#nigh market | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

callmemickey · 1 year ago

Text

Pepsi Cola

synopsis: Simon is on his break, but that doesn’t mean you stop working. After a full two weeks of mandatory overtime to complete a project, you were exhausted, absolutely beat. Simon’s been home for a few weeks and was starting to feel guilty. Watching you come home so tired you pass out on the couch? It was frustrating seeing you so drained. Well… it’s Friday night, and you’re sooo exhausted, love - why don’t you lie down and let Simon help you relax?

content: afab, porn w a plot, smut (GET YA PUSSY ATE!!!, fingering, overstim), not fluff?per se but he loves u.

word count: ~3.6k I think idk

notes: Title named after Cola by Lana Del Rey hayyyy iykyk

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Your keys felt so heavy in your hand as you attempted to fish them out of your deep, cluttered purse. They were tangled on something, and with an infuriated grunt, you yanked terribly hard, jerking them violently out of the thralls of your corded headphones. You really needed to switch to wireless. You fumbled them momentarily in your hand, trying to find your house key as the small porch light was your only guide, the sky dark like navy ink. “Fuck,” you mumbled, finally finding the key and opening the front door.

Soft, warm lights lit up the entryway, beckoning you to enter the fortress of comfort, an escape from the throes of responsibilities and existing. A groan left your lips as you closed the heavy door and locked it. The house smelled delicious like a home cooked meal, reminding you that Simon saved you dinner for when you came home. Your stomach growled, eager. “I’m home.” Your voice was loud and filled with fatigue as you called out to your fiancé, always making sure to signal that it was you and not someone breaking in.

You’ll never forget when you tried to surprise him one time. When you got into the living room, presumably as quiet as the dead, he had grabbed you and flipped you onto the couch. “You’re lucky I knew that was you. Wanna know what’d I do if you were a thieving little mouse?” You said yes, and later told him you’ll need to break in more often as he was putting his shirt back on, his back covered with red hot stripes from your fresh manicure.

You walked down the hallway, kicking off your high heels, shuffling towards the living room, your pantyhose helping you glide across the hardwood floors as lifting your feet felt nigh impossible. Simon, ever attentive, met you in the hallway before you could even get into the living room. “Ah, love, you must be exhausted.” His tone was soft, calming, and understanding. The energy that poured from you was prickly and sharp at best, cannibalistic at worst, because while he wanted to generously touch your arm, he was worried for his.

Your purse dropped unceremoniously from your shoulder and onto the floor as you trudged over to the couch. “This week has been terrible,” you grumbled as you plopped chest first onto the cushions, “so much overtime to get a project done for the shareholders. As if it’s my fault that budgets were cut.” Your voice was muffled in the fabric.

The couch sunk by your feet as you felt Simon’s hand gingerly begin to rub your toes, arches, and heels. His thumbs gently but firmly pressing into the swollen, tired flesh of your foot elicited a moan of relief from you. “C’mon, Y/N, why don’t you go wash up? I have your dinner in the oven - I’ll get it started. Let’s go.” His voice was still delicate, supportive.

Simon ushered you up and you sighed, giving a small nod in agreement.

You went into the bathroom and stripped off your clothes. You knew what you were getting into when you were promoted to senior marketing manager, but recently you wished you had better foresight. You turned on the shower, hoping that the hotter the water, the more likely it will boil and burn off any trace of this week happening. As you washed your hair and body, you thanked whatever god allowed for Hell Week to be over. When you felt you were thoroughly cleansed from files, papers, and way too many sticky notes, you ended your shower, wanting to forget the sound of telephones ringing and keyboards clacking.

With a towel wrapped around your body and hair, you stepped out of the bathroom and sighed, the hot, fragrant steam spilling over into the cool bedroom, licking the air. You took the towel off of your head, gently squeezing water out of your hair as you walked to the dresser. You opened your underwear drawer with your hand, humming at your options.

“Feelin’ better?” Simon’s voice purred from the doorway. You looked over and saw him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed - and they briefly rippled with a flex, as if he were holding back. You did a double take, glancing from his feet up at his face. His eyes were half-lidded and a small half smirk sat on his lips. You knew that look. He was ravenous.

“Yeah. Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” You asked before attempting to divert your attention back to the drawer.

“Like what?” He uncrossed his arms, strolling over to you, towering high above. You looked up at Simon’s face.

“Like that!” You couldn’t help but giggle as he buried his face against your neck, sniffing your smooth skin, inhaling the floral scent of your body wash so deep, letting it etch in his memory like carving stone.

He molded his body against yours, hands gripping deeply at your waist, fingers pressed into the plush towel. Your hands reached to wrap around his neck. His warm lips began to leave deep, hot trails against your skin, causing you to sigh in satisfaction. Simon kept your bodies tight together, lips trailing up to your ear. He nibbled at your earlobe, sucking gently at the flesh before biting at the shell, creating a surge of pleasure to pool in your core. You whimpered, hips bucking against his jeans. Your chest heaved in shallow sighs while he continued teasing you, breathing hot puffs against your ear, letting goose bumps sweep across your skin.

“Let me take care of you.” His voice was a hot whisper, and what he gave to you was not a suggestion, but a demand.

“Mmm, you don’t have to baby,” you purred softly, a tame deferment, placidly defying him.

You tested the waters and he called your bluff. He squeezed at your waist, a little firmer than you thought he would. His voice was a low growl, “Take off your towel and lie on the bed.”

Your body began to hum on the same frequency as his, his jeans becoming incredibly firm against your stomach. Simon pulled away, his half-lidded eyes darkening as they swirled with an insatiable drive. Your breath hitched in your chest, your stomach flipping as your cunt twitched in need.

You paused for too long. A hand left your waist and came down hard on your ass and gripped the fat flesh. You yelped more so at the sudden action than the sting. “And what do you say?” He asked, and your arousal caused you to feel your cheeks flush hot.

Your chest heaved. “Yes, sir.” Your voice was quiet, and he smiled.

“Thas my good girl, so god damn beautiful and smart. Go on then, let me see those gorgeous tits.” He moved his hands away from your ass and waist.

Your stomach flipped again, but you obliged, loosening the towel and letting it fall to the floor. Simon took a deep inhale, exhaling sharply as he eyed your body, and right now he looked like he desperately needed to sink his cock into you, but that wasn’t really part of his plan tonight.

He inhaled one more time, blinking himself back to reality as he gave your ass pleasant tap with just enough force to get it to jiggle. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, get your arse on that bed now.” He was at the point of fully commanding you around, but you were okay with that, and you would do anything he ever asked of you. Anything for your wonderful fiancé.

“Yes, sir.” You said coyly, causing his lips to twitch back into a smirk. You felt yourself melt a little while you walked over to the bed, plopping down on the edge.

Simon walked over to you, so unbelievably tall while you were sitting down. Heat pooled down to your stomach when you glanced down at his jeans. You looked back up at him, licking your bottom lip absentmindedly. He smiled, sighing. “Not tonight, love.” He scolded lovingly.

“Later?” You asked.

He paused, thinking for a moment before nodding. “Later,” he agreed, letting you win - which caused you to smile mischievously.

Simon leaned down to you, grabbing you by your waist and tossing you up higher onto the bed. You yelped with a smile, giggling as you fell down on your back, bouncing softly on the down blanket. Simon’s lips came down against yours, giving you little to no time to adjust. His hands, gentle on the naked flesh of your waist, whispered ghostly touches up your sides before eventually cupping your breasts. Your moans were lost in his mouth as his fingers squeezed and rubbed at your nipples, your hands finding themselves lost in his hair. You squeezed his hips with your thighs, your cunt swollen, begging and weeping for his abuse.

He moved his lips down to your neck, kissing, sucking, and gently biting you. Simon moved a hand from your breast and used it as leverage next to your head while the other hand slid down your front, tickling your sensitive skin, roaming over your stomach and mound. His fingers dipped down between your folds, pressing into your wet heat. You let out a pathetic whimper at the contact alone, raising it into a moan as his fingers rubbed slow circles against your clit.

“Ah, yeah? You like that, Y/N?” He purred against your neck before pulling away to see your reaction. You bit your lower lip and nodded feverishly at him, eyebrows furrowed. Simon smiled, your wet hair sticking to your face, providing a cool relief to the heat that swarmed your body like a furnace.

“Ye-yeah, yes- yes, sir,” you managed to gasp out. His smile turned into a smirk as he felt your cunt twitching. As if answering your unspoken prayers, his two digits dipped and pushed into your needy hole. A gasp was ripped from you, jaw dropping slightly at the sudden filling of your cunt.

“God, already so wet - my girl has the best fucking pussy.” He gave a small thrust, causing you to moan gently and buck your hips. “Oh, the things I’d do just to have my cock buried in you,” he growled before gently pumping his fingers.

Your tits bounced as his digits softly fucked into you, fingers curling up and rocking your hips, pressing into that spot that had your eyes rolling back. Your grip left his hair and soon grasped desperately onto his back, causing him to groan while your nails dug at him. “Ha, ah, harder,” you gasped as your hips bucked against his hand.

Simon smiled. “Yeah? You wanna cum on my fingers, don’tcha baby?” He asked, your cunt twitching embarrassingly at his words.

“Yes- yes, sir, please!” You whined.

“Hold on, love,” he sighed before rocking his fingers into you at an ungodly pace.

Your voice raised pitch before becoming lost in your throat, your head thrown back and eyes gone. All that filled the room was the sounds of your juices squelching against his fast moving digits. The silence was soon cut, moans finally finding their way out of you. Your fingernails dragged frantically at his back, as if you were fighting to stay grounded. Your cunt constricted harshly around his fingers, trapping him.

Your orgasm ripped through you, your hips bucked against his fingers and your thighs squeezed at his hips. Like a cool tidal wave poured over you, a chill ran down your back as your body surged with pleasure, leaving you crying out Simon’s name. He chuckled softly with a gentle voice, “Ahhh, thas my good girl, huh?” His voice was like a warm blanket of clouds, helping you down from your dizzying high. He pulled his fingers out and gave a small slap to your pussy, causing you to whine and your hips to stutter as he teased the tender flesh.

“Jesus, Simon,” you whimpered, your head still swimming in the aftershocks of pleasure.

He chuckled at your reaction while planting kisses down your neck and collarbone, stopping at your breasts to lope a nipple into his mouth. You let out a throaty groan as his teeth pulled at the sensitive, hardened bud. Your nails that raked at his back moved back up to his hair, the pads of your fingers pressing firmly into his scalp as his locks slid and tightened betweens your digits. The sensation had him sighing against your mounds.

He released your breast from his mouth, his teeth squeezing at your nipple before fully letting go, causing you to let out a small yelp. Simon began to kiss down your chest and the expanse of your stomach. He placed deep kisses at your hips before heading towards the simmering heat of your cunt - sticky, wet, and begging. He looped his arm under your thigh, hand holding your hip to keep you in place.

Simon’s lips pressed against your swollen clit, causing you to gasp harshly. His tongue, flat and hot, slid up your folds, extracting a long moan from you, and in response he moaned. “I’ve been waiting all night for this,” he hummed against your cunt, the vibrations of his voice driving straight to your core.

You groaned, your hips grinding against him in response which caused him to chuckle against you. “O-oh God, Simon!” You cried at the overwhelming stimulation, your legs shaking at his persistence as he buried his mouth into your cunt.

Simon lapped at you hungrily like a man dehydrated, drinking at your sloppy pussy as if he’d never be able to go back down on you again. It was gluttony and pure greed. He had commented before about how he hopes his manner of passing is drowning while you straddle his face. You laughed and said maybe one day! He didn’t think your joking demeanor was appropriate, and how he meant every word with serious intent. Whenever he’s being deployed on a mission, he always assures you he won’t die, because you’re the only one that could take him out. Of course, you didn’t truly understand the depth of his conviction.

Simon’s teeth gently nibbled and helped to create a suction around your clit, his dampened fingers once again finding your hole and pushing in. You let out a loud moan, your hips driving against his face, his nose pressing onto your mound as he did everything he could to keep you two attached, connected. He moved his head to match with your movements, keeping his mouth glued flat to your pussy, and any attempt to pull yourself away from him would prove futile.

Your fiancé has a wonderfully keen gift of being a giver. He was always so incredibly selfless with you, which could get almost aggravating as he was certain on making sure that your needs were met first. This attitude carried over to the bedroom. He could give you fifty orgasms and beg to give you fifty more while never even taking his shirt off.

What he loves, besides bringing you pleasure you’ve never experienced before, is seeing you lost in passion. Watching your face twist as he stretches you with an additional finger, your eyes rolling back as he hits that sweet spot, your hips grinding as you chase after your orgasm, your back arching and legs shaking as the euphoria and bliss crash over and through you. Simon got off by simply being the source of your arousal, and he savored unraveling you thread by thread before you’re bare before him.

That’s what he loved.

Your pleasure brimmed to the top, the lip, before finally pouring over. Your hands gripped tight at his scalp, legs tightened around his head as your back arched, head thrown back. Your cunt tightened deliciously around his pumping digits, his tongue still swirling around your clit as he rode out your orgasm. “F-Fuck, Simon!” You cried, moaning loudly, still holding onto him as the high came to slow, but he didn’t stop.

He continued to pump and lap at your clit, causing you to squeal in overstimulation, legs beginning to shake as a concoction of pleasure and pain pulsed through your core with every pass of his tongue. “I can’t- ah! Simon, please!” You sobbed, begging him to stop. A harsh groan left you, your body trying to shake him away as he kept his mouth to you. It wasn’t fair - it was too much. You were starting to burnout, your body sore and barely able to keep up. Regardless of your exhaustion, another orgasm was in the horizon, slowly reaching it’s peak before ultimately falling into a frenzied bliss.

“You gonna cum again, baby?” Simon mumbled against your sex, the vibrations causing you to groan roughly as your hands moved from his head to the sheets, grasping them with a white-knuckled grip, back arched impossibly high as you tried to wriggle away. You nodded frantically at his question, your body squirming and tossing with no ability to stop or control it as he pushed you to your limits.

You never doubt that Simon can bring you another orgasm in quick succession - he’s proven that true multiple times, almost every time, especially now. Your poor clit, though, was bullied and battered, the bundle of nerves crying out in both pain and pleasure. But it was a slave to Simon. Even during the loneliest of nights, months in bed by yourself, you could never make yourself feel how he makes you feel. It was maddening, and frankly unfair, but it made the intimate times with him all the more exhilarating and mind numbing. What makes it better is that no one but Simon has been able to bring you into such a state of ecstasy.

Simon’s free hand, still wrapped around your thigh and holding onto your hip, held you so tightly in place he pinched at your skin. You were going to bruise there, you knew, but you didn’t really care. Even though it was like edged like a razor, your release was fast approaching with no stops. You panted heavily, loudly, your body involuntarily writhing as the pleasure tipped you over the scale. His tongue dragged hot and firm against your clit, his fingers still thrusting and rubbing the spongy spot inside your cunt as the muscle enclosed and clamped around him, unforgiving.

“Oh, God!” You cried loudly, tears pricking at your eyes as you used a hand to cover your face.

Your orgasm came fast and sharp. His onslaught was staggering and unrelenting, and it brought an end that was piercing, sudden. A scream was ripped from you as the pleasure came like a heavy punch, borderline painful. It was a surge of electricity that ripped through your core, shocking your nerves and forcing your body to briefly tense… but it all dissipated almost immediately. Your mind and body crashed.

Your back collapsed onto the bed and Simon’s fingers slid out of your clenching cunt, his mouth pulling away from your swollen, angry clit. A moan of relief fell out of your mouth as Simon crawled atop you, a hand pushing the hair out of your face as he planted his lips onto yours, kissing you deeply and fully. Your juices had coated his lips in abundance, and you tasted yourself as his tongue slipped into your mouth. His tongue was slick, and he made sure that you entire mouth was coated with yourself.

He pulled back, allowing you the space to sit up, delirious, face hot and wet from sweat. Simon stifled a laughter behind a tightly pursed mouth. “What.” Your tone strained with trying to demand an answer, but it was hoarse from your yelling and crying.

He shook his head, his eyes fluttering. “Your hair, love.”

Your hands shakily went to your hair, feeling it messy and sticking up at odd angles. “Ah.” You nodded, trying to run your fingers through to flatten it out.

Simon preemptively got up to the bathroom and came out with a brush, taking a seat behind you as he silently began brushing out your hair, starting at the ends. You two took the moment quietly, slowly, and embraced just being in each other’s presence. The session was hot and heavy, and having Simon nearby, gently brushing out your vicious knots, was soothing on your frazzled nerves, like aloe on a sunburn. “You feelin’ good, babe?” He asked in a quiet tone.

You hummed. “Yeah, but that last one was really intense.” You commented, eyebrows briefly furrowed as the third orgasm continued to make your body shudder. His hands suddenly wrapped deep in your hair at the base of your scalp, and with a gentle tug, he pulled your head back to look at him, causing you to gasp quickly.

“Were you able to handle it?” His brown eyes bore into you, and you gave a restrained nod, almost forgetting that his hand was keeping your head steady.

Your voice was meek and small, “Yes, sir.”

Simon smiled, kissing your forehead. “That’s my girl,” he purred, gingerly releasing your head and putting the brush on the nightstand. He gave you a kiss on the top of your head as he stood up, commenting about checking on dinner.

You noticed his cock was rock solid in his jeans, pressing and straining against the denim so tight it must’ve hurt. God, you wanted to return the favor more than you could possibly put into words. He noticed your gaze and his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head upwards so your eyes met his.

“Later, like we agreed.” His voice was low, firm, and painfully arousing. Literally. Your clit throbbed with both the need to be doted on and to also be left alone for a long, long time. “Get dressed. I’ll be in the kitchen.” With that, Simon left you to your own devices in the bedroom.

You got up out of bed, inhaling sharply through your nose at the feeling of your beaten cunt being squeezed between your legs. You hobbled to the dresser, resuming your original task. Underwear. Grabbing a random pair, along with pajama shorts and a shirt, you found yourself comfortable and ready for the night, making sure to slide on your robe so you didn’t get chilly.

The evening progressed. You sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, eating your dinner while Simon sat on the couch behind you, running his fingers through your hair, lazily braiding your locks as a movie played on the television. Your lovely fiancé also made sure you were planted on the softest, fluffiest pillow he could find. When you were finished, he made you sit on the couch while he cleaned up, coming back just to delicately massage your feet. It was tender, romantic, thoughtful. Simon wasn’t a very… physically affectionate partner, so these moments when he just wanted to be with you, to touch you, well, you really tried to get as much as you could.

When he was finished, his hands slid up your smooth calves towards your thighs, beckoning you to cuddle closer - to which you did. You hopped across the couch where the back of your legs were draped over his thighs, nestling your body in close to his, letting him wrap his large arm around your shoulders to keep you close. Oh, you couldn’t even put into words how peaceful being wrapped up in his arms made you feel. Warm, secure, safe. His other hand sat on your thigh, his veins and tendons prominent, titillating, twisting around his forearms, making the black ink of his tattoo dance. What was even hotter was seeing these veins and tendons flex and and tighten as his hands gripped the sheets or headboard as he fucked you to nirvana, until nothing but prayers and begging for God spilled and tumbled from your mouth in an indistinguishable slur.

“Why so nice tonight?” You asked him in a quiet voice, looking up at him while resting your head against his chest.

Without hesitation, he looked down at you. “Do I need a reason?” Your stomach fluttered, heat spreading to your face. You shook your head. “You’ve been stressed and working late this week. Least I could do,” he explained regardless and shrugged, rubbing the fresh stubble on his jaw.

Simon’s been back for a month, and you’ve been so busy you feel like you’ve barely seen him. He gets up extremely early to see you before work, make you breakfast and coffee, and prepare your lunch. All day he makes sure the house is clean and chores are done, opting to even overhaul the landscaping in the front yard - something you’ve been too busy to do. At night, he always waits for you to come home, dinner ready if you haven’t eaten. He makes sure you’re showered and taken care of before starting the whole routine again in the morning. You didn’t necessarily feel less than or that you’re lacking in the relationship, but it was infuriating not being able to take care of your fiancé while he has worked tirelessly to keep the world from blowing up.

But that wasn’t wholly true, was it? Sure, you felt that way, having openly admitted your insecurities to him, but Simon has always been genuine and adamant in letting you know that you’re doing so much more when you don’t have to. While he loves that you’re on your corporate grind, he’s made it clear that if you told him you never wanted to lift your hand again, you wouldn’t. Of course, with weeks, and honestly, months like these, you get closer and closer to considering to take him up on his offer. Then you could be that sweet, doting housewife, eager for her husband to come home from war.

“So,” you started, grabbing his attention and warm gaze, “is it later yet?”

#ouch my puthy!#cod mw2 #ghost smut #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

2K notes · View notes

staenless · 8 months ago

Text

Steddie lunchbox fic I joked about but then people liked it so now I'm. I'm write it now.

"Hey, Munson!"

Eddie ducked his head down before the blow could hit. Tommy Hagan was one of those men who never outgrew his highschool jock phase, and seemed intent on dragging the rest of the world into his football role playing; not so gentle head smacking included.

He blow never came, instead the heavy metal thunk of a lunchbox landed on his desk. He chanced an eye open, and took in the neat black tin box, no two boxed which stacked perfectly and were secured in place with a patterned cloth. He opened the other eye and instead looked to Tommy, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"the missus packed it up for me," the younger man explained, his eyes off to the side where some co-workers were gathering to make lunch plans, "real pain if I'm honest, how about you take it off my hands for me?" Then he grinned down at Eddie and clapped his should, too hard, like they were regular old office pals.

It wasn't like they were office enemies, per se, but Eddie had a distaste of Tommy and while the feeling certainly seemed mutual they were srupid enough to let petty distaste interfere with their pay checks. Eddie would certainly never do Tommy any sort of favour if it wasn't by obligation to his working contract, and Tommy had certainly phrased this as if it was a favor so... So Eddie instinct screamed to rebuff him.

Except it was lunch time, and Eddie was hungry, and he hadn't packed his own lunch because his fridge had probably three things in it max and he couldn't afford to go out to eat since most of his paycheck had already been dolled out to rent, his uncle, his savings, and he only had money for absolute necessities. Even as he sat in indecision he could feel his stomach writhing and slithering in on itself. Shit, had he forgotten breakfast to?

"Sure," he responded, and then quickly tacked on,"man." There was a moment of silence that made Eddie feel like he ought to crack a joke, but Tommy seemed to decide for them both that was a bit chummy, even for his sports team larping. Instead he landed a solid whack, right where the last one had landed, then spun around and jogged to catch up with the other Alphas on their way out to lunch.

The office had emptied out in the span of their conversation and now cubicles sat still with their roller chains sprawled haphazardly as if evacuated in some emergency instead of a quick shuffle in hopes of skipping the worst of the lunchtime queues. Eddie decided to forgo the company cafeteria and instead snatched a pack of cigs out his backpack and scooped up the packed lunch. He could eat on the roof, since the fire doors alarm hadn't worked since he was hired and nobody bothered going up there in the heat of the day.

It wasn't that Eddie was exceptionally antisocial at work, or loathed ALL his coworkers. He actually had a few friends, Jeff and Gareth in the IT department would tolerate him during lunch breaks, and they'd even met up a few times outside of work. They were cool, he liked spending time with them, might even call them friends in a month or two. But spending all morning on the top floors, in marketing and branding and surrounded by other Alphas, Eddie probably wasn't much fun to be around at the moment.

The corporate world and Alphas went together like honey and ants. The opportunities to compete and peacock were nigh endless, not to mention doing well wouldn't net you a hefty income for some extra peacocking on the side. Eddie wasn't like that, his Alpha didn't operate that way. So much so even he had been surprised when his second puberty hit and he dropped fang and knot. The kids at school had snickered and called him a half-bit Alpha, while others said he only presented that way because his sole guardian was a lone omega. It had hurt at the time, but looking back Eddie couldn't help but laugh. Maybe he was a half-bit, maybe he presented wrong because of some base instinct to protect his uncle. He certainly didn't prance around like the other alphas did, bickering and shoving like little kids fighting over a toy.

But maybe that was the joke Tommy was playing on him, Eddie thought as he popped the lunchbox and saw the note sat neatly to the side. Maybe Eddie was too much of a bitch-Alpha to get a mate, while Tommy with all his flouncing and team player make belive had someone waiting at home, making him lunches and writing sweet love notes signed with a kiss. Maybe the joke was to give Eddie a taste of something he could never have.

Goodluck with work today, please bring home some avacados for guac. Love you - Steve.

Eddie stared at the note in his trembling hand. He could smell the omega- Steve - from where his lips had pressed to the paper. Unmated. Surprising, but not unusual. Plenty of couples got married first, then sealed the bite later on. Some Yuppie thing that Eddie was far too romantic to entertain. If you loved someone, wouldn't you want that commitment forever? But the again, Tommy and his sneer around the word "missus" gave Eddie the impression he wasnt the "forever" sort. Further more, a male Omega? Most people were somewhat hesitant to be associated with one, if not outright hostile to their very existence. Far too rare to be ordinary, and far too Omega to be respected male Omegas were almost never on an up and coming Alphas radar of potential mates.

Eddie slipped the note into his pants pocket, and lit his cigarette before turning back to the lunch box. Black oval tins, two stacked and tied with a floral cloth. A bento, he realised, he'd seen it on the cover of house and home in the checkout line. The hot new craze in lunchboxes. Tha made him snicker a little. The floral cloth seemed odd, and stuck out against the black metal. The material was smooth and soft, like brand new. Huh. The tins themselves had some scuff marks, and one had a dent on its edge that spoke of a life of use. He set them down, side by side, on the laid out cloth. It looked fancy, but also surprisingly homey and inviting. It looked delicious.

The Omega- Steve had outdone himself. The top tin contained two halves of a prego roll stuffed to bursting with marinated shredded chicken. The meat was cradled between lettuce leaves to keep the bread from going soggy, and Eddie could catch sight of some glistening tomatoe slices in there. The second tone had an orange, peeled with each slice individual cleaned of any white hairy bits and laid on a bed of some gummy fruit candy. Apple sliced were laid in a separate tin, still shinning with lemon juice and not a spot of brown to be seen. Slid neatly into the side, half hidden, has the familiar pink white of coconut ice for desert.

Eddie could feel his mouth watering. Holy shit, did Tommy eat like this everyday? And if he did what was wrong with him that he'd give it up for some second rate slop at a restaurant? Breathing deeply he could smell the food, but beneath that something else, something tempting. Steve, his hands delicately pulling the chicken from the bone, slicing the tomatoe, cradling the bread as he buttered it, his nails catching and pulling off every white part from the orange slices. His hard work, his effort, laid before Eddie like some sort of worshipful offing. He felt high when he bit down on the orange slice, the caress of it's soft inner skin along his gums, like a kiss. The burst of flavour on his tongue, sweetness invading his sense so all he could see was orange orange orange leaving the bitter taste of citrus. He could taste, most importantly, beneath it all. God he could taste Steve. He could taste his love.

"Oh, thanks man," Tommy didn't look up from his computer as he said it, just kept tying away. "No problem man," Eddie mumbled back, eyes fixed on the lunchbox and he's straightened it on the other alphas desk. Every crumb had been kicked up, every smear of sauce sucked away. But placed gently, reverently, back in the top box was the love note. Eddie wanted to give Steve something in return, to thank him for sharing something so magical, so special with him. In the end he'd decided against it, could work up the courage to indirectly challenge Tommy like that. Instead, he'd pressed his lips tightly to where Steve's had once been, before returning it to its rightful owner.

The words Love You sat nestled in the tin as Eddie walked away.

Part 2 exists now

#steddie #Idk is this something?#I should speak to my therapist about this but people wanted the fic instead and I am but a slave to commands #It's omegaverse cause I like giving Steve a pussy #Not proofread #I wrote it you read or no extra steps babbiiieeee

369 notes · View notes

novella-november · 2 months ago

Text

Fantasy Discrimination, and The Implications

A post on my dash reminded me to share some more writing advice, so here is a very good article by @mythcreantsblog , about how to make sure you're not dehumanizing a species or culture in your writing, which is a good guide on how to avoid accidentally writing racist or ableist tropes:

In particular, I want to talk about the ever-present racist trope in a lot of fantasy and scifi fiction, and that is the decision a lot of creators make where the villains are not just a single person, a faction, or a kingdom -- *its an entire species* who is not only the villain, but are outright, inherently *evil*.

To start out, here's a political cartoon by Tom Gauld you've probably seen all around tumblr with the name cropped out:

[ID: a political cartoon by Tom Gauld, showing two identical cities and boats mirrored on a river, each with a purple or yellow flag; one side is labled "Our Blessed Homeland, Our Glorious Leader, Our Great Religion, Our Noble Populace, Our Heroic Adventuerers", The other side is labled "Their Barbarous Wastes, Their Wicked Despot, Their Primitive Superstition, Their Backwards Savages, Their Brutish Invaders. End ID]

This political cartoon is a very good tool for testing your writing for the trope of demonizing/glorifying your fantasy/scifi species.

Let's use a classic example: your fantasy setting is made up of the following species: Elves, Dwarves, Humans, and Orcs.

Your Elves are a long-lived, ethereal people who live in secluded, perfect cities, all of them tall, blonde, and blue-eyed, who are extremely wise and making plans that can stretch out over dozens of human generations, and they're the deciders of 90% of politics in your world. Your Dwarves are a short, squat, species who spend their lives working in forges, mines, and laboratories, tirelessly toiling (because they enjoy the hard work, of course!) and selling their products to the Elves who are their largest and wealthiest customer base; Dwarves work hard and studiously for decades at a a time to complete a piece of work in order to fufill the intricate orders from their Elven customers, which is how the majority of them provide for their families, working 16 hour shifts each day for decades per order. Your Humans are far more seperated, and often live on the fringes of what their longer-lived compatriots consider "Civilized Society", often living as Subsistence farmers and hunters, not out of choice, but often due to poor land and lack of resources; the wealthiest of Human cities are usually the capitals where the royals reside and may live in luxury with rich markets and high-quality products and running water, but the vast majority of Humans live in small, poor villages that must rely on traveling merchants to sell what produce and livestock they can spare from their farms in order to buy the supplies they need to live out another year. Your Orcs.... well, they don't really live anywhere, do they? Orcs strongholds can only maintain their grip in hellish wastelands where living is nigh impossible, with all food and water only obtained from outside sources; occasionally, Orcs will attempt to establish base camps in more fertile land, invading neighboring Human, Dwarf, and Elven territory to do so, who quickly unite to expel these vile, dark, brutish invaders lest they steal their daughters, destroy and taint all of the natural resources and steal the few jobs available to the Humans in Dwarven and Elven cities as manual labour and servants.

And Now, take a step back from this world, and take a long, hard look at these species (outside of humans who are just kinda there in the middle and the only ones capable of change because Humans Are Always Special) and societies and what ideas are being reinforced here, especially when the above descriptions are framed as Hard Facts which are both Just and True?

(archived read-more Here)

Elves are morally superior and are always Perfect and Correct,

Dwarves are happy to spend their entire lives toiling in the forges and mines to please their Elven patrons,

and Orcs are Evil Monsters who will rob, murder, and rape any hapless victim who comes their way, so it's better to slaughter them all on sight and kick them out of your cities and towns, and this is the 100% correct morally right choice every single time and the narrative and characters themselves support this?

Did you spot them already, or does the above just seem like a cool, fun fantasy world where Elves are the cool wise good guys and Orcs are the devil's army and can be used as canon fodder any time your main character needs to mow down some enemies for a Badass Scene?

Let's retrace our steps a bit, shall we, and examine this "perfect" world through a critical lens?

When your elves are all portrayed as Perfect Ethereally Beautiful Blonde and Blue-Eyed wise leaders of the civilized world, what idea is being reinforced here? Who does it harm, and what real world ideas is this mirroring and enforcing? Who is going to have their own biases reinforced by this narrative?

When only the longest-lived people are allowed to decide politics, what group biases are being enforced? Is portraying "young people" as "being incapable of making political decisions" as a correct, logical choice in your story something you wish to enforce? Are there any real world issues this trope mirrors?

When your Dwarves are all Happy Workers and Slaves, bound to and reliant on the superior Elves to live, spending the majority of their life purely in service to these Superior Beings while happy to do it, what idea is being reinforced here? Who might see themselves in the plight of the Dwarves and feel alienated and insulted by the Dwarves happily slaving away in the dark? Who might have biased ideas reinforced by seeing the Dwarves treated in such a way?

When your Orcs are portrayed as evil, dark skinned, brutish savages who will kidnap and rape poor helpless women from the "pure" species, when Orcs are incapable of creating anything of their own and can only steal, what racist messages are being enforced and upheld? Who are the real people and cultures being demonized when you perpetuate this? What real world peoples and cultures have faced *decades of propaganda framing them as such*?

If you spotted these harmful messages in the initial indented description, good job!

But if you didn't, it's time to find and read critical reviews and essays written by marginalized communities of works that include these damaging tropes, because if it your Evil Species are Weird Aliens, because when you characterize and describe your Evil Species, you are undoubtedly going to be drawing heavily on your own internal biases of what makes people Other and Wrong.

Are your Evil Species all dark-skinned, physically-strong and animalistic? Congrats, you have just regurgitated centuries-old racism that justifies slavery, segregation, and discrimination *to this day*

Are your Evil Species all nomadic ~cannibals~ who are incapable of creating anything of their own and have to loot and steal from others to have anything of value? Congrats, you are once again regurgitating racist propoganda that has been used against countless cultures and minorities for centuries.

Are your Evil Species reknowned for kidnapping and raping the women of your Good Guys in order to create Evil Twisted Halfbreed Offspring for ....uh, reasons? Congrats, once again, this is literally just racist propaganda being reinforced by your writing.

Anything you come up with to make your Species Inherently Evil is going to most likely be something that is weaponized against real world minorities that you are now reinforcing with your writing, from racism to ableism to queerphobia and all the ways they intersect.

How do you fix this?

It's incredibly simple!

Don't make an entire Species be Inherently Evil.

They need to be just as varied as real living people.

Your Species should not be a Monolith, let alone of *Evil*.

Your Species should not have their only "decent/civilized/kind people" examples come from ""crossbreeds"" [and this term itself should be used only by bigots as a deragatory term] or random orphans who were raised by one of the Good Species(tm)-- this is how your story starts advocating for *eugenics*, which is not something you want to do!

So, instead of having an entire Species be "Inherently biologically" Evil, consider instead:

Making your villain group diverse instead of all one Species.

if your villain group is a Species Supremacist, they're probably still going to have underlings and lower castes who do their dirty work, or have been taken in by the cult ideology.

Making the villains of this Species be a small fraction of a larger whole, who are part of a violent cult, ideology, or political party that not only puts them in conflict with your main characters, but also with the rest of their Species.

Having your main character or their friends be the same Species as your villain group, and they represents the vast majority of the Species, instead of hailing them as "the Paragon of Goodness who emerged somehow pure from of a species forged in hell" or anything similar.

You should also sit down and not only think about the harmful, racist tropes that would come from writing Inherently Evil Species, but also consider:

Why do you want to include an entire species of people who are inherently evil in your novel?

Is your novel gaining anything for including these tropes uncritically?

Does it make it a better, more interesting story to include these tropes uncritically?

What message are you trying to send with your story?

Does including these tropes uncritically in your story *undermine* your intended message?

Another trope in the opposite direction, is talking about "Oppression" and "Fantasy Racism" from the perspective of a character who is part of the oppressed minority, only to spend the entire novel talking about how your Opressed Class are Literally and Factually threats to the population that "discriminate" against them, usually by being rightfully wary in their prescence.

if the Oppressed Minorities in your story in anyway resemble the Orcs in Bright, the Predators in Zootopia, or the Khajiit in the Elderscrolls, where the Racism these peoples face in based on hard proven facts that these people have been and still are threats to most of the population..

... you're less writing a story about how "Racism Against Vulnerable Minorities is Bad"

and sound more like you're saying

"It's bad to be "mean" (afraid of) Nazis who literally want you dead and who can kill you with impunity and no consequences."

If you are writing a story about Fantasy Discrimination, and the basis of your Fantasy Discrimination is based on *cold hard facts that your narrative supports and upholds*, instead of actually basing it on and talking about what leads to discrimination in the real world

(xenophobia and the fear+hatred of The Other, economic gain, mainly),

then you are not making the progressive stance that you think you are, and instead are enforcing the ancient propoganda that racism is based on fact, that racism is "for a good reason", and you need to take care that you are not upholding this idea in your works.

TL;DR:

Instead of making an entire Species of people a trope of Wise Good Guys or Evil Incarnate, consider using *Factions not Races* for your groups, and think long and hard about the implications of your world's politics and how it mirrors our own world, especially in ways *you may not intend it to.* If your story is meant to be progressive and inclusive, but your villains are an entire race of black orcs who slave and rape the good guys species, you need to go back to the drawing board.

#long post #very long post #writing advice #rape mention #bold text #ask to tag #racist tropes #harmful tropes #racism in writing #tldr #tl;dr #archived read more

61 notes · View notes

correlance · 8 months ago

Text

Remember that one fan theory I wrote about Alastor having a rivalry with Thomas Edison in the 1920s? Well, I decided to do a bit more research; it turns out that, not only was I right, but Edison really hated radio. He loathed it so much that he wrote not one, but several articles railing against the "radio fad" in 1926, to the point where an anonymous person wrote "letters to the editor" to argue with Edison.

Gee, I wonder who it could be doing that in the Hazbin-verse? /s

GIF and art originally by karumkin on Twitter/X (2019).

There was also a slew of increasingly aggressive telegrams sent back-and-forth between Edison and radio proponents, with Edison penning thinly-veiled insults that offended even mild critics of the "Wizard":

"The radio is a commercial failure, and its popularity with the public is waning. Radio is impractical commercially, and ethically distorted, and is is losing its grip rapidly in the market and in the home. There is not 10% of the interest in the radio that there was last year.

Radio is a highly-complicated machine in the hands of people who know nothing about it. No dealers have made any money out of it. It is not a commercial machine, because it is too complicated. Reports from 4,000 Edison dealers who have handled radio sets show that they are rapidly abandoning it; and, as for its music, it is awful.

I don't see how they can listen to it. Thousands of people have signed a petition asking that sopranos be kept off the air. Of course, most of them don't know that the soprano voice distorts the radio. The phonograph is coming into its own because people want good music. The fact is that the radio never had a high peak of popularity.

In towns where 25 or 30 dealers were handling radio sets, only one or two are now handling them. A farmer 5 miles from town buys a radio, perhaps on the installment plan. A wire becomes loose. The dealer has to arrange to fix it. This happens time and time again. The business becomes unprofitable for the dealer to engage in. He does not make any money out of it. None of them has. They are giving it up as fast as they can. It is not a commercially successful machine, because it is too complicated.

Static is awful, and the difficulties of tuning out--and now, they're stealing each other's wavelengths! It is too bad that the radio has to be too complicated. It was a big and interesting thing, and the people responded to it, but they want good music, and they found it is not to be had on the radio. That is why the phonograph is reclaiming its own."

Quote from "Edison and Radio", Radio News, December 1926, "in which the Editor takes issue with Mr. Edison's claim that radio is a failure; yet it is pointed out that the radio industry owes Edison a great debt; wherein facts are figures are given to show that radio is on a steady increase; granting that neither radio, nor the phonograph, is yet perfect; how the interest in radio is steadily increasing, and radio dealers are now making good money":

"Since the publication of the famous interview with Mr. Edison, the press, and particularly the radio press across the entire country, has been more or less agitated...I do believe that Mr. Edison has not been recently in-touch with radio sufficiently to appreciate fully the tremendous advances that have been made. Mr. Edison is a busy man, and a tremendously busy inventor. It would be well-nigh impossible for him to be in-touch with all of the various commercial phases of radio all over the country; and, like other executives, he obtains his reports from his subordinates, and such reports often as not may be highly colorful, and even wrong...[thus, the radio industry is unwilling to accord Mr. Edison anything]...as to Mr. Edison's remarks, the statements that follow are facts, which can be checked up by anyone who is unbiased."

Imagine Alastor and Vox with "Stayed Gone" in Episode 2, and Alastor and Lucifer with "Hell's Greatest Dad" in Episode 5, but happening entirely over letters and telegrams, because mass media and television didn't exist yet. The closest musical numbers would likely be "Farmer Refuted" and "Your Obedient Servant" from Hamilton.

Per the book The Wizard of Menlo Park: How Thomas Alva Edison Invented the Modern World by Randall E. Stross:

Page 276: "[Edison's] phonograph business faced a challenge in the 1920s unlike any that had come before: the advent of commercial radio stations, and the wide availability of free music broadcasts and other entertainment. By the end of 1921, an estimated 1 million listeners had access to radios, and listened to programs broadcast from the Eastern seaboard. A single station in Roselle, New Jersey, which offered the voices of operatic stars among its musical programs, had a broadcast range of a thousand miles, covering New England and the mid-Atlantic states, and reaching as far west as Missouri. A contemporary newspaper account explained to readers not yet acquainted with the phenomenon that those who owned radio sets could enjoy entertainment that was 'literally as free as the air'. Charles and Theodore Edison [proposed a combination phonograph-radio]...their father need not feel slighted because the vacuum tube, a key component of the radio set, was a modern descendant of Edison's experimental work on the incandescent lightbulb. Edison did feel slighted, however; such, at least, was the opinion of Thomas Cowan, a former Westinghouse employee...[who conducted experiments in radio broadcasts with the aid of a phonograph Edison was willing to loan him in 1921]. Cowan had several conversations about radio with Edison, who became upset and recalled the loaner when he heard the Westinghouse broadcasts...[Edison's sons were embarrassed, humiliated]."

"Edison calls radio a 'failure for music', thinks phonograph will regain its own": The New York Times, 23 September 1926. Underlining the usefulness of radio for purposes other than musical programs, Edison did tune in to a radio broadcast of the Dempsey-Tunney fight in 1926, which he was too deaf to hear. He had to rely on family members [usually his wife, Mina] to summarize what had transpired at the end of each round.

"Radio satisfactory on bout, Edison says": The New York Times, 24 September 1926. Defending the quality of musical broadcasts, the radio industry offered expert testimony to rebut Edison's claims [in the next week's newspaper]. See: "Broadcasters disagree with electrical wizard", The New York Times, 3 October 1926.

The "radio fad": A few months later, [after much outcry from the radio industry], Edison was willing to grant that radio might not disappear, but he had a new criticism: listeners' aesthetic sense would be damaged. "Undistorted music, in time, will sound strange to those brought up on radio music," he predicted, "and they will not like the real thing." See: "Thomas A. Edison sees a menace for music in the radio", Musician, January 1927.

"Edison's fears [about the Edison Company not succeeding in the radio business] were realized, though it had been Edison's intransigence (refusal to change one's views) that put the company at such a great disadvantage as a late entrant...on 9 October 1929, Charles Edison prepared a report for his father that showed a loss of $1.3 million due to start-up costs for the [Edison] radio...he could not know that, two weeks later, the stock sell-off would begin with Black Thursday, on 24 October, followed by Black Monday and Black Tuesday...a few days later, Thomas A. Edison, Inc., announced that it would cease producing [music] records [altogether], and refit the factory for the production of radios. The announcement was accompanied by a mention of regret, as the phonograph was 'one of Mr. Edison's favorite inventions'."

"An employee reported observing Harvey Firestone tearfully explaining to Edison that the collapse of business due to the stock market crash of 1929, and the Great Depression, meant that he could no longer continue to financially support Edison's laboratory. Edison was heard, sneering, 'He's a Goddamned lightweight.'" ("I saw your fiasco on the picture show, and I just couldn't resist. What a performance! Why, I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929, hahaha! ...so many orphans.")

Edison's death at the age of 84 on 18 October 1931 was also, ironically, commemorated through radio broadcasts: "[The next] night, two radio networks, the National Broadcasting Company (NBC) and the Columbia Broadcasting Company (CBC), jointly broadcast an 8-minute tribute that ended on the hour, when listeners were asked to turn out the lights. The White House did so, and much of the nation followed, more or less together, some a minute before the hour, others on the hour. On Broadway, 75% of the electrified signs were turned off briefly. Movie theaters went dark for a moment. Everything seemed connected to Edison: the indoor lights, the traffic lights, the electric advertising, everyone connected via radio, which Edison now received credit for helping to 'perfect'. In the simple narrative that provided inspiration for posterity, one man had done it all..."

Some numbers provided for how much radio was making:

1922: $46.5 million (~$860 million in 2024)

1923: $120 million (~$2.2 billion in 2024) (156% increase)

1924: $350 million (~$6.3 billion in 2024) (186% increase)

1925: $449 million (~$8 billion in 2024) (27% increase)

1926: $520 million (~$9.1 billion in 2024) (14% increase)

Overall, per another source:

1922: $60 million (a little more than the previous statistic)

1929: $842.6 million

From here, we can tell the biggest gain was in 1923-1924. Per another source: "Total cost was about $120.00 to buy a new radio in 1926; in today's money, that is about $1,500 to own a radio." That would mean that 7.6 million radios were sold by 1926; an impressive feat, considering that the United States only had a population of a little over 117 million people at the time.

Percentages of United States households with radios:

1925: 19% (5 million households)

1929: 35-40% (200% increase)

1930: 12 million households

1939: 28 million households

The number of licensed broadcast stations surged from just 5 in 1921 to 500 by 1924, per yet another source. In the early years, household radio ownership was highest in the Northeast and on the West Coast. In large sections of the South, Midwest and Great Plains, stations and radio sets were scarce. However, there were notable exceptions.

There were 732 radio stations total across the country by 1927, and the average radio was on 2 hours and 25 minutes per day. People who couldn't afford radios purchased them on installment loans, through which the full price of a new radio could be paid over time. Radios had even more advertisements for washers, dryers, and refrigerators, causing people to use even more merchant credit and installment loans to purchase these shiny, new technological devices.

However, radio sales also took a hit with the Great Depression, as average income levels fell from $3,270 per year in 1920 ($53,300 in 2024), to $2,300 per year by 1929 ($41,500 in 2024), then to $1,500 per year by 1932 ($35,500 in 2024). However, buying a radio also became cheaper, dropping from a costly $200 ($3,200 in 2024) in the early 1920s, to just $35 ($630 in 2024) by 1929-1930.

By the time Alastor died in 1933, 3.6 million radio sets were sold that year alone. By the mid-1930s, 67% of American households had radio sets, and by 1939, about 80% of Americans—over 100 million people—owned radios. Radios were in almost every house, and some Americans even had radios in their cars. The Golden Age of Radio lasted from the 1930s to the 1940s, before being eclipsed by television in the 1950s. Radio hosts went from being paid $10 per broadcast in 1921 ($180-200, 1-2 hours per night, 3-4 nights a week, for a weekly salary of $720-800; monthly salary, $2,900-$3,200; annual salary, $34,800-$38,400; modern-day annual salary range for a radio show host is $30,000-100,000, depending) to making triple-figure salaries in the later 1930s.

Another source lists the following salary ranges for radio hosts:

$2,500-2,700 a year to be an announcer in 1927* (~$45,000-$48,000 range in 2024)

$2,400 a year to be a dramatic director (~$43,000 in 2024)

$4,000 a year to be a program director (~$72,000 in 2024)

New Orleans' first radio broadcast was on 31 March 1922, with WWL. The station wasn't started as a commercial one; but rather, "more of an experiment, started as an interest in wireless communication picked up nationally". The station did not go commercial until 1929, meaning that Alastor also probably had at least one other side job.

Also see:

"Early Radio Announcers Invented Their Profession in the 1920s"

"The History of the Radio Industry in the United States to 1940"

"'A Godlike Presence': The Impact of Radio on the 1920s and 1930s" by Tom Lewis

American Babel: Rogue Radio Broadcasters of the Jazz Age by Clifford John Doerksen (see excerpt here)

Race and Radio: Pioneering Black Broadcasters in New Orleans by Bala James Baptiste (Note: The earliest Black broadcast in New Orleans was in 1945, meaning Alastor was white-passing.)

"Golden Age of Black Radio - Part 1: The Early Years" (Note: The first Black radio announcer, Jack L. Cooper, hosted in 1929.)

"How African Americans Entered Mainstream Radio" by Bala James Baptiste, the author of Race and Radio: Pioneering...

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #thomas edison #long post #i did a lot of research for this okay

155 notes · View notes

minnaci · 2 months ago

Text

veritas ratio who loves you so dearly and so hopelessly and so (in his mind) unrequitedly that he develops what the ipc eventually comes to market as an "anti-love potion", though the youngins on ipctok call it "idgaf juice". it's a cocktail of various inhibitors of different love hormones— a dopamine receptor antagonist. an oxytocin-binding ligand. a norepinephrine competitor.

he works for months to develop a formulation that eliminates neurological and psychological side effects— a task that is nigh impossible in the field of pharmaceuticals and drug development. when he succeeds (and of course he succeeds, he The Doctor Veritas Ratio) the drug is novel both in its effects and its lack of toxicity. it earns him his ninth phd, and his third intergalactic nobel peace prize besides. the patent he writes for it is his last love letter to you. he doesn't expect you to read it, though some ridiculous, illogical part of himself hopes you do, one day. maybe, just maybe, if you read it, and you felt the same... then he would not need to be so heavily reliant on the drugs of his own design.

#ough....#don't look too close at the pharma. it's impossible to do what i described in the way i described it but ratio is a genius he finds a way #ratio x reader #+dr ratio #thinkmin!

65 notes · View notes

purplealmonds · 5 months ago

Text

🧧💊👹Paper Talismans in Relation to Kusuriuri and Hyper's Evolving Powers

The paper talisman's primary function is to detect and ward off mononoke. Kusuriuri and Hyper have the unique ability to telekinetically manipulate them. Let's break down that ability further.

Manually sticking them to surfaces one by one is rather tedious and I bet less initiated medicine sellers may need to resort to that tactic.

Buckle in, this is gonna be another long one. (I nearly maxed out the 30-image upload limit)

Part 1: Talisman Deployment

Kusuriuri is capable of deploying multiple talisman at once. Though, in his early Bakeneko days there's no rhyme or reason in his arrangements.

At least he has enough precision to accidentally stick the talismans on the humans. Though he should really work on his tact.

Hyper doesn't deploy talismans in this arc, but he does summon a shield created from his golden markings which has a similar warding properties to the talisman. Not to mention, it uses the same sound effects as activated talisman if you listen closely.

From a meta animation production standpoint, making Hyper have the same talisman-deploying abilities as Kusuriuri instead of his own unique shielding abilities is more efficient and narratively consistent.

For a lore standpoint, this leads me to believe that there's a connection between the Hyper's golden markings, Kusuriuri's crimson ones, and the red glyphs upon the paper talisman.

Later, in the Umibozu and Nue arcs, Kusuriuri deploys them in a less wasteful manner. Note how they no longer overlap one another.

Tact is still not his strong suit.

Hyper once again doesn't use talisman in Umibozu, but in Nue he finally takes a page (heh, paper puns) from Kusuriuri's books. To illustrate his raw, yet controlled power, these talisman are nigh impenetrable by the Nue, and are manipulated into an organized grid-like enclosure floating in thin air which only the exorcism sword can destroy:

Naughty mononoke go into the exorcism box

In the Zashikiwarashi arc, which in the manga adaptation implies takes place after Umi Bozu, takes this precision even further.

Note how Kusuriuri brandishes them in this iconic (and marketable) pose and how they're arranged in a neat row instead of an ungovernable masses on the walls:

Hmm, the innkeeper and her assistant may be freaking out, but at least Shino (the person he's protecting) isn't. Character development, hooray!!

Although he has the capability to deploy more of them, he's now internalizing the economical "less is more" method.

It is not to say he's incapable of deploying huge amounts of them. In the Nopperabou arc, he is capable of:

1. Deploying not one, but eight rings of talisman at once:

2. Wrapping the talisman around an organically shaped object (the fox mask):

3. Constructing an entire-ass enclosure out of thousands of them - without using walls or other flat surfaces as scaffolding.

That's an insane amount of control. I'm actually a little sad that we don't get to see an evolution of Kusuriuri's ability in the final Bakeneko arc.

Hyper does technically deploy them at the very end. At first glance, it doesn't seem to be a creative improvement of his abilities. He's able to deploy large amounts of them in two neat sheets to ward off the Bakeneko's angry foot stomp, big whoop:

It almost did not occur to me that these talismans are deployed not in the mortal realm, but in the metaphysical domain of the Bakeneko. Although Hyper's not nearly as creative a Kusuriuri in using the talisman, that's one hell of a level-up.

Part 2: Object Manipulation

A less commonly discussed ability is that these talisman act as an extension of Kusuriuri. Objects with talisman adhered to them can also be telekinetically manipulated by him. A classic example of this is the fusuma screens from the first Bakeneko arc and Nue arc.

Sliding screens are relatively lightweight objects to manipulate. But the paper talisman - and by extension Kusuriuri - are capable of manipulating much heavier objects. Case in point, the barnacle-encrusted lid of the utsuro-bune in Umibozu which the combined efforts of most of the humans on the ship were unable to crack open:

So far, only Kusuriuri has leveraged this object manipulation ability. This makes sense, since he's connected to the physical human world while Hyper deals with the metaphysical one. But if Hyper does eventually use this ability, the implications are pretty damn massive.

If Kusuriuri's strength is enhanced from his normal white talisman, what would Hyper be capable of? In a pinch, if, say, the exorcism sword is knocked out of his grasp, could he then deploy some talisman to yeet a building, nay, an entire-ass mountain at a mononoke? The possibilities of badassery are endless!

Part 3: Manipulation of Sentient Entities (!?!)

Note that I did not say "humans"

In theory, it can be quite the useful ability. Stick a talisman on a human. If a mononoke stalks near them, it is repelled. If they wander into harm's way, you can yoink them to safety. If they try to attack or restrain you, you can yeet them so hard that they fly Team-Rocket style into the sunset.

Self-agency morality implications aside, I think there's a good reason why Kusuriuri takes care not to plaster talisman all over a human's body.

Consider the talisman's stuck on Shino's pregnant belly in the Zashikiwarashi arc. Look what happens to Shino when she removes a single seal:

When the seal's protective properties are activated, removing it abruptly takes a dangerous toll on a sentient entity.

Shino was "lucky". She was not the direct subject of the talisman's protection; the mononoke living within her was. Yes, not her unborn child. A mononoke, whose creation were the twin triggers of the potent emotions of the Zashikiwarashi residing in the former brothel and Shino's fear of not being able give birth to her unborn child. A mononoke which she met and bonded with prior to Kusuriuri sticking the seal on her:

Even before the seal was removed I believe the seal was already tearing Shino's Zashikiwarashi apart from the inside. It is simultaneously trying to ward it off from Shino's body and "protect" it from the Zashikiwarashi existing outside of the womb. This is why, despite her apparent "miscarriage" of the Zashikiwarashi, her actual child seemed alive and well at the end of the story arc:

I'm pretty sure if she didn't misplace the good luck doll around her wrist, she wouldn't have been infected by a mononoke in the first place. But then the assassin would have killed her and her child so I guess this traumatic mononoke encounter was her best case scenario?

If applying a seal indirectly to a Mononoke can kill it, what toll would it take if the object of its protections is a human body?

I believe that originally, the seal's protective properties are derived from small but potent fragments of the Medicine Seller's influence. When that influence is destroyed by a mononoke, the seals disintegrate:

Since this Kusuriuri is aligned with wood (see my theory regarding eye colors and elemental alignments here), I think the destruction of his influence manifesting as paper burning to cinders is apt.

However, when applied to a sentient being, I theorize that the seal begins sapping that being's life force to sustain itself. If that being remains in constant danger, a negative feedback loop forms and the talisman becomes increasingly parasitic in nature.

There's also one more incredibly obvious example of this. Remember how I said in the beginning of this analysis, that "there's a connection between the Hyper's golden markings, Kusuriuri's crimson ones, and the red glyphs upon the paper talisman?"

What are Kusuriuri and Hyper, if not the paper talismans in humanoid form? The talisman's abilities, after all, are an extension of their powers.

And when Kusuriuri, this humanoid talisman, seeks to protect the (mostly undeserving) humans in the first Bakeneko arc...

Yeah, he's not doing too hot. I think this equates to the state of the talisman when the glyphs become dyed blood red to ward off the the mononoke.

And when he further overextends himself...

If he didn't stop shortly after this, I think the damage would go far beyond the rupturing of superficial vessels and rapidly coagulating blood dribbling like tar out of aforementioned vessels.

What if those blood clots start forming in his lungs? His heart? His brain?? This is a very, very dangerous line for him to walk which could result in irreparable damage to his.

I theorize that if it ever gets to that point, the markings emblazoned on his face will spread like bruises and envelope his failing body - similar to how the paper talisman turns fully dark crimson before dissolving.

Kusuriuri's desire to protect these humans is destroying his body. Paper talismans would sooner disintegrate into a pulpy mess than allow the objects of their protection to be harmed a moment sooner. Thankfully, our medicine seller knows when to give up.

This is why after the first Bakeneko arc, we don't see Kusuriuri overextend himself like this again. Seeing his partner go through this near-fatal ordeal, I can also understand why Hyper decides not to use his built-in shield too.

They found creative ways to use those paper talismans, which are a less risky way of offering similar, albeit less potent protections. The tradeoff is worth it. After all, they can't continue to sleuth and slay mononoke if their bodies are permanently out of commission.

#mononoke 2007 #medicine seller #kusuriuri #モノノ怪 #薬売り #paper talisman #analysis #purplealmonds #2024 #🔕

131 notes · View notes

bakuhatsufallinlove · 5 months ago

Note

since the general fanbase seems to find calebs translations questionable, is there any translators you'd recommend instead? (if you answered this before i couldnt find it, so sorry if its an FAQ)

The general fanbase does not speak Japanese, so first I would recommend you not take their opinion into account.

I am not trying to be combative, I’m serious. About 85% of the hatred for the official translator stems from things that have absolutely nothing to do with the quality of his work. 10% of the hatred claims to be about the quality of his work, but comes from people who do not actually speak Japanese and therefore have no place judging it. Only 5% of the negativity I've seen has any real merit as translation criticism.

For the record, I’m not going to address the source of that 85%, because the quality of a person’s character is objectively irrelevant to assessing whether their translations are accurate or effective. What you or I think about the official translator is of no importance. Shitty people can be good at their job. That’s just a fact.

The official translations are overall accurate, effective, and of high quality. Viz obviously has in-house standards for tone and aesthetic in translation; they have an existing “shonen” branding adapted for American audiences. It is about marketing. This is evident in all of their published works. Some people find the tone and aesthetic off-putting—this is totally understandable, I’m not particularly a fan myself.

Generally, the worst you tend to get with the official translations is somewhat weird or exaggerated characterizations and the occasional missed thematic callback. The worst you get with the fan translations that are popular is them being factually wrong at times—as in, their translator simply did not know the meaning of the words they tried to translate. It's not that mistakes never happen in the official, but the Viz translator is fluent in Japanese and translates as his full-time occupation. He works with Japanese fluidly and constantly. He knows what he’s doing. When fan translators falter, it is usually because they are clearly not fluent, and this is something they do out of passion or for fun in their free time.

I typically avoid criticizing the fan translations for this reason, despite their issues. I myself translate out of love and enjoyment; I don't want to harsh on anyone's good time or discourage fan activity. I bring this up only because many people put the fan translations on a pedestal while promoting scorn and distrust of the officials.

But you asked me for recommendations.

So, I will tell you what I would do if I were in your shoes: if I loved a series that was written in Spanish, I would read the official English translation. If someone told me some important things are glossed over in the official release, I would surely look into those—but only take the perspectives of Spanish speakers into account, because how are English speakers supposed to know what’s what? I would compare those perspectives (because there is no way everyone will have the same opinion) and see if there are any other translations, while looking to understand what the rationale is for the differences therein.

And then I would come to my own conclusions about the characters and the story, because in the end our relationship to media is personal. What the story means to me and what I think the creator was trying to do is fundamentally up to me to decide.

I grew up in the era of bootleg anime and manga with nigh-incomprehensible translations and official releases with butchered, thoughtless dubbing, released seven years after the series already ended. By comparison, what we have today—cheap or even free releases available simultaneously or within two weeks of the Japanese release—is fucking magnificent. It is the result of many people working incredibly hard all the time. I don't think we should take that for granted.

No translation will ever be perfect. Human beings are not perfect, we all have biases and our own interpretations and reactions to media. Our relationships to stories are personal. This includes translators.

I disagree with the official translator on a few things, particularly in regards to characterization. But I don’t think that ruins the official release, and I don’t think anyone should shun or scorn it on the whole. We should engage curiously and thoughtfully about why it is the way it is, and what else can be gleaned from the original text.

Having said all that, you actually inspired me to do a little series examining the wins and losses of the official release, so please look forward to that.

#bakuhatsu asks #anon asks #I hope you know I'm not bothered by you or your question anon #I just wanted to express my perspective clearly #this is a big point of contention that causes uproar on a weekly basis

79 notes · View notes

our-happygirl500-fan · 2 years ago

Text

Something I find kind of cute about Leo is that he gets really excited when he learns something

Leo: Look out Piebald the saving is nigh. I learned book words!

He’s so excited that he learned something new & we see Leo work the new word into his vocabulary because he’s excited to use what he’s just learned

Leo: Surprise attack nigh!

We see Leo get excited about learning something new in Todd Scouts as well

Raph: They probably took him back to their campsite, wherever that is.

Leo: I mean it’s got to be near water because lesson two: shelter should be near water. That’s it! They’re at the river! What is happening? Did you hear that I actually learned something!

He’s so excited to learn something & use that knowledge even back in the episode ‘The Evil League of Mutants’ Leo ends up actually quoting Splinter’s lessons.

Splinter: Lesson one! WWLJD! What Would Lou Jitsu Do!

Raph: It’s the fish market, ladder factory, we never knew we always wanted!

Leo: WWLJD! What Would Lou Jitsu Do!

Leo loves learning new things & being able to use what he’s learnt.

Leo loves learning but I also think he’s more of a practical learner probably, he’s most excited to learn something when he figures out how to apply that knowledge to the situation he’s in.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo hamato #rottmnt #tmnt

937 notes · View notes

literary-illuminati · 6 days ago

Text

2024 Book Review #57 – Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson

Introduction

Kim Stanley Robinson is one of those names I’ve been meaning to around to since approximately forever ago, one of the real Canonical science fiction writers I’ve always felt slightly ashamed I’ve never read (see also: Gene Wolfe). Ministry for the Future in particular is a book I remember getting an immense amount of buzz and downright hagiographic reviews when it came out, even well beyond the usual science fiction circuit. So I went into this with vague impressions and high expectations – which, as it always does, turned out to be a rather dire mistake.

I do not regret having read this book, but that’s on its merits as a cultural artifact rather than a work of literature. Which is to say, I think this is interesting more than it’s good. It’s more or less equal parts a (rather experimental) novel, a work of futurism, and a political manifesto – and despite being incredibly sympathetic to the latter project, I’m not sure it really succeeds at any of them. Which might just be because I’m reading it now instead of when it came out – it is incredibly of its time, in a way that’s genuinely impressively dated even just a few years latter, and which continuously took me out of it.

It was, at least, very formally interesting. The tiny chapters and constant bouncing between different areas of interest kept it from ever becoming too much of a grind, too.

Synopsis

The book is, roughly, a history of the struggle against climate change and to restore the biosphere to equilibrium, beginning with the signing of the Paris Agreement in 2015 and continuing over the next half-century so until the world has been nigh-unrecognizably transformed and victory in that struggle seems more or less assured.

It is, nominally, focused on its only explicit divergence from our own world before the book was written (so, somewhere in 2017-2019) – the titular Ministry, a subsidiary body created by the Paris Accords to pursue and safeguard the interests of future generations – at first this is basically conceived of as a meaningless goodwill gesture by most of the really powerful people agreeing to it. But after a monstrously deadly heat wave across South Asia kills tens of millions of people in a matter of days, more and more people around the world start to wake up to the necessity of drastic action.

Over the next generation the Ministry plays a major (though less so than you might imagine) role in the transition of the world to a sustainable and just future, and the book follows both their efforts and the changing conditions around them that make any of it possible.

The story is told through a dizzying variety of perspectives – there a couple of what you might call protagonists (the minister for the future herself, a Scottish aid worker caught in the heat wave who barely survives and spends the rest of his life failing to cope with PTSD), but they occupy what has to be much less than half of the book. The rest is short persuasive essays, meeting minutes, anonymous vignettes from everyone from an Antarctic research scientist-turned-geoengineer to a de facto enslaved miner in Namibia, and odd little prose poems from the perspective of ‘the market’ or ‘photons’ or similar. It’s all mixed together quite thoroughly – few chapters are more than six or seven pages, many much less, and each new chapter marks a perspective jump. It’s a fascinating reading experience, if nothing else.

Taken As A Novel

...The Ministry for the Future is just not a very good one.

Partial blame goes to I think the very admirable instinct to avoid making some select group of technocrats and activists the Protagonists of History and instead try to maintain something like a global perspective. But the unfortunate reality of it is that the world is very big, and even at 500 pages the book is comparatively quite small. The result is that this is a story where the overwhelming majority of the plot is told in the passive voice, exposition relaying how trends never before mentioned and institutions not yet introduced are conveniently doing this or that to help fix the world, and then rarely if ever mentioned again. One wonders why the titalur Minister was chosen as a protagonist at all, given how the vast majority of her narrative could just as easily been filled by another other ‘life-on-the-ground’ level perspective (her great contribution is convincing the assembled centrall bankers of the world to do something about two thirds of the way into the book).

Also – while the instinct to avoid making ones main characters the perfectly agentic and hypercompetent engine of history is certainly admirable, it’s rather undercut by then still having one of those, but just giving us no real insight or perspective into it.

The mystique of the shadowy, untouchable terrorist syndicate has a powerful hold in the minds of action and science-fiction authors, and Robinson is apparently no exception. The energy transition in the book is greatly sped up by a near-omnipotent ecoterrorist movement that, through everything from sabotage and assassination to drone strikes and missile barrages, (literally) decapitates the entire fossil fuel industry and destroys so many planes and cargo ships so as to cripple the global airline and shipping industries. I’ll leave aside plausibility (for now) – but it just seems so self-evidently obvious that these are the main characters of the story. But with the exception of a single anonymous vignette, the story refuses to ever give the people involved names, faces, or personalities, nor dive into the whys and hows of specific operations. It’s quite frustrating, all the moreso because it feels like the author just saving himself the work of figuring any of that out.

Our two ostensible main characters themselves also just feel like – not a wasted opportunity, but definitely one more could have been made of? The world changes dramatically, almost unrecognizably, through the course of the novel, but their lives really don’t. Here and there sure, there’s not nothing, but the overwhelming majority of their pagecount is spent living what could very easily have been somewhat atypical lives in contemporary Switzerland. Despite all the talk of a ‘super-depression’ and the crippling of global trade, no shortages ever particularly affect them, no natural disasters touch ther homes. A lot of Mary’s chapters really just kind of read like tourism ads for the country Robinson clearly fell in love with at some point.

Taken as Futurism

Which is to say, taken as an exploration of how the world might actually develop, and a plausible prediction of the future based on current trends. Which, given the sheer amount modern frontier technologies, economic and political theories, and just general social trends are all discussed (not to mention a great deal of the breathless marketing and reception it received) the book is clearly trying to be. And which – woof, it does not work out.

The book is full of generational political upheavals occurring mostly because it’s a dramatically convenient time for them to. Most glaringly, the cataclysmic heat wave that sets off the book’s plot also conveniently utterly discredits the BJP and leads the landslide election of an entirely fictitious political movement across all of India, who then spend the next decades dramatically transforming the nation’s politics and economy with unbroken success and to a reception of thunderous applause. There’s no characters with names or faces actually involved in this, no more than a couple paragraphs of encyclopedia-like exposition devoted to it, but it’s the example and engine the whole rest of the book hangs on. The transition of the African Union to a powerful and legitimate supernational entity and the granting of permanent autonomy to Hong Kong (and much of southern mainland China why not) are even less dwelt on.

Now, this all could be excused as just the inevitable causalities of trying to write a book with a global scope – and I am sympathetic to that. But to begin with, I know just barely enough about the politics and the economics of a lot of several of the places touched on or used as dramatic examples to see how surface level and implausible the predicted changes are, and I can’t help but think it’s probably a similar story with all the other lightly touched on placed I don’t know much about (I remain agnostic on the accuracy of the geoengineering and carbon-clearing technologies projected, except that a lot of them suspiciously amenable to a single coherent aesthetic of the future).

More damning, to me at least, is the matter of agency – only the ‘good’ people seem to possess any of it. The conservative opposition exists as this vague, undifferentiated mass – standing athwart history and slowing things down in vague ways, but never really vital or active, never a danger to the political movements that have won or the progress that has been made. There are references to xenophobia and anti-refugee sentiment, but despite a refugee crisis that makes that of the 2010s look like a rounding error, it never leads to any really dangerous political backlash. Given how the world’s actually trending, the book’s vision of politics goes beyond optimism and into outright delusion.

This is especially true for how the book conceives of violence. Political violence is, in the book’s telling, near-universally the province of the ecological Left (with the exception of two events that provide excuses for dramatic set-pieces but fail to actually achieve anything at all). As mentioned above, seemingly omnipotent and untouchable eco-terrorists assassinate dozens of hundreds of the global elite for their crimes against the planet, destroy so many jet liners and cargo ships to force the adoption of new transportation methods, and sabotage so many coal- and oil-powered plants they help force the abandonment of the as fuels. They do this with no real blowback or reverses, no ruthless campaigns of state violence breaking apart the networks or destroying the infrastructure, no loss of public support from the disruptions in food and fuel their attacks would cause – it is not a realistic vision of what ecoterrorism might look like in the coming decades, it’s a plot device in the form of Robert Ludlum villains with no action movie secret agents around to stop them.

As a Political Manifesto

Which is, after all, clearly the real motivation behind the book, and the reason it received as many accolades as it did. It’s also where the book is easily at its most interesting – if, tragically, rather incoherent. Which might be me holding it to a higher standard than is fair but look, there’s only so many essays extolling the failure of the market or the coming obsolescence of war or whatever you can put in your book before I start holding it to the standard of actual rigour.

Mostly it feels like the book is undercut by its commitment to relentless optimism and need to jump around – a great deal of the book is spent giving the most positive possible gloss on particular phenomena or institutions from across the world in a paragraph or two, then say it needs to be scaled up on a national or global scale with no further thought or consideration of costs. Even when it’s not wrong it just feels unserious.

The subject the book spends the plurality of its time on – the main thrust of its program, if anything is – is economics and monetary policy. The great project of the Ministry is convincing the assembled central bankers of the world to create a new currency – a ‘carbon coin’ minted as a reward for sequestering or preventing the removal of a single ton of carbon for at least a century, with a guaranteed minimum value and appreciation over the same period – which would in time replace the us dollar as a global reserve currency and medium of exchange. The arguments around which are frustrating, because they go from plausible and compelling to wildly optimistic to the social science equivalent of star trek technobabble and back again without warning or any detectable pattern. It’s an interesting idea, at least, though one you get the sense is being imperfectly relayed – and the arguments for why the uncrowned monarchs of the global financial system would actually agree to it just aren’t convincing in the least.

Given the amount of times the book uses standard progressive language about how vital empowering minorities, women, the traditionally excluded and so on is to the fight to save the planet, it’s honestly kind of amusing the degree to which the big dramatic set pieces involve appealing to the conscience and principles of the most embedded representatives of The System imaginable. Running through the book are both a disdain and dismissal of economics as a field and a strongly felt technocratic sensibility and desire to have seasoned experts at the helm managing their areas of expertise – it can never quite decide whether bringing the world’s central banks under increased political control is something to be fought for, or a threat to hold over the bankers heads to get them in line and focused on the important task of creating a de facto world state (the quasi-utopia envisioned at the end of the book could just as easily be the globalist dystopia from any conspiracy theorist’s screen with no changes but the valence of the adjectives used to describe it).

It’s more peripheral, but Robinson’s clear affection for the nation of Switzerland and continuous praise of its many virtues in both politics and society does clash a bit with, well, reality. It’s weird to go from a chapter about needing to abolish tax havens to talking about how enlightened self-interest has left the Swiss government entirely behind the mission of fighting climate change.

A Product of it’s Time

Is a weird thing to call a book written barely more than five years ago, I’m aware. But it’s honestly kind of shocking just how aged and dated the book feels, reading it in 2024. Despite just everything I’ve written above, I’m trying not to judge it as harshly as I might, because I feel like I’d have been much more generous if various things didn’t keep taking me out of it.

Some of them are things that can’t really be held against it – the passages about Russia and it’s relationship with Europe reads as almost comical now, to be sure, but so does every sci fi book in the ‘80s talking about the USSR – but that doesn’t mean they don’t hurt the feeling of reading the history of the future. The book was published in October 2020, so the complete non-mention of not even COVID specifically but just any pandemic or major disease outbreaks feel positively unreal.

Other things are less the book already being falsified by history and more just seeing what turned out to be pretty transient intellectual fashions immortalized in print. Seeing a serious, celebrated book talk about the revolutionary potential of the blockchain to create a democratic new economy is enough to turn a hair grey. And on a less extreme level, talking up Modern Monetary Theory as this revolutionary hack of solve economics just feels so very incredibly pre-pandemic.

Too Long; Didn’t Read

Not angry I read it, but more because writing this review was fun and engaging than for its merits as a work of art. Can’t judge it too harshly, given that the task it set for itself is basically impossible – but Robinson’s written enough books that he probably should have known that before he started it.

The set piece at the beginning of someone living through the dead heat wave was incredibly compelling drama, at least.

#book review #the ministry for the future #kim stanley robinson #sff #cli fi

46 notes · View notes

things-about-cars-in-posts · 22 days ago

Note

hey silly question maybe. do you know why cars are so boring now? like im on the wikipedia page for the cadillac eldorado for Reasons and it's a really visually interesting car through all the generations up until like. the tenth in 1979 when it just kinda looks like. every other car (if a bit more square) is this just like, the Capitalism Thing of shit getting more and more boring and samey over the years? or is there like a reason. idk much about cars but this has always annoyed and confused me, i miss interesting looking cars :(

Well, it should be noted that the tenth generation Eldorado's case is a peculiar one. As I've gone over, old American cars tended to be refreshed every other year, and the Eldorado, meant to represent the top of the top of that uniquely American idea of opulence, was perhaps the car most supposed to do so. Hence, as you'll have found, its ninth generation launched in 1971, just 18 years after the first - thats' how long the only generation of Italy's best selling car at the time, the Fiat 500, was sold for.

You wouldn't have expected that generation to stick around for more than four years - no other generation did, and almost all lasted half that. However, 1973 had other plans. Namely, the fuel crisis that completely eviscerated demand for mastodonic fuel guzzlers.

Sales would decline the following years, with little tweaks here and there but no major update, which would have been money down the drain as existing owners could barely afford to fill up the damn things, let alone upgrade, and what were potential customers before couldn't afford to fill up the damn things full stop. So when the new model finally came, this big aspirational car was shrunken down to get on with times of shrinking aspirations.

Nigh on 5.20 meters (for yankees, that's roughly 4/207ths of a Titanic) will hardly seem short to European sensibilities, but let's remember, that's coming from 5.70. You could walk between two walls that far apart. The width, too, decreased by a whole 20cm (for yankees, that's roughly half a rabbit), which in car width terms is massive - like, it's the difference between a Mini and a Mustang.

This to say, the tenth generation Eldorado is oft maligned as a fall from grace, one of the most popular examples of why the malaise moniker stuck to this era of American cars - so not exactly the fairest assessment of how cars changed with time. How about, then, we start our analysis by looking at a car with a much better received update, shall we?

Of course, the Mk1 Volkswagen Golf (for yankees, that's roughly a Rabbit) was a smash hit the world over, so much so that in Mexico it remained on sale as the Citi Golf as recently as 2009(!), and if I didn't think it the best looking Golf that ever was I probably wouldn't own one...

...but unless the only kink you're into is the Hofmeister, I don't see how the second generation's styling is such a downgrade as to bemoan the state of things. And frankly...

...maybe it's just the boiled frog syndrome, but I can't spot a point in which anything 'went wrong', so to speak. Which leads to the all-important question:

You say you miss interesting looking cars, but I do have to ask - when did they ever leave?

Have a browse of my pride post (no, really, go read it, I think it's one of my best ever) and point me to the boring cars within it, because me, I don't see any. And I suspect the reasons are similar to why you see older cars as more interesting.

For one, given the point of the post, all the cars shown are some flashy color, and each is different from every other. This, however, is increasingly becoming an anomaly as greyscale gobbles up an ever increasing share of the market, meaning on average, modern cars are less colorful, and thus less visually interesting. I've written about cause and effect of the greyscalification of cars, and suffice to say I'm not a fan of it - but I feel like that is a discussion separate from car design itself.

Then, of course, there's that those in the post are all cars that I like, so that selection was curated (albeit only by my personal taste). But that is also the case when we look back at older cars: what you see around and what you hear about is what people cared enough about to preserve and to discuss - not just in terms of models but of versions, specs and even colors. If you look at car shows like Radwood or Oblivion, which celebrate 80s and 90s cars, the very time period you referred to as the beginning of the end for interesting design looks like its heyday!

Yes, that trailer is factory.

Unfortunately, it must be said that unique and interesting cars have become fewer and fewer, as the ever increasing regulations make it even more expensive than it already was for smaller brands to emerge and the economic status of things makes it increasingly harder to justify a funky, daring picks for the biggest purchase of the average person's life - let alone the purchase of a second car, which tends to be what more extreme offerings were bought as. A brighter future seems to be ahead, though, with Toyota's incredible GR Corolla/Yaris and 86 apparently about to be joined by yet more spicy goodness and Mazda teasing a return of the rotary engined sportscar. For the twentieth time, sure, but after having seen the Motocompo revival actually happen, I am ready to kick that football.

(because you knew about the new electric Motocompacto, right?)

But there's another thing that post's selection had going for it: variety. Pretty much every car in it was in a wholly different category from all the others, and that is bound to make each car within it seem a lot more interesting than if it had been surrounded by cars of its same segment.

The survivorship bias outlined above also results in far more variety than you would find in normal traffic: even setting aside the halo car dynamic whereby the most special -and therefore most interesting- cars are usually niche offerings with very low sales figures, people tend to remember, discuss and seek out cars that represent some extreme - be it the fastest, the most expensive, the greatest, but also the slowest, the cheapest, the worst... and the tallest, the lowest, the biggest, the smallest, and so on. In short, the cars you'll find the least interest for are the everyday, quietly competent cars that make up the bulk of vehicles on the road.

Although, going far enough back in time, even those appear interesting to us, because their context's norm was so different from ours that even the cars that most adhered to it seem exotic to our sensibilities.

But when actually viewed in their own context...

...that impression tends to be stifled.

Unfortunately, it seems to me as though variety is also being stifled nowadays, with a growing share of body styles on sale becoming SUV/crossovers, and the increase in platform sharing reducing automotive outliers (for better and for worse).

And I should note: as for the other industry shifts I mentioned, the driving force isn't Big Capital or The Evil Economic System or what have you. It's the consumers. Sure, we can blame manufacturers for turning every model into a more profitable SUV, but they couldn't do this if they didn't sell, and they wouldn't do this if people didn't see them as more prestigious vehicles worth paying more for. We can blame manufacturers for killing weird car projects, but usually they get axed because people don't buy the things. Dealerships still order grey cars because no one digs their heels about having theirs yellow. So on.

So in short, old cars have always looked more interesting, because time alters our perception of them in ways that make them seem as much - and it also happens that lately the car industry has gone in the opposite direction to those alterations, causing new cars to seem less interesting. So, in short, the problem is the comparison just isn't apples to apples.

I think this is why that Golf evolution does not show any trend towards boring or away from interesting in my eyes - because it mostly strips those factors away. Here's a bunch of generations of the same car, all silver, all presented with no context bar the version before or after, all in the same body style which, for its entire history, was a common sight pretty much anywhere. (Also helps, of course, that the Golf's evolution had no wacky twists and always nailed the zeitgeist.)

This not to say that I can't complain about modern car designs - but for that, don't compare apple to apple... compare it to Microsoft.

See, I can think of many modern designs I find bland and devoid of personality, not because of a lack of styling effort but precisely due to an overabundance of it: so keen were the designers to put a crease here and a fold there and a kink somewhere to make the brand's seventh SUV set itself apart from the other six that the design became too overburdened with details to have a clear message - like a story with too many events for them to express a cohesive point.

Or, indeed, like this parody of Microsoft packaging in which their design principles are applied to the iconic, nay, legendary packaging of the original iPod.

youtube

This is an actual Microsoft video btw. This was made internally by Microsoft's marketing department.

Links in blue are posts of mine about the topic in question: if you liked this post, you might like those - or the blog’s Discord server, linked in the pinned post!

#hope this answers the question to a satisfactory degree #as per usual excuse the large delay #and as per usual this was meant to be 4x shorter than it eventually ended up being and isn't even longer only thanks to great self-restrain #car design #cadillac eldorado #fiat 500 #mini cooper #ford mustang #volkswagen golf #honda motocompo #honda motocompacto #also GOD ACTUAL FUCKING DAMMIT SCREW YOU SLIDING READ MORE ANNGHGHGHGH #(when you edit posts on desktop the Read More slides down a block and if you forget to move it back as I did your post will look idiotic)

32 notes · View notes