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reese-is-dum · 6 months ago

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Why I hate Jordan Matter

An Essay.

(Disclaimer; I only really know him because my niece watches his family vlogs.)

With the rise of the internet came the rise of video blogs or vlogs. People would vlog their trip to Disney or their everyday life, then came the family vloggers who would record their life or viral trends with their kids who are usually too young to have a tiktok account. Jordan Matter says that he does these public challenge videos because he loves spending time with his kids even though he ends up spending hundreds or even thousands of dollars per video or getting absolutely humiliated. My niece will endlessly watch these challenge videos while I'm babysitting her, so I end up watching these because I become baffled by these kids and their father.

Recently, my niece put on this one video that was a compilation of many other videos, it was about 5 color challenge videos from Jordan Matter. For those who don't know, color challenges are series of challenges where there are usually two competitors or teams, and they have to create entirely new outfits at the mall, buy them and then usually buy things in their color or do something related to the color they picked, there is usually a way to fail so the competitors are fighting for a win. This compilation is what inspired me to write this. As I was watching I realized these videos took place over a span of about 2 years, with in this video Jordan Matter's daughter, who I will not name out of respect because this in no way is her fault, her friends and the Anazala family were all featured. In one challenge it was Asala Anazala and her daughter vs Jordan's daughter vs Jordan, the girls had to buy outfits in their color and then hide somewhere in the mall near something of their color. Jordan had to find them, Jordan was allowed to dispatch a challenge where they had to buy ice cream in their color without getting caught by him. In this challenge the prize was a 5 minute shopping spree in any store, he constantly made comments about how didn't want to drain his bank account by letting either of the other teams win, then why would you have offered this up as a prize? Throughout the video he gets kicked out of a target along with a dozen teens because he ends up recruiting around a dozen of them to find his daughter in the target and they become rowdy and end up running around, yelling and recording. After getting kicked out he then goes back in because he still trying to find Asala and her daughter. He then proceeded to run after Asala and her daughter yelling and screaming. I genuinely hope that he gets banned from that target because he is not only a disturbance to the peace but he just creates more trouble for the workers who are most likely barely scraping by and don't get payed enough to deal with some old man paying teens to help him win a vlog challenge.

In another challenge of the compilation Jordan asks an ice cream shop to allow his daughter and her friend to serve people ice cream. They stick a camera in customer's faces and allowed two twelve year olds to make and serve milk shakes and ice cream to people just trying to order a treat. In this piece of the challenge the girls end up trying to coerce the customers to buy something pink with their order, and many of the customers seem uncomfortable with the pressure coming from the girls. Jordan desperate to win also ends up sticking a camera in people's faces and trying to coerce customers still waiting into not buying anything pink. Jordan not only is a nuisance to the public but honestly a threat to public safety as this is not the only time he has challenged his kid to get behind a counter they don't work at and serve customers that didn't ask to be served by this child. Children are icky! They have so much bacteria and germs and they are not very good at washing their hands, he could have unknowingly caused people to get sick. There was another video (completely separate from this compilation) where he asked his son to ask a coffee shop if he could get behind the counter and fill an order, in short he sucked at it but the coffee shop had someone watching him the whole way through, unlike the girls video where they were pretty much unsupervised by angy but Jordan and the cameras for a good portion of the video.

In short, Jordan Matter is a public nuisance and should have his platform taken because he's exploiting his kids and borderline harassing workers. He has been recording his kids for at least 4 years to my knowledge, his daughter was 11 and his son was 14. He has been sending them on challenges in the mall and in stores for years. Fuck Jordan Matter.

#rambles #jordan matter #family vloggers #family vlog #i hate family vloggers so much #I didn't even mention the grossly consumerist undertones of the content

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reveries-and-radiance · 2 years ago

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Okay, so I don't have this month's rent. I've asked everyone I know for help but no one can help me. I haven't received enough art commissions so I have no funds coming in at all.

I don't have any employment opportunities available and earning pay would take several weeks even if I did.

I have $150 cad left in my bank account. With that money I can't really go anywhere. More than likely I will need to sell my bed, desk and shelf. Give away my clothing and prepare to be out on the streets.

All of the money I get from selling my furniture will have to go to the landlord for the rent I will owe.

What happens after that? I don't know. All I need is a place to shower, a space to sleep and somewhere I can store my belongings so I'm looking at potentially getting a gym membership to cover storage and showering facilities. As for sleeping that will be a huge problem as this city has a huge population of homeless people and are thus very strict on sleeping in public (I've even been harassed at malls by a security guard when I laid my head on the table at a restaurant while with some co-workers). Homeless tents and encampments are regularly seiged by law enforcement. It's a terribly cruel and injust system.

It's also winter so getting around is difficult if you have a lot of things on you.

I could microsleep in broad daylight at parks but that is unsafe as I am a single woman.

There's always the movie theatre but I don't want to get banned from there.

As for if people have couches available? Perhaps someone does but I'm ashamed enough as it is and would probably not be able to sleep there anyways.

I'm not concerned about food or water as the city provides accessible drinking fountains free of charge in most public areas. As for food, I can probably go 3-4 months without eating as I work to save up to rent another place, or try to leave the city entirely.

I've come to the conclusion that dying is more difficult than trying to survive. Trying to live in a world that actively pushes you towards destruction is a nightmare but I have to keep going.

There's also the option of going back to live with my family. But after everything I've done and who they are as people, that would be just as much of a nightmare than being out on the streets and was why I left in the first place.

I'm still going to be taking art commissions, still going to try my best to work and find a job somewhere in order to earn funds. But I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing anymore. Everything is such a disaster.

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yinnina · 2 years ago

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It Might Be Him

There were more than four-thousand kids in this school, about a thousand for each grade.

A little less than half of those kids were surrounding us. Some kids, who were smart, watched from the stairs reeling, shouting like wild dogs for who they thought would win.

He yelled something that I couldn't catch on due to how loud the people were around us.

"Sorry!" I yelled back, "Doc said I shouldn't listen to bullshit!"

Everyone 'ooh'ed and laughed at the guy, whose name I knew was Eren, and the only reason he found out he was fighting was thanks to Gabby being the one who knew about him.

He got into a fighting position, which looked funny to me, and tried throwing a punch.

Luckily, I had a fast reflex and ducked under his fist, grabbing his arm and pulling it behind my head.

We are face to face now, and taking that to my advantage I kicked the front of his knee, making him fall, but before his face hit mine I moved out of the way, making him fall face first into the ground.

I grabbed his arms and put them behind his back, restraining him from punching or moving due to pressure I'm placing on his back.

"I would give up if I were you." I whispered in his ear.

"Like I would do such thing." He said harshly, struggling to get out of my grip. That was my cue to raise his right arm with the elbow facing me.

Crack!

Everyone was in sock, and the guy was screaming in pain after a few seconds.

His arm was bent, it would not fold frontwards but backwards.

"I warned you, you didn't listen." I told him as I walked away, people making way for me to walk through.

After that was over with, I made sure to head straight for the Grab-N-Go, where I knew Vance would be at.

I walked through the front doors, with the sound of a bell warning my entrance.

"So?" Asked the blondie, not looking away from his game.

"He won't touch anyone for a few weeks if not months." I told him.

He looked up at me this time, not caring about his score and him losing. He was in shock, but it wasn't very visible, only reason it was given away was due to his eyebrows rising up slightly then going back to their original place.

"What did you do?" He asked, rather curious.

"Arm's bend." I said simply, with a plain voice.

He chuckled, but his face showed no new emotion. "Who would've thought, since when do you know how to bend arms?"

"You're underestimating me, I know many things that would fall under the medical field. Some things don't fall under it, but fall under murder 'field.'"

"Surprise me." He ordered.

"If you inject digoxin into someone who doesn't have heart failure then they will die and it will look like they had blood pressure, and if it's injected under the tongue then the pinch mark is most likely to not be found." I reassure.

He was shocked at this, but knew it was true due to how I said it. I didn't stutter once, I didn't eat my words, and didn't trip over them.

It was a rather interesting topic to look into, I didn't use that knowledge on anyone or anything, but it could come in handy.

"Fair enough. I trust that you won't say a word about this?" He glared at me.

I chuckled lightly, "Of course."

It was a shocker he even talked to me, so I better keep my mouth shut to not get on his nerves like I did back in middle school.

His temper was a ticking bomb after all, the only exception was that you knew when a bomb would explode thanks to its timer, with Vance though, it was different, you never knew what he would do.

There was no capable way of reading him.

I turned to leave the store, before I saw it once again.

The black-fucking-ban.

"Oh my, do I have a secret admirer or something?" I whispered to myself.

There was no way I would go out through the front door where they could see me, so I went back to Vance, who was playing Pinball, and sat down next to the machine, waiting for the ban to notice my absence and leave.

I was lucky that the man didn't notice me walking away from the door, for he was probably searching for something on the passenger's seat.

"Asshole's following you again?" Asked the curly haired guy.

I sighed and nodded my head, yes.

I was not playing this man's little hide-&-seek game, I ain't patient enough to hide nor patient enough to seek.

My temper was running short with the top hatted man appearing everywhere I went.

I found it extremely weird how every time he appeared I was always near Vance. It was almost as if he wasn't just targeting me, but Vance too.

"Does he follow you anywhere?" I asked quietly, only for him to hear.

"Not really, it's always when you are around." He confessed. "Vance..." I started and he hummed.

"He only ever appears when you are around..."

He stopped playing, not caring when the machine made a small noise to announce how the game was finished.

His face was stiff, in a position where you could tell.

He was getting pissed, and a pissed Vance was not a pretty Vance.

"That son of a bitch..." He whispered, trying to remain cool.

"You don't think... He's going for both of us, right?" I started fidgeting with my nails. This whole thing was crazy.

Then I thought about the odds. What if he really was the one who kidnapped the other kids?

It wasn't impossible, he seemed cliche already.

"I'm not sure." He confessed, and for the first time, he actually looked down to the floor.

He too was thinking the same thing, I knew it by his face.

This top-hat man might be The Grabber, and was awaiting his next victims.

He was waiting for the next kids he will take from their home.

Those kids might be one of us, and we didn't know who. This man had no reason to do what he did, he merely did it for the sake of his own pleasure and entertainment. We didn't know a thing about him, and he didn't know a thing about us.

And for the first time in a while, I actually got scared. I got scared for myself.

For Vance.

I knew we both could handle ourselves, but this is a new thing, we are talking about someone who has kidnapped other kids who haven't even been found yet.

"I'm not sure..."

#vance hopper x you #vance hopper x reader #tbp vance #vance hopper #vance #the black phone #tbp

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theshadowrealmitself · 2 years ago

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So my previous job was one of those app shopping jobs but! What a lot of people didn’t know about that company I worked for is that there were two positions

The first position, that everyone knew about, was the full service workers, these were the people who do the deliveries, so sometimes they would shop an order and deliver, or they would pick it up from our area where we already shopped it and deliver, they were considered contracted workers

The second position, the one I worked for, was the in store shopper position, we would get assigned a store, and we would spend our entire shift shopping orders back to back and putting them in the staging area which contained a freezer, fridge, some shelves, and a “hot” bag, that was just an insulated bag that could keep stuff warm for a bit, but definitely not hot, this position was only part time

Anyways, not a lot of people knew about the in store shoppers, which sucked, because people would hear about the strikes the delivery drivers would do, and would know about their mistreatment, but no one ever heard about us

And those working conditions sucked. One of the biggest things was that we didn’t have a break room. When I first started out, we were allowed to use the store’s break room (we were a separate company from the store), but like a year or so into working for them, the store decided that they only wanted their employees in it, so all of us were banned from it (this was apparently a decision made in all the chains)

Many employees started hanging out in their cars, but for me, who did not have a car, my only option really was to hang out on the curb in front of the store

We also weren’t allowed to store any personal food in the fridges or freezer, which made sense because it was a health code violation, but they definitely never supplied us with a mini fridge or microwave so that we could bring food, you’d either have to store it in your cars, or if you were like me, either buy food from the store (they were half hour lunches and every fast food place in the area had such long lines you could only barely get your food in time, had no chance to eat it), or just go without eating at all

Our company swore they would fix this but they never did

After we all got transferred over to a new store (no clue what was happening at the other stores) where we had to do curbside orders too, we were finally given a singular chair to have our breaks in

Which workers from the store would use occasionally and we weren’t allowed to say anything to them even though they had a big break room because our company wanted us to keep the peace with the store

They still never gave us a microwave or mini fridge

There was a lot more bs happening during this time (shift lead lying about how many breaks we were allowed so she could make us work more to make her look like an incredible shift lead, store workers stealing from us and then refusing to show us the surveillance tapes, the extremely high turnover rate because of all the different bs reasons they could fire us, etc) but I never stopped being upset the break room situation

Anyways, they got rid of our company from their stores because they’re going to do their own shopping system through their store (like how Walmart does it), so everyone in my company was laid off (you were able to move to full service, but since I still don’t have a car I couldn’t do that)

(Also it’s definitely not gonna go great with them taking over, the higher ups for that store never thought highly of our position and from what we’ve heard about how they’re going to do it, it’s obvious they still don’t, and they are so underprepared to take over)

This was originally going to be a post about an annoying customer I dealt with, I was just going to post a little bit of background on my position, whoops

#not naming the company or store till I get my severance check #then it’s gloves off #no fandom #my shitty ex job #this was therapeutic #long post sorry

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artikgato · 1 year ago

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10/15/2023

Well, it was raining yesterday, so I didn't go out for the jogwalk. I did today, though! It took me until like 10:30 but I did do it!

I was also up until nearly 1am last night...reading a fanfic. A Slayers fanfic. A 60+ chapter Slayers fanfic, currently unfinished, in the year of our lord twenty twenty-three. I have no excuses. I make it a policy to almost never read unfinished fanfics, for one. I also knew exactly what I was getting into when I saw the chapter count and just shrugged and went YOLO I guess?

Okay, so it all started with Anime Weekend Atlanta announced, less than a month out from their con by the way, a whole slew of new guest announcements. The schedule is out now and it's less than two weeks to the con so I think they're done doing that now, but I digress. They announced Veronica Taylor as a guest. Well, years ago I already had the honor of meeting her and getting her to sign my VHS copy of Pokémon The First movie, so I don't necessarily need her autograph on any more Pokémon stuff. But of course she's in plenty of other things, including Slayers, which is one of my absolute favorite media franchises, period. So naturally I have to get her to sign for Amelia! And Lisa Ortiz, the voice of Lina, will be a guest at a convention I'm going to in March, so I can get her to sign, too! Fantastic!

And then, because I haven't really thought about Slayers in a long time, my brain went I should cosplay from Slayers again. I've been wanting to for a while. I cosplayed Filia (from TRY) waaaaaaaaaaaay back in the day, maybe I could remake her? (I do still want to do that, FYI, talk about obscure characters though am I right?) Or despite being so tall, I've always liked Lina's character design, she'd be great. I can probably pull that off before Khromakon in March, but absolutely not before AWA. But do you know who I could pull off before AWA?

Yeah, so I actually cosplayed Xelloss all the way back in high school. I never wore him to a convention, and it was a very bad cosplay. Technically, my first cosplay. (Technically, because my actual first cosplay was a very, very very bad closet cosplay of emperor Hotohori from Fushigi Yuugi the year prior, my junior year of high school. Our high school banned Halloween costumes but a gaggle of my stupid friends and I decided to see if we could get away with just wearing regular clothes but clearly being in cosplay. So I was Hotohori, a friend braided her hair and was Duo Maxwell, etc. etc.)

Anyway, my aunt made the cloak for me, and I still have it all these years later. The rest of the cosplay would be easy, because of how skilled I am now. I can 100% do this cosplay in time for AWA, and it'll be fun! He's a pretty recognizable character from a classic anime, so while I'm sure The Kids won't recognize me, I'll get at least a few people excited to find someone else that remembers Slayers. And hey, I already cosplayed one evil purple-haired anime prettyboy this year (Okada Izou) so why not two?

So anyway, I made a deal with myself. I would go to no more than three thrift stores after work one day and see if I could find a yellow turtleneck. If I could, I would proceed with the costume. If I didn't, oh well, it's not like I don't have a closet full of cosplays to wear. And wouldn't you know it, I found the turtleneck at the third Goodwill. So I ordered a wig, and now I just need to do a few minor alterations and possibly make the staff.

And so, with Xelloss Metallium now fully on my brain, I remembered that, oh yeah, Xelloss/Filia was one of the OTPs for me back in the day. One of the very first ships I got really, really invested in. And I wondered if, in the fifteen or so years since the least time I probably looked, any good new Xel/Fil fics had been written. I mean, the last time I was really invested in the ship, Evolution-R and Revolution hadn't even come out yet! A03 didn't exist yet! What was the harm of taking just a little, tiny peak at A03, right?

And that's how I ended up binge reading a 60+ Slayers fanfiction, in the year of our Lord Of Nightmares 2023. I'm not even done reading, but I've got shit to do today!

Time: 21:41 Weather: 63, sunny Humidity: 60% Song of the Day: Ghost, Mystery Skulls

#mental health jogwalk

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nickgerlich · 2 years ago

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It’s For You

It is now safe to say that we have an entire generation that has known cell phones their entire lives. They have never felt the need for a land line. They have always had a phone in pocket or purse, ranging from 10-key flip phones, to sliders, Blackberrys, and more recently, smartphones.  

I’m talking about Generation Z, of course, the social cohort whose demarcation year—1997—is considered the point after which online life had become nearly ubiquitous. What those demographers overlooked, though, is that this was about the same time that cell phone ownership became nearly as common. While we can all take some credit in this, Gen-Z quickly realized that these phones are for more than just talking or texting. They are lifestyle devices.  

I got my first cell phone in 1994, a Motorola bag phone that had to be tethered to both vehicle power and a rooftop antenna. It was basically a heavy walkie-talkie, but it worked. And boy howdy were the fees high. I paid by the minute, which went down a little bit in the evening. Suffice it to say, I only used it for very important calls.  

What most people don’t realize is that the first cell phone was introduced in 1973. Marty Cooper is credited as being the inventor, the visionary who saw the need for mobile communications. But the wheels had already started rolling at least a decade prior, because the Dallas Police Department already had dictaphones for squad car and motorcycle cops when John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. They relied on a cellular network much like that which we have today, albeit with much less clarity.

It’s just that it took a long time for this product to diffuse, primarily because of cost. They required development of an entirely new infrastructure, one which we are still trying to complete. I laugh at T-Mobile’s ads that say they have 99% of all Americans covered. Right. If they all stay home. The ad says nothing about how much (or how little) geography they have covered, which we have all discovered whenever we fall off the grid out west.  

But now Mr. Cooper, still a visionary, predicts a future in which we will all have cell phones implanted under our skin. Cue the Biblical prophesies of end times and all that once more. It’s one thing to envision using our palm print to buy at an Amazon store. It’s quite another to imagine our iPhone embedded in our body.

It’s not like others haven’t already tried to go down this road, but it was with wearables. Google Glass was a well-intended but poorly deployed set of eyewear that could function much like a smartphone. It landed with a $1500 thud in 2013. More recently, there is the collab between Meta and Ray-Ban that has yielded similar glasses.

But wearables have always been more about the hype than the hope for a better user experience. They still have a long way to go, which may have served as impetus for Mr. Cooper to picture a phone that was not just on our body, but also in it.  

Of course, this leaves a lot of other unanswered questions, because without a visual aspect, it just becomes another Alexa device. We need screens somewhere, which necessarily involves a handheld device, or perhaps holograms that are projected before our eyes. Now it’s time to cue the crashes and missteps.  

And how might we issue orders? By merely thinking of them? Or would we have to actually say something, kind of like we do with our digital assistants today? And if we are texting to someone, would we similarly have to enunciate it and rely on voice dictation—which can be dangerous—to get the job done?

Now imagine the ability to merely “think” something into action. Or being able to instruct the computer that is inside your head to access ChatGPT and have it compose an essay while you are finishing an in-class exam. Of course, you’d have to be able to download it somehow, but those are mere details. And consider social media. We might be able to post content, as well as click the Like and Heart icons without ever tapping a finger. The possibilities are limitless.  

By now you have probably detected that I am poking a little fun at this notion. Truthfully, I consider it just a bit absurd. Well, I once thought the same of the first iPhone, but a year later I drank the Kool-Aid. I have guzzled it ever since, and I bet I could just as easily drink from this fountain as well. I think Mr. Cooper’s idea needs some fine-tuning and then selling. It could take a few years, maybe decades.

Just like the first cell phones needed a quarter of a century before they took off. Innovations can be like that. Gen-Z can say they were at least here for the beginning of the conversation of the embedded phone, but there may be a couple more generations down the road before one emerges that can lay claim to having lived their entire lives with it.  

And now I am left trying to figure out what my generation can claim as ours. I’m thinking color television and microwave ovens. They’re not much, but they were a start, and we embraced them. You’re welcome.

Dr “We Were Simple Like That“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #cellphone #technology #communication

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maolong · 7 months ago

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When working in retail, this statement was so obviously true that it hurt. I'm trans and autistic, but also white. If someone was being an ass to me over one of those things I could weaponize my whiteness in order to get them to back down and I will fully admit that I did that pretty much every day that I worked there. We still got a lot of bigots in, and pretty much everyone had more then a few customers who hated them. But the ones who got the worst of it were always the people who weren't white. One of my coworkers at the time was a highschooler that wasn't white, not sure what race she was in specific but what really matters for it is more so how many people treated her worse. She got more sexual harrasement then any other women I worked with, and it ended up getting to the point that she had a guy that would litteraly come in here and try specifically to harrass her so badly that we tried to get him banned from the store for it. He was not banned, but a black guy who did far less then him was. We had a ton of disabled customers, though usually the same twenty or so once a week or so and all the white ones got treated fine, but I had a supervisor step in and tell me to stop helping a black disabled man because we 'didn't have what he was looking for.' If a women was having problems you can bet your ass hat the white women got reated better then anyone of a different skin tone, with a number of them having such bad experiences that they refused to come again with the managers refusing to do anything about it at that point when I'd seen them do their best to solve the issues for white women with the exact same issue. This was a repeating pattern for basically everything listed here, and it was to the point where even if working in retail wasn't hell already then the customers and management were trying to create their own personal hells for people who weren't white. It was litteraly to the point where I was getting less then a hundreth of the shit that one of the black girls I worked with would be getting up front, even when I was being directly antagonistic to customers and I was able to get away with it as well when there is no way in hell that she would have been able to. Being white not just made things easier, it made things easier to such an insane degree that the idea that being blind and deaf wouldn't have been an excuse to not see it happening.

i dont think whites understand how being white makes literally everything easier.

it effects everything.

being trans is easier when youre white.

being gay is easier when youre white.

being disabled is easier when youre white.

being a woman is easier when youre white.

being autistic is easier when youre white.

oppression is eased when you are white, as you get extra privileges, and your whiteness is seen as a positive characteristic that in some ways counter-balances your other forms of being a minority. whiteness controls everything.

you are automatically way more innocent in your own oppression as a gay, trans, disabled person because of your whiteness.

never forget this.

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more-than-a-princess · 1 year ago

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🐣What were you like as a kid? Allegedly? Has anything changed, and have people noticed?

In Depth and Personal Munday Meme - Accepting!

My favorite places as a child were quiet, full of books and/or dolls, and somewhere I could wear a pretty dress, eat sweets, and read to my dolls or stuffed animals. I'm an only child and have parents with busy careers, so I was left on my own (middle school and up) or with a sitter or nanny quite often. I had trouble making friends and relating to other kids as I was constantly surrounded by adults whom I could reason with: I'm pretty sure part of the reason why I was bullied so much was that I attempted to reason with other kids the way I did with adults (or tried to) and couldn't understand why they just teased me instead. I begged to be homeschooled but my parents said no and sent me to private school hell instead. I think the only time I really liked going to school for something more than my favorite classes was university.

That said, my favorite things in life were the bookstore and/or library, Scholastic Book Fair (I was that kid who ordered whatever I wanted off the book list and needed help carrying the bags to my parents' cars), the Disney Store (beeline for the stuffed animal tower and the TV playing film/song clips usually, if I wasn't distracted by dolls), and whenever I got new Barbies or American Girl dolls. I actually preferred AG more: the fact they came with books and girls from historical eras was the coolest thing to me! Those dolls and my cats at the time got to hear a lot of me trying to read aloud as much as I could.

I wasn't very athletic so sports teams were out of the question most of the time (I lifted weights instead starting in middle school in lieu of a school team due to how badly I was bullied. It just wasn't a great idea for my mental health to keep me around those kids longer than I needed to be), and I wasn't allowed video games until high school (right around when I'd sent my college applications) because my parents were convinced that if I played video games, I'd never get into a good university. This is a big reason why I never became much of a gamer! I didn't grow up with the hand-eye coordination practice with consoles and controllers many kids did. I also didn't get cable TV until the end of middle school: things like Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel were luxuries for me, ones I only got to indulge in at other family members' houses.

I think the funniest bit of it all is how I went from very much a dress-loving, pink-adorning, dress-wearing child to a teenager, constantly sullen, dressed in black/Hot Topic/early Torrid attire with the goth-iest high school senior photoshoot...and right back to a woman who adores dresses, classic colors, neutrals, and pastels, and just feels better about her day when pulling a dress and favorite pair of shoes/bag out of her closet, just to go to a cafe and shopping/a bookstore. My parents have definitely noticed this and are having the last laugh at middle/high school-era Rae, who would only wear wide leg JNCO style trousers with so many ripped holes at the bottom, bondage pants/skirts, anime/geek t-shirts, fancy dresses from The Pyramid Collection (I had a wicca phase) and the darkest red lipstick that wasn't black but still broke the school dress code so the administration made me wash it off each morning (despite me swatching it on my hand and showing them no, it wasn't black: black lipstick was banned, like jeans, miniskirts, tanktops, and anything featuring 'gang' logos or relating to Eminem or Nelly. Honestly, besides the jeans, good move school!)...is now a far more cheerful and content person, who has embraced color, dresses, bows, etc. once again.

tl;dr - my teenage years were awful, do not want to revisit no matter how much my high school keeps insisting I should show up for my 20-year reunion.

In a more nerdy sense, I'm realizing that in my late thirties with more disposable income, I can finally wear all the costumes I wanted to do as a teenage cosplayer but didn't have the funds to do so. I am doing or rewearing so many old school costumes in 2024, and upgrading some outfits I already love with higher-quality pieces.

#more-than-a-princess answered #more-than-a-princess musings #dcviated #(In Depth and Personal Munday Memes)#(Thank you for the ask Bear! I hope some of this is a nostalgia trip)#(Dear younger Gen Z mutuals especially under the age of 25: the clothing styles popular in your generation now?)#(I wore those in middle/high school. It is -frightening- to see it all come back.)

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hubbardhead · 1 year ago

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Seven and Seven or Southern Comfort and Coke were the drinks of choice that night. The music was loud and the party goers were rowdy. The polished oak dining room floor vibrated as friends danced to the rhythm of Chicago Transit Authority, known later as merely Chicago. There were more than 60 people releasing their anxiety and frustration from being prisoners in their own home for over seven days. The Commonwealth had implemented a travel ban in order that the state could clean up from the worst blizzard in a century that started almost a week ago and most of our neighbors just needed a reason to participate in something, anything at this point. We didn’t really expect many to show, seeing as how they would have to walk or break the law and drive to our home, so we invited many, 64 to be exact. To our surprise every one of them came. Fortunately, my two sons and I pulled a sled through the snow to the only store that was open over two miles away and placed bags of food on the sled for the party that night. There were no cars to be seen and we pulled the sled home in the middle of streets still covered with snow. The blizzard of 1978 was the omen of inexplicable events that transpired later that same year. It was the year when five lives where abruptly altered, then and forever.

Today, 45 years later I was inadvertently associated with a previous life, an association that has troubled and confused me. The visit to the same room where friends were dancing is now empty and cold, devoid of any living being, an empty coffer of past events. The large 2X12 fir beams that I carefully applied covering to is still vertically standing and holding all the shelves that I had made. Gone is the music, the AR amplifier and speakers. A large television screen is inappropriately hiding where there was a turntable and records. There are no lights inside the shelving and the indirect lighting from the ceiling cast a dreary ambiance to what was an active and animated wall many years before. I had trouble taking my eyes away from this. I thought of all things that may or may not have happened here that I was never aware of. Were the years of my absence void of the joy so vibrant of the time when I was a part of this home? I hoped not.

I married the girl that was the most vivacious person in our high school class in 1963, so voted by her classmates, myself included. We bought a home in 1964. That girl has lived at that home until a few weeks ago. No one lives there now and she will never be able to go back to that home again. Suffering now from an insidious disease that propels her from hospital to rehabilitation centers and then back to hospitals in a redundant circle of confusion for all involved. I would love to think that the life she knew for 45 years without me, in the home that she loved, was happy for her and that many happy memories still live with her. I am very sad for the troubled life that has to be endured by, at one time, the most vivacious woman I ever knew.

#24 SUMMIT AVE

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ewmagines · 3 years ago

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Could I ask what date nights are like with the main four?

ooooh i’m in my element here -mod matt

edd

-always comes up with the most extravagant date plans possible

-would love to take you anywhere and everywhere. if an outing could conceivably be called a date then edd has fantasized about it with you

-(spoiler alert: like 90% of the time you wind up just cuddling on the couch anyway)

-not really the type to dress up for dates; might put a clip-on bowtie on his hoodie as a joke

-the chill dates are probably the best just because anything outside of the house and there’s a nonzero chance somebody will wind up in the hospital. honestly this is true of all four of them

matt

-public dates. restaurants, malls, taking you to the fair. he wants to show you off

-(on a more selfish note he wants people to look at him and say “wow, that guy is on a date!”)

-by this logic, he’s the type of guy to always have an arm wrapped around you or his hand in yours while you’re out

-overdresses for dates. like, three piece suit for a casual walk in the park overdressed

-that doesn’t exactly mean he looks… good, though. like he’s THIS close to looking like jon arbuckle in all those garfield strips where he wears the tacky clashing patterns for dates

tom

-sitting in his room together while he tunes susan and you play on your phone is a date right

-he really does prefer chill dates. like, throwing on a movie and then not paying any attention to it in favor of talking to you but still calling it a movie date

-he likes the idea of getting some food delivered during one of these dates but hates the idea of paying for it, but has just enough sense to not ask you to pay for it. so he’s always like *sighhh* i would love to order a takeout right now… *does nothing*

-for dates outside the house, he still prefers things chill and secluded. like, sitting outside together

tord

-in stark contrast to tom, movie dates with tord are a dangerous game because he’s going to pay more attention to the movie than to you. nothing against you i promise

-sort of like matt, tord likes showing you off on public dates, but for him it’s more about being possessive of you

-i promise i’m going to make points about tord that aren’t relative to the other guys points

-ykw i think the 2016 era boyfriend quizzes are right about this tord would take you on a date to a gun store or a shooting range. he genuinely thinks it’s romantic and if you’re confused he doesn’t notice

-“don’t worry babe i’ll cover it *opens wallet* ….next time i mean” doesnt have the heart to make you pay so he just books it. you’re banned from like four different restaurants for dining and dashing at this point

#eddsworld imagines #ew edd x reader #ew matt x reader #ew tom x reader #ew tord x reader #mod matt

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thetriggeredhappy · 3 years ago

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dad!spy commission featuring spy keeping his whole nose exclusively in other people’s business and being a concerned father.

(warnings for very direct alcohol and drug mention, including brief discussion of hard drugs, but unlike spy, don’t worry, this is actually a pretty fluffy story)

“Hey guys what’s up that’s cool best of luck with that catch you later!”Scout called all in a rush as he cut through the rec room at high speeds.

“Scout,” the Engineer said sternly without looking up from the cards in his hand, and Scout all but skidded to a stop in the doorway, visibly wincing. “What’s got you in such a rush today?”

“Listen, I’m kinda workin’ on somethin’ kinda important right now,” he explained, bouncing slightly on his heels, reaching up with one hand to fidget with his hat and gesturing with the bag in his hand. “Time sensitive. You know how it is.”

“How time sensitive?” Demo asked, raising an eyebrow as he tossed another Uno card onto the growing respective Uno pile.

“Real time sensitive.” Scout twisted the handle of the bag in his hand. “My niece’s birthday is comin’ up and I forgot I gotta mail her gift like, yesterday if I wanna get it there on time. Haven’t even wrapped it yet.”

“Oh?” Demo asked, blinking. “How old’s she?”

“Oh, she’s, uh, she’s eleven. Been lookin’ forward to getting this doll thing from TV that’s real popular. Told everyone at home I’d be the one getting it for her and everything, it’ll break her heart if she doesn’t get it.”

“Shoot, off you go, then,” the Engineer said, waving him along, and Scout breathed a sigh of relief, breaking into a trot, accented with the sound of rustling from the bag and a vague, distracted murmur under his breath.

A trot that of course carried him, incidentally, into an invisible chest about twenty feet down the hallway.

“Scout,” Spy tutted, shaking his head as he faded into view. “You really should know better.”

Scout righted himself, already bristling. “What? What’re you talkin’ about?” he demanded, just a bit too defensive.

“Lying, and to the poor Engineer of all people,” Spy said, feigning a tone of betrayal, a hand over where his heart theoretically was. “How could you? For shame!”

“You sayin’ I’m a liar?” Scout asked, glaring.

“Oh, to alledge and to accuse are entirely different things,” Spy said breezily, picking invisible lint off of his shirt cuff. “This is not mere hearsay, no, I have a number of reasons to know that you’re lying.”

“Oh, sure, go ahead,” Scout scoffed, trying to call his bluff, only to flinch a little bit at how much Spy immediately started smirking.

“Firstly, that the bag you are holding contains no wrapping paper, something you would need in order to wrap a gift, when I’m well aware we have no such thing already on the base, and while you’re often clumsy you clearly would have noticed this sooner. Secondly that the bag you are holding is for the general store in the town west of here, which is both of a town without a post office since three months ago when Soldier had that little incident of his and besides that further away than the town north of here whose post office is much more expansive, something you know, bringing me to my third point. You mailed the box, containing the gift for your only niece above the age of four, the brand new Malibu Barbie, three weeks ago, and ranted at dinner at length regarding the frustrations of the Postal Service for quite some time before you decided nobody was listening to you and stopped.”

Scout stared at him openly, visibly unnerved.

“The good news is, the package did reach her on time. Mia was apparently very excited about the doll.” Spy reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope that was sealed by a number of stickers, holding it out to him. “You should check your mailbox more often, you know.”

Scout snatched up the envelope, holding it protectively to his chest. “Alright, I’m telling’ Miss P to ban you from mail duty,” he grumbled, giving the envelope a cursory once-over. “And going in the records. And just being a creep in general.”

“I’m sure it will reflect poorly on my quarterly review, but more importantly, I should point out that I’m not the one lying through my teeth,” Spy replied easily enough. “Not presently, at least. What’s really in that bag of yours?”

“A delivery from the None of Your Business Corporation,” Scout replied, trying to duck around Spy. Spy mirrored him. “Ordered it off of Get Out Of Here Before I Kick Your Teeth In Magazine. Monthly edition.”

Another step, another mirror. “I can find out now and you can earn my sympathy, or I can find out later without you being able to defend yourself when I think it’s ridiculous,” Spy warned.

“Oh, so for the first time since I’ve ever met you, you’ll suddenly be nice to me?” Scout scoffed. Another step, another mirror, and Scout groaned outright. “Look, I don’t have time for this. How about this, you know what I think?”

“I would hate to.”

“I think that the only reason you’re pestering me about this is because you know something’s up, but you can’t figure it out, and you know you’re not gonna figure it out unless I tell you, and pretending I’m boxed in a corner here is a mind game thing to get me to spill when really you don’t have a good enough hand to bluff with in the first place.”

Spy’s eyebrows rose. Scout rolled his eyes.

“So anyways, I’ll see you later,” he emphasized, feigning to one side and ducking around Spy, breaking into a run once he was past him.

Spy wanted to grit his teeth, but instead he straightened his lapels, adjusted his tie, and set to a little more digging. Mostly because Scout was absolutely right.

A cursory search of Scout’s motorcycle led only to finding out that Scout still had a problem with remembering to throw away gum wrappers and a receipt from a convenience store, not one from whatever the mystery purchase was. His locker was similarly unhelpful, and a glance through his bag only led to him deciding to go to Medic about having a talk with Scout about his energy drink intake, because good lord. How could any person drink that much liquid in one day? How had Scout not already had a heart attack?

While that was concerning, more concerning was a second thing that began occurring. Scout was starting to avoid all of them.

At first, it registered as Scout lying a lot more often to everyone, not that anyone else seemed to notice. Scout mentioning offhandedly that he had to skip movie night with Pyro and Demo that week because he had to work on a project Miss Pauling had asked him to do, when Spy knew good and well that no such project existed. Similar excuses to the Engineer, to Sniper, about a baseball game that would be happening the following day, about plans with Demo that weren’t actually happening.

And Spy realized, suddenly one day, that Scout had successfully swindled his way out of his plans for the night on four of the five days deliberately scheduled that previous week, going from nearly-daily hangouts with any of his assorted teammates to borderline isolation. And then he realized, indeed, Scout was beginning to come and go from the base with more medium-sized unmarked bags, now smart enough to put them in his backpack before he walked into the base to avoid questions.

He could hear Scout playing music in his own room, pretty frequently, so it was clear he wasn’t going out or anything besides the quick weekend excursions, all so brief that he surely didn’t spend more than ten minutes there at most. An attempted stakeout ended in failure when he was found loitering in the hallway by Soldier and manhandled into a lecture on American History that he was fairly sure wasn’t meant to include as many too-close-for-comfort aerial dogfights and mixed martial arts as Soldier’s descriptions. He attempted to enlist the Engineer’s help with interrogating Scout on the situation as he feigned concern, but instead a tangent of a tangent led to him being forced to politely listen to a story about raising chickens for about two hours.

The situation escalated suddenly one morning when Spy, entirely off his game and focusing on whether he could weasel his way around rules regarding breaking into other mercenaries’ sleeping areas, failed to notice a crucial detail that was instead noted by the Demoman.

“Lad,” Demo scoffed, leaning to look at Scout’s face, “looks like someone’s been on the Bonk and comic books before bed again, aye?”

Spy’s attention snapped to the conversation. He heard Scout laughing him off, and chanced a glance across the room. Scout rubbed self-consciously below one of his eyes, where admittedly, he did have bags, a paleness that spoke of exhaustion or illness. “Heh, yeah, didn’t sleep great,” was all he said on the situation, a significant step down from the usual oversharing that had Spy’s eyebrows knitting together.

“Had my own share of rough nights, best of luck on the field, lad,” Demo said sympathetically, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Heh, yeah,” Scout mumbled, and went back to wrapping his hands, moving much slower than usual.

A new development. Within moments, Spy had begun to formulate a number of theories on the situation.

Ockham’s razor. While it was possible that Scout had indeed simply been up late reading comic books, Spy thought it a bit too much of a coincidence, and now that he thought about it, indeed Scout had seemed a bit lethargic lately. More likely, he thought, Scout was perhaps sick, coming down with some kind of illness that meant sleep was difficult, meaning he would want to avoid the team to keep them all healthy.

But then again, that made no sense. If he was sick, there was no reason for him to get this many unmarked bags, and the duration was highly suspect. Two weeks of illness? Surely by then he would have gotten impatient and asked for Medic’s help, or at least started getting medicine from the cabinets in the Medbay rather than journeying all the way into town and spending his own money.

So sickness was unlikely.

His mind jumped to another possibility, the option that perhaps Scout was simply in an extremely bad mood, feeling upset about something happening in his life. The bags being unmarked and hidden a result of his pride, maybe, everyone on the team well aware that Scout tended to douse his feelings in snack food when he felt upset, and often Scout preferred to keep unhappiness his own problem when he thought he could work it out on his own.

But even then, usually by the time something got this bad, to last this long, he would have said something to everyone. The caginess, the lying–more than that, the avoiding everyone, avoiding the usual fun and shenanigans with the team, that didn’t fit his profile. Surely he would’ve told someone, or outright said (as had always been the case previously) that he just wasn’t feeling it and was going to do his own thing. He’d never outright lied like this. Acted so much like he had something to hide.

Something to hide. Spy felt his hackles raise as something occurred to him. Was Scout being blackmailed, perhaps? Was that what the caginess was for, the lost sleep? The lying, the dodging questions? Did someone have some kind of dirt on Scout, and this was the result of paranoia? Him trying to keep himself sheltered away from the world so nobody else could get anything incriminating on him?

No, that didn’t make sense either. The packages were still highly suspect, for one, and besides that he was pretty sure Scout didn’t actually do anything particularly unsavory that wasn’t also, recordably and daily, done by the entirety of their team. And he didn’t exactly have much free time to do anything else on top of his social life. The possibility that it was just something embarrassing that would provide a hit to his masculinity was there, but nobody really bought into that anyways. Unless it was something like an addiction problem, Spy sincerely doubted it.

Spy stopped walking suddenly, stood stock-still in the middle of the field for a good few moments.

…Was it a drinking problem, perhaps?

The unmarked bags would make sense. Alcohol, unmarked bags, standard fare. The caginess, the lying, probably exacerbated by shame or embarrassment. Avoiding people and spending time alone, also something that made sense, this self-isolation. And his quality of sleep would likely be affected, or at least he would start feeling ill.

That was when Spy really dug his heels in.

Demoman was subjected to an outright interrogation, regarding whether he’d been giving Scout alcohol or noticed any of his own missing. Demo caved, telling Spy that actually, Scout did drink sometimes, and did occasionally go overboard, but honestly, he just really didn’t like the taste of it. That he hadn’t noticed anything that weird otherwise, but to ask their other drinking buddy, Sniper, the more observant one.

Sniper’s interrogation was nearly ruined by Spy misunderstanding a few terms, but eventually he got there. Sniper admitted that they did used to drink sometimes, used to hang out, and that Scout was actually not particularly a lightweight because of all the exercise, and he eventually let it slip that Scout sometimes smoked with him. Upon further interrogation, Sniper clarified that he meant weed, not cigarettes.

Scout drank alcohol, occasionally heavily. Eventually, he started smoking weed, probably when alcohol didn’t give enough of a kick for him, impulsive as he was, prone to rushing through things.

God, who knew what Scout was even doing, then? Maybe he wasn’t even smoking marijuana anymore, maybe he’d found something else that he was now hooked on. Spy knew plenty of celebrities were alleged to be involved in drugs, and in his own experience in mercenary work they were extremely common, but he figured, this far out from civilization and with so little contact to other people, he wouldn’t have to worry about it as much.

He found himself marching directly to where Scout’s room was and knocking hard against the door, absolutely fuming. Scout answered the door looking a little confused, a little rattled.

“Scout, can we have a word?” Spy asked, tone a perfect, even level.

“Uh,” Scout said, and adjusted so his shoulder was wedged flat to the doorframe, the door now open exactly wide enough to fit his face, blocking a view into the room. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

“I intend to find out exactly what it is that you’ve been hiding from the rest of the team,” Spy said, allowing that level tone to slip into a more vaguely threatening one.

Scout’s eyes widened a fraction. Flicked across Spy’s face. “Uh. I dunno what you’re talking about,” he finally said carefully.

“Scout. Do you take me for some kind of idiot?” Spy asked, tone dangerous now. “I know you’ve been hiding something from the team. A rather large something.”

“Uh,” Scout said, blinking, but the tension in his shoulders said it all. “I’ve got no idea what’s, uh, what’s the problem here, what you’re–”

“Don’t lie,” Spy warned. “I believe we both already know what I’m talking about, don’t I? You’re not getting out of this conversation that easily. Tell me, right now. What–”

Scout suddenly startled, suddenly scrambled in a movement Spy wasn’t expecting–he knew Scout was the type to bolt, but he hadn’t seemed prepared to do so, and yet he was moving so quickly, to–

“Rocket, no!” Scout hiss-shouted, and something darted past Spy’s legs, and he repeated it louder, “Rocket, no, shit, fuck! Get back here! Spy, c’mon!”

“Que–” was all Spy managed before he was yanked into motion, forced to move or be pulled to fall flat on his face. Out at the end of the hall and disappearing around the corner, something small and furry. “Is–is that a dog?”

“Yes it’s a dog now come help me catch him, asshole!” Scout said firmly.

It was another full hallway and another turned corner before Spy even got his feet under him enough to start processing what was even happening, and then Scout stopped, pointed.

“Look, he went in there!” he declared, and bolted up to the door, pulled it closed. “Okay. Hell yeah. Got him. Okay.”

Spy blinked rapidly. “You. There’s a dog. You have a dog. When did you get a dog?” Spy asked, entirely befuddled.

Scout looked at him, confused. “Like three weeks ago. Is–you were just yelling at me, why are you acting confused? What’s the game here?”

Spy shook off his confusion, catching up and moving behind Scout as he carefully opened the door, watching his feet so as to not let the dog escape again.

It wasn’t trying to, instead sitting squarely in the seat of one of Spy’s armchairs, there in the smoking room like it owned the place, tail wagging a hundred miles an hour as they walked in, looking completely pleased with itself. It was shaggy in most parts of its fur, clearly some kind of mutt, but it seemed predominantly to be some kind of terrier, perhaps a bull terrier, and its collar jingled lightly with how it full-body wiggled in place under the onslaught of energy it seemed to have.

“You’re in trouble now, little guy!” Scout scolded, and Rocket sank from sitting to laying, chin tucked against the fabric of the chair, giving Scout a tearful look or remorse despite the still-wagging tail. “Nuh-uh, no tryin’ to look cute! You know better than to run off on me! Bad Rocket!”

“His name is Rocket,” Spy deadpanned.

“I mean, it is now,” Scout said, and approached the dog, who hopped off the armchair and instead started scampering around his feet, tail still wagging despite Scout’s still scolding body language. “Found ‘im in an alley in town. Little guy was starving. Pretty sure he had to belong to someone, he’s real polite, doesn’t bark or nothin’, fixed and all that. Been tryin’ to find his owner, but, nothin’.”

Spy stared, still befuddled, at the animal that scampered over to him, tail and head drooping as it approached, starting to sniff at his shoes curiously, clearly a little skittish. “You can’t have pets,” Spy said, “it is a company policy. Only birds have been allowed, and only for our Medic.”

Scout fidgeted with his hands a bit, and finally looked at Spy, competing for first place in the puppy-dog-eyes competition just then. “I know, but, c’mon! He’s super well behaved and quiet and everything, I’ve been feeding him all on my own and taking care of ‘im, he’s like, practically trained! Look, hey, Rocket, sit!”

The dog scampered over, scrambling to sit at Scout’s feet where he was pointing, tail wagging at a hundred miles an hour.

“Good boy!” Scout praised, kneeling to pet the dog all across its’ head despite its’ attempts at licking his hands. “See? He’s a really good dog, aren’t you, Rocket?”

Spy’s eyebrows furrowed and he crossed his arms. “Scout. I’m not the one you need to bargain with on this, Miss Pauling is. There’s nothing I can do either way.”

Scout looked back up at him, and the dog followed suit. Two pleading looks now aimed at him. “C’mon, you totally can! If you put in a good word for me, y’know, help convince her–”

“You cannot keep it,” Spy said firmly. He was an international agent of espionage. He was trained to withstand torture. What, was he supposed to be swayed by the fact that Scout’s expression fell, the way he tightened his arms around the dog, which was back to trying to lick every square inch of his face?

Because he wasn’t. Absolutely not.

“C’mon,” Scout said, so genuinely in that moment. “Please?”

No. Absolutely not. No way.

“And his name is Rocket,” Scout said, the dog running a circle around the rec room and trying to greet everyone at once, a roar of laughter rising as it almost bowled over Soldier and Pyro in its excitement, “he’s the best, he’s like basically trained already, he can be our team mascot, isn’t he the best?!”

Miss Pauling’s nails ticked against the clipboard in her hand in a nervous rhythm off to one side of the group. Spy’s grip on the space above his elbows tightened as the performance continued. “Are you sure this isn’t going to backfire?” she asked carefully, shooting a glance at Spy.

“Sure enough to sign off on it being my own dog, aren’t I?” he deadpanned, a twitch in one eye.

The dog darted between Heavy’s legs and sent the giant crashing down to a cheer from the room, and Spy sat with the knowledge that if nothing else, Scout’s mother had at least never caved to letting him get a pet. As per usual, she continued to prove herself the more competent parent.

“If I ever see that beast in my smoking room again, it’s going back into a box on the roadside!” Spy called, and Scout laughed as though he wasn’t serious, perhaps the most insulting thing of all.

#dad!spy #tf2 #team fortress 2 #que?#shut up me #my fanfiction #aka spy being the father who goes 'ARE YOU SMOKING THE DEVILS LETTUCE SON'

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shimmerbeasts · 1 month ago

Text

The Grey had gotten the chance to dissipate after Jinx's stunt with the ventilation system. However, even with most of the obnoxious gasses gone, the air still carried a sharp metallic tang to itself. With each breath, Vi took, she caught the scent of oil and soot. Grime plastered itself on the walls of houses and the light fought its way through a cloud of haze and mist. It created fleeting shadows, which distorted and shuddered like uneven scribbles.

Streaks of red covered parts of the street. Camille's stride distorted some of those puddles, revealing that the blood was fresh occasionally. Vi's stomach twisted. She did not wonder for the first time whether or not Caitlyn had made a mistake when she, they had used the Grey to flush Jinx out. Vi should have known that this was not going to work. Even though the danger of the Grey had been banned from the streets, it did not mean that Zaun was safe. Far from it. If you had weathered multiple Sickly Months, was it such a surprise that you could also weather the Grey better than most.

"Huh?", Vi made when Camille addressed her in that cold and absolute voice with this melody, which was supposed to mimic emotions, but all, it made the Zaunite think was how much she would love to screw over Camille's voice box. If she had one. "We've been over this, Madam, haven't we?", she remarked with a hint of annoyance as she picked up pace to catch up with Camille, "I know my job. No need to repeat it."

They stopped in the shadow of a small run-down building. More a hut really than a house. It had two stores and a slightly tilted roof. The windows were dark, yet Vi's fine nose could pick up the smell of people behind the door. Her ears twitched ever so slightly, even though muscles restricted the motion. The low gait of someone's step.

"Saviours?" Vi's lips curled upwards to reveal a row of fangs. She spat on the floor. "Yeah, don't make me laugh, Camille. I may wish for many things, but I am not that delusional." She gave a low chuckle. Vi flexed her fingers, hearing the Atlas gauntlets creak and shift. "Though I would not call myself a paragon of order or law. Certainly not that of a Piltie." The Undercity had its own ways of establishing law and order. It just was not a very clean way and had a lot of casualties. Not that Piltover was any better. But Camille would not listen to that. She never listened.

Hearing the order, Vi softly exhaled and rose the Atlas gauntlets as her expression steeled itself. Pink emerged with such ease that the transition was not even felt by the Zaunite. Locking eyes with the door, Pink wired up one of the gauntlets. As the needle on the pressure valve trembled in the red half, she suddenly released the tension and came shooting forward, balled fist outstretched.

Pink crashed through the locked door with all the force of a tiger, pouncing upon a stalked stag. Wood splinters and chunks exploded around her and rained down on the floor. Green eyes darted around, taking in the scene, she had barged into. Ten men in battered suits, sleek top hats and with varying metal extensions instead of limbs were standing around a table in the middle of an argument. Upon noticing Vi, one of them pointed at her and yelled: "Get her!"

The goons sprang to their feet and brandished their weapons. Crude firearms, knives and needles attached to their prosthetics. They came swarming towards Pink. The magenta-haired Zaunite released a roar, swung the gauntlets and readied herself to meet them heads-on.

The air was heavy with the metallic tang of oil and soot as Camille led Vi through the winding alleys of Zaun. The dim lights filtered over the veil of pollution, casting ghostly hues on the walls stained with years of grime. Camille’s expression was as sharp and unyielding as her blades as she strides, each step a strike of authority. She knew that searching for Jinx now, hidden behind layers of chaos and fiercely loyal acolytes, would be nothing but folly.

No, today was not for elusive phantoms.

Today was for control, power, and precision — the kind that only the Ferros could deliver.

“You know your part, child.” Camille’s voice cut through the silence, cold and absolute.

The last mission had left its scars — not just on Vi but on Camille’s reputation. The factory compound that had crumbled, the mark that had slipped through their grasp — it had placed too many eyes on Clan Ferros, eyes that questioned their strength. They needed a demonstration, a message.

And it would be delivered with calculated brutality.

Their target was simple but significant: a gang hideout that once thrived under the rule of the Chem Baron Smeech. Now, with Smeech’s mysterious disappearance, his former underlings had descended into violent infighting, each trying to claw their way to dominance. It was an opportunity, and Camille seized it. The task was straightforward — swoop in, obliterate the gangs, and raze their warehouse to the ground. It was the kind of task that even Vi could execute. It had to be.

“We’re not here to play saviour,” Camille continued, eyes locked ahead as they approached their entry point. “We are here to remind them who holds the true power. Law, progress and order — we embody them. Not the rabble-rousers, and certainly not that Noxian filth that dare to meddle.”

"I chose this mission especially for you." She spared a glance back at Vi, her expression softened by a sliver of something almost maternal. Almost.

This was, of course, more than an example-making show — this was a test. A demonstration. And it was better for Vi to not fail her again.

"We begin now.” Camille tilted her head toward a shadowed entrance nestled in a narrow alleyway, the subtle motion commanding Vi to move forward.

She reached for her tactical hook — a grappling device seamlessly integrated into her hip mechanism. With a precise flick, the hook shot out, latching onto the building’s ledge above.

A quiet whir followed as she was propelled upwards, her form slicing through the air with mechanical grace. Landing silently atop the roof, she adjusted her stance and scanned for her own point of entry, prepared to infiltrate from above.

This mission would be swift and without flaw; of that, she would make certain.

#steelshadow #rp: botched mission #im willing to fight for it: vi interaction #the matron of steel: camille ferros #Post-Canon Verse[Vi]#things changed since you left: queue

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myckicade · 3 years ago

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Prompt: Ok so we all know Coco is touch starved, and would be clingy af in a relationship. What about Coco x wife!reader, while she’s trying to do basic errands/chores and Coco is her shadow?

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one. I really have. Hee hee. I just adore Coco. <3 . This piece sort of follows the story of the last two Coco x Reader pieces I have written, but it will stand-alone, just fine. And, I swear, these things just have a mind of their own. I can continue to apologize for length, and content, but, in the end... I let the story tell itself. ;) . <3 .

As a warning, I come from Vermont, where we have a plastic bag ban. Last I knew, California was the first state to have one. I don’t know how that would translate to Santo Padre, but… When I mention fabric bags, I mean reusables, and the ban is why. ^^;;;;.

Title: Worthwhile

Teaser: He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it.

“Okay…” you murmur, slowly, eyes scanning over the paper in front of you. Fifteen items, nothing crazy. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour, tops, and that includes travel to and from the store. “I think I’ve got everything we need… And, specials included your beer, and those little frozen cream puffs.”

Beside you, Coco groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck, I love those things.”

You giggle, but keep reading. Your man is too damn cute. “Feminine products.”

“Do those count as special?” Coco genuinely sounds thoughtful, as he steps up behind you, where you are leaning over the counter top. He wraps his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Kinda’ a necessity, ain’t they?”

Tipping your head, you glance to your husband. Seriously. This man is a treasure. “Why don’t you run for political office?” you tease, pleased when Coco chuckles.

“Yeah, my record’ll look great, on the campaign trail.”

You shrug. “You can tackle pink tax, and tax evasion, at the same time.”

Coco grins, and steals a peck off your lips. “What else you got on there, muñeca?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” You turn back to your list, tapping the pen against your lips, thoughtfully. Spying the next item on it, you try not to let out another giggle. He’s not going to like this one. “Letty asked if we could have that cauliflower pizza thing for dinner, tonight.”

As expected, this groan is decidedly not from food lust. “Fuckin’ vegetarians. When the hell is she gonna’ get over this shit?”

“It’s just a phase, Coco,” you remind him, for the… Well, honestly, you’ve lost track. It started shortly after the wedding, Letty’s change in diet, and you’re still not convinced the two aren’t related. You’re just not entirely sure how. But, two months in, and she’s still looking healthy, so you won’t send up any alarms. “It’s very popular at her high school, right now.”

Coco scoffs, disgusted. “When the hell’d she start copyin’ other people, anyway? My girl ain’t no follower.”

The words send a shot straight to your heart. He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it. The love he has for Leticia is the greatest proof. They may carry on like cats and dogs, but when push comes to shove, there is nothing they won’t do for one another. My girl. It brings a warmth to your soul, and a smile to your lips.

You shake it off, enough to formulate a response. “She’s figuring out how to be her own woman. Trying new things.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. You were Letty’s age, once, of course. And, a girl, to boot. Some things, Coco just won’t be able to understand. “It’s a process.” He hums, still disgruntled, but doesn’t push out another word. “You want anything else?” you ask, holding up your list. “I’ve gotta’ get going, before I run into the football widows.”

Before you can even take a step away, Coco tightens his arms around you. “You sure you gotta’ go, though?” he asks, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck. “With the house all to ourselves, like this?”

“If I don’t go,” you start, as Coco’s touches gain intent, becoming teasing kisses. Damn him. It feels nice, you won’t lie, but there are other things on your mind, right now. Priorities.

You’re just… having trouble remembering what they are.

Oh. Yeah. Shopping.

“If I don’t go, we won’t have anything for dinner.”

Another kiss, accompanied by a barely-there swipe of tongue. You shiver, and Coco moves his lips to your ear. “We can order in,” he whispers, breath so invitingly warm against your skin.

Oh, this asshole.

“And, what are we supposed to have for breakfast, tomorrow?” you try, again. “Half an Eggo, and a pack of Skittles?”

Coco cuddles you closer, again. “Ain’t you never heard about livin’ on love, baby?” Some of his smoothest work, that is. And, it’s almost convincing. Almost. You can imagine the afternoon ahead, if you give in. Your clothes will come off, and won’t be back on until the last second, before Letty walks back through the front door. By that time, you’ll be too tired to roll your ass off the bed, let alone go grocery shopping. And, you promised Letty you’d talk Coco into that cauliflower pizza.

“Great as that sounds,” you agree, preparing to capitalize on the truth. You ease yourself away from Coco’s stubborn hold, and give him one more smooch, just to soften the blow to come. “I don’t think Letty will appreciate the sentiment.”

A third groan. You must be going for a record. “C’mon, (y/n).” Oh, he’s whining. It’s so cute, it’s unreal. “We’ll find some place that delivers that rabbit food shit.”

Unfortunately for Coco, you’re already grabbing your bag. Lucky for you. You’re still two seconds from giving him what he wants. (He just doesn’t need to know so). “I’ll be back in a while.” God willing. “If you think of anything else, call my cell.” You rush out the front door, and don’t look back. If you see the look on your husband’s face, you know you’re as good as done.

Well, what the shit? Coco stares at the front door as it closes, you on the wrong fucking side of it. His arms are at his sides, palms turned toward the ceiling. That went so well. He kind of can’t believe you just walked away, like that. Left him alone, and wanting. In your big, empty house.

He probably should have volunteered to tag along, instead of just chasing you off.

Fuck.

Glancing around, Coco tries to find something to do. Something to clean, at the very least. But, that’s the trouble with having moved in with you, after the wedding, he supposes. Ain’t nothing to tidy up. Not that the three of you don’t have possessions. They’re all just in their proper places. Probably Leticia’s doing, in the end. He’d had a long talk with her, before the move, that she absolutely has to keep her shit where it belongs. Your house isn’t like their house. There aren’t burn marks in the carpet, or gouges in the coffee table. Dishes go in the damned dishwasher, not left to pile up on the counter, or in the sink. Beds get made. Laundry gets folded, and put away. No more wrinkled heaps in the clothes basket. So far, the kid’s been doing good. Real good.

Coco, though? He’s never felt so unnerved in his life.

It was different when he just visited. Spent a night or two, here or there. He’d almost felt at home, then, stupid as it sounds. At home, with the knowledge he wasn’t staying. But, now? Now, the reality has settled in, and he feels so-so… out of place. There’s so much he’s struggling to adjust to.

You have a purified water system installed under the sink, where Coco is used to buying bottled water.

You have a dining room, where Coco and Letty are used to eating on the couch.

You have an extended cable package, whatever the fuck that is.

You kind of have it all, here, certainly by comparison to what Coco is used to. The best of everything. Which really makes him wonder – not for the first time – what the hell you’re doing with a dirt-poor biker for a husband? You’ve had this conversation, on multiple occasions, and you’ve explained yourself, every time. But, this time… This time, you’re not around to give that speech. You’re not around to hold him, and kiss his face, and reassure him in a way that only you can. No, you’re at the grocery store, shopping for Coco, and his kid, which was apparently a better offer than staying home with him.

Oh, nope. Nope, he’s doing it, again. He can feel it. You love him, he reminds himself. You’ve got his ring on your finger, his last name, and – God-willing – his baby in your belly. By choice. All by choice.

Coco takes a deep breath, in. Lets it back out, slowly. Tries not to get sick, for all the nerves coming up to greet him. He wraps one arm around his own torso, free hand moving up to cover his mouth.

Fuck, he hopes you get back, soon.

You let out a deep sigh, as you park your car in the garage. Oh, it is so good to be home, at long-last. Talk about Old Home Week. You’d run into everyone, and his brother, at the grocery store. Shopping had taken nearly twice as long as you’d meant for it to, and you just know Coco must be losing his mind, by now. You hate to think about it, in such terms, but, sometimes… Well, sometimes, Coco reminds you of a new puppy. You can’t really leave him alone, without some kind of separation anxiety creeping up on him.

Ah, well. At least he isn’t ripping down the drapes, and shredding the couch cushions.

You blink. Well. That you know of.

Shaking your head, you climb out of the car, mentally preparing to unload armloads of bags. Maybe, if you really, really try, today will be the day you can finally get all twenty bags in, in one trip.

Right. And, shortly thereafter, you can have both forearms set, and casted. Be a real turn-on, in the bedroom.

You’ve managed to grab half a dozen bags, when the door to the mud room opens. “Hey, don’t grab too many!” Letty warns, as she comes hopping down the steps. “Let us help!”

Glancing up, you smile. For having had such a rough start, Letty can be a sweet girl. You know she gets that from her father. “Well, thank you,” you reply, resting a few, fabric handles onto her outstretched hands.

Letty grins, lowering her hands to her sides, before leaning in. “Did you talk him into it?” she whispers, conspiratorially.

You snicker, and whisper back, “He isn’t getting a choice. He’s outnumbered.”

“Yes!” Her hiss of victory is hardly subtle, catching Coco’s attention as he pokes his head out the door.

“You two plottin’ against me, again?”

“Yes,” you and Letty reply, in unison, leading you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Coco is all grins. “’Course, you are.” He strides closer, he and Letty dancing around one another as she moves into the house. You lean into the car, and retrieve a few more bags. If Coco’s out here, he might as well assist. He’s peering into the car, once you stand back up, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, (y/n)! You buy out the whole store, or what?”

“Hardly,” you reply, dryly. You hold up your hands, offering Coco the bags. “Here you go.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Thankfully, your hold on the bags is solid. Instead of grabbing the groceries, Coco’s hands are suddenly groping all over you. One hand is settled firmly at your ass, the other sliding into your hair, at the back of your head. He wastes no time diving in for a slow, deep kiss, and, damn, does his timing suck. He could have at least let you put the bags down, first. The contact makes you tingle, and has you regretting your decision not to stay home. Coco pulls back, after a few seconds, and hums. “Mm. Best delivery ever.”

You can’t help the small snort of amused laughter that leaves your throat. “Good try, Coco,” you praise, easing back far enough to offer him the bags, again. The look of disappointment on his face is just pitiful. “I’m not banging you in the garage.”

He has the grace to mock gasp. “I’d never!” It’s a crock, and you both know it. He looks too amused to be repentant, and you look too aware to be angry. You just raise your hands, slightly, in a third offer. Coco sighs. “All right. All right.” He takes the bags from your hands.

“Thank you.” You grab another load for yourself, rounding the open car door to follow Coco’s lead, into the house. One more trip for each of you, and you should have it covered. So much for only buying fifteen items.

Coco might be right about buying out the store.

Watching from the dining room, Coco has a good view of you and Letty unpacking the last of the groceries. Damn kid, she’d thrown him out, about ten minutes prior.

“Less groping, more helping, Coco,” Letty had warned him, after he’d tried to pin you against the sink.

It had been his last warning. Now, he’s been banished. Not the worst thing in the world, not really. Over the last few weeks, he’s really learned that there are some tasks he’s not so fond of. Pruning roses… Yeah, he’s pretty sure you’ll never let him do that, again. And, hey, nobody told him what to fill the bird feeder with. Unpacking groceries goes on that list, somewhere between line-drying laundry, and a streak-free mirror. He’s not sure why. Goodness knows, it makes him feel like a kid at Christmas, most times. Since being with you, though…

Since being with you, he feels like he’s taking advantage of something.

Yes, groceries are a strange place to let that feeling land, but he can’t help it. Coco’s been responsible for feeding himself since before he cares to remember. The only time anyone provided his meals was during deployment, and half that shit barely passed for edible. You, though… You keep the house stocked with more food than he’s seen anywhere, outside of a corner market. Letty always has options to take to school, and there’s a nutritious dinner on the table, almost every night. (Some nights, he actually does win the battle for delivery). If Coco goes on a run, you send him along with snacks for the road. And, yeah, he kinda’ likes that. He also likes the energy bars you picked out for him, last week. Something with cherries, and dark chocolate. He wonders, for a second, if you picked up any more. Come in handy during his mid-week trip outta’ town.

Coco blinks. Then, he does it again, just for good measure. That’s it. That’s what’s so fucking weird about this whole thing.

It’s you.

Okay, no, it’s not you, you. But, it’s you. It’s you, taking care of him. It’s you, seeing to his needs. Letty’s needs. It’s you, being his wife, his partner. It’s you, slotting into the place of role-model for his teenaged daughter. Welcoming them into your home. Not treating it like it’s your home. It’s you, being so fucking perfect for him, it’s taken his mind all this time to catch up with reality.

Coco doesn’t get perfect. Perfect doesn’t want him.

Except, now, it does.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Coco strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for you to put the box of pasta in the cupboard. He just takes it from your hand, ignoring your confused look, as he tosses it onto the counter.

“Coco!” Letty admonishes, but it’s no use. He’s already lifting you off the floor, arms around your perfect backside. The kid gives a long-suffering sigh, he hears it, but pays it no mind.

Nothing – nothing – is going to keep him from holding you in his arms.

Your own arms go around Coco’s neck, and you smile down at him, surprise still lingering in your eyes. “Uhm… Hi, there.”

Coco grins. “Hey, muñeca.” Leaning up, he pecks you on the lips.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, to which Coco shakes his head. Closes his eyes, as your fingers play in his hair.

“Nah. Got all I need.”

Pulling a package of mixed vegetables from the half-unpacked shopping bag, Letty rolls her eyes. You two… God, you’re gross. Coco always has his hands on you, no matter what you’re trying to do. It’s a wonder you don’t carry a damned fly swatter around. Actually, it’s a wonder you ever accomplish anything. He’s always smooching, and smiling, and snuggling at you. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic.

It’s so damned cute, it’s sickening.

Really, Letty’s enjoying seeing Coco so happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not the false pride he carries around with his kutte. He’s more relaxed, nowadays. He drinks less, and he spends more time at home, both of which mean he’s not hanging around with those skanks at the clubhouse. He eats more, he’s healthier… Nothing to complain about, there.

And, hey, she has no complaints about you, either. You’re pretty cool, all-around. A woman who takes care of herself, and her family, and doesn’t bitch about either one. You’re not using Coco for money, or status, none of the shit she’s always been worried her father would fall into. There aren’t arguments, every night, not even between herself and Coco, as of late. No hostilities, nothing to avoid the house over. Just good dinners, and movies, and a new fish tank in her room. (Okay, so, you’d earned some major points with that birthday gift. She hadn’t actually expected to get one, when she’d mentioned it). For the first time, she understands what a peaceful, happy family feels like. It feels nice. It feels like home.

Glancing back to where Coco now has you perched on the counter top, stealing the most syrupy-sweet smooches… Letty can’t help but smile. Home is A-okay by her.

The sound of the air conditioner humming in the bedroom usually lulls you right to sleep. Tonight, it’s just providing you with white noise, a low background track to your thoughts. You don’t mind, not really. It gives you a few minutes to reflect on the day that’s just ended. To plan your day, tomorrow. To weave your fingers through Coco’s hair, and listen to him breathe. That, alone, makes it worthwhile.

Coco has been asleep against your shoulder for nearly an hour, now. Your arms are wrapped around him, comfortably, his own around your waist. You’d urged him up to bed, after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. He’d snoozed from the middle of the movie, to the end of the nightly news report. Letty had tsked, and complained that no one had any business, whatsoever, in falling asleep during Zombieland. (How he’d stayed asleep was still a wonder to you, both, for how hard you’d been laughing at Tallahassee). With your fingers in his hair, Coco had been blissfully unaware for a couple of hours.

Glancing down, you take in the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. He looks so damn peaceful, the kind you’d outright murder to preserve for him. Coco’s still struggling with sleep, and relaxation, even though you’d hoped it would ease up, once your nuptials had passed. Most of it, you know will never go away. Anxiety doesn’t have a magic wand, or some perfect little on/off switch. And, all things considered, today wasn’t a terrible day. You’d been able to leave the house, with minimal panic on Coco’s part. Granted, it had taken extra time to get the groceries put away, and dinner made, but… You understand, as much as you are able to, that Coco needs the reassurances. It doesn’t cost you anything to carve a few moments from the day, every here and there, to give him what he needs.

Okay, so it did cost you that first batch of pancakes, this morning. They’d burned on the stove, and set off the smoke alarms, when he’d insisted on a dance through the living room. But, Coco loved the song you’d been playing on your Spotify, so there was really no denying him.

Oh, and… Yeah, you’d missed that phone call from the bank, the week before. Your husband had slipped up next to you, on the porch swing, and snuggled you to within an inch of your life. An easy fix, and you still got the business loan, but…

And, sure, you’ve been late to work, on numerous occasions. Coco has a habit of sneaking into your morning shower. And, after that… Well, hell, you own the company. It’s not like you have to explain to the boss that you’re late to your shift, on account of baby-dancing. (Fucking forums).

Point is, you’re more than happy to take care of Coco’s emotional needs. It may take you an extra hour to pay your bills. Daily tidying may have become every-other-day-if-you’re-lucky tidying. And, your ass may have gone numb, tonight, while he slept on your thigh. During which time, you could have loaded the dishwasher. Taken out the trash. Any number of tasks that have been neglected, in the name of Coco. They can wait.

Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to your husband’s forehead, before settling back in, and closing your eyes. Yes, chores can wait. Work can wait. The whole world can hold it, with both hands. So long as you’re around, Coco’s well-being will never have to take the back seat.

P.S. If Coco denies it, he’s full of it. He fucking loved that cauliflower pizza. Fucking vegetarians, indeed.

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