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ltleflrt · 1 year

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This whole backlash against printing fics irks the fuck out of me, and I got some shit to say about it. Mostly "Fuck You" but here's some nuance:

On the surface, I understand where the naysayers are coming from. It's a legitimate fear that making a profit from fanworks will bring down the C&D Hammer on fandom. I get that. Do not put on the One Ring, or you'll risk the Eye of Sauron.

But here's the thing. Fuck capitalism. Fuck digital only. We're living in the digital dark ages, and 100 years from now huge swathes of our history, fact and fiction, will be lost to our descendants because there will be no physical copies of our lives for them to find in old libraries and boxes in the attic, etc.

Creators deserve physical copies of their creations, and so do the other people in the world who love them.

I don't want to profit from letting people print my fics. That's why I use Lulu, since they have an option to set zero profit and make the links hidden so only fans in the know can get a copy. Other printing sites I've looked at in the past don't have those options. In fact, the first time I ever even thought about printing one of my stories was when I won NaNo for the first time and one of the prizes was a coupon for 3 free printings of your story. HELL YEAH, that's a copy for me, a copy for my beta, and a copy for the artist who made the cover for me. Perfect! But I ended up not using that coupon, because the site required I set a profit margin, and did not have an option to make it private. Ummm, no thanks. Not worth the risk. And even though the profit margin could be set as low as ten cents, I did not want to make ANY money from my fic, because I know that would be breaking Fair Use rules. I found Lulu instead, and decided to let other people get copies too, because I'm nice. And if I don't, it's not like I can stop them from doing it themselves, no matter how much I'd rather they not do that.

But that's not good enough for the Reporting Trolls. Their argument is that it's not possible for it to be completely profit free, since Lulu makes a profit on the printing costs and the shipping carriers make a profit off the shipping costs. Someone is making a profit, and that's unacceptable, even if that someone is not Me, The Person Who Made The Printing and Shipping Worth Paying For.

I would like anyone who thinks that to delete your accounts where you read fanfiction. AO3, Wattpad, FFNet, LJ, Dreamwidth, hell even Tumblr for the short ficlet stuff that only gets posted here. Because even if the website it self isn't profiting, (AO3 for example), the companies that sold them their server hardware made a profit. Since utilities are privatized, the electric company that runs those servers are making a profit. IF YOU PRINT IT ON YOUR PRINTER AND PUT IT IN A 3 RING BINDER, the paper, printer, and ink manufacturers made a profit from your dinky little print out. The companies that build all the parts for your computer or your smartphone made a profit on your portal to the internet, who profits from your monthly subscription, just like your electric company profits from the power it takes to run your pc or charge your phone battery. IT'S A SLIPPERY FUCKING SLOPE, AND YOU NEED TO LEARN WHEN TO BACK AWAY FROM THE LEDGE.

We live in a Capitalist Hellscape, and if a company could figure out how to charge you to breathe and for every single beat of your heart, they'd fucking do it. So get off your goddamn high horses with this "wELL SoMEonE iS makINg PrOFit" bullshit. Or if you truly believe that, shut off every account you own, turn off your utilities, and go live in the woods and make up your own goddamn stories, which you can only share orally to the local wildlife. They give kudos by biting you and giving you rabies.

(not to mention; these assholes don't go after fanartists who are ABSOLUTELY making a profit off their work. but noooo, Flirty can't format a fic for print and allow other people to pay for the printing service and shipping, while never seeing a penny of that herself, despite all of the GODDAMN WORK I HAVE PUT INTO IT, WRITING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE INCLUDED FUCK YOU VERY MUCH. fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufucky--)

#ltleramblings #printed fic

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pinkandpurple360 · 8 days

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New happy ending for the Full Moon episode! So Stol/tz ‘breakup’ happens, Blitzo goes back to his apartment, upset and worn out. He gets a text from Fizz asking how it went (since Fizz lent him the sex toys or whatever) and goes over to Fizz’s place to return whatever it was he borrowed and didn’t use.

Fizz notices he’s upset and they talk. Now Fizz is feeling less insecure about his own relationship with Ozzie he doesn’t project the whole ‘you just hate him for being rich’ thing onto Blitzo this time and instead he just. Listens. He realizes in like a microsecond that Stolas is nothing like Ozzie - Ozzie cares about his comfort and his consent. Stolas cared about using Blitzo to get off, then blamed him for feeling used once he decided he wanted something real. He’s horrified and gives Blitzo a much needed hug, apologizing for making Blitzo feel like he was going crazy thinking something was wrong between him and Stolas.

Blitzo chuckles and says something else that makes Fizz’s blood run cold: Stolas is the noble Buckzo sold him to that day all those years ago and ever since it's been like he can't escape him. If only he hadn't gotten caught stealing that book... But Fizz doesn’t have much time to compute that before Blitzo follows up with: ‘but you’ve always been my real childhood friend. The whole time I just wished I was playing with you. I always wished I was with you.’ They both realize Blitzo has just said ‘I love you’ without saying it and Blitzo gets up to try to leave, panicked

For a second Fizz just watches him and Blitzo thinks he’s lost him for good & is juuuust about to start tearing up when Fizz's mechanical arm winds around Blitzo’s hand, stopping him.

Fizz tells him ‘you know… I bet Ozzie and I can make room for one more’. Blitzo turns back, now openly crying. Fizz pulls him in for another hug

Cut to Blitzo snuggled up between the two of them in the big love heart bed, post 'breakup' ice cream bowl in hand as the two of them just let him eat ice cream, cry and spill his guts about how awful the whole arrangement was until he’s feeling safer and happier

/end scene

Fuck that hits heavy

Imagine the character growth of fizz not being such a pushover for royals, Blitzø being the one to really get him to that point because of what happened with Mammon. Blitzø apologises for implying Ozzie was treating fizz some kind of way. But he still knew fizz was off. Saying things defensively in a way he never used to, defending abusive people out of his own insecurity, his denial that mammon was abusing him because sometimes you just want someone to be better than they are.

Blitzø shows him bruising on his scarred side where stolas likes to yank at his face whenever he got angry or got mad at Blitzø for being “too mouthy” or doing something uncouth. Which was often. Fizz says mammon always did that too, but always mixed it with compliments and nice sounding words. Causing confusion. Exactly like stolas calling Blitzø ‘darling’ before glaring at him with those terrifying, manic, glowing red eyes, so full of disdain.

They both promise not to call each other ‘fizzy’ or ‘Blitzy’ , so happy to not have to ‘perform’ monthly or annually in bed or on stage for nasty royal demons whims. It’s finally over.

Asmodeus actually is the jealous type. Very jealous. A third would have to be someone really special, who he trusts. And he really does trust. When he sees them curled up together though, he doesn’t feel mad, he sees fizz in a calmer state than he’s ever been, this Blitzø is someone Ozzie has always known was important to fizz. He never shuts up about him. Now he knows their love for each other is even older than his own and he respects that. They’re both just so darn cute. And they’re both so happy he helped them reunite. With the three of them together that big bed doesn’t feel so big anymore, and it’s twice as warm as it used to be ❤️💚💙

#helluva boss critical #Blitzfizzarozzie #stolitz critical

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sublimetragedychopshop · 6 months

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BABE PLS PLS PLS BRING BACK PLAYER YAN X READER

Player Yandere Part 2 (sorry it’s not long like last time)

This is for everyone that wanted a part two cuz I didn’t even know where to go off of after the first part The story sets with our dear Bitch Yandere who finally figured it out that they have feelings for you right? That YOU are the one making THEM feel all these feelings that they thought they were INCAPABLE of. It was quite the shock. But getting over that their goal changes just ever so slightly.

Plan:

1. Make you fall head over heels for them.

2. Use you

3. Toss you away in the most humiliating way possible

Yeah then it became this:

1. Make you fall in love with them

2. LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER AND NEVER LET YOU GO

3. Have a happy life and even death because I swear they are planning to bury y’all in the same coffin.

Yeah, not too much of a change. Though just when they finally realized that they are in love with you, they start small. First, deleting any other person in their phone; cuz having other people in their phone would be cheating right? Bye, past hookups. Bye, friends with benefits. Bye, dumbass dorks that thought they had a chance.

Next was the stalking information gathering! When they were playing and bothering you before; they never really dived deep into you. Sure they used to take a glance or too at your social medias (or lack thereof). But now they seemed to make it a habit of learning ALL THEY CAN. What do you like to do outside of school? Which subject is your favorite? What’s your favorite food and why? Do you love them? Ever had a childhood pet? What is your favorite memory? Do you think about them as they do you? Ever had any girlfriends or boyfriends? (Careful with this one; your answer will result in the possible death of someone) it seemed they liked to keep information about you in their phone-that they filled with you, you, YOU- in flash drives, computers, notebooks. Even though they don’t seem like the studious type, they would EXCEL in the study of YOU.

Third, was getting their new found feelings across to you. People SNAP their necks at the 180 degree turn of their personality now. It seems like a totally different person has taken over their body. Do they have a twin or something? Because (yan) would never talk like that or do those things in a MILLION years. Their usual flirty, easy going personality switched to a regular and reserved one. No more unnecessary touching, sweet words or crude gestures. No, that side of them is ONLY reserved for you now. They HAVE to let you know how serious they are about you. How much they are willing to change just for you to look at them even for a moment more. Open and sexy clothes that they used to wear? Oh yeah, they only wear modest clothing now. Why? Because that’s basically disrespecting you! Why should other people get to see them like that when they are all yours?!

Surprisingly- or not— everyone catches wind of this. News is spreading like wildfire everywhere. From their little posse of gossipy Rich kids to even the nobodies of the school know now that the schools “Player” changed and fell in love. Of course everyone is coming up with their own story.

“I heard that they are being blackmailed by (y/n)- something like their parents are secretly SUPER RICH and they have some dirt on them-“

“No- (y/n) DEFINITELY did some type of hypnosis on them.” “Alex told me that (yan) got SOLD by their parents to (y/n) so that they wouldn’t go bankrupt. Like, one direction wattpad plot who?”

It was very annoying for you. Coming back to school expecting for everything to be normal, only to come back to your usual pest (yan) acting weird and even MORE annoying than usual, news that your in a relationship they you didn’t even know about, rumors of how your blackmailing, trafficking,brainwashing someone that you would LOVE to get rid of.

With a sigh, you got up to leave the classroom. Lecture time went by as you tried so hard to focus on the teacher, but to the pin prick feeling that you got from peoples stares made it a little hard to concentrate. Even walking through the campus, people felt the need to LITERALLY, VERY OBVIOUSLY stare and whisper in your direction. Let’s see how you react to this situation now..

(Sorry babe, life has been kinda busy lately. Thanks sooooo much for requesting a part 2 tho! 💖its nice to know people really like my schmuck of a yandere. If anyone has any ideas, comments or anything my inbox is open !! 💖)

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere shitpost #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere ramblings #yandere scenarios #yande.re #yandere player!#yandere oc #sorry it took me forever I was getting my ass beat by school

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epiclamer · 2 years

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Continue The Auction.

(this is a threat btw)

I got like thirty million asks to continue this one so…

@psychiclibrariesquotestoad @whumpsday @foxinlongsocks @chvrmor @snowshower @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @hollowgast1 @bitchy-leftist-bisaster @fleur-alise @cupcakes-and-pain

Part 1

The Auction Pt. 2

“One hundred. Thousand. Dollars.” Villain spat and the whole room went silent. A few stray gasps and giggled whispers, but nobody dared to utter a word.

Supervillain smiled, their gleaming show host smirk was unnaturally perfect and it made Villains blood boil. They were going to pull every single one of their ghostly white teeth from their mouth.

“Going once, going twice, going three times…” Supervillains gaze fell back on their former friend. “Sold. To Villain up here in the front!”

An outrage of applause burst from the crowd, many villains going as far as to stand from their seats. After all, it was probably the most anyone had ever paid for a hero before in the auction.

Yet, Villain didn’t waste another second, pushing past the sea of criminals that were now flooding them for handshakes and signatures. So much for staying under the radar.

Villain raced up the steps and onto the stage, followed by the dizzying flash of cameras as they searched for their nemesis. One small trip over their own feet and they landed neatly in the supervillain’s arms. Their charmingly menacing gaze pierced through Villains skull as they helped them up and off behind the curtain. Leading them with small steps as if they were a child who needed guidance.

The villain shook themselves free from their superior’s strong hold as they headed for the velvety sheet. Behind which held many secrets and many scars.

They looked behind as they disappeared backstage, Supervillains grin had fallen and their appearance was anything but cheery. It was unsettling to say the least and when the supervillain’s smile returned it was colder than ice.

“Enjoy.”

The villain picked up their pace. Practically running to the “pickup” station as they fumbled through crowds of owners and buyers. When the villain had finally made it to the counter the last criminal had just finished their paperwork, saluting the desk worker as they headed for the exit.

Just because the auction put heroes on display didn’t mean you couldn’t buy any in advance. If someone was particularly keen on selling earlier than the planned date they could list them and people could get a sooner shot with a good sum of money. It made sense, but Villain wondered if they would’ve ever even realized Hero was for sale since they never checked the listings.

Thank the Gods, Supervillain was too proud to simply get rid of them and waited for the final show.

“Ooh, well if it isn’t the highest bidder. Quite the show you put on out there, hm? You must really want this hero…” The worker remarked, barely lifting their gaze from their computer as they slipped some papers in front of the villain.

“Sign here, here and here. Then head to room four o’ two. They’ll be waiting.”

Villain was done in a matter of seconds, racing off down the hall where they stumbled across their room quickly. They would’ve ripped the door open and rushed to Hero’s side, but something along the lines of guilt coiled in their chest and suddenly the realization that maybe Hero didn’t want to see them or to be with them struck.

This was the villain’s fault after all. If they had kept better tabs on their friends and enemies, maybe Hero would’ve never been put through all of this.

They opened the door, trying their best to stay calm and collected when their eyes landed on Hero’s form shaking and huddle in the corner. Hero was whimpering and crying softly as they hugged themselves into a ball. It reminded Villain of their former self, the one Hero helped encourage out of their shell, now Villain would have to do the same.

“Hero?”

Their whining stifled and they stilled from their shakes, but they didn’t turn or acknowledge the villain in any other way.

“Hero, hey, I’m here to help. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Villain took the risk and stepped into the room, taking soft and slow paces towards their former nemesis until they were only a foot away.

They kneeled down, “Hero, you’re okay now. I’m here. Remember me? It’s Villain.”

The villain reached a gentle hand out, ready to sensitize Hero to their touch in the kindest way possible. “Hero—”

However, the hero had other plans. The second Villains hand made contact with their shoulder, they pounced. Jumping up and turning to face the villain, bowling them over so their hips were pinned and kept low to the floor, while one of their hands held Villains head to the floor and the other kept a makeshift knife to their throat.

The other gave up the fight pretty quickly once they became aware of the weapon just inches away from bringing them a painful death. Villain relaxed and let Hero take control, their weak and malnourished body could’ve been easily overpowered, but if this is what they were most comfortable with then it was the first steps to gaining their trust.

That’s what mattered.

“Congrats, Villain. You won. You bought your life long enemy. Now, you’re going to listen very carefully or I’m going to kill you. Simple enough?”

Villain nodded, feeling the tip of the shiv dig into their skin like a pinprick. Drawing a droplet of blood as it slid down the side of their throat and onto the cement cell floor.

“You’re going to take me out of here, without any suspicion, and get in the passenger seat of your car. I’ll deal with the rest.”

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mctives · 5 months

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@innocencel0st // released starter

Part of the deal is that he needs a lot of psychiatric treatment, and that involves psychotherapy on top of all the medication. He'd gotten some version of that in prison too, but it was different now. Everybody involved had something to lose if he went off his rocker again, didn't they?

On top of that, there was still money in the family, and even though his parents were dead now and his older sister Tabby had inherited, for some reason she'd decided to help him. She was divorced now, and her kids had moved out, so... Maybe he was her project--had been for a couple years when, out of nowhere, she'd started visiting him. He didn't know. She'd been the one to talk to the lawyers in the first place and get all this moving.

Neither of them talked about her kids, though. He figured that he'd never meet them, and that was fine.

That day's session had gone well. As well as they ever did. Stu still couldn't quite shake his habit of lying, but when he got to the end of a lie in therapy, he'd been doing better at admitting to lying. They hadn't talked about anything too deep this time, but... they talked about his job, and that was humiliating. He didn't have any skills, especially anything involving modern computers, and his record limited his options. Couldn't exactly drive Uber. And the family real estate business had been sold off a while ago, so... For the moment, he was working in a warehouse, but who knew how long that'd last at his age.

That's what he was turning around in his mind when he saw her.

For a moment, he thought he was imagining her, but the pieces suddenly fit together. She'd visited him that one time, a while ago, before Tabby had started visiting. She'd said she was a psychiatrist or something, right? That she talked to a lot of guys like him. So it made sense she'd be working in an office where someone like him ended up going to get his head on straight.

His mouth started working quickly because--shit she might think he was stalking her or something. So, the first word that came out was, "Sorry." Then he furrowed his brow because that was a stupid thing to say. "I, uh, had an appointment. I didn't know."

#innocencel0st #innocencel0st // tatum #// thread #v // released #(for now... might need to give this one its own verse)

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v3nusxsky · 11 months

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A fresh start

*Authors note~ the first chapter of the story is here I hope you guys like it*

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

They say that every ending is a new beginning we just don't know it yet. That was something you truly believed in, that was why when you closed your door on your past relationship you were excited to see the new one opening. You had no idea where it would take you or what what your new adventure would bring but that was what life is. A bunch of new experiences that would make your story of life. Opening yourself up to new experiences was nerve wracking but for some reason life always had a way of getting you exactly where you needed to be.

That just so happened to be leaving your home town. A fresh start, with new people in a new place. A chance to shake off the past and finally do what makes you happy. Teaching was always something you wanted to do, you are passionate about helping children create a better future for themselves and the world. But specifically you loved the idea of teaching outcasts. Children that are notoriously overlooked and unwanted in the public eye. Children that are overlooked and under appreciated by other people. Children who deserve the same love care attention and education that everyone else gets.

Finding Nevermore appeared to be what fate designed for you. So when it came to accepting the job offer for a job as the potions teacher, you moved into the school the same day, the principal seeming nice enough and from what you heard about the students you couldn't wait to get started. Obviously you had a busy time ahead but that's just what the doctor ordered. You crashed as soon as you were shown to your room, which just so happened to be right next door to the principals room.

It took a few days to get your room to feel like yours and honestly you hadn't had time to explore much of the school grounds or meet any of the other staff members really, you'd seen some in passing buy no where near having a friend. The principal would check on you every now and then to see how you were settling in. But it never went above and beyond that. So now you had your room sorted and a few lessons planned you decided to take a walk to get familiar with your surroundings.

To say Nevermore was beautiful was an understatement truly, the stone walls that are entangled with vines looking like something from the princess fairy tales you watched as a child. The inside of the school being more Morden but none the less, sophisticated and beautiful in its own right. The halls seeming rather wide and the quad very relaxing, although you could imagine with groups rambunctious teenagers would put pay to the tranquility.

In your wondering you managed to find your classroom for the year. It was light and airy and definitely had enough room for a cauldron and live demonstrations with the whole class. You made your way to your desk and began to flick through the notes you found on your desk, containing things like the code of the computer and curriculum and class lists for the semester. You were so engaged in what you were reading, taking on every single bit of information you possibly could, that you missed the arrival of someone at your door.

"I see you found your way around now?" Larissa stated with a kind smile which caused you to flush a bright red. "I yeah I was just reading over the notes I was left, really want to be prepared for when the children come in next week" you murmured back tearing your eyes from the paper and becoming starstruck by the sight of the tall blonde. There was no dying she is attractive of course but she's you boss and it's so inappropriate that you push those feelings down. "Very smart miss Parker, have you got the chance to see Jericho?"

You and Larissa made pleasant conversations and she even gave you a few suggestions of places to check out. The weathervane being her favourite and apparently they sold amazing hot chocolate. After reassuring her that you would indeed explore more of Jericho another day she reminded you that her office door was always open, she knew how overwhelming it could be and always made sure to be there for her staff members which you were now one of. You could see life being to look up and there was nothing more you were ready for than this new chapter of life.

#v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #happy hours bar #happy hour #larissa x y/n #principal larissa weems #principal larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

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Every day that I don’t keep on top of the horsepower arms race in my neighbourhood is another chance for the local dads to buy a minivan that can, at last, beat me at the stoplight drags. It hasn’t been easy. Honda, Toyota, and even Chrysler have been pumping out near-yearly double-digit horsepower gains. My car is from the late 70s, made by drunks, and had to rely on chicanery and creative accounting in order to produce its quoted horsepower.

To compete, of course, I need to turn up the wick. eBay forged pistons. eBay turbo kits. eBay port-injected nitrous oxide kits running on a computer that may or may not just be an old Timex-Sinclair ZX81 jammed into a cardboard box in my passenger footwell. Doing an oil change once in awhile. This is genuine racing development, which is essential because the exit to my neighbourhood has a stoplight, followed by a two-lane section that constricts into a one-lane on-ramp, and I am tired of being effortlessly gapped by base-model Odysseys, their rear-seat DVD players blaring the entire way to daycare.

Now, I hear the clucking from the peanut gallery. Racing on the street is evil. Immoral. Dangerous. I don’t think any external observer would consider this to be “racing.” Racing implies a competition of sorts. On one side, you have a baby-shit-brown Malaise Era smog machine trying its best to keep from herniating a crankshaft, and in the other lane is a van stuffed to the brim with strollers, toddler toys, and vomit. I don’t think they even notice me struggling alongside them, and even if they did, would not consider me to be in the same performance class as their nearly seven-hundred-horsepower, nine-second-quarter-mile triple-turbocharged V-12 family box on wheels. If they hit me, they’ve got like sixty airbags in that thing, and I’ll have to walk home, where I might get hit by someone operating a minivan, who is busy yelling at their kids and has taken their eyes off an unmaintained crosswalk at a poorly chosen time.

One of these days, though, my performance-development arm will bear fruit. I’ve already released some of my boost secrets to actual racing teams, who I’m sure grimace every time they receive one of my grainy faxes, stunned that I had somehow individually engineered a way to pick up a hundred horsepower through sheer force of will without even having gasket-matched the ports. All I’m gonna say is, if you see a Slant Six with a smog head in next year’s F1 races, let me know. I don’t own a TV, because I sold it to afford new ARP studs.

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mishas-sims · 3 months

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youtube

i don't know why people are surprised by this especially if TSR is involved. Ask any of the old school simmers like me about TSR and their internet crimes they committed FOR YEARS and were never truly punished just sold off to someone else who is apparently doing the same type of shit.

You can go to jail for installing malware WITHOUT WRITTEN CONSENT because that's considered a internet crime. i'm not surprised about TSR. NONE of y'all APPARENTLY know about the drama from the people at TSR hacking simmers computers during the reign of the sims 3. i was one of the people hacked by them and a person at EA (a ea community manager) GAVE MY IP TO THESE PEOPLE AT TSR AFTER THEY STOLE $3000 FROM ME! A bunch of us got her fired from EA.

The assholes at TSR STOLE $3000 VIA MY PAYPAL ACCOUNT (this was back when paypal only used your bank card) after i bought a subscription. i HAD made a complaint about tsr to the ea community manager in charge of social relations. I had MY BANK (BANK OF AMERICA)involved and the ftc and fbi got involved later when it was made aware that i wasn't the only person they did this to.

why do you think they sold off TSR so quickly? TSR was a european company back then and the united states state department and other foreign governments got involved. this was at the beginning of people being held accountable for internet crimes.

this is a post abou tsr shennanigens from 11 years ago on reddit WARNING people about using tsr ----> HERE

good luck children because you're going to need it.

#sims 2 #sims 3 #sims 4 #the sims #not surprised AT ALL #Youtube

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robin-the-orphan · 4 months

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Thinking about Robin HCs that I'll use for RP Purposes Here

Long post ahead! Just so I can keep things more consistent!

*Also heads up, not gonna roleplay anything regarding the Ubrothel and that one landfill event on this blog (when you fail to pay rent for yourself and Robin). Partly because I'm uncomfortable with those events and I haven't encountered them before.

💾 Someone said this blog has Y2K aesthetics with the windows theme that shows up on the computer format for the blog. Made me think about what year Robin would've been born in. Since they're 18 at the start of the game, I'm going with 2005-2006.

💾 Appearance wise, they have blue-greenish round eyes. They kind that can pull off the perfect puppy-dog eye expression. Very much Ghibli tears vibe. As for hair colour, most people draw them with brown hair, so I'm just going with that. Medium length, super fluffy hair that tends to get messy easily. They're also the type to tan easily if they stand in the sun for long enough. Cries when they get bad sun burns. In addition, they tend to bruise easily. Overall plump body type, but they have soft skin. Bordering on short height, but they're taller than Kylar.

💾 Clothing wise, they wear a lot of comfy and baggy clothing that tends to hide their figure. Like shirts and sweater with oversized sleeves and are long enough to go past their waist. Pants go past their feet and they have to be rolled up. Very basic colour palette, they're not the type to stand out. A lot of their clothing is second hand from the older orphans. Mix between Y2K and a bit of that Softboy aesthetic.

💾 Like in canon, there's orphans who say that Robin stays in their room a lot. So they're an awkward shut-in type, but not like Kylar levels of isolation. Part of it is that they just like to play video games a lot. Another part of it is that they like to be alone for long periods of time. Unless certain friends come by, then they enjoy their company.

💾 Robin gets all of their consoles from second hand sales. Like sketchy Facebook Market place sales and pawn shops. That's why they're able to sell those same consoles easily. They blog from their phone and a super slow laptop (inspired by my 7 year old windows laptop that took 15 minutes to turn on and heated up after 5 minutes of use). They used to own a DS as a child, but sold it along with their old DS games. Their Nintendo Switch has the worst switch drift and loses battery super quickly. Some of the younger orphans come into their room to play some games.

💾 History is their worst subject. In my playthroughs, they easily lose confidence during History Class. So they have issues with the memorization of important historical events and struggle with writing long essays.

💾 They got the idea to make a lemonade stand from countless TV shows. They're mildly successful with the help of some of their friends. Every Friday after school, they prepare by cutting and juicing a bunch of lemons along with buying enough sugar and water (but they always end up needing more water). An anon suggested trying to sell more flavours of lemonade, so they're looking into that.

💾 As it's the winter season right now, they're busy selling hot chocolate at the park on weekends. They use the powdered kind with water as it'd take too long to make it from scratch. Sells it in those little Styrofoam cups topped with very tiny marshmallows. (I know the game tells you to get milk for them, but fr fr they make the hot chocolate with water only because it's cheaper).

💾 Vrel stated that Robin is the best skilled LI in terms of cooking. If they weren't limited by money and supplies, they could start to sell food at their lemonade and hot chocolate stand. It would start with simple things like snack foods: cookies, chips, candied nuts, trail mix, and dried fruit. Over time, they'd get more and more attention as visitors realize how good their cooking is. If Robin wasn't running their stand, they'd likely become a chef at the Ocean Breeze Cafe without needing to fill buns up with their milk .

💾 In terms of relationships, they're on friendly terms with Sydney. They avoid Whitney as Robin is seen as an easy target for bullies due to their (currently) meek and anxious personality. As for Kylar, they don't share any classes together so they aren't close to each other.

💾 With any PCs and people that interact with this blog, I have decided to keep Robin out of any canon romantic relationship. But feel free to keep sending in those affectionate asks, I truly love responding to them.

💾 With that out of the way, it's canon that Robin is a virgin. I'm taking that a step further by saying they're so inexperienced that they have limited knowledge regarding sexual intercourse. But they're not as shy as Pure Sydney, just inexperienced that PC would be their first for everything romantic wise. They're already shy in general when it comes to platonic affection, so yeah... Of course, if they were to get in a relationship, they'd become more confidence and experienced over time.

That's all for now! I'll be coming up with a post about other things like appearance and some random headcanons that I think of!

Thanks for reading!

#degrees of lewdity #dol #dol robin #robin the orphan #//the one and probably only time I'll use the degrees of lewdity tag

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corrodedcoughin · 2 years

Note

Listen I'm having so much fun au-ing you have no idea

Future Sci fi AU loosely based on the video game Hardspace Shipbreaker where Eddie is a mechanic who dismantles and strips spaceships down to either be sold as parts or melted down and reused.

It wasn't what he wanted to do with his life, not even close. But it pays. Pays off his debts. Pays off Wayne's medical bills (that Wayne doesn't want him paying, but what choice do they have? Plus - Eddie loves Wayne too much to not do something). And it wasn't like he had much of a choice, with Eddie struggling to find work at regular job. But thanks to Dear Old Dad and his criminal ways, Eddie knows how to break into a spaceship and strip it for parts.

So that's how he finds himself working for Thatcher Ship and Salvage - just a cog in the corporate machine. Which he fucking hates, but he loves his uncle more. So he signs up, gets the job, and ends up working out of a Salvage station currently orbiting Earth.

When he said he wanted to see Earth, that wasn't what he fucking meant.

It's a large station divided up into smaller Salvage Bays, each of which is assigned one Shipbreaker. The bays are so far apart he can barely see the others. He's alone. Just him, the ships, and the void of space. Each Bay comes with its own Habitation Unit, like a shitty apartment/workshop that can fit one person. Complete with thin mattress that feels worse than the one he had at home. It wouldn't be as bad if they all lived together, Eddie thinks. Him and the other mechanics working this station. But they don't.

He goes to sleep alone, wakes up alone, makes his corporate approved space food that tastes like cardboard, suits up and then works a shift breaking down ships.

Occasionally the team at the head station will call him, give him instructions or updates on incoming deliveries. Wayne sends him emails almost daily, and Eddie will spend an evening replying. Suit off and hunched over the computer in his unit.

It's dangerous work, but the hazard pay is worth it (it has to be, or else he'll spiral wondering why he's even here), and Eddie is fucking good at it. He's got the speed, the skill, and the knowledge.

But eventually even that isn't enough to get him through the day. He's a social creature, he loves to talk and to touch and to spend his time surrounded by his people. But he is alone, and the only other voice he's heard I'm months is his boss. Does not fucking count.

He has Wayne's emails, and the messages Gareth and Jeff will send him (along with the occasional song he can download into his helmets radio system). He appreciates it so much. It's kept him going as long as it has but Eddie aches. He wants a hug. Someone to touch his fucking shoulder. To feel the warmth of another person, to hear them breathing next to him, to feel their heart beat. Eddie wants to make fucking small talk and hear someone laugh at a dorky joke he makes. He wants to hear gossip about someone he doesn't know. He wants to connect.

So Thatcher Ship and Salvage connects him to some bullshit "Employee Wellness and Connection Program" like fucking pen pals at school. And Eddie grumbles to himself but goes along with it because what choice does he have? He has a feeling they only signed him up because if he quit they'd have to train up someone and replace him. Fucking corporations, man.

He gets assigned a person also on the program, and they send emails. Get to know each other. Connect. Talk so Eddie doesn't lose his mind in space. And if it goes well, they might even get a weekly phone call. And fuck, doesn't that hurt. Since he isn't even allowed one with Wayne. Says it'll cost too much to connect all the way down to Earth.

It's an email at first. From a man working an office on earth, also being signed up by his manager. A man named Steve.

Steve, who drones away in an office building under a manager who hates him because his father owns the building they work in. Owns the whole Harrington Corporation. They have to play nice to the Boss' son. So they resent him, and he is alone save for Robin. The girl who works in the office mail room. Who doesn't take his shit but understands that he's actually a good guy. He is her platonic soulmate. Complete with shitty apartment they live in together. The windows let in a draught, and the pipes leak - but at least he doesn't live with his parents anymore.

And now he has to email this stranger in space, who surprisingly, replies with one hell of an email. Long and wordy sure, but funny and personable. Genuinely seeking connection.

Or maybe Steve's projecting because he's lonely. Still under the thumb of his father, working a job he hates, with only one friend his age.

I just- two lonely boys connecting through daily emails and the expanse of space.

hello! sorry I took so long to get back to you!! can i just....beg for more of this please? i am absolutely besotted with this concept. Your description of Eddie is so perfect, like of COURSE he needs to speak to people! He needs to be witnessed and to entertain and his engage and get that feedback from another living thing.

At the points where he can't get in contact with anyone, before he gets 'matched' he'll talk to the faces that he sees in the whirls of the metal panes that cover the various ships he takes apart. He gives them different voices just to try and get himself a bit more invested but even then, he's heart sore for somebody to talk to in person. For somebody who wants to talk to him, for somebody to just listen and maybe riff with him on his ideas and fantasies all face to face so he can read their expression, try and predict how they might react based on body language.

So when he gets matched Eddie thinks this is just going to be another online relationship. Not that he doesn't take value in being able to talk to Wayne, Gareth and Jeff. He just desperately wants something more to make the isolation a little warmer. Eddie doesn't have high hopes but he's willing to try anything at this point.

He fires off his first email, not expecting a reply any time soon. Really, he's expecting a dry half-assed reply from somebody that doesn't give a shit about him and is being paid by the hour to talk to sad and lonely space rats. What he doesn't expect is a reply that has him breaking out in a small smile as this guy, Steve, describes his cubicle neighbour and the phlegmy noises he has to put up with daily. Yes Steve understands that when you are made up of 95% mucus and evolved to live on a gas planet and don't have any ears like his office neighbor, there might be some odd squelching noises but he swears the guy next to him hams it up, trying to push Steve out because Steve maybe once complained to robin a little to loudly about the snot bag and oozing he could see seeping under the cubicle divider. There was no oozing, Steve just felt like being dramatic. He tried to apologise but short of saying 'sorry about the snot comments, I'm sure you don't actively seep' Steve didn't know what to do.

By the end Eddie has a laugh stored in his chest, too scared to let it out. He's drafting up his reply in his head, hoping to endear this stranger with a story about a breakdown of what he thought would be a normal ship but turned out to have a portal in the toilet where ghost ducks would just randomly spawn from.

Eddie and Steve start to reply on their email exchanges. They are coming up to the 'review' point where a supervisor determines if they get a phone call and to be honest, both of them are terrified. They don't know if they want the phone call to then find out the relationship doesn't carry over to 'live' conversation or worse, find out its even better than email and hurting themselves more because they can both feel themselves falling for the other.

The day Eddie finds out he's been granted a phone call (pure audio, the company wont push for video) to Steve, that same night, he's the most productive he's been in months. Finishing his allocated breakdown in record time. He then curses himself for the fact that he has a wide-open afternoon to worry about this call. He panics, he worries, he can't eat, he's starving, he's resorted to tidying his quarters in an effort to distract himself. But then the comms screen rings, Eddie presses accept and there he is, voice through the speakers 'hello? Eddie? fuck! is this thing even working? i swear to g-'

Eddie sits down heavily on his chair, chest warm from the voice he didn't know was absolutely of course, perfect for the man he'd been emailing 'hey Harrington, getting worked up already? must have been pretty desperate to speak to me'

they only have 20 minutes allocated to talk, it's not enough but it's better than either of them could have hoped for.

#I am so so sorry about how long this took I was gone for a bit I’m #sorry!!!#also this is…questionable at best #I LOVE EVERYTHING YOU SENT ME!!!#I could feel my heart ACHE #how do you DO that???#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #ask

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thekillingvote · 8 months

Text

The Multi-Voters, the High Rollers

Among those voting for Robin to live or die, some were willing to pay more money to vote more times. These are some of their stories.

Bob Ingersoll, assistant public defender, future column writer for legal issues in superhero stories, as quoted by the New York Times:

''I voted 10 times to save Robin, and I've got the $5 phone bill to prove it,'' said Robert Ingersoll, a 36-year-old assistant public defender in Cleveland. ''If I had known the margin would be only 72 votes, I would have voted 73 more times.'' While conceding that Robin's character lacked definition, Mr. Ingersoll called his violent death gratuitous, since there were other ways to banish the Boy Wonder, like sending him to live in Addis Ababa with his long-lost mother, Dr. Sheila Haywood. ''For the first time in my life,'' Mr. Ingersoll added, ''I'm ashamed to be a comics fan.''

Jerry Smith of Kentucky, who sold his Mercedes-Benz to afford more votes:

Unverified legend of the California autodialer, as told by editor Dennis O'Neil on occasion:

It turns out, if what I heard is true, that a lawyer programmed his Macintosh to dial the killing number every few minutes. It was only 85 votes out of over 10,000 and that may have made the difference. I have never been able to verify that story but it was a squeaker any way you look at it.

I heard it was a lawyer who was using a MacIntosh and lived in California – I obviously don’t have hard information on this, but I heard someone out there programmed his computer to dial it every couple of minutes, and since there was only about 65* votes that made the difference, if that story is true, that guy, that guy killed Jason Todd!

Savas Abadsidis, in his article "Did the Idea to Kill Robin Stem from the HIV Epidemic?" for Plus magazine:

This new Robin was a street kid named Jason Todd, who Batman discovered when he caught the kid stealing a tire off the Batmobile. Todd was petulant, moody, and prone to outbursts of violence. I was 12 at the time and I loved him. [...] I personally voted for him to live 100 times, and my mom flipped when she saw the phone bill.

John Britt of Miami, who definitely isn't a satanist:

>Vote here (free of charge).<

#Jason Todd #DC Robin #DC Comics #Batman comics #thekillingvote

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trivialbob · 1 year

Video

Last night I went to the auto show at the convention center.

I have been going every few years since I was old enough to drive. The early shows were more fun. Hustle and bustle. All the companies, except Ferrari and Lamborghini, had models there. The Mercedes and BMW vehicles were always locked. Then Lexus arrived on the scene and let everyone sit in their flagship LS400 sedan. The next year the Germans decided it was OK for people to look out the windshield and feel that nice leather on their backsides. This year though a lot of the pricier vehicles were locked.

The show seems to be declining in size and enthusiasm. Porsche was absent. The Thursday night crowd was much smaller than I anticipated. None of the “as sold on TV” types of displays had to be on the upper level. Now the Ginsu knives were in the front hallway. The far ends of the convention center were closed off because nothing was there.

Prices are horribly high. The number of options and their cost are astounding. Some high end pickups and SUVs are comfortably above six figures. There are more electric vehicles every year. Few are what I consider affordable for their size and content.

The Toyota Corolla sure has come a long way. I had a 2005 Corolla that never broke. It was lightweight feeling, but a terrific value. The 2023 Corolla on display was an AWD hybrid. The interior looked super nice for an “economy” car.

KIA got my vote for best designed LED head and tail lights. Those are nice looking vehicles. Mitsubishi had the least appealing vehicles to me.

Toyota and Chevy actually had some cars with manual transmissions. It used to be that sticks got better mileage than automatics. Computers upended that advantage. Now the only advantage of a stick shift is being one of a diminishing crowd of drivers who can operate one.

Some things never change though

There is always a freelance, volunteer salesman. He approaches people sitting behind the wheel taking a mental test drive. “Yeah, my buddy got one of these in 2021. Sweet ride! Acceleration is really good for a car that gets such good fuel economy! You probably want to act soon, because interest rates seem to be on the rise!” The driver nods politely, then crawls out the passenger door.

Some 10-year-old has to sit in every single vehicle, even the boring ones. At the fun cars, this kid takes 17 minutes to touch every button, jiggle the locked steering wheel, and adjust the seats while people wait for their turn.

There are the guys who want people to know they know someone who owns a fun vehicle. Standing near a small group of people around a Camaro, he loudly says to his companion, “Remember my pal Tony? Yep, Tony just got one of these. I think his has the metallic paint though, not this dull stuff.” Oh dude, that is cool. May I touch your arm?

The missing gearshift knobs. The dealerships or manufacturers have to remove them so they don’t get stolen.

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seokiloquy · 2 years

Text

If Memory Serves Pt 1 - Kita Shinsuke

Au: Regular

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, “my mom sold me to ___” vibes but make it humourous

Word Count: 3.4k+

Pt 1 | Pt 2

Your bedroom was flat. The walls you had eagerly painted a citrus orange at thirteen seemed to have dulled to a warm gray. The stuffed fox toy on the corner of your bed seemed to stare down at the sheet with a morose expression instead of up like when you first got it.

It was quiet, so much so that breathing had turned into entertainment. Breath in, hold one, two, and out. No, too fast. Breath slower. Breath in one, two, three— too long. You could hear your heart in your ears. Blood rushed to the top of your head before falling rapidly. You could see your body sway with every beat; if you focused enough, you'd feel it too.

The room was still, lifeless, leaving you with your body and a mind that would rather escape to a world unknown. If it weren't for your body tethering you down, you were certain that you'd have been gone by now.

Breath in one, two, hold three, fou—

"I'm making chicken for dinner, just for you." Your mother's head peaked through your bedroom door.

You looked over your shoulder to see her eyes smiling at you, excited.

"Oh." Did you even like chicken? "Cool, thanks." What did you even like?

She blinked, quiet, before straining up and, in her happily chirping voice, said. "Okay then." And left.

It was quiet again, and you lost yourself when you returned to your original position. Your train of thought had fallen off track, and its passengers were nowhere to be seen. You sighed, sinking into your chair while staring at the cluttered surface of your desk.

Breathing felt like fighting against the weight of the world on your back.

It didn't take long before your mother called you to eat. She was on the phone, headset over her ears, as she responded to someone on the other end of the line while her hands were busy transferring food onto plates. You shuffled against the opposite side of the kitchen to avoid getting in her way.

She pointed to your plate before responding to the person on the phone. "He's doing that all by himself? I'm impressed. It's good that he's found something he enjoys doing."

Your lips tightened, practically hearing the comments she could make about you doing the opposite.

"How did that come about anyway? Oh, I see… of course, she deserves to rest finally, working for all those years. You know, I have a question that you could pass forward if you don't mind."

The conversation became harder to hear as she grabbed her plate and walked to her room.

While listening in to some of your mother's conversations had become a bit of a habit whenever she was talking a bit too loudly. The one she was having didn't have enough information to catch your interest to pay attention, so it went ignored in favour of eating your dinner and staring into the nothingness of your room.

Of course, despite not hearing what it was about, the conversation stuck in your brain, nagging and scratching the back of your head to fill the silence whenever you ran out of things to think about.

Then came the day that the nagging feeling became realization, and your mother came into your room, took a deep breath, and spouted out the ridiculous words you had ever heard.

"You're going to go work on a farm."

You stared at her in front of your computer, chair turning slightly to get a better look at her excited expression, and blinked.

"Why?"

"Well, it's better than shutting yourself in your room all day, isn't it?"

"Debatable, but sure. How has this come about?"

"Do you remember Yumi? Shinsuke's grandmother?"

"Not at all. Who are you talking about?"

"Shinsuke Kita. The boy you were friends with when we would visit Nan in Hyogo?"

You squinted, "All memories I have before a certain point are lost to me… I had friends? Do you have photographic evidence?"

She scoffed jokingly, "That's what happens when you do the same thing every day and stare off into space or on your screens; you forget stuff."

"I don't think that's how it works, nor is it what happened."

"Yumi, your grandmother's friend, has a grandson, Shinsuke, who you are friends with—"

"I don't recall being friends with anyone."

"—has taken over the family's rice patty farm, and now you will go help him."

"Is this some elaborate scheme to get me married to someone with a somewhat stable source of income?"

"Maybe."

"At least you're honest. But you know labour workers often get injured, right?"

"You get injured anyways. Might as well be from a job."

"And if I don't like it?"

"You don't like anything."

"Fair point." The room fell silent for a moment. "So, when do I leave?"

"Next week."

"And how much do I have to pack?"

"However much you want. There's a room ready for you."

You looked at the few posters on your walls, to the toppled bags in the corner that had gone untouched in months, and finally rested on the years-old stuffy with a matted tail on your bed.

"And there's no backing out?"

"Nope."

"I suppose that's better than being given a choice."

"You'd never make a decision."

"Exactly."

You weren't sure exactly when the last time you breathed in fresh air was. Then again, locking yourself in your room to the point that you only leave the house when forced to definitely isn't the best way to get clean air. Either way, the first step outside your mothers car nearly had your head spinning.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I think the air has drugs in it."

"Ha. ha. Grab your stuff Yumi is waiting for us."

The house was traditional, with sliding doors and a wood porch without a railing. It was surrounded by bushes and trees that gave it the appearance of a natural gate shielding the neighbouring houses' view. On the porch were a pair of two elderly ladies, one resting in a wheelchair while the other poured tea. You recognised the one with the teapot as your very own grandmother.

"Look who it is! You've grown a few inches by the looks of things."

"I've just lost muscle mass, Nan. I'm not taller than I was last time you saw me."

She huffed, setting the teapot down before rising from her chair with wide arms. Her grip was unbelievably strong as she pulled you into a hug.

"You'll grow it back quickly while you're here, I'm sure," she whispered, making you smile feebly.

Once free from the hug, you turned to the other woman, bowing slowly. She smiled and nodded.

She had deep wrinkles surrounding her eyes and smile, her cheeks had lost some plumpness, and the skin above her eyes had begun to sag and hide her pupils from view. But even with your hazy memory, the sight triggered an earnest feeling and a blurry image of what she had looked like some fifteen-odd years ago. Maybe they were false memories, but the feeling was there.

"Come sit. Have some tea. Shinsuke will be home soon."

You still had no clue who Shinsuke was.

"So," Yumi looked to you with a smile, "What have you been doing since the last time I saw you?"

You sat down slowly in a spare chair, brow furrowing as you glanced over to your mom. "Well, I uh, played volleyball for a while, and I graduated high school, and um."

"You also got a sports award and got recruited, which is an achievement." She put forward, pouring some tea into a fresh cup and refilling the others.

"Did I? Oh right I suppose I did."

"Recruited? How did that go?" Yumi asked sipping on her now full cup.

"Um, I stopped playing before I could do anything."

"What a shame. Shinsu started playing after he met you. Though he didn't play a game until high school, he even became captain in his final year."

"Oh really? That's cool."

"Hira," Yumi turned to your mom. "Could you go grab some cookies from the kitchen? Their high on the shelf, and I can't reach them anymore."

Your mom rose from her chair, wiping off invisible specs of dirt from her shirt. "Same place as always?"

"Just out of reach from grubby hands, though it seems the roles have reversed with time now. Shinsuke insists on regulating the amount of cookies I eat because of all the sugar. I'm going to die soon anyways, might as well be with a cookie in my mouth!"

The women laughed and your mom left for the kitchen.

"Has anything been happening with you as of late?" your grandmother asked.

"Um, well, since I graduated it has been sort of unstructured, so no. Not really. Just been lazing about."

She laughed, "You sounded like you're our age. Well at least you'll be working on the farm and getting some exercise!"

Your mom came out of the home as another car pulled into the driveway. "Is that him now?"

Yumi smiled. "Sure is. Shinsu! Come over, we have visitors!"

The man was your age, wearing a hard-front baseball cap, a baggy cotton shirt rolled at the sleeves with a dark compression shirt beneath it and hiked-up beige pants that ended just above his rain boots. The working outfit was tied together with a light towel around his neck. Just like any hard working labourer's clothes should be, the fabrics were stained and worn out in places with a few threads sticking out here and there. The only piece that seemed saved was the tight undershirt.

Like Yumi, the stranger's face gave you a familiar feeling. Yet, you couldn't recall ever meeting them to begin with. Had you been passing the man on the street, you likely wouldn't have even thought about it, chalking it up to a fleeting feeling. However in this situation, you knew there was history, you just couldn't remember.

"Boy, come over here and greet your old friend."

He looked more awkward than you did, standing straight as a pole still in his tattered and dirty work clothes, with a hand still on the car door. He gazed over your group before giving a nod and a calm hello.

"If you remember me mentioning it, now you'll have an extra hand down at the farm with this one here." Yumi patted your shoulder with a strong arm. "Why don't you give a refreshing tour of the house and show them their room while us old ladies chat?"

The young Kita nodded, closing the door of his car and gesturing for you to follow. As you got to your feet, your mom slid over your bags to carry inside.

Once you stepped through the sliding door, Shinsuke turned left. "I'm going to show you your room then I'll go shower and change. You can unpack a bit and when I'm done I'll show you around the rest."

What would be your room was the second last door at the end of the hall. It was bleak, emptier than your room back home, but had dressers, hangers, a bed and a desk, ready to be lived in.

"Give me ten minutes." You couldn't turn around in time to see him leave.

While waiting, you unpacked dropping clothes into empty drawers that were against the opposite wall of the bed. You hung the posters of athletes you couldn't remember the name of on the walls with old tape. One next to the window, another above the bedside table, and the rest in the corner where the desk was. You plugged in your computer then made the bed, placing your blankets and pillows down topping it off with your matted stuffed toy fox at the corner of the bed. As you put the toy down Shinsuke appeared again.

His hair was near white, cleaner and more visible without the dirt and sweat stuck in it or his hat in the way. The very ends of his hair remained dark even after washing, as if his hair was going grey prematurely.

"Has it been ten minutes already?"

"Twenty actually."

"Oh." You had zoned out again. "Um, come one in, I was just about to finish."

You crawled backwards, off the bed, and watched your fox's head flop to the side.

"You still have yours?"

"My?"

"Fox."

"Well, ya. It's mine, isn't it?"

"I still have mine too. Though, maybe in better condition."

That brought you pause, making you stare off into the white paint that covered the four walls of the room. "That's nice to hear," though you couldn't say why, "I think I hugged it too much, carried it by the neck everywhere apparently. There's no returning it to its former glory." You laughed turning to face him. "My mom said I cried everytime time I was away from it for longer than ten minutes."

Shinsuke let a small smile grow on his face, looking off to the side with a shy nod and a swinging leg. He hit his thighs, "Well. This is my sister's old room. She's in Tokyo now and doesn't really visit, so it's no trouble. My brother is in Kyoto though, and he'll stop by sometimes."

"Ah, and I'm guessing you and your grandmother take up the other rooms?"

"Ya, I'm in the room next to yours in the middle of the hall and she's at the other end of the house near the other bathroom and kitchen." As he walked out the door, silently suggesting you to follow, he pointed to his door and the extending hallway that went to the other end of the house, past the opening that turned into the living room and kitchen. "Our bathroom is here."

It was the first door in the left hall. You glazed at it, counting the handles on every white door before following him into the living space. If its door was closed, the hallway would be stark white and you would be lost.

"You might remember this space a bit better."

You really didn't, but it wasn't uncomfortable to be there.

If you were to hazard a guess, the kitchen and living space was just a bit larger than two bedrooms. The table, chairs and pillows were on the left, near where the kids' bedrooms were and the kitchen to the right, by Yumi's side of the house.

"I guess Yumi wanted to hear if anyone tried to steal cookies at night."

"You would know, you were the main culprit."

"Was I really? I don't remember that at all."

Shinsuke paused. "Really? You were a menace." He walked over to an old wooden bench and set it near the counter. "You would move this bench here, climb up onto the counter and grab the sugar cookies from the top shelf."

You giggled, imagining a kid you climbing the furniture like a tree. "I really don't remember anything."

"Nothing?"

"Not at all. I took a volleyball to the head before third year and my memory has been kind of fuzzy after that. I had to stop playing."

"Really? I'm not surprised you got injured. You'd fall off the fridge a lot."

You let out a defeated scoff, ashamed for the mistakes your younger self-made.

As Shinsuke smiled lightly and moved the bench to sit back against the wall. You followed him to sit on the tatami mat on the other end of the room. "So you had to stop playing?"

You sat on one of the four zaisu seats and tucked your legs under the kotatsu table. Shinsuke did the same across from you. "It was at nationals in second year, and the other team had an ace with a powerful spike. Knocked me in the head. I had whiplash and a concussion but kept trying to play for the following weeks until my mom finally forced me to stop. I missed the first month of third year being on bed rest, was told to sit out from playing, and my memory before and around middle school became really foggy."

"So you forgot more than half your life."

"Somewhat, ya. The feelings are still there. But the reasons why are a bit beyond me sometimes. Well, I got injured and lost my chance to play professionally and didn't know what to do past there. So now I'm here."

Shinsuke's expressions were muted, much like the dull brown colour of his eyes. Without looking, it would be easy to miss the subtle expressions he made or the inflections of his voice. Maybe it was old forgotten memories and experiences shining through, but somehow the small tilts of his lip or the sympathy in his eyes were easy to notice.

"So you don't remember anything about this place or being here?" There was an unspoken question you were afraid to hear.

"Maybe not the facts. But the feeling is still there." You glanced in the direction of where your rooms were. "I would have gotten rid of little foxy if there hadn't been, don't you think?"

His eye's relaxed into something reminiscent. "His name is Ito."

"Ito? Really?"

"Mine's name is Akai."

You gasped and hid your face behind your hands. "You're kidding!"

"I'm not."

"I believe you, but you must be joking."

"That's contradictory."

"You're telling me our five-year-old selves professed their love for each other with stuffed foxes."

"Yes."

You sighed, dropping your hands onto the table, trying to fight the smile crawling onto your cheeks. "That's cute but ridiculous."

"You said you kept the fox for a reason, didn't you?"

"I forgot!" you protested hands hitting the table as you tried not to laugh. You gasped, eyes wide. The room seemed to fill with colour. Your finger raised pointing at the mostly stoic man across from you. "You didn't though, and you said you still had it and you didn't forget where it came from."

"Yes," he said quietly.

You laughed, louder than you ever remember falling onto your side to clutch your stomach.

"Is everything alright in there?" your mom called from the front of the house.

"Oh ya, but I think we are years ahead of you on that marriage thing!"

"You're doing a good job at this." Shinsuke handed you a water bottle while taking the seat next to you.

It was sunny out, harsh sun, not the good kind you'd want to lounge in but the type that would send you into the shadows, hissing. Because of the heat, you and Shinsuke had taken to breaking more often than on a normal day. The water you'd spend your time standing in remained cold, but it did nothing to help with the heat above it.

"I'm a natural at everything."

"No, you just pay attention and practice at everything you do."

"That makes it even worse."

He kicked a leg up, setting it on his knee. All the water on his boots had evaporated. "I don't think so. You put effort into the world and it pays off."

"I have to admit, working on a farm after nearly becoming a professional volleyball player doesn't feel like it paid off."

He raised a brow. "Do you not like my company?"

"Silver lining."

He grinned a bit at the response before setting his hand on yours, holding it gently and letting his thumb glide against the back of your knuckles.

"That feels familiar, but I can't remember why."

"We don't need memories." Shinsuke mused.

"What's that?"

"My team's banner. It was about not lingering on memories but ingraining the feelings they left and moving forward."

"Wise words. Mine was 'hit smart and hard.' We were known for our spikers."

He laughed quietly before getting to his feet. "Come on. We have work to do."

Shinsuke took a few steps before turning back, noticing that you hadn't left your seat. His head tilted in a silent question.

"Is it bad that I can't remember what we did as kids? It feels almost unfair for both of us."

Looking off into the patty, he took a breath. "Well, you still remember the feeling attributed to certain things, even if you don't know exactly how they came about." He turned to you. "I hold our memories close, and if you ever need to remember, I'll happily share them again."

Grinning, you lifted off your chair and followed the young man back into the rice patty.

Akai Ito pretty much means Red String, for the red string of fate. I’m tired. I’m only thinking of ideas for fic now because school is about to start and i want to escape. - Bacon

Posted: 28/08/2022

#kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke x reader #kita x reader #Haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #haikyu x reader #anime x reader #anime

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wolfeyedwitch · 2 years

Note

🙃 & ☺️ for Bailey?

Auction of Evil, Part 3

🙃 - Someone to share their suffering with

☺️ - Soft words of reassurance

Whumptober alt 3: Dazed and Confused

Have some Bailey and Zera bonding after being sold off in the auction of evil!

CW: miscommunications, discussion of using them as leverage for the other, Bailey's crappy headspace. I think that's it? Let me know if I missed anything, or if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

Masterlist

---

Zera’s head felt like a malfunctioning computer that someone was attempting percussive maintenance on: nothing worked, and everything hurt. The space behind their eyes throbbed, the hurt so big it seemed like it would push the orbs out of socket at any moment.

They closed their eyes and managed a weak groan.

“Wha…” They stopped, swallowed past the cotton-dry feeling in their mouth, and tried again. “Wha’ hap’nd?” they managed to slur out on this attempt.

Poppet stared at them, eyes filled with guilt and concern. “Don’t try to sit up, it’s just gonna make your headache worse,” they said. “Hang on, let me…”

They grabbed something by their side, then carefully scooted closer.

“Sorry, I know I’m probably the last person you want helping you,” they said softly. “But you need water, and right now you’d probably just spill it on your own.”

Zera hummed a little ‘it’s fine’ kind of noise, hoping that the point got across.

Poppet seemed to interpret the noise differently than Zera intended, because they sounded even more guilt-stricken when they spoke again.

“Yeah, sorry,” Poppet said. “I know. Villain, hero, nemeses. You have no reason to trust me. But I’m not trying to make this worse, I promise. I’m trying to help.”

Zera looked at them in confusion. The way they had to crane their head made Poppet appear upside-down in their field of vision. The thin skin beneath Poppet’s big blue eyes was stained a dark purple from lack of sleep, trauma, or both.

“Yeah,” they croaked out. “I believe you. ‘S fine.”

Poppet’s expression bloomed into something vulnerable, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips. It might have been disbelief, or incredulity, or maybe something like hope. Zera was in no state to interpret it.

The moment passed, and the villain looked down and away. “You need water,” they said. “Is it okay if I prop you up against my leg to make it easier?”

Zera rasped out a yeah, not willing to risk another nonverbal miscommunication.

Poppet gently maneuvered them so their head was propped against Poppet’s thigh. Then they lifted a cup of water to Zera’s lips, helping the hero take tiny sips at a time.

The water was lukewarm and tasted metallic. Zera was too thirsty to care. Slowly, their mouth stopped feeling like they tried to swallow a bag of cotton balls, and the ache in their head shrank enough to allow other thoughts to trickle in.

“Thanks,” Zera said.

Poppet shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. “It’s the least I can do.”

Zera didn’t know what to make of this. Poppet’s reactions, as well as the auction itself, didn’t make sense. They were missing something, some critical center piece of this puzzle that would make it all fit together properly.

For now, they didn’t even know enough to ask the right questions. Figuring out that particular mystery would have to wait.

“What happened?” they asked.

Poppet flinched. The movement was small, but Zera still noticed. Another puzzle piece to add to the pile.

“You, um,” Poppet started, then paused to bite their cheek. Finally they continued, “You were scoping out the auction, I’m guessing? And Viper found you, drugged you, brought you to the stage.”

“I remember that much,” Zera said wryly. “Slipknot said…”

Ugh, what was it? It was fuzzy, like the thoughts you have when trying to fall asleep. They frowned.

“They threw you in as a bonus lot, basically,” Poppet said quietly.

“Ugh,” Zera said with feeling. “Who bought us?”

Poppet bit their cheek again.

Zera twisted so they were facing their cellmate, rather than looking up at them. They couldn’t be sure they were reading the expression correctly upside down. But now that they were seeing it right-side up? Poppet looked… guilty.

“Poppet,” Zera said, trying their best to channel Elijah’s don’t-argue-with-me tone. “Who bought us?”

The villain’s expression collapsed in on itself. “I don’t know,” they admitted, tone barely above a whisper.

“You don’t know?!” Zera repeated incredulously. “How can you not know! Were you not paying attention to who was going to buy you!?”

This time, Poppet’s flinch was far less subtle. “I’m sorry,” they said. They sounded like they wanted to beg for mercy but knew it wouldn’t come.

Zera groaned and rubbed weakly at their eyes. Getting worked up wasn’t getting them answers; all it was doing was making their headache come back.

“No, I- ugh. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad,” Zera said. “I just… Can you help me understand? Please? It didn’t seem like they were planning to take you off-stage, so I’m just… confused.”

There was a long pause.

“You weren’t breathing,” Poppet said, like they were confessing a sin.

“What?”

“You… After they got you on-stage, after you passed out. I think you must have reacted badly? To Viper’s drugs? You stopped breathing. You were turning blue,” Poppet said.

Zera winced at the thought. They knew, from Maeve and their own studies, that breathing issues were a potential complication of sedation. They’d just never thought about that in terms of Viper’s poisons.

“Okay…” they said slowly, thinking it through. “But I don’t understand how that connects.”

Poppet looked like they were holding back tears at this point. They took a deep breath before speaking again. “I told Slipknot about it, but they didn’t, wouldn’t, do anything. They were, um. Not happy, that I interrupted them.”

Their fingers went to their throat. It made Zera notice something they hadn’t before: a slim metal band encircling the villain’s neck.

Was that a shock collar?

“They didn’t do anything, but…” Poppet sniffed hard. “They let me.”

“Let you what?” Zera asked, unsure that they really wanted to know the answer.

“Help you,” Poppet answered, sounding like they were admitting a crime rather than saying how they’d potentially saved Zera’s life. “I don’t know who bought us because I wasn’t paying attention to the bidders. I was paying more attention to making sure you got oxygen.”

Zera stared, incredulous, at Poppet for a long, tense moment. That was… Why was Poppet talking like this was a horrible mistake they’d made? Like Zera would be furious for it? They’d saved Zera’s life!

“Thank you,” they said, trying to put all their feelings into the simple words.

Poppet shook their head hard enough to give Zera a vicarious headache. “You don’t get it,” they said, angry and miserable in equal measure. “This isn’t— I fucked up, okay? That’s the whole reason I’m in this mess in the first place! This is my punishment, and now I’ve gone and dragged you into it too!”

Zera put a hand on their arm. “Woah, calm down. What do you mean?”

“I—” They cut off abruptly and looked away, biting their cheek hard. “I wasn’t fighting you hard enough. That’s why Slipknot organized the auction.”

Zera smiled. “I knew it. I’m good, but not that good.”

Poppet’s eyes flicked back to Zera, and they gave a little smile too. “You are good.” The smile disappeared as they continued. “But now? I really fucked up, Foxfire.”

“How?”

“I let an entire audience of villains know that I care about you,” they confessed. “That I care if you get hurt, if you live or die. That’s… This isn’t a good thing. Whoever bought us? They were already gonna do whatever it took to get me to do their dirty work. I just handed them another tool.”

They looked pointedly at Zera’s neck. Zera raised a hand to find another collar there, presumably the same as the one Poppet was wearing.

“Shock collar?” they asked.

Poppet nodded miserably. “You may have already been in this mess, but my actions dragged you down a lot deeper.” They paused to sniff again. “You should port out of here. First chance you get? Run, and don’t look back.

“But,” Zera said, thinking about how Poppet insinuated their captors would hurt Zera to motivate them, “wouldn’t they hurt you if I did?”

They shrugged and looked away. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve already fucked up my own life; don’t let me fuck yours up, too.”

Nope. No, that was absolutely not going to work. Zera couldn’t let that stand.

They gently squeezed Poppet’s arm. “Hey. Look at me?”

Reluctantly, Poppet did.

“Thanks,” Zera said with a smile. “Firstly? Thank you, for saving my life. Whatever consequences come from that? Those are not your fault. That blame is squarely on anyone who would use someone’s decency against them. Caring about someone isn’t a fuck-up. And I’m a little biased here, but I’m really fucking grateful that you were brave enough to do that.”

“Do what?” Poppet asked quietly.

“Stand up to your mentor like that,” Zera replied. “It sounds like they’re, uh, not the easiest person to say no to.”

Poppet gave a laugh that was two-thirds sob. “No, they’re really, really not.”

Zera gave a wry smile. “Yeah. And as for me porting out if I get a chance? Not just no, but hell no.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to just leave you here to deal with the consequences of that!” Zera laughed incredulously. “That’d be a seriously dick move!”

Poppet frowned and shook their head. “But I—”

“Nope,” Zera cut them off. “No saying it doesn’t matter. It does. You matter, Poppet.”

Their eyes went all misty at that. Shit. How long had it been since someone had shown them even a scrap of kindness?

“I… I’m not sure I believe you,” they said hoarsely. “But. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Zera said, managing a weak grin. “Besides. My team will find us before too long. We just have to keep from dying of boredom until then.”

They knew damn well they’d have other things to worry about besides boredom, but the point of this was to make Poppet feel better, not worse.

Poppet nodded hesitantly. “Yeah. Your team will get you.”

“Get us,” Zera corrected. “I’m not going to leave you behind.”

“Right.” Poppet looked down, avoiding Zera’s gaze. “When they get us… I know you’re heroes, and that you— that there are things you do, with villains you capture. I understand that. I’m not trying to get out of that. Just… can you make it fast?”

Zera nodded. After-mission debriefs were always tough. Combine that with the interrogation that Poppet had coming, and Zera definitely understood the desire to get it over with quickly.

“Of course, yeah. I’ll make sure it’s as painless as possible.”

Poppet sighed in relief, suddenly looking very, very tired. “Thank you.”

---

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway @whumpcreations @wicked-whump @heart4brains @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps @whumpycries

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coulsonlives · 1 year

Text

Mkay, I saw this a few minutes ago and I'm so angry about it, imma make a post. Because this is not okay.

I don't care what your identity is! You are not an artist just because you make ai generated things, and you're hurting real marginalized, queer, disabled artists in the process! You are actively profiting off their time, their energy, and their resources, but they get none of the reward. You are charging well above min wage to go on your computer and type in a prompt, switch up the wording a few times, to make something using other peoples' work where the entirety of the artist work was done by a computer and or a person (and hours of their manual labour) that wasn't you.

And check out the first pic. This person claims to be in a 'collective' who is 'looking to advance the field of ai generated art as ethically as possible'. But their whole blog is full of art which makes NO indication that..

1) the artists whose content was scraped get any kind of royalties whatsoever

2) the artists whose content was scraped get any kind of credit

Because they don't know what artists they were scraping!! Because this is not ethical at all!

If this person is trying to evolve ai to be more ethical, where are the signs of that beyond a throwaway line or two? They give no info on how they're doing that. And if they want to be ethical, why are they still posting ai things with zero credit?! If these images were ethical, someone would be excited to share the details with everyone, maybe say they only use royalty free content to generate the images, some kind of library or something! But they say nothing about where they source content anywhere on their blog, which is very very suspicious

Not only this, but none of their posts even have 'ai' or 'ai generated' tags, or any mention of 'ai' in the descriptions, so if people reblog the posts and someone sees those reblogged posts, they totally miss the fact these are ai generated things!

On further investigation, I found the 'code of ethics' for their 'ethical ai group':

You can immediately see why they were unable (or unwilling) to explain how exactly they're 'ethical' on their blog. This code of conduct says nothing about preemptively avoiding art where they can't contact the source artist, aka they'll use whatever art they want, and the onus is all on the source artist to point out their art was being used, even in the tiniest amount, in these ai generated pieces!! How many artists are actually gonna a) find the ai generated stuff and b) see their art in it, and contact them? What happens if the ai piece has been circulating, sold, etc, and is unable to be removed from the net? What happens then? The artist has no recourse because they had no say in whether it was put out there in the first place. Even if someone was using a 'generative' ai, that ai needed to be trained using art. And all those artists still didn't get royalties, credit, or recognition of any kind

And while this code tries to emphasise how 'corporations' can't use their ai generated content for profit, they totally encourage people to sell the 'art' they generate for personal profit. The bottom line is still money and profit, and none of it goes to the source artists, whether their art was scraped, or used as base resources to train a generative ai

Also notice how there's no apparent obligation to use royalty-free images

It's all a smokescreen meant to make people feel better about the art they are stealing

It's a beg forgiveness rather than ask for permission mentality, and that's incredibly scummy

There's a bunch more that's wrong with this, but imma leave it at that because I need to go outside and get some air

TLDR: fuck ai art. There is no such thing as ethical ai art unless you literally paid and attributed all the artists involved AND got their permission to use aspects of their work (either going personally to each artist, and or using only free-use, open source content). Blogs like this are a huge fucking sham, especially when they use their identity/disabilities as a way to somehow validate/excuse their use of ai and theft, and I'm calling them out

#fuck ai art #ai art #art #i said what i did #credit artists #artstation #psa

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