last person for the day when he made dinner and tucked you in your bed.

You opened your eyes. You can do this. "Thanos and Dione are the same person. I don't want to be involved with you. Leave. Right now," you half-heartedly snarled, reaching for the door. But he put a hand on the lock first, stopping you.

"They aren't the same person. Thanos would never cook for anyone, even for himself. He wouldn't tolerate your disrespectful tone and arrogance. But I am. I want to-"

"Excuse me? Arrogance?" you cocked an eyebrow, "Do you realise the amount of shit I have had to go through after I operated on you? The FBI, CBI, Police and God knows what came pounding down my doors, accusing me of harbouring and aiding a criminal."

"I am well aware," he admitted tersely, "I have made sure that you will not be bothered again."

Your eyes widened as his words sunk in, "Did you kill them?" you whispered, your hands immediately flying to your mouth.

"I didn't," he stated.

A frown formed on your face as you tried to unpack his confession. "Did Thanos get them killed?" you asked with purpose.

Just then, the oven's timer chimed. "Ahh, dinner is ready. I made your favourite lasagna. There's also garlic bread and a cucumber mint salad. Do you still want to take a bath before dinner?" he asked casually as if he hadn't murdered a squad of officers.

Sensing your hesitation, he came over to you, and stepped in your space, "Give me a chance," he urged, "I am not the monster they paint me to be. Allow me to show you who Dione is. Let me cherish you. I promise, as long as I am with you, I will not indulge in any criminal activity. Please. Give us a chance," he finished earnestly, taking both your palms in his hands.

You slowly raised your eyes to meet his, breathing in his luscious, musky scent. His hand caressed your cheek, weaving through your hair as he pulled you closer, delicately. His soft exhale on your lips weakened your knees. But he stopped. The handsome bastard was waiting for you to come closer.

"I will walk a 1000 steps to reach you," he whispered quietly, "if you just take one towards me."

His other hand started a torturous journey up your arm, his touch feather light. His thumb slowly traced the outline of your bottom lip, coming to rest behind your head.

For a second, you were lost in his ministrations. For a second, you wanted to give in to the stillness of the night.

But a loud crash, and a woman's blood-curdling scream interrupted your peace. You jumped, looking in the direction of the noise. Thanos followed your gaze and smiled. He hummed with satisfaction, "Where were we?"

You shook out of his gentle grip and headed towards the direction of the commotion. As you peered down your window, you let out a scream. Down on the road, the body of a SWAT agent was sprawled on top of an indented car. It seemed as if he had fallen off the top of your neighbouring building.

Coming up behind you, Thanos vowed, "I would never engage in illegal activities when I am with you. But Thanos will destroy the world if that's what it takes to protect you."

…

Breakfast in Milan, luncheons in Athens and late night hot chocolate in Paris was enough to sway even the most heartless of the human beings. But you were still on your toes, waiting for this dream to turn into an ugly nightmare.

That wasn't all. He started buying you groceries, and even basic amenities like toothpaste and hairbrush. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw that he had even replenished your tampons.

For all his drawbacks, you couldn't ignore the fact that he never touched you without your consent. He treated you with respect, and cared for you as if you were made with glass. Some nights, when you came home unbelievably late, he was ready to massage your aching feet, while patiently listening to you rant about your day.

The time you spent with him almost felt domesticated. But you knew it was borrowed. Time went by and you started accompanying him on his trips as he refused to let you stay behind. You saw very little of Maw on these trips. Instead his other henchwoman, Proxima, was assigned to you.

"What is holding you back?" he asked you one day, as he brought dinner to your room in Venice, overlooking the city. "I have expressed my love for you in as many ways as I could," his eyes roamed over your body, "I think I have managed to strike the perfect balance between Thanos and Dione. I have done good on my promise to make sure you never see the ugly side of my business. Then why do you still refuse to come to me?"

You looked at him with a frown, "What makes you think I do not see the ugly side of your business? Do you know the amount of drug overdose cases we get in a day?"

Thanos looked out the window, "All those people are aware of the ill-effects of drugs. If they still choose to take it, then how does that make me the villain? Somebody else will sell the drugs if I don't."

"Really? That's your justification? So you owe nothing to the people whose lives are destroyed by your drugs and guns? What about the poor? The young who are addicted to your substance?" you argued in an accusing tone.

"I donate 10% of my earnings to them. But I can't help everyone," he justified.

Thanos chewed in silence as he considered your words, "Will you give yourself to me if I donate half of my wealth?" he looked at you after a few moments.

"10% is not even a dip in your ocean of riches Dione. You want to talk about striking a balance? Then donate 50% of your wealth to those who actually need the money. Auction off your antiques, your collectibles. Build schools, donate to NGOs, be good and help the people, the portion of the society who needs you the most," you tried to convince him.

You softly pushed your plate away, "No amount of charity can justify the killings Dione."

As Thanos gripped his fork tighter at your words, you swore you saw the metal bend. "I have to do what needs to be done to protect you. Even if it means spilling the blood of a few agents of the law. Do you think they will protect you from me? You are nothing but a source of information for them. As soon as they are done with you they will toss you aside like useless garbage. Your identity, your entire life will be erased from the record. You don't want me to protect you like that? Okay. Then what would you have me do?" he demanded an answer.

You met his gaze, your silence filling the conversation with words.

"I cannot just quit. I have spent my whole life building this empire and I am not about to give it up," he claimed through gritted teeth.

"But what did it cost you?" It was your turn to surprise him with your question.

"Everything," he admitted, "and more. But this was all I have ever had. There was no reason for me to leave this-"

"You do have a reason now," you interrupted him.

You dragged your chair towards Thanos and sat beside him. Placing a hand on his heart, you kept your eyes on him. "You have a reason now," you repeated in a whisper.

You saw a myriad of emotions cross his eyes. Taking advantage of his astonishment, you kissed his shoulder and rested your forehead on it. You felt his heart beating faster.

Thanos was glad your head was on his shoulder, as he didn't want you to see the tears in his eyes. This was the first time you had initiated any form of affection towards him. He held your hand, the one on his heart, and kissed it with a promise.

…

Officer Natasha Romanoff hurried towards Steve Rogers' office. She entered without knocking.

"Hey there! Knock before you-" Tony Stark, the Weapons Contacter tried to speak before Natasha cut him short.

"Steve, you need to hear this," Natasha looked at him.

In the last few months, thanks to Steve's bravery in the shoot-out with Thanos's men, he had been promoted to the highest ranking covert field agent at the FBI.

Steve nodded, requesting Tony to reschedule the meeting. As soon as they had the privacy, Natasha filled him in on the news. "Thanos is donating 50% of his wealth to charities and NGOs across the country. He's moving with his girl to Mauritius."

"He's building a new base there?" Steve cocked an eyebrow.

"No, he's retiring. If he gets on that plane then we will lose him forever."

"Hmmm," he considered her words, "I have a plan."

…

Thanos had advised you against going back to your apartment, arguing that all of your stuff was already packed and on the way to the flight. But you were relentless. You had to go back to retrieve a piece of your legacy which you were sure his men must have missed.

He watched in amazement as you removed the photo frame from your wall and tore the wallpaper, revealing a cavity inside.

You retrieved a box, wiping the dust off of it. Walking towards Thanos, you opened the box to reveal 6 rings. "These belonged to my grandfather. He always believed that there are six traits that make a man. He gave me these rings on his deathbed, and asked me to pass it on to the man who I deemed worthy." Pointing to the ring with the purple stone, you recited your grandfather's words, "Be with a man who commands Power," yellow stone- "But make sure he has a kind Soul," orange stone- "He should be able to read your Mind," green stone- "However, he must know the value of Time," red stone- "He should be able to accept his Reality," and lastly, the blue stone- "But, he should give you the world, the galaxy, the entire Space, if need be."

Holding out the box for him, you presented him with the rings. You smiled indulgently as you wiped his tears. He took your hand in his, kissing your fingers, your palm, your wrist. You laughed as he hugged your hand, "This is the second most precious gift I have ever been given."

You tilted your head, puzzled, "What is the most precious gift?"

"You."

…

Steve saw you and Thanos exit the building, hand in hand like two lovestruck teenagers. "Team Alpha, if you have a clear shot take it. But do not fatally wound him. We need him alive. I repeat, we need him alive. Team Omega, standby for the extraction. Team Beta, grab the First Aid Kit as soon as the Patient is hit" he commanded into the walkie-talkie using their codewords for you and Thanos.

"You still haven't told me where are we going," you pouted slightly as you walked towards the car. "Patience love, all in good time," Thanos smiled down at you. "This is White Wolf Team Alpha, firing in 3...2...," Bucky spoke in his earpiece.

"Wherever we are going, I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you," you spoke. "...1." You suddenly turned to face Thanos, and started walking backwards, your hand still in his.

The bullet pierced the space above your heart, before colliding with Thanos's bulletproof vest. Gunshots reduced to dull thuds around you as you collapsed in Thanos's arms, your blood staining his shirt.

You didn't notice when he carried you to the car. You didn't notice the speeding car coming to a halt. All you could hear was his panicked voice, and feel his pounding heart.

"Maw why are we stopping?" Thanos screamed at his henchman.

"Sire, there is a traffic jam ahead. We can't take any other route. There are rows of cars behind us. We are trapped," he said regretfully.

"I don't care! Kill them all, clear the road with explosives. She needs to get to a hospital NOW!" Thanos's voice boomed as panic gripped his heart.

"Sire we can't use explosives, the road might cave in. Proxima is arranging for a mobile hospital as we speak. They should be here soon," Maw spoke with hope.

Cradling you in his arms, Thanos pushed your hair back from your face, "Stay with me. Please stay with me. Don't leave me now. Please… no…"

"Hey," you managed to say in a cracked voice as tears escaped his eyes, "Dione," he looked at you, "I will... always be with you... my love," you struggled to caress his cheek as he held your arm.

"Please please please no," he pleaded.

You gasped as a new jolt of pain ran through your body, "I… I love you… Di… Dione," you smiled.

A heart-wrenching scream escaped Thanos as he held your lifeless body. His anguish lost in the traffic of vehicles blaring their horns.

…

"Sire," Maw's voice broke Thanos from his reverie. He turned to look at the box in Maw's hand. In the dim light of his room, he opened the lid to see the severed head of James Buchanan Barnes.

"Steve Rogers has gone underground sire, but we will soon find him," Maw promised.

"He is not the real problem Maw," Thanos turned back to the window, "Do you remember what the doctor had said? If we would have gotten her to the hospital in time, she would have been alive today."

He paused, looking down the crowded city before him, "She died because we couldn't get her to the hospital earlier. What had caused the traffic jam?"

"Two cars had gotten into an accident, which caused a pile up on the road," Maw explained.

"That pile up wouldn't have occurred 10 years ago. In the last 2 decades, there has been a population boom which has ended up putting a strain on resources. Governments across the world are refusing to tackle this problem and in fact, are boastful of the increase in their population." As if on cue, he saw large groups of people fill up the sidewalk as hundreds of cars poured onto the road, everybody eager to reach home after their workday.

"What do you mean sire?"

"The scales of the world have been tipped unevenly, Maw. Balance needs to be restored to the order of the planet. The rich can't have an endless supply of luxury while the poor scramble for basic sustenance. She was right, we need to help the poor, but we can't wipe out those in power completely."

Thanos looked at the setting sun with determination, "It is time to kill half of humanity."

Maw inhaled sharply, "Sire! How would we manage-"

"The drugs," said Thanos simply, "50% of our cargo will contain lethal drugs till we achieve our target. Distribute it randomly throughout our supply chain for the next 6 months."

Maw paused for a moment. The severity of this crime left him dumbstruck. "Sire," he spoke at last, "She wouldn't have wanted this."

Thanos looked at the 6 rings on his fingers. "She wanted to live Maw. But she couldn't. She always tried to help people as much as she could. This is the only way we can fulfill her wish, by helping people across the globe."

"By killing people across the globe," Maw meekly argued.

"You kill everyday for a living Maw. Why has this idea turned your silver tongue into a knot?"

He could only gulp in response.

"The world needs correction Maw. Now more than ever. The lethal drugs should be shipped from tomorrow onwards. I would find it unpleasant to feed your body to our dogs, if you fail your duty," Thanos' thinly veiled threat hung in the air like a sword.

Maw bowed down, "As my sire wishes," and left the room in quite a hurry.

Thanos walked towards your painting on the wall opposite to his bed, the only ornamentation in his otherwise desolate room.

"You will see my love," he cooed, "we will see the sun rise on a grateful world together."

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

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littlx-songbxrd · 4 years ago

Note

A gift to the queen who deserves all 500 of her followers :) I wanted to write something for you as congrats, I hope you like it :))

It's a fairwell/chenry high school au loosely based on west side story since I was watching it earlier today

Charlotte sighed with relief when she finished with the last bit of homework. She cannot believe they weren't allowing her to leave her room, even going so far as to stand outside her door and at the bottom of her window. The brunette wondered if that was how every princess felt before they were rescued, trapped and alone, waiting for someone who sees them beyond their beauty and status.

'If only he would come.' She thought sadly. There was a knock at the door, no doubt it was Tatiana coming to talk about how much she hates the preppy sophomore, Will. "Come in." Charlotte said, barely loud enough to be heard. A pretty brunette girl came through the door instead of the demon in the shape of a 14 year old girl. 'Tessa?' She thought, 'why is she here?'

"Hello, Charlotte." Tessa said with a smile. "I was just talking with your guardian, Benedict, right? I told him about our project for science." A message from Henry. Oh he did come save her after all!

"I had completely forgotten, I'm grounded right now so I don't think I can go.."

"Nonsense," Benedict's first born, Gideon, said stepping into the room. "Father says as long as Gabe and I accompany you, you can go. There better not be any boys working on this project."

"Of course not, Gideon. No boys."

Gideon smiled and winked, "let's go then." 'Does he know? Is he helping me-' "Get all your stuff for the project." 'He does know! He's helping me escape!' She realized.

Charlotte packed up the small amount of stuff she had with her quickly. Tessa told Benedict that since it was Friday they were going to stay up late for the project, and then stay the night at Tessa's house, he asked if any of us minded Gideon and Gabriel staying the night as well, just to 'keep an eye on their 'sister''. Tessa said that they could sleep in the guest bedroom, and that she would feel safe having two tough guys in the house since her parents are in New York for a business trip.

Charlotte almost started crying when they got in the car and headed towards Henry's. Gideon and Gabriel were also leaving, Gideon turned 18 a few months after Charlotte and had been subtly making himself Gabriel's proper guardian. Henry had pulled them aside and told them his plan, that he loved Charlotte and wanted her to be safe from Benedict's control, Gideon could tell he was telling the truth and offered a deal, he'll get her away for good but he has to let him and his brother stay with them at Henry's weirdly large apartment.

She rushed out of the car and up the stairs to Henry's apartment, knocking rapidly in excitement. He answered the door and almost fell down by the force of Charlotte's hug, he squeezed her tightly, mumbling about how much he loved and missed her. If she wasn't crying before she definitely was now, she pulled away to look at him, he was her favorite sight.

Henry felt his legs shake, going numb again. "Lottie, help me to the couch please."

"Of course, my love." It was a running joke that she would carry him like a bride wherever he needed to go, which ever led to him breaking down and apologizing about not being strong enough to make her feel like the queen she is, Charlotte kissed him to shut him up because she thought it was utter nonsense.

She picked him up with not too much difficulty and laid him down on his favorite couch, the bouncy one with very ugly colors and patterns on it. He pulled her on top of him and kissed the top of her head, the brunette rolled her eyes playfully and grabbed the blanket that was hanging over the side of the couch.

She tried her best to put it over them but eventually Henry just had to do it since he was at a better angle than her. She heard Gideon and Gabriel come in, and Henry telling them to put their stuff in the two bedrooms that shared a bathroom and 'Lottie's' stuff in his. The brothers said goodnight before going into their rooms, Henry turned on one of those old movies that he liked, she could feel herself falling asleep, finally safe in her genius' arms.

"Can't wait to marry you.." She mumbled too tired to have control of her words.

Henry didn't even stiffen at the thought of marrying her, instead he smiled and kissed her forehead. "Tomorrow, that way he can't take you away again."

Charlotte couldn't believe this was her life now. Henry's parents and his friends' parents were involved in the candy and food business, and Benedict, who had adopted Charlotte when her parents died, was a food critic and kept trying to shut them all down. There wasn't anything wrong with the food, he just didn't like them. She remembers meeting Henry for the first time, at his moms' diner downtown. That was her mom's favorite place, she went there every year on the anniversary of their deaths.

Henry had just started working there, though his parents were worried seeing as the physical therapy was helping his legs much. Charlotte thought he was beautiful in his little apron. She got the same thing everytime she went, and she started going back more often just to see him, so he remembered her order.

Everytime she came in, he was quick to start her order before she's even seated. He wanted her to know that he remembered her. They got closer and closer during their visits at the diner. She once stayed from noon to almost one in the morning to help him with his shift because his legs weren't cooperating very well that day.

Charlotte wasn't expecting to see him at her new school when Benedict moved them so he'd be closer to work. They had every class together and got even closer, even going as far as adopting the new group of freshmen coming in with Gabriel when they were juniors. That's when things went south.

Henry's legs were getting worse, confining him to a wheelchair for most of the day, not to mention Benedict found out about them. He moved all her classes and grounded her and forbid her from seeing him, he used some not so nice language when describing Henry's condition and the fact that he has two moms. Charlotte was devastated, how could he do this to her after she had everything he ever asked with zero complaints or hesitation! But even during the torture that senoir had started out with, they still saw each other, she still went to the diner with Gabe and Gideon, and she still helped push his wheelchair around regardless if she would be late for class.

But he was her genius, he found a way for them to be together, and without resorting to violence or running away illegally to where Benedict could just get her back easily. Henry was her person, her happy ever after. And even though she didn't like the way fairy tales portray women, he always made her feel like Belle, beautiful and smart, kind and nurturing. Charlotte couldn't care less about their troubles, she was just glad they were getting their happy ending.

I WAS SAVING THIS FOR WHEN I FINALLY HAD TIME TO READ IT CORRECTLY AND IT WAS BETTER THAN I EVER COULD HAVE IMAGINED

IM FEELING A LOT OF THINGS RN MOST I CAN RECOGNIZE IS AMAZEMENT

THIS WAS SO GOOOD!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHH HENRY AND CHARLOTTE MODERN AU HIGH SCHOOL SWEET HEARTS

AND ITS BASED ON WEST SIDE STORY?????

THAT WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITE MUSICALS GROWING UP???????

.......also does this mean i can hc henry as one of the sharks?

......bdjdndbfnndd Is He ErNestO NoW?

THEYRE GETTING THEIR HAPPY ENDING

I LOVE HOW THIS IS ALL PLOTTED WITH BENEDICT BEING A FOOD CRITIC AND THE INTEGRATION OF HENRYS CONDITIONS

GABRIEL AND GIDEON HELPING >>>>

GIDEON LOOKING TO BE GABRIELS GUARDIAN STOP

TESSA HELPING NOPE THIS IS

Put this in my grave

Yes I mean ALL of it

THANK YOU I LOVE AND I ADORE IT

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abeautifulblog · 3 years ago

Note

1 on the get to know your author ask, please!

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

Hah, that's the one I just asked ghostinthelibrary when I reblogged the meme from them. 🤣

I was kind of hoping I wouldn't get asked this one, because the answer is yes, but the explanation is long and kind of fraught.

It starts with my Story Process.

Basically whenever my brain has spare cycles—doing dishes, driving, falling asleep at night—I fill it by spinning out stories. A lot of riffing on whatever I've been reading/watching lately, inventing a cool premise and seeing where it leads, or taking someone else's premise and exploring a different path than the one they took their story down. Most of these never make it to the page, because it's not a story at that point, it's just the setup for, and a lot of times even cool premises wind up going nowhere.

It's only when I have a lightbulb moment in which the arc of the story suddenly becomes clear—when I realize that the plot/character ideas I've been kicking around are actually going somewhere, and I can see how to give them proper closure—that I actually start writing it. At which point I usually bang out about 15k words in twelve hours—writing the pivotal, high-key emotional dialogues I'd conceived, interspersed with notes and summary for the rest of the story.

(The not-fic I wrote of Gweld and Serrit is essentially that.)

And then if I'm actually going to turn it into a full fic (like I did for Song of Selfish Hearts and For the Asking), I begin the much more laborious process of filling in those interstitial scenes.

So what does that have to do with your question?

Well, because I did one of those for someone else's fic, but it's too close to the original to be anything except an insult. It's not a companion piece, like the stuff I've written for inex's warlord AU; it's not a rehashing of the same trope, or even “I loved this idea you had in your shortfic and just wanted MOAR.” It has too many plot particulars stolen borrowed from the original to pass off as coincidence, and they're too integral to the story to change.

There is, in short, no way to spin it that doesn't sound like “I took your fic and wrote the same thing but better,” which is not illegal but it is unbelievably rude. o_o

It also doesn't help that the story raises some technical difficulties that I don't know how to manage. It's one of those modern-but-not-AU fics, in which Jaskier winds up abruptly in the modern day, while Geralt took the long way around, so to speak.

Geralt: Jaskier... what year do you think it is?

Jaskier: o_O Is that a trick question? Or do you immortal-types really lose track of that?

Geralt: [gritted teeth] What year is it, Jaskier?

Jaskier: [rolls eyes] 1282. Why?

Geralt: You're... not just in a different place, you're in a different time. It's 2015.

[Long, blank pause.]

Jaskier: Pfft, that's not a real year. Everyone knows the world's going to end in 1640—

Geralt: [winces] Uh, yeah, 1640 came and went and a lot of people were pretty disappointed about it—look, we're getting off-topic.

Accordingly, Jaskier's speaking the equivalent of Middle English for the entire fic (because I'm a linguistics nerd, so I leaned into that language barrier rather than hand-waving or magicking it away). Which is fine when he's 1-on-1 with Geralt or Yennefer or Ciri, but harder to render on the page when he's trying to communicate with modern speakers, especially when there are other linguistic shenanigans going on. Such as when Jaskier is meeting one of Geralt's modern acquaintances (“middle english” in italics):

Jaskier: Geralt, aren't you going to introduce me to your charming companion?

Geralt: [rolls eyes] Jaskier this is F. F, this is my... friend, Jaskier.

[And friend is cognate enough with frẹ̄nd that Jaskier hears it.]

Jaskier: Oho, I'm your friend, am I? And all it took was 800 years of guilt to get you to say it.

[F hears Jaskier's ironic emphasis on friend, combined with Geralt's noticeable hesitation before using that word, and draws a different conclusion.]

F: LOL sounds like you're getting couched tonight.

Geralt: It's not like that. >_>

So I took the setup from the other fic, but the emotional focus in mine wound up being quite different. I was interested in exploring the dynamic between a Jaskier who'd walked down the mountain and never gotten the chance to see Geralt again before finding himself in the future, and a Geralt who's had eight hundred years to regret it. Because for all that they're getting a second chance, there's still loss there. They don't know each other anymore. Geralt has spent the past eight hundred years grieving Jaskier, and now Jaskier has to come to terms with the loss of everything he's ever known, the loss of his Geralt, that prickly asshole he spent twenty years being unrequitedly in love with—and what to do with the Geralt before him now, who is old and tired and very different.

Anyway. idk.

I do go back and poke at it occasionally to see if I can retool it into something that could stand alone—because I rather like it, it's got a good balance of humor and pathos, and the ending came together well—but every time I just give up and shelve it again. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Moar fic questions?

#asks #witcher shit #writing the thing

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sam-dugesian · 1 year ago

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ghosts. jury's still out on this thing. the main reason is because so many phenomena have been associated with it it's impossible to even really define it in the first place. long story short, almost all of them can be attributed to people not having the medical knowledge back in the day to tell apart people who are dead or comatose and people were buried alive in shallow graves.

aliens. travellers from another world actually exist. they visited earth once to steal the planet's supply of radium. they were never seen but the entirety of earth's supply disappeared overnight, a task that even today would still be impossible to do. the things we have seen however were military aircraft tests by the usa government that were in fact covered up so that the united states secret weapon technology could not be analysed and replicated by their enemies. conspiracy = yes, extra terrestrials = no. also mkultra did some dodgy shit to the american populous that the government is still tight-lipped about.

jackalope. literally a rocky mountain goat. i mean if you look at the original depictions it's just a sketch of it. the rabbit with antlers was made by journalist who wasn't listening properly.

kracken. giant octopus. it was said to be able to pull whole lobsters out of fishing boats. afterwards it's size became exaggerated.

fairies. well this is technical one here. first of all the word itself literally translates as "animal" as in literally any kind of animal ever. and that's basically how that word was used forever. one guy saw a crocodile and asked what is was to their foreign friend and they responded "fairy" and then the word became synonymous with a creature that moves between two worlds like the world of land and water for example. then people saw that dragonfly came out of the water and flew around and said "yeah, exactly like that thing."

bigfoot. well the original found footage is a hoax but the rest can be attributes to native american tribes which are actually people of modern society who have decided to live as hermits in the forest.

dragons. see the thing i said about fairies. literally crocodiles. northern europe used to have wild crocodiles right up until the renaissance. and yes that is also exactly what george defeated. they live in rivers and lakes.

goatman. famous hoax. was slander against a rich family turned marketing scheme for tourism.

loch ness monster. i think you'll find the term is "nessie". loch ness used to be connected to the ocean. sharks, otters and cetaceans used to nurse their young in the protective bay that later became isolated from the sea. someone found the stories of old telling of weird creatures in the lake and made a hoax to stir up tourism.

black dogs. racist metaphor. sorry but it's true.

bunyip. sorry, never heard of that one. don't want to make an uninformed guess.

harpies. literally golden eagles. they added humanoid features because they didn't like the idea that a non-human thing saved a human from snakes.

loveland frogman. same deal as bunyip. if i don't know anything, i won't profess to.

hunky punks. lol no idea what this is. but i sure hope it has nothing to do with honky ponks. that was just a racist stereotype.

N/A

flatwoods monster. misinterpreted event. they actually took a photo of the creature and it was enhanced later by more advanced technology. it as just an owl on a branch.

fresno nightcrawlers. don't know what that is. i know what night crawlers are. they're raccoons.

gnomes. literally illegal immigrants. ouch.

jersey devil. literally the same thing as goatman. i don't mean created in the same way. it's literally the same myth by another name. you failed your research bad.

beast of i can't fucking read it. no idea what that is. won't pretend to know.

yeti. tibetan mountain gorillas. turns out they were real. size was still exaggerated though.

brownies. literally gnomes by another name. i don't know how you ran out of prompts and had to double up. you barely scratched the surface on myths here. not even a phoenix.

sirens. literally seagulls. that's it. later replaced by manatee.

bogeymen. racist depiction of foreigners breaking into your house to slay you in your beds. invented by the east india trading company to get approval for legally removing the local population's human rights.

unicorns. rhinos and narwal together. just that.

chupa cabra. an invasive species in mexico as a product of climate change that devoloped mange and caught rabies.

dahu. not a clue what tat is sorry.

sea serpents. literally just oarfish.

demons. literally the hebrew word for animal. like... literally any animal. it's just animals. not even some sort of special animal.

mongolian death worm. actually a poison spitting caecilian. if the poison gets up your nose, in your mouth or in your eyes and you don't get the antidote you will die in a rather nasty way.

not deer. this isn't even a real myth. do your homework. it was invented in a horror novel along with the deer depiction of wendigos. the book makes multiple false references to history. like depicting peritons as flying deer. dude who wrote it has an unhealthy obsession with deer.

DEATHIAN ARTWORKS CRYPTOBER 2023

Okay folks, we go there. Say hello to the monthly challenge that I'm going to try and do in this spooky month of October.

For those of you who don't know, I have a massive interest in cryptids and folklore so I wanted to try and do a monthly art challenge based on that! These prompts aren't just cryptids, they're also local legends, folktales and myths that I thought would be interesting to make some art of.

I'll be using the hashtags #deathianscryptober2023 and #cryptober2023 so if you want to see the whole lot afterwards (or join in for a prompt or two!) then head over to those to check them out.

Fingers crossed I finish this one, I'm excited as hell!! Have a spooky month y'all, stay safe out there!

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earaercircular · 3 years ago

Text

Munich International Motor Show : Now in eco mode

The International Motor Show in Munich has begun this Tuesday. Instead of models in front of sports cars, the providers are now presenting recycled cars and bicycles. This should underpin the change in the industry - but by far not everyone likes it.

If one last proof was needed that the German auto industry really wants to do everything completely different now, then it is this, well, airy demonstration. In the coming week, the International Motor Show, better known as the IAA[1], begins in Munich. And the Association of German Automobile Manufacturers, the VDA, [2] has invited the reporters to a preview - but not by bus or in an electric car convoy, but by zeppelin.

At a height of 500 meters you will glide gently over Munich and see how what how this probably most important German trade fair has changed. The IAA no longer only takes place in exhibition halls, but also right in the middle of the old town: at Königsplatz, for example, at Odeonsplatz, at Stachus or Marienplatz and also on the A 94 autobahn where people can try out futuristic vehicles.

In the past, the bigger the better

The change of perspective is necessary. Everything used to be clear, the rule of thumb was: the bigger, the better. Business is still running according to these rules - extremely well in fact, following current sales and profit figures. But in times of lightning-fast computers, threatening climate change and overcrowded cities, the managers in Wolfsburg, Munich and Stuttgart are increasingly discussing other things, sometimes with an anxious tone: Which robot car will come from the USA tomorrow? Which new competitor is behind the corner in China? What new forms of transportation are in demand? How green do you have to get? And yes, that too: How desirable are you actually?

When the industry gathered for the last time at the IAA, in autumn 2019, already a lot of certainties for so long in the automotive world had been shaken. And the car people hardly had any answers. This is one of the reasons why the IAA 2019 in Frankfurt turned out to be quite a disaster - which is not an exaggeration - that should not be repeated.

When Chancellor Angela Merkel visited, climate activists grimly climbed some cars and held up posters: "Climate killers". The BMW employees stood around their occupied cars, perplexed. The dented roofs were the smallest problem. The managers simply didn't know how to deal with this situation, for which there is probably no good solution. Halligalli [3] was also outside the gates: demonstrators blocked the driveway with bicycles. Which, by the way, was quite right for the mayor of Frankfurt, Peter Feldmann. The SPD man - after all, actually the host - was not allowed to speak at the opening. His speech was then of course known anyway: "Frankfurt needs more buses and trains, but not more SUVs," it said. And he also thanked the demonstrators - their fight for a better climate is important.

From then on, the disturbed car people only wanted to get away from Frankfurt. Eventually they agreed on Munich. Here, too, urban society does not embrace the auto industry. But it is probably the safest big city in the world, a main argument when looking for a new venue. "Here there are cavalry squadrons and, in case of doubt, a stable police cauldron," said someone from the industry who was involved in the decision-making process some time ago. But that alone is not enough to make the trade fair a success again.

Because the car itself has lost traction. In Frankfurt there were only a good 500,000 visitors. Half as many as a few years earlier. Even in this area of life, providers and consumers have migrated to the Internet. And the avant-garde is somewhere else anyway: Google, Apple and Tesla are leaders in robot functions and electromobility - and what are the Chinese actually building with massive state support? Hardly any of this could be seen in Frankfurt.

The big trade fairs were long regarded as high masses: the car show in Geneva or Paris, the motor show in Detroit - or the IAA in Frankfurt, that was glamor in all its facets. Whoever could went there. The others at least devoured the reports and photos about horsepower cars and the scarcely clothed young women that manufacturers like Ferrari put on hoods, which they thought was creative.

It was the time when car managers secretly hung around the competition's exhibition halls, sometimes more, sometimes less, to see what their colleagues were up to. When they met in the back rooms of the pavilions to make deals and start mergers. When men like the former Daimler boss Dieter Zetsche and the long-time Renault-Nissan boss Carlos Ghosn sat on the big stage, talking about cars, marriages and all sorts of other things and the audience wondered whether what took place was more of a cabaret . Ghosn later got into trouble with the Japanese judiciary and at some point fled to Lebanon in an instrument case. Behind the big cars was often also a perfectly staged drama.

The VW family owners made the managers act like gladiators in the Coliseum

In all these years, however, nobody had encouraged the knighting of the car more than Volkswagen. On the eve of the official car show openings, the Wolfsburg always invited people to a large hall, in Frankfurt, in Paris, in Geneva, regardless of the main thing: big. When every brand boss then presented his latest models in front of the big players, the music came off the tape at discotheque volume, when the bosses of Porsche, Audi and Skoda bowed to the powerful, the family owners Wolfgang Porsche and above all Ferdinand Piëch, then this copied Roman Coliseum-style events: Ave, Caesar, morituri te salutant.

It was loud on those evenings in the VW Coliseum, very loud. Sometimes the Pet Shop Boys performed, sometimes the French film diva Catherine Deneuve, sometimes rope artists and dancers. Each act was kind of out of place in its own way. But these evenings weren't about the total work of art being convincing. The names were important. The celebrities. And the volume. When the twelve cylinders of the Lamborghini Aventador also cracked to the pounding techno music, to light shows and artificial fog, then you wondered how - for example - Mr Piëch, who was already older at the time, could stand it. Mostly he sat there, stoic, immobile, absent.

As soon as the show was over and the gladiators bowed to him, the emperor stood up and left the stands. Walked slowly down the stairs into the arena. Pretended to be inspecting cars, but the truth was he wanted to speak to the people, and so he did. Often only a few minutes, but that provided a topic of conversation for days. For example, when he said between half sentences that he would like to buy the Fiat subsidiary Alfa Romeo. Just like that, maybe also to drive the then Fiat boss Sergio Marchionne to white heat. Incidentally, the latter took revenge a few years later. When the Germans sank into the diesel scandal and Fiat was accused of having also manipulated diesel engines, the Italian said: "Anyone who compares us with the German company has smoked something illegal."

The "i Vision Circular" should consist of almost 100 percent recycled material

Perhaps the diesel scandal was the beginning of the end of the big trade fairs, in any case it accelerated change. As a result of the crisis, the evitably oversized cars were trimmed down to normal. At the same time, new competitors with new technologies pushed into the industry. Then Piëch and his top managers disappeared from the scene. And the new managers also break the existing professional rules. At the IAA 2019 VW boss Herbert Diess tried out the embrace technique with the demonstrators, he went almost completely out to the people, discussed with an activist of the "Sand im Getriebe"[4] initiative. That was a bit obnoxious on his part, but at least he had tried it.

Nowadays even in Munich, they want to appear more modern here and everything should run more smoothly, the industry hopes. And other content has been agreed. In particular, visitors can see electric cars, such as a stretchable sedan from Audi. And BMW wants to talk about the circular economy in its "Joytopia": How can mobility function in a resource-saving and low-CO₂ manner? The company wants to present the "i Vision Circular", a vision vehicle that consists of almost 100 percent recycled material - and is designed in such a way that it can be easily recycled. VW, in turn, would like to introduce the "New Auto", the robot driven car of the day after tomorrow. "Mobility is a basic human need - and fulfilling it in all its facets is an ever greater challenge for our society, which business and politics have to face," says VDA President Hildegard Müller and is certain that the "new IAA " will show ways how these mobility tasks can be combined:" efficiently, economically, socially and ecologically ".

It should be possible to experience it in the literal sense of the word, which is why the IAA no longer takes place in noisy, stuffy exhibition halls for the most part. But outside in the squares. Because that's where the industry wants to get into conversation with critics, at least in theory - as long as they don't trample on the roofs of cars.

A pleasant approach. The corona epidemic could destroy some of it. The incidence is rising again, now fences have to be put up around the scenes in the city. So this time there is an inside and outside, which will lead to conflicts, especially since a number of initiative-takers have announced protests and rather do not want to debate in the chair, from the anonymous alliance "Smash-IAA"[5], whose posters are hanging all over the city, to the Greens Youth[6]. Many criticize the car industry for promoting its event as a green mobility fair.

The critics are not entirely wrong. Because there are also those in industry who are unfamiliar with the new IAA concept, which wants to unite everything that rolls. We are car manufacturers and should just display our cars nicely instead of having to take buses, trains and car sharing as well, they say behind closed doors. These orthodox do not think much of the fact that bicycles are now also exhibited at the "new IAA", although some car manufacturers now offer them themselves. They can't do much with expert panels on "Smart Cities", instead they complain that the IAA is not international enough, which is probably due to the Corona epidemic. In fact, even VW is not represented with all brands, Peugeot, Opel, Fiat, Volvo, Honda and Toyota completely save themselves the appearance, even expensive super sports cars will not be on display, not even the US company Tesla, which will soon have a plant in Germany opened. The German competition is afraid of the Americans, but they also know that Tesla would attract people, potential customers for everyone.

Or should bigger things be negotiated after all, the transport turnaround, climate protection? It depends on who you ask. The car people are not in agreement. The IAA 2021 is a very exciting large-scale experiment in an industry that is currently having to find itself anew. And which sometimes relies on the tried and tested. On Sunday - after the Zeppelin flight - there is a VW break in the Isarpost[7]. A large hall, there is probably loud music, and of course wine and beer, Corona or not. As always. Because as exciting as everything is right now - it would be more convenient if everything stayed the same.

Source

Thomas Fromm & Max Hägler: Jetzt mal im Öko- Modus, in: Süd-Deutsche Zeitung, 3-09-2021 https://sz.de/1.5400871

[1]die Internationale Automobilausstellung [2] The Verband der Automobilindustrie e. V.(German Association of the Automotive Industry) is a German interest group of the German automobile industry, both automobile manufactures and automobile component suppliers. It is member of the European Automobile Manufacturers Association (ACEA). The VDA represents carmakers including BMW, Volkswagen, and Mercedes-Benz parent Daimler but also counts foreign suppliers and foreign-owned carmakers like Opel among its members. The group is located in Berlin, Germany. [3] Halli Galli is a crowd awareness game for two to eight players. [4] Sand in the Gears; https://sand-im-getriebe.mobi/ Sand in the gears is an action alliance made up of various climate, transport and globalization-critical groups and was founded in early 2019. It sees itselve as part of the global movement for climate justice. [5] https://smashiaa.noblogs.org/ The International Motor Show (IAA for short) will take place in Munich from September 6 to 12, 2021. In the midst of the climate crisis, the large automobile companies want to celebrate private transport and hide what we all actually know under a green cloak: that they fuel the climate crisis for their profits. We don't want to leave that unchallenged. That is why we call for direct campaigns during the fair! [6] https://gruene-jugend.de/ [7] https://isarpost-eventlocation.de/

#electric cars #recycled cars #circular economy

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buzzworddotie · 7 years ago

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The 8th Amendment Referendum in Ireland

And how history is being rewritten one step at a time

It's been a long time coming but on May 25th 2018 the people of Ireland were asked if they would like to amend the Constitution to decriminalise abortion in Ireland.

What's it all about?

Up until now, an Irish women who seeked out an abortion for personal reasons or medical ones was a criminal under Irish law. A woman would have to either travel to the UK or attempt to dangerously take abortion pills acquired illegally at home under zero medical supervision.

Or the alternative, for years, decades, Ireland and the stronghold held over her by the Catholic Church, would force girls and women into homes to have the baby. Often these babies wound up dead, buried away, hidden. Bones have been found in septic tanks.

Girls and women were treated brutally.

Secret pregnancies were also a thing, who knows how many women and girls suffered in silence?

Right up until May 25th 2018.

That's when we finally got to be heard.

Enough is Enough

I can't take a single piece of credit for getting this vote to happen but there are countless women who can. Women who have been banging on doors, demanding bodily autonomy, demanding rights, demanding choice. Finally the demand was heard, finally the government agreed to allow the people to make a decision.

The Campaigns

As soon as the vote was announced, I knew this was not going to be a particularly nice campaign. That's putting it lightly. In 2015 Ireland held the Marriage Referendum. An opportunity to change the Constitution to recognise and allow same sex marriage in Ireland. It passed, of course, but the campaign was filled with some uneducated, hateful rhetoric fuelled by the Catholic Church. Regardless of how much they wanted to deny it, hardcore religious groups and their followers were against that law with vigor and venom.

And I knew that hate would amplify for this one. I already knew what way I wanted to vote, I didn't need anyone to convince me either way, much like the Marriage Ref. But unlike then when I did tune into radio debates and absorbed the arguments, this time I made the conscious decision to avoid it as much as possible.

Marketing

Despite that it was tough to avoid, every pole, every surface available was covered with Yes and No posters. The Yes posters usually said something like "Yes for choice" "Together for Yes" or a simple "Repeal"...

Murals went up by artists like Maser, badges were made, Repeal jumpers and through the help of crowd sourcing the Yes campaign managed to gain more support for their message.

Our message.

On the No side there were an abundance of posters, I have seen images of feotus in the womb telling me babies will be murdered. Billboards across towns, rural and otherwise.

The whole thing turned into a massive marketing campaign. To a degree, on both sides. Paid ads on social media, Google and streaming services, posters... So... Many... Posters.

Social media attacks, hashags... I just didn't want to hear it. I know burying your head in the sand isn't a solution but I personally don't believe that an issue as important as this should boil down to who has the most money to promote a post or buy a billboard.

One thing I will say is that, at least where I have travelled, there was far more "No" campaign imagery than "Yes". Those were the ones with the billboards, the video ads that interrupted my viewing and I had to wonder, where was all this money coming from?

In the end Google and Facebook to the best of my knowledge pulled paid advertising on their platforms but there were other means.

Attacks on People, places and things

Another side of the campaign was the inevitable attacks. Digital rows blazed up as the concept of reasoned debate flew out the window. Some of the words I have witnessed being used against women on social media were beyond appalling, disgusting, shameful.

Were there bot accounts? Yes, there were. It doesn't take too much probing to see that and that minor exercise in investigation proved that really the "No" side was in the minority. It was clear but you could never be certain.

And by no means would I ever suggest the "Yes" side were entirely innocent, I just didn't catch the trolling by them.

"No" campaigners also attacked places, apparently in one constituency very graphic posters were hung very close to a school, causing uproar.

They also stood outside maternity hospitals.

Let me reiterate that, MATERNITY HOSPITALS.

They stood outside them holding graphic posters, other establishments too, but that one made me sick to my stomach.

Then on the stunning Benbulben, in my home county, a place I adore, they stuck a massive "NO" sign. For some reason this triggered me. Using the landscape of this country, which throughout history has been defined with feminine pronouns, to announce that women's rights were not of value was disgusting.

Photo: https://garethwray.com/product/classiebawn-benbulben-sligos-iconic-duo/

Not more disgusting than standing outside a hospital or plastering graphic and insensitive imagery around a school but a different kind of insult. As if they were claiming this land shared their voice.

What was even weirder was the fact the people who did it were practically a parody of themselves, announcing on radio that the men had put up the sign as the women made them tea and sanwiches.

This had to be a joke, right?

It's not funny

Truthfully though, this issue wasn't a joke, not to me or to anyone involved. This vote could actually be the difference between life and death for so many women.

By night, reports were coming out saying that the turnout to vote had been exceptional, people had been travelling back home from all around the country to take part.

Many popular Irish female voices had been so loud in their messages to push this cause, many Irish men got involved too stressing the importance of men getting behind women, taking a stand with them, recognising this is their issue too. Women should not be alone in this.

Soon we began to hear the results from the Exit Polls. First the Irish Times showing a landslide in favour of Repealing. It was something like 68% in favour, an insane number.

RTE Uses Us

The "main" Irish broadcaster, the state owned one, decided to announce their Exit Polls on what I think is supposed to be a late night chat show, The Late Late Show.

I found this disgusting and I didn't watch, because I never watch, because it's utter fucking drivel. But what RTE did was decide to use this campaign for their own ratings gain. They knew people would tune in and so they decided to, as far as I know, discuss how "Toxic Masculinity is a Myth", very fucking timely decision lads. As well as this they had some gobshite on NATIONAL TV talking about how she speaks to fairies.

Because heaven forbid we take a step forward as a nation.

Now, I don't know at what stage they announced the results but I do know that it wasn't before any of that other shite. Again, that was a calculated move and they will point to those viewing figures to justify the ridiculous wages that we fund for that show and it's (wooden) presenter. I'll pause that one right there.

History is Rewritten

In a move that has the potential to shock anyone not clued into who most modern Irish people actually are, the "Yes" side achieved a mammoth victory with over 1.4 million people deciding to Vote Yes, over 66% of voters.

And the 8th Amendment has been Repealed. I am so proud of all of us.

Photo: Maser, https://deandublin.ie/events/maser-exhibition/

What Now?

So where do we go from here?

I can never shake a Bell X1 lyric from my head in times like this. Fitting, given they are an Irish band:

"...History is written by the winners. And I want my say."

If we want to continue to create an Ireland that is just, inclusive, fair and reasonable we have to keep banding together and becoming the winners. The people on the reasoned side do not always need to feel like they are being walked all over.

That's how things have felt for so long, I won't even say in the past because it is still happening. This moment was monumental and something that, just like the Marriage Referendum, should be really allowed to sink into the minds of every single person who voted, the real power of what was achieved this day is epic.

We didn't just pop an X next to a box. We have literally changed the Constitution of this nation twice. We have asked to please get a chance to update this nation to reflect who we are and not to be bound to the decisions of the past, which maybe were the right decisions back then or maybe the alternative was too alternative. We had to crawl for a while, but we started to walk and now we have the chance to run.

I don't want our interest in matters like this to start and stop with things that are so clearly emotive. There is so much more to do to keep pushing forward.

And the further we move ahead the more resistance will be out against us but we can't turn a blind eye.

OK the 8th is Repealed, what can we put in place now to ensure any womelan who require ls a clinic is not harassed with hate on entry and exit as is the case in other countries?

And there are more issues outside of this.

We need to really strive to separate Church from state, the stranglehold the Church has over schools is poisonous. There are laws that exist that people are not even aware of, did you know that if you work as a teacher in one of the many, many Church affiliated schools and you do something outside of the Catholic ethos like sleep with someone outside of marraige, they can fire you?! Can you believe this shit!?

Then there are the other social issues including housing, homelessness, classism which are still very active and we need to fight back against those structures too.

We have to keep saying when enough is enough.

We have to keep looking out for each other, from all walks of life.

Sure, An Taoisach gave some really character defining moments during this debate but he and his party need to be just as active in helping people out elsewhere. Maybe it won't get them as much PR but it should and if they make the best decisions it will.

Simon Harris has been charming people during these debates. Is that enough? Is that all it takes? He is Minister for Health of a system that is simply disasterous. A system where hospitals are under funded, where women are being improperly diagnosed with ceverical cancer, where patients are left on trolleys, where I don't know if my own father is getting the best treatment he can be getting right now because I simply do not trust the HSE.

The rich are getting richer, you can barely afford a basic, single bedroom roof over your head. People, families are homeless. Maybe the few are doing well but I'd argue the majority are struggling still.

Prospects are few and far between.

Really heinous crimes have been committed, some very recently, against women and girls. A lot of them. These are issues too that need to be examined, there is an underlying problem to this that needs to be addressed.

Mental Health needs to be treated as a real issue with real, available and affordable treatment. People should be able to get counselling or therapy as easily as they can get the flu shot.

That barely scratches the surface.

Yes, we achieved something outstanding and worth celebrating but this should be the fire in our belly to ignite us to realise we can do so much more.

We don't have to sit back and take our lot. We need to keep demanding better from our leaders and our services from the extreme examples to the basics of decent roads, schools and water.

The water in my own home been undrinkable for nearly 6 months that we are aware of. And it could have been longer.

Honestly the Irish rail service Iarnrod Eireann's slogan sums us up perfectly, "We're not there yet. But we're getting there."

This country is moving forward but we can't stop demanding true equality, for everyone.

A chairde, comhghairdeas, rinneamar stair le chéile. Ligeann an treocht seo a choinneáil.

Is féidir linn é a dhéanamh.

#repealthe8th #repeal the eighth #repeal #ireland #eight #8thammendment #irish #vote #history #constitution #yes #politics #voting #church #simon harris #leo varadkar #may #change #marraige equality

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danganmos · 6 years ago

Text

Updated FAQ

Age-related FAQ

I'm 17, can I still join?

If your birthday is before MARCH 1ST, then you can stay! If it is after March 1st, then unfortunately you must go.

Why is it 18+ anyway??

Two reasons! 1. This might have a lot of upsetting content such as body horror, gore, nsfw JOKES. There is no actual NSFW in this server. Mostly there's possible horror aspects that could be upsetting for people under 18 and to keep our options open, it's better to be safe than sorry. *Please note everything dealing with body horror, gore, executions etc. will most likely be only written out descriptions. 2. Some members do not feel comfortable with minors. It can be due to anything- Nothing against one person or anything! For example, I'm a music teacher and I teach minors. It's weird for me to not be professional around minors due to this and it makes me feel weird.

FAKE ages

Please do NOT fake your age. This game will be long and if I discover that someone has been lying about their age, then they are valid for permanent banning. Be honest please.If you know anyone who turns 18 before March 1st, they can now apply.

What is the Hopeful's list? This list shows who has turned in their applications! This helps people see what talents, names, and who is RPing them has turned in. Is this the official class list? Nope. Just a list of those who have applied. The official list will not come out until March 1st. People's names are on there twice? Yes! You can submit as many apps as you want. Why is Inu (the admin) on there twice was accepted characters? For plot reasons, it would be very helpful for me to have two OCs here to assist. I don't want my name on that list Okay! DM me and I will remove it.

PROMPT FAQ

How do I do the prompt?

You read the entire prompt and then reply how your character would like. I'll be posting an example soon in #⭐examples⭐

Why are there so many suggestions inside the prompt? Do I reply to all of them?

No, no! Not at all. I listed a crap ton of suggestions because sometimes people need ideas on what to do. The main goal is to see how your OC would react in the face of danger.

What person should this be in?

Please have it be in third person. While this is a prompt that says "you" in second person, I merely did that to avoid anything sounding too awkward. This entire thing is for your OC too- Nothing out of character / irl.

I can't picture what the room looks like?

Here's a rough picture I photoshopped together.

TALENT FAQ

I have an OC with an art talent, but I see you're not accepting those?

That is kind of correct. Due to this being an art museum, talents such as SHSL sculptor, oil painter, acrylic painter, - painter, sketch artist, art critic, or anything within the physical art field are most likely not going to be accepted. I have personally decided that would give the art OC an advantage that could kill the fun for everyone else. It would also make a lot of plot issues for the NPCs and plotline.

My OC is a _ artist, is that okay?

Talents such as comic artist, graffiti artist, garbage artist, make-up artist / special effect artist, any designers, and any photographers are okay. Basically, if the art has anything to do with a stereotypical non-modern museum, expect it to be denied.

My art OC is being treated differently than the other OCs by the Mod/NPC characters?

If an art (any art field) OC is accepted, please expect them to get heavily harassed by an NPC character. It's part of the plot, trust me. They really aren't welcome here to the NPC characters. Think of it as starting with a letter grade of "C" while everyone else gets a "B." The art field OCs can and will be on a possible NPC's shitlist. This implies the NPC characters will bully them, harass them more than the others, or try to run them out of town.

My OC has a fake talent because....

Fake talents are 100% good and fun to do! The only reasons when they're not okay are when they revolve around: - "I have a fake talent to hide my true gender." Closeted OCs are fine- But when a gender becomes a form of plot/tragic backstory, then it becomes a little iffy. There are plenty of bad representations of gender in the media already. We'd rather not deal with the possible controversies that come with it. If your OC is a closeted gender/sexuality, then it's fine. It is very common for people in this day of age to be closeted due to family/religion/social/whatever situations. -"I have a fake talent to hide my illegal talent." Again, totally okay. The only times this isn't okay is when the talent they hide deals with NSFW talents or drug-related talents. There is no OC here with a NSFW talent. While their personalities/hobbies can be NSFW, there is no accepted/will be no accepted OC that's like SHSL Adult star or anything. With that being said, NSFW humor/crude jokes/being nasty is allowed. There will be no actual NSFW in this server. It can be _implied, but never shown.-"I have a fake talent to hide my illegal talent" pt 2 Cool. Murder, malicious intent, possible killers, or whatever is fine. The line is drawn when it comes to cults, human trafficking, kidnapping, and so on. Anything revolving around that is not welcome. While your OC can have this in their backstory, I'm not going to deal with a SHSL kidnapper.

Get that shit out of here. -"I have a fake talent because my true talent is embarrassing." Neat. -"I have a fake talent because my true talent is suspicious." Neat. -"I have a fake talent because I want to." Cool.

In regards to excessively - characters

What does this mean?

This means characters who are not very deep. For example, a SHSL serial killer who is 1. obviously a serial killer, 2. finds nothing wrong with it, and 3. literally talks about it way too often. While you can drop hints and have your OC be apathetic to their morals and killing, I'd rather not have someone running around bragging about it. This also goes for other stereotypes that can become repetitive, predictable, and somewhat boring. Another example is a stereotypical anime tsundere character who acts the same each and every time. Please know that we are looking for deep characters who can be brought to life by the writers.

BLEEDING FAQ

Bleeding into IC

This is not welcome in the slightest. If an OC appears to be the writer in an OC form/a self insert, then they will be turned down. The worst part about a killing game with bleeding means that we aren't just killing the writer's OC.... We'd be killing the writer. To avoid such topics, awkward situations, and potential drama; please know that self inserts of any kind are not okay.

I share this trait with my OC, is this bleeding?

No! Not necessarily. Bleeding is strictly when you stop RPing as your OC and literally place yourself in their shoes and become them/ they become you. Lots of traits in OCs stem from IRL experiences or concepts, which is totally fine. For example, Iseri has a strong sense of smell like I do. This does not mean I am Iseri. I do not condone his actions and I do not give a shit if he dies. If I were to be completely like him, condone / justify his actions, and get super upset if he dies, then that is bleeding. Feel free to ask questions about this concept.

I don't want (this character) to die. I like them too much.

Sucks, huh. When you apply an OC to a killing game, please expect no one to be safe. Not even the mod OCs. Everyone is valid to die. Do not beg a mod to let that OC live. (Your own OC or someone else's OC.)

#faq

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