#its so stupid actually so stupid and unimportant | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartbrkr · 8 months

Text

a hindrance to peace

SUMMARY You remembered at an inconvenient moment that you weren’t your boyfriend’s first kiss, nor lover.

PAIRING kim sunwoo x gender neutral!reader

GENRE idolverse!au, established relationship, fluff, slight attempt at humor

WORD COUNT 1.6k

WARNINGS a jealous reader and an even more jealous sunwoo, they have a playful argument, two swear words, sunwoo is reader's first bf, nct's haechan mention (you'll see LOL), dialogue heavy

AUTHOR’S NOTE my first tbz/sunwoo fic inspired by this tiktok.. honestly, i'm a bit nervous to post this, but i loved writing it! feedback is greatly appreciated! ☻

MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN!

In between the adrenaline-filled moments with Sunwoo comes its fair share of soft and lingering ones that remind the memory of each other’s outline. Tonight was time for the latter, finding peace in the way your bodies intertwined on the sofa and words exchanged about anything and everything. At least, that was the initial plan.

He was talking about his latest project, accepting an offer to produce another group’s track. You were trying so hard to listen to him describe the vibe of the comeback, but the only thing you could feel was your overflowing pride for him. As a perfectionist, your boyfriend works very hard. You’re beyond delighted to find out that his talents and efforts have been paying off.

Out of excitement, you grab his face with the intention of giving him a congratulatory kiss. You both lean in, prepared to stop talking for the next few minutes, when all of a sudden, a revelation pops into your head:

Remember when he kissed people who weren’t you?

Your eyes are now wide open; you won’t let that slide. Though, you wonder why you’re only realizing it at this very moment.

Sunwoo’s parted lips hover over yours, but they never meet. Your palms no longer squish his cheeks. Simultaneously, you glare down at his mouth.

“What? What’s wrong?” You see his lips move, but his words don’t process for you.

One of your eyes involuntarily twitches, vividly imagining how Sunwoo’s perfect, plush lips have moulded against ones that aren’t yours, sighed names that don't belong to you, caressed others’ skin with his bare hands. Held his past lovers closer with the intent of never letting go (he eventually did, though, obviously).

He can so clearly see your face morphing deeper in distress with every unpleasant thought that makes its way into your brain; hiding your facial expressions wasn’t exactly your best suit.

“Hey.” He sternly tries to call out, yet you’re still stuck in your sulk. For about a minute, he thought you were pulling a prank on him. But with every passing beat that you don’t acknowledge his attempts to pull you out of your state, he starts to feel dread seep into his body.

Gradually losing his cool, he pats the side of your thighs, face, and eventually finds his hands in your own. He shuts his eyes briefly in relief when he feels you return his touch. However, you still aren’t verbally responding.

You’re trying, though, and Sunwoo catches your mouth opening, only to release a deep breath. As you look for the words to verbalize what’s plaguing your mind, you don’t think you can do it without sounding stupid and petty. You know exactly how he’ll react, and you’re unsure if you’re mentally ready to handle that.

Fuck it, you think to yourself after a bit. Might as well say it now than let it get bigger than it actually is.

“Nothing.”

…Is what you weren’t supposed to say.

As you hesitantly look at his face, his features start to grow with impatience, one of the many things you were avoiding. He cuts you off before you could even sound a letter out of defense.

Sunwoo sighs out exaggeratedly. “Well, it must be so unimportant that you deprived me of a makeout, hm?”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at his tone. “What I meant to say was, I remembered something,” he hums back at you rather impatiently, but you dismiss it, merely raising an eyebrow at him, “that I’m not the only person you’ve kissed.”

“Well, yeah. We have talked about this before. Why are you thinking about my exes when we’re about to kiss?” The plural term he uses only adds a prick to your already agitated nerves.

“But you’re all my firsts. Like, we were made for each other, and you were out there fucking around with people who weren’t me? It isn’t fair.” As you say each word aloud, you’re slowly realizing how unserious this was, but you’ll keep stringing the problem along. That’s what he gets for kissing other girls.

He laughs at you in disbelief with his eyebrows furrowed, just as you expected. “You aren’t serious, are you? Sounds like a you problem that you have zero game.”

Sunwoo tries to steal a teasing peck, but you’re faster to block him with a throw pillow, halfheartedly offended by his comment. “But when I bring up the fact that you shoved Changmin just because I said he was attractive before we were dating…”

Pushing the cushion away from his face and to the floor, he looks back at you with the biggest pout you have ever seen. If it weren’t for the context of your current banter, you would’ve already whipped out your phone to take a photo. “That’s because you aren’t supposed to look at men— and women— who aren’t me!”

“Why are you allowed to get jealous and I’m not?”

The raccoon-resembling man in front of you pauses for half a second, lacking a logical argument to counter you. So he says whatever comes to his mind next: “...Because!”

“Changmin didn’t deserve that, by the way.” “Stop that!”

“Not before you tell me why.”

He shakes his head violently and laughs, which eventually turns into a series of cut-off whines. “‘Cause my eyes are only on you! You’re the one I think about, no one else. The only time I talked about my exes was ‘cause you brought the topic up, not me!”

Ignoring the fluttering in your stomach, today marked the day that you decided egging a jealous Sunwoo was the best form of personal entertainment. “But if you hid them any longer, wouldn’t you have been lying to me?”

Your boyfriend rubs his hands over his face and dramatically reclines over the sofa’s armrest, his torso gone from your sight. “Yah! You’re insufferable.”

“Someone has to keep up with you somehow.” You tell him before rising from your once comfortable spot. He feels the couch shift when you stand up to get away from him, only furthering the playful argument the both of you are having.

You purposefully pass his line of vision, but it backfires when his hand latches on your ankle, making you jolt in surprise. “No… Get back here…” Trails out of his mouth breathily from the awkward position he’s in.

A few forceful jerks of your leg isn’t enough for him to release you, so you resort to squatting to pinch his arm, which surprisingly works. However, you don’t get far when running away to a Sunwoo-free area, because he’s already right behind you.

He grabs you from your waist, dragging you back to the sofa. You resist his grip but the warmth of his arms is too comfortable to get out of. Intentionally, you make a weak attempt to escape. “Let me go!”

“No.”

“Okay, what if I told you Haechan from NCT was also handsome?”

That was enough for Sunwoo to loosen his hold and turn you around to face him by the doorway of the kitchen, no expression present. You try hard not to laugh at his face, but at the same time contemplating if you were taking this too far.

With the flattest tone he could muster, Sunwoo says to you, “Be serious.”

You couldn’t hold in your laughter any longer, your arms wrapping around him due to cute aggression caused by the man himself. He hugs you back tightly after failing to keep his arms to himself, pretending he’s still upset. Not being able to see his face due to your position, you could only imagine the sulkiest expression gracing his features.

When you pull away from the long embrace, you see the pouty face you visioned. With his cheeks back into your palms, he leans into your touch and you guiltily smile at him. “I’m sorry! I love you, my Sunwoo.”

He smirks at the emphasis on my, feeling the pace of his heart quicken. Of course, nothing gets past you, deciding that a simple mouth twitch was enough to bring up your fresh “fight”.

“Now you apologize. And don’t ask what for, unless you want another round of me pestering you?” His hand flies up to the back of your neck and lays your head on his shoulder, forcing you into another hug. “Nope, no more talking about exes and how you find my friends attractive.”

There’s a pause between his first and next statement, leaving you patiently (loosely used) waiting for the apology that was asked for. To your surprise, his words were spoken sincerely instead of the sarcasm you anticipated.

“I’m sorry for not taking your existence into consideration when I had other partners before you. Won’t happen again. I love you, I promise you’re it for me.”

Your fondness for him multiplies by the thousands, so you show it by squeezing and swaying him to the fullest. Eventually, you start littering pecks all over his face and Sunwoo catches a glimpse of how your eyes are brimming bright with love. He indulges in the feeling, thanking everything and anything that he has you all to himself.

But you abruptly stop to look at him with an undecipherable expression and he resists letting out an irritated groan, thinking you still haven’t dropped the bickering from a few minutes ago.

Faux confusion appears on your face as you look up to the ceiling, index finger rhythmically tapping your chin. “Actually, I can’t really tell that you like me. Could you show me?” You make eye contact with him again, tilting your head with a pout.

Oh. He can do more than that.

#the boyz #tbz #tbz sunwoo #sunwoo x reader #sunwoo x you #sunwoo x y/n #kim sunwoo x reader #kim sunwoo x you #kim sunwoo x y/n #sunwoo fluff #sunwoo x gn!reader #sunwoo imagine #tbz imagine #tbz x reader #the boyz x reader

326 notes · View notes

ravixen · 1 year

Note

omg yeah i meant drabble as in reaction! my sleep deprived brain couldn’t make the distinction lmao but yes if it’s not a problem i would like to request it as a reaction style thing with cheol, gyu, and kwan <3

svt + "why didn't you tell me?"

➔ reaction || requested

omg i’m sorry it’s 2am and i’ve been running on four hours of sleep since thursday can i please add soonhoon to the list 😭 thank you actually

➔ warnings: arguing, food mention || 1357 words ➔ notes: angst with unresolved conflict cuz i don't have space LOL, hurt/comfort? ; here's the original ask for anyone who's curious about the prompt. this one really stumped me! it feels like there's so much...context to fit into 300 words, but i tried my best. maybe one day i'll make it into a full-fledged fic because that tiktok and its continuation reminded me of my "svt + fighting with their s/o" (2021) and "svt + helping you out of mental health issues" (2021) series. pls reblog if you liked!

SEUNGCHEOL: he's been prickly all week. at first, you brushed it off, confused at his attitude, but at this point, you're sick of his stupid scoffs whenever you hang out with his friends. doesn't seem like he'll address it any time soon, so after another tense dinner, you bite the bullet. "you've been irritated all week — are you going to tell me what that's about or am i supposed to guess?" you cross your arms and lean back against the kitchen counter. you half-expect him to walk out of the kitchen, but he levels a glare at the table, simmering. "...why didn't you tell me?" you throw your hands into the air. "tell you what, seungcheol?" "that you used to date seungkwan!" that makes you pause. "what? i never dated seungkwan—" and then it clicks. last week, your phone brought up a screenshot from years ago that you never deleted: a dating app exchange with a guy you met exactly twice, both of you deciding after the dates that it wouldn't work. you didn't remember him, not even when you were re-introduced to seungkwan as seungcheol's partner; that's how unimportant it was. when you and seungkwan realized your past connection, you thought it was funny, but evidently, seungcheol didn't. "i never dated him," you say again, much calmer now that you know what he's upset about. "it was two dates a long time ago. i didn't tell you because i didn't know it was him. do you want me to recount every failed match i had on dating apps?" you raise your eyebrows until he relents with a gruff no. "besides, i'm literally living with you now. that's got to count for something, right?"

SOONYOUNG: when he's in a bad mood, everyone who knows him knows. he's good at schooling his expression into a neutral smile, but something about him is colder, more reserved. he's lost in his festering thoughts, and it takes a while to draw him back out. so when you flip over your phone to show him a funny video and his laugh is stalled for the fifth time, you decide to sit up and talk about it. he stays draped over the couch as you cross your arms, but finally he huffs, "why didn't you tell me?" his frown borders on angry, but when he toys with the hem of your sweater, you know that it's not directed at you, which is relieving — his anger is a force to be reckoned with. you wait for him to continue because he looks like he's turning words over in his mind. he begins slowly, "i trust my members with my life. all of them, but seungcheol especially. he's a good leader. takes care of us." you only hum, hand coming up to tug the short hairs on the nape of his neck. he leans into the touch. "and i'm glad you get along with everyone. i'm glad seungcheol takes care of you." there's something heartbreaking about the look in his eyes when he meets your gaze. "he told me that you've been confiding in him about your nightmares?" you suck in a breath. "it's not because i don't trust—" "i know, i know. he told me it's because you didn't want me to worry, but baby, i'm supposed to take care of you."

JIHOON: "what video are you watching?" you ask as you shuffle into his studio. take-out containers are laid out on the table, making you nearly drool in anticipation, and you're assuming the ones pushed to the corner are yours. you settle into a seat and break a pair of chopsticks. he still hasn't looked over. "hello? jihoon?" he grunts, eyebrows furrowed as he continues staring intently at the screen. you can hear a familiar song bleeding from his headphones. his standoffish behavior rubs you the wrong way, but whatever — you had a long day and you're hungry. you're about two bites into your fried rice when he finally pauses the video and turns to you. "why didn't you tell me?" you just keep eating. if he's going to accuse you of something and be mad about it, he better give you more context. "this—" he waves at his screen— "is your audition tape. you didn't tell me you were an idol trainee?" you choke on your food, and when he pushes a can of coke zero into your hand, you chug it gratefully. "where the hell did you get that?" and that makes his frown deepen. "i got it from soonyoung. you told soonyoung before you told me?" he tries to say it nonchalantly, but there's hurt that bleeds into his voice. you didn't mean to tell soonyoung first — it just happened that way because he overheard you talking about it to another friend and then he pestered you to send him a video. "what's worse is that i kept complaining to you about idol life...does that bring up bad memories? hurt feelings? i'm sorry."

MINGYU: sometimes you joke and say that he has a thing for praise, but it's true that he loves feeling needed and helpful, particularly when it comes to you. as much as you'd love his assistance with this one project, however, it's supposed to be a secret to everyone except jihoon who's helping as a co-composer. you were doing so well with hiding this until he surprises jihoon in the studio and finds you in front of the microphone. "what the heck? ...are you making a song?" the without me? goes unsaid, but it's written all over his stricken face. "why didn't you tell me?" jihoon shrugs and doesn't help when he says, "well, that'd defeat the whole secret aspect." "oh, so you can help, but i can't?" mingyu snaps, and it seems like jihoon finally realizes the extent of mingyu's mood because he doesn't say anything when you usher your boyfriend out the door. "why didn't you tell me?" he asks again, a hint of a whine pushing through. "i can write lyrics. or listen and give feedback. i've written songs before, too, y'know—" you put on a hand on his chest, and he swallows back his words, though you know he's dying to make his case. "why didn't you tell me?" "they told me i couldn't tell anyone," you say, apologetically. "they explicitly said not to tell you." he pouts. "i tell you all of my projects..." he mumbles, but he gets it — professional contracts come first.

SEUNGKWAN: he always makes sure that you're taking care of yourself, which includes getting all your vitamins and having enough energy to get through the day. one of the ways he does this is packing you lunch once in a while, and you've learned to accept it without protest, even if you feel like he's overextending himself. he makes good food! it's just...it's rare, but there's this one dish that he makes with soondae and you're not really a fan. you've never mentioned it because the topic never came up, and you were going to say something about it when it first appeared in your lunchbox, but he was so proud of it, saying that it's a recipe he developed himself and he was so excited for you to try it. how could you dash his hopes like that? but you know who likes soondae? mingyu. you develop a secret exchange that works for a while: your soondae for one of mingyu's proteins, and you're in the middle of this switch when seungkwan walks in and catches you red handed. mingyu looks between the two of you, takes his chopsticks in his mouth, and hurries out of the room. the last incriminating piece of soondae sits in your lunch container. "...why didn't you tell me?" you wince. he's not mad, just disappointed, and you're not sure which breaks your heart more. "you could've just said you don't like my cooking. i can take it." oh, and there's the pout. you're quick to hop to his side. "no, no, i like your cooking! it's that one dish, i swear! i didn't — i promise i eat everything else."

695 notes · View notes

helloheyhihowdyheya · 10 months

Text

Rose Thorn Blues | p. 1

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: The other Daily Bugle intern has been a thorn in your side all summer. But if you wanted the job, you'd have to work with him. And you'd do anything to get it.

Word count: ~7k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Banter. Criminal activity. Swearing. A bit of angst but not really. J. Jonah Jameson lol.

A/n: I think this'll end up being around 3 parts, but we'll see. This has been tumblin' through my mind since last year, so I'm glad to finally let it out lol. Let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading <3

You used to enjoy the clear sky on a sunny day, the vibrating blue that stretched until it curved around the horizon. Used to love the way the lapping waves of the Atlantic shimmered for miles, its ripples echoing the sky’s image. The blue of the world before the sun came up, or the indigo quiet of a rainy day.

You even used to love how red the rusted bricks outlining your apartment building looked, tracing the tips of your fingers along them as you walked by, scarlet pebbles breaking off into your palm. The cherry glow of a late-night diner’s “Open” sign made the beats of your heart stutter, its lights reflecting off the glass and illuminating puddles littering the sidewalk. Even with the occasional rose you passed on your way to work, the red petals surrounded by thorns and overgrown weeds, you still leaned your nose in to smell its sweet crimson scent.

But that was before your internship at The Daily Bugle, before you had to write countless stories on Spider-Man all the time, and before you knew Peter, the other intern. Now, every cloudless day or trip to the ocean, hell, even the plump blueberries in the grocery store or a swirling glass of Merlot, an obnoxious red stoplight, or the tiniest cut exposing a drop of blood turned your stomach. You knew people could change you, but you’d never expected to hate the shades of red and blue — until you stared at it every day while standing in Parker’s shadow.

You’d shake your head, shove your fingernails into your palm, blink so hard your vision turned bright just to erase those colors from your mind and him from your thoughts. But you would have no such luck as you weaved your way through New York’s sidewalks under the summer sun, a barely-there breeze passing alongside the traffic. Your hand clutched your phone tight in its grasp.

On it held a photo of Spider-Man you’d just taken earlier that morning. He stopped a robbery, and you captured the moment he’d ripped off a car door to use as cover — a story that J. Jonah Jameson would love to spin into something ridiculous. You had nothing against the superhero, but it was what your boss wanted. The boss that would decide which intern would receive a full-time position at the end of the summer, and you wouldn’t go down without a fight against Parker.

He always had clearer photos and more information on Spider-Man — always seemed to get on the scene before you. You wouldn’t have been that upset if Parker actually was a better reporter than you, but that smug, chronically late asshole certainly wasn’t better than you. Not when you worked twice as hard just to watch him successfully stumble his way through this internship.

And that stupid shrug he gave you when Jameson chose his story over yours! He’d mutter, “Better luck next time,” as if you weren’t covering for his ass half the time. You weren’t sure why you did it anymore. Maybe you didn’t want to watch him get fired since this wasn’t an easy opportunity to get, but you definitely wouldn’t mind sitting back and enjoying him get chewed out by Jameson.

But that was unimportant now as you made your way into The Daily Bugle’s building, savoring the air conditioning as your breath tumbled from your mouth. This picture and the eyewitness statements you took would create a story Jameson wouldn’t think twice about choosing, especially when Parker always came in late in the mornings.

Walking through your floor’s doors, photo pulled up on your phone, you quickly dropped your bag at your desk before making your way to pitch the idea to Jameson. You’d mentally written the first half of it on your walk here already.

Your steps faltered though as you neared the office, hearing your boss’s voice echoing through the office.

“Good work, Parker. Finish it by noon, and we’ll publish it today.”

He was already here? Silently, you gritted your teeth, peering into the room. And of course, out walked Parker, one hand holding papers and the other shoved in his pocket.

“The one day you’re on time… I can’t believe this,” you quietly muttered, feeling a weight sink into your stomach. His shoulders hung casually while yours raised up and down with your breaths. His half-smile made you stare daggers into him.

He just raised an eyebrow at you. “Good morning to you too, sunshine. Most people happen to love my presence.”

You silently ignored his nickname for you as you said, “Then most people must be lying to you. What story did you give him?” You pointed your head toward the office, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“So you can go in and try to one-up me?” He scoffed, his eyes annoyingly bright and warm. “No thanks.”

As he made to walk away, you grabbed his arm despite your aversion to being near him. Even the heat of his skin made you too warm, just another reason to stay away from Parker. “I lied to Jameson last week while you were off doing who-knows-what when you should’ve been working. Now what was the goddamn story?”

The sound of other employees talking and making coffee filled the background. If you could just beat him, you’d be part of them one day. So you didn’t let up, waiting for him to answer as he looked between your hand and your eyes. He shook off your touch after a moment.

You watched his jaw tick, his eyes roll to the back of his empty head. “Fine. And because I don’t think I could handle the second-hand embarrassment. I’ll tell you that if your story’s about whatever Spider-Man was up to this morning, you might want to skip telling Jameson.”

The grip on your phone loosened a bit, along with the hope you’d put into this — into trying to prove that you were a good reporter too. But, of course, you were always stuck finding stories on Spider-Man, and too late with them anyway. Anything else wasn’t important news, not at this company.

You tried, and failed, to keep your frustration from your voice as you asked, “And how did you get here before me with that story? You’re literally never here on time and just always have some bullshit idea that’s barely a story.”

Parker just gave a short laugh, smirking at you. “And yet… I still beat you. Kinda stings, huh?”

You gave a grumbled “Piss off” before letting him walk past you this time. You filled up your water bottle, headed to the bathroom, made small talk with some woman you’d immediately forgotten the name of — all distractions so you didn’t have to go back to the desk that sat much too close to Parker, especially while he worked on the story that should’ve been yours.

When you finally returned, you refused to look at a particular person across from you — the two intern desks only separated by a half wall. You just fished out your headphones at the cheap desk with no air conditioning under the city’s hot summer.

A much-needed break from Spider-Man you gave to yourself, you continued working on a story you started researching last week. You’d gathered some statements and data about new unsafe water conditions in certain parts of the city. The story wouldn’t star on the front page of the website, or even the second. Third, if you were lucky.

The morning passed with minimal shouting coming from Jameson’s office and just a few “friendly” follow-up emails with sources you hadn’t heard back from. In the brief moments of silence between the end of one song and the beginning of another, you listened to traffic flowing through the streets below and the droning sounds of keyboards and the printer.

Only once you finished up the first draft of your article and turned to grab your notebook from a drawer did you notice a sticky note plastered on the edge of your desk. In messy handwriting, it said, “You type like a child bangs their fists on a piano” followed by a doodle of the sun, with sunglasses.

It wasn’t difficult to tell whose horrible scribbling this was. So after writing “Eat shit <3” on the back, you crumpled it up. You tossed it right at Parker’s face as you stood up, going to a meeting with one of the full-time writers here. Instead of knowing he caught it like always, you pretended it hit him right in the eye and gave him a papercut.

You didn’t look back as you approached Alice’s desk, the lead writer of the office. Her black curls bounced as she lifted her head, smiling at you. “Ready?”

“Yes, and thank you again for meeting with me,” you said, nodding with your notebook under your arm. She stood up, motioning you toward an empty office for the informational interview — mostly just asking her about her career in hopes it could help yours.

Sitting across from one another, you took notes as she spoke about herself and answered your many questions. Your writing filled one page after another, your wrist becoming sore but ignored under the weight of knowing this information could be important. When you asked what advice she would give to someone just starting out as a reporter, the silence that followed made you finally lift your head.

Alice looked at you with a soft smile while your pen stalled. “I would tell them that it’s not an easy career. And that it’s not for those without passion. You have to want this — and show it. The stories out there you want to tell… you can’t be afraid to search out the truth. ‘Leaving well enough alone’ has never been in my vocabulary.”

Your unfocused stare stayed on her while you processed those words… and the worry that you weren’t cut out for this work. There were stories you wanted to tell, but you couldn’t find the place to tell them. A cynical part of your mind shouted that maybe Parker did deserve the job at the end of this internship more than you.

The thoughts must have been evident on your face because Alice spoke again, her voice calm but stern. “Don’t worry. I see the passion in you. The best advice is to not let Jameson or anyone else stop you. ‘Kay?”

You nodded, unable to stop the smile on your face. So caught up in her words, you wrote down a condensed version of her answer: Follow your heart. Your thumb rubbed over the dried ink of the page, feeling the ridges of each letter. “Thank you, Alice. I’ll keep trying,” you said, and meant it.

She let out a light laugh, the sound loosening the tight muscles in your shoulders. “You better. I’ve been rooting for you to get the job,” she whispered, giving a wink that had you laughing too.

“Well I can’t let you down then, can I?” Letting your smile fall just a little, the curve of it no longer touching your eyes, you silently hoped that you wouldn’t disappoint her. Thanking Alice again, you made your way back to your desk with too many thoughts running through your head.

Slow moments passed as you returned to your chair, the cheap thing squeaking underneath you with each movement. Still, you closed your eyes for a second, just feeling the cushion beneath you, the armrests under your hands, the backrest keeping you from collapsing. A breath filled your lungs, chest rising inch by inch. You would not wait for anyone’s permission to change the world — even if that just meant ignoring your lying thoughts to change your own little world.

Slowly, you went back through your notes, adding bits here and there that you missed while Alice had spoken. At the bottom, you just underlined her final advice… letting the words bleed into your body as you promised to keep them at the center of your stories.

It kept you focused on your article surrounding unsafe water quality in the city. Thankfully, the hours passed quickly, and you got the article up on the site by the end of the day. All with minimal interruptions from Parker — despite another sticky note that said “Thanks for the granola bar ;)” on it. And sure enough, the granola bar you had on your desk was no longer there, but you silently tossed the note in the garbage without letting him know he got to you.

Though, with no snack, your stomach was definitely grumbling as you packed up. So you made the trek to a cafe with your backpack on, one headphone in, and a middle finger aimed toward Parker when he tried talking to you, a smirk plastered on his face that told you he had nothing important or nice to say.

The summer heat hit you as you exited the building, making you strip off your office-appropriate blazer. Still, you didn’t mind the sunlight after spending all day inside. Your music drifted into your ear, the beat of it matching your steps. You turned the volume down once making it into the bakery with the best after-work treat, the pink sign outside painted with cursive words: “Pat’s Pastries.”

Baked bread and sweet chocolate filled your nose, the smell helping you forget about work for a minute. You ordered your favorite cookie, pointing to the biggest one behind the glass. Silently, you ignored the whole tray of Spider-Man themed cookies they’d begun selling after the superhero saved the store from a robbery.

Instead, you just left the shop with a bite of the cookie already in your mouth. It practically melted on your tongue, tasting better than any granola bar Parker could steal from you. The cookie lasted you all the way home, filling you with a pleasant warmth.

In your apartment, you stood in the entryway for a moment. With slow movements, you removed your shoes, setting down all of your things. You’d only been collapsed on your couch for a few minutes before your phone vibrated. Part of you thought to ignore it and let the weight of your heavy eyelids drag you into a nap, but you knew it could be work. A groan came from your throat as you saw that it was work — a comment left on your article already.

People that commented on these pieces often had few nice things to say, so you braced yourself upon opening the site. Your thumb slid across the screen until you reached the bottom. Left by some guest user, the comment simply read: “What’s new? Beaumont fumbles again…”

Beaumont. Ellis Beaumont, the current city manager. He’d certainly faced as much backlash as any other official since he’d taken over five years ago, but you hadn’t considered him all that much when researching for this article. Did he have to do with poor water conditions in the city?

Before you could stop yourself, your hands went to your laptop. Your fingers typed across the keyboard, searching for relations between him and other issues the city faced recently. What came up most often was Beaumont’s press releases after most of them. His salt and pepper hair sat tightly cut to his head, no specks of dust visible on his expensive-looking suits. In each one, he stated how he and his team would work on fixing the problem — from unaffordable housing to upgrading technology throughout the city.

It wasn’t new to see a leader promise to do something and not follow through, but something kept sticking with you while you researched. At some point, between the sun falling behind the city skyline and ordering takeout to be delivered, you found yourself with dozens of open tabs and tired eyes.

Raking a hand down your face, you let out a long sigh. You finished reading another speech where he promised to fix something, crumbling infrastructure this time — “if only we had the funds!” And cue the part where he asked for donations to his nonprofit organization or proposed a government plan that would cost the citizens in tax money. Yet… hadn’t he raised the money? The last you’d checked, the street he’d mentioned repairing still had its potholes and unusable sidewalks.

A knocking on your door brought you to it, your eyes never leaving your computer screen. You just grabbed your food and paid the deliverer with a mumbled “thanks” before walking back to the laptop.

As quickly as you could, you yanked out your notebook from your bag and wrote down everything about Ellis Beaumont — before your food got cold. Your wrist ached again as you flipped the page, continuing to fill the lines with his career, his promises, and his letdowns.

Each of his projects toward bettering the city came with asking for money — money that didn’t show back up in the work. He’d made no updates as to how much he had raised or how he was going to use it. At the end of your notes, you wrote down in heavy ink: “Where is Ellis Beaumont’s money going??”

And even as you ate, trying to watch the comfort show you’d put on, your mind kept working in the background. Had others not also wondered this? Or if they had, did he have them in his pocket already? Sleep fought you that night, making you toss and turn in bed. But you had a story.

–

Walking into The Daily Bugle, you ‘clocked in’ (let Jameson see you in the office) and dropped off your bag. With just your notes, a pen, and a granola bar so no one would steal it, you made your way back out of the building.

Right before you made it from the office, though, a mop of dark hair appeared at the door. A small part of you wanted to somehow hide, the other part unable to resist the draw of him for whatever reason. But Parker chose for you, his eyes lighting up when they caught on your form. Your following scowl was enough to make him laugh.

“There she is, our lovely sunshine,” he said, leaning against the door frame. You ignored the sarcasm dripping through his words.

Instead, you raised your eyebrows and told him, “If Jameson asks, I’m out researching a story. Got it?”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Parker pushed off the frame. His smirk was enough to set you off, but then he held out a hand to block you from passing. Behind your unyielding glare, you secretly hoped he tripped over his untied shoelaces or smashed his hand in the office printer. As he came closer to you, he asked, “Where are you off to? I haven’t seen any sightings of Spider-Man.”

“That’s a shame,” you said, uninterested. Grabbing his forearm, accidentally feeling the hard muscle underneath, you moved it out of your way. “Have fun getting him coffee!” You shouted it over your shoulder, leaving him standing there while you ignored the heat on your palm from touching his skin.

You shook your hand out, waving away the memory as you took the subway over to City Hall. It had to be as good as any place to start researching where the city’s money went after Ellis Beaumont flashed a white smile and pocketed it. He probably wouldn’t talk with you, but anything to get you closer would be worth it.

Emerging from the subway station, your eyes squinted against the brightness. Still morning, the heat hadn’t settled in yet — just leaving you with a sunny walk and a nice breeze.

The building’s intimidating size rose high toward the sky. A statue of justice, a woman holding scales and a sword, stood atop City Hall — staring down at each person as you entered the front doors. The ornate architecture and grand staircase inside didn’t help settle the daunting feeling crawling in your stomach.

Still, you walked up to the man sitting behind the front desk there, trying to look as friendly as possible. Smoothing out your outfit and putting a smile on, you said, “Hi.”

He looked up with a classic customer service grin to greet you. “Hello, how can I help you?” he asked, leaning toward you slightly.

You kept your shoulders back, mustering some sort of confidence in your investigation. How would Alice do this?

With a clear voice, you directly asked, “If I was looking for records of donations for a government-related nonprofit, would they be here? I couldn’t seem to find them online.” You gave him an unassuming look.

“Typically, but what nonprofit were you looking at?” he asked, typing something into his computer. You took out your notebook low enough that he couldn’t see past the desk.

Pretending to rack your brain for the name, you said, “I think it’s called Stronger Together. I love being able to see where my donation goes — it helps make me feel closer to the community, you know?”

Your hand ready to write fell limp when his mouth pressed tight, his eyes leaving the screen to meet yours. “Ah,” he said, “Well Mr. Beaumont is not always able to update that information, as he has many responsibilities to maintain.”

“Of course, I understand. Though, I also noticed that the recent infrastructure project has yet to be enacted. Is there an update on that?” You willed your voice to stay steady, to be unwavering under the impatient gaze of this man.

A muscle seemed to twitch in his jaw. “I don’t believe the organization has given one, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been working on it. He is a very busy man.”

“Busy enough that I wouldn’t be able to speak with him directly?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, shaking his head, but he didn’t seem too sorry at all. “We could take your number for him to call you when he’s available, but…”

“He’s very busy,” you finished, giving a smile as you bit back a pained sigh. “That’ll be okay, I’m happy to have helped the cause.”

“Yes, and we’re very thankful for your donation.” The tight grin he gave looked like it hurt his cheeks to make.

“Well, thank you for the information,” you said. Just as you were about to leave, beginning to leave with nothing to show for the story, you turned back. “I know this is quite specific, but would you know what Mr. Beaumont’s next project is?”

Another flicker of impatience flashed across the man’s face, his hands clasping together. “No, I wouldn’t, but I’m sure it will be a great help to the city whatever it is. I think there may be a nonprofit fundraiser this weekend… but those are typically closed events — for investors and friends,” he said, his smile turning less warm by the minute. “You can donate online anytime.”

“Great, thank you,” you muttered before turning around, frantically jotting the little information you received down in your notes while walking away. You swore you could feel the man’s eyes on you until you slipped out the doors.

The entire ride back to the office, this story ate away at you. Everyone seemed to be keeping information on Beaumont’s money close to their chests, even about what his supposed nonprofit was really doing.

‘Stronger Together.’ You rolled your eyes, beginning to feel like he was the only one getting stronger. And he was having another fundraiser so soon? Probably for something like conservation this time — his team would likely make a whole show of planting a couple trees and get praised for it.

As soon as you got back to The Daily Bugle, you ignored everything as you dropped into your chair and opened your computer. Your fingers flew over the keyboard to type up the notes, both for decoding your scribbled words and ensuring you kept the information in multiple places. You tried tuning out the background chatter and the gnawing worry that this whole story would lead to a dead end, but you couldn’t ignore everything…

“Whatcha typin’ there?” Parker said as he swiveled his chair around the desks to look at you. Glancing for a moment at him, you saw the shit-eating smile pointed your way.

Your face flashed a fake grin. “Your resignation letter, Parker.” You continued typing, not responding to his quiet scoff. But then he stood up, his steps gentle against the floor. He towered over you as he came around to look at your screen.

Before he could even reach your desk, you switched tabs to a blank page. Without glancing up at him, you silently waited for him to stop watching you. It worked well enough at first, your mind happily turning blank instead of entertaining him.

But he put his hand on the edge of your desk, his body now much too close to yours. The warm scent of him washing over you had your skin prickling, your fingernails pressing into your palm.

Barely heard above the blood rushing past your ears, his voice came out quieter than you’d expected. “So secretive. You won’t even share with me?”

Ignoring the glint of smugness on his face, you turned to look up at him. “So you can try to one-up me? No thanks,” you repeated, using his words from yesterday.

“But given my track record for front-page stories, I’m sure you could definitely use my help.” Parker shoved a hand in his pocket, winking at you with those stupid dark eyes. In that moment, you wondered whether you could somehow frame him for helping Spider-Man and get Jameson to tackle him.

So caught up in that happy fantasy, you didn’t catch Parker’s other hand creeping across the desk until he’d already snatched your notebook. And before you could even stand to grab it back, his leg came up and pushed on one of your desk chair’s armrests, sending it spinning.

While your legs tried stopping the chair, you heard him say, “How are you even able to read this? Okay, I won’t tell Jameson, but you’ve gotta be honest with me: do you know how to write? Or read, for that matter.”

“I was walking while taking notes– whatever, Parker. I don’t need to explain myself to your dumbass,” you whisper yelled at him, stalking over to his side of the desks. But he moved the notebook away, cocking his head to the side.

With a grin that told you just how much fun he was having, he said, “Huh, I didn’t know your pretty little head knew how to multi-task.”

You opened your mouth for a second, processing that he called you pretty, before rolling your eyes. “Must be hard to imagine anything with your smooth brain. Now give me my notebook back.”

In the background, you heard Jameson screaming to some poor soul on the phone. You hoped it at least covered up your bickering with Parker. But it wouldn’t be able to drown out the sound of you strangling him, which you were now seriously considering as he held up a finger to you.

In a calmer voice, he asked, “Are you really doing a piece on Ellis Beaumont?”

Scoffing, you reached over and grabbed your notebook from his grasp. He didn’t seem to put up much of a fight, hopefully mentally perceiving the threats running through your mind. As you returned to your desk, you glanced once more at him — and got caught on something in the look he gave you.

“Yes,” you told him before sitting down, leaving Parker and any distractions on that side of the half-wall. The last thing you heard was a sigh before you put your headphones in.

For the rest of the day, you finished writing up your notes and your other assigned work. In between projects, you secretly continued researching everything you could about Beaumont and where those donations went. Site after site returned empty, most of them just filled with propaganda for his non-profit.

With weary eyes and a fuzzy mind, you finally found something as everyone in the office began to finish up. You wiped a hand down your face, a weight lifting from your shoulders when you discovered an address.

Searching through countless websites, some of which you probably shouldn’t have been using your work computer for, you combed through records of donations to Stronger Together. Most listed City Hall or Beaumont’s address in their donation. But one other address continued popping up more than a few times — somewhere in upper Manhattan, far from where the organization would operate from.

If you were listening to Alice’s advice to follow your heart, you would’ve stayed home. Your pounding pulse yelled at you that going to check out this address after sunset was the worst idea you’d ever had.

On your walk home and all through dinner, you pushed back against the trickling fear down your spine — caused by the ice-cold voice in the corners of your mind filled with every worst-case scenario. It only grew louder as you neared the address.

You hadn’t done much field work before, or any that hadn’t just involved taking blurry pictures of Spider-Man and making New Yorkers talk to you. As you walked along the sidewalk with your shoes tapping against the cracked concrete, following the directions on your phone, you wondered whether you were cut out for this. You kept your head on a swivel and senses alert, but did you have any clue what you were going to do once you reached the building? No, not really.

You had come after dark, so breaking in certainly didn’t seem out of the question. And as much as you disliked thinking about him, knowing that Parker wouldn’t back away from this if he were here kept your legs moving.

Before long, with a warm breeze at your back, you came up to a large warehouse. It sat in a pretty empty area — one with few people around that you could see. A few street lamps illuminated the space around it, the light stretching down a small alleyway next to the building. Craning your neck, you began walking down it, seeing whether you could peer in anywhere.

Your fingers brushed along the building’s side as you passed by several dark windows. Unable to spot anything through them, you crept toward the back. No workers, or anyone really, seemed to be there. Nothing except for a metal fire escape. It seemed to lead up to a door with more windows lining either side. Fluorescent lighting shone from inside.

Swallowing hard, you forced your body to walk toward it. Each step you took up went slowly, trying to keep your feet silent as you climbed the stairs. Under the weight of the stars and night sky, even with the sounds of traffic passing by, each breath felt too loud.

Silently wishing to anyone that’d listen, you hoped no one stood on the other side as you slowly looked in. But you only found boxes — not all that surprising, but disappointment mingled with the relief coursing through your muscles.

Hundreds of boxes sat throughout the warehouse, lining countless shelves. You made a guess that they probably weren’t storing any tools for fixing the infrastructure like Beaumont promised. But you wouldn’t be able to find out what they held without breaking in, something you didn’t think your nerves could take.

Though… someone else could show you what’s inside.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a brief movement along the floor of the building. Someone moved into view, dressed in a black uniform and holding a clipboard in their hands. They walked to a shelf you could just barely see and opened up one of the boxes. They set the clipboard aside to pull out something… long and metal. At the end appeared to be a claw of some sort–

Internally, you winced, instantly able to recognize it from all your articles. It was one of Doc Ock’s arms. The other side was full of fraying wires, no doubt ripped apart from a fight with Spider-Man. God, why did everything always have to come back to Spider-Man?

And, in that moment, you must’ve pissed off some god of fate to deserve this irony. As you were about to pull out your phone to capture the evidence, your thought alone summoned the man. A web attached to the worker, the other end coming from the red and blue superhero crouched on a support beam. Within a second, he pulled them up to the ceiling and cocooned them in webbing to dangle there — the scene forcing an involuntary gasp escape your lips.

Spider-Man had jumped down with supernatural grace and looked like he was going to investigate the box further, but whipped his head toward you at your gasp. Your heart crawled into your throat, your hand snapping up to cover your mouth.

Racing down the fire escape, your scrambled thoughts tumbling around your head, you hurried back to the street away from what you’d witnessed. But before you could leave the alleyway, a flash of those dreaded shades of red and blue dropped down in front of you — your feet stumbling backward as you barely kept a startled scream from coming out.

“Hey, hey. Not here to hurt you. I do the opposite actually,” Spider-Man said, his hands up to show you he meant no harm. His voice sounded unnaturally deep, but blood rushed past your ears, clouding your senses. You shook your head slightly, trying to focus on getting out of there.

“But uh…” he continued, cautiously taking a single step closer, “I don’t think you live at this address. Is that right?”

You absentmindedly chewed on the inside of your cheek, debating on how much to tell him. He’d caught you sneaking around, but was that technically even a crime? Most likely. But clearly, you both were after some pretty similar things. So, while nodding your head toward the warehouse, you quietly asked, “What’s in there?”

His head tilted to the side as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Some no-no things. Which is probably why I should handle it, right?”

“Handle it how? By handing it over to the police?” you asked, a small jolt of panic rising in your chest. “What if it connects to something larger?” Your questions assumed that he didn’t exactly know where this warehouse came from and how it connected to Beaumont, but maybe not. Still, you couldn’t risk cutting this whole thing off early and breaking the investigation apart… and the story.

“Does it connect to something larger?” he asked, his gaze never seeming to leave you. You couldn’t tell much behind his mask, but the weight of those white eyes stayed focused on your face. They watched every microexpression crossing your face, despite the urge to hide from them.

Knowing you needed him on your side, or at least to not cover you in webs, you gave him a little more. Nodding, you said “Yeah, I think it does. I’m not sure how it all fits, but…”

“But?”

Pursing your lips, you let a breath pass before answering him. Jameson would kill you if he knew you were having this whole conversation without taking ‘photographic evidence’ and helping out Spider-Man. But that man was a prick anyway.

Letting out a long sigh, you said, “Check out Ellis Beaumont’s non-profit. I don’t think the donations are going where he says they are.”

He just cocked his head, but you moved around him, ready to leave this place and those watchful eyes. Your gaze avoided his as he let you pass toward the street, though he yelled out, “Do you need me to walk you home?” You just waved him off, your pace picking up. Still, he shouted a “Thank you!” for the information as you made the journey back to your apartment.

Unable to calm your body back to normal just yet, you found yourself jumping at every noise around you until your apartment door locked behind you. What you’d seen ran through your head again and again.

What did Beaumont want with Spider-Man? Or was he working with the villains to get rid of Spider-Man? His money couldn’t just be going toward costume dress-up storage, but breaking into that warehouse alone was out of the question for you. Leave it to the superhero rather than risk your neck.

Your brain racked itself for answers, working to figure out what interest Spider-Man had in showing up at that warehouse anyway. Even into the next morning, these thoughts plagued your mind. It left you in a haze as you entered The Daily Bugle — the noise of the coffee machine and Jameson’s muffled yelling more distracting than usual.

Even more offputting was that sat at your desks was Parker, the second time he’d ever beaten you into the office. Immediately, his eyes found yours, but you didn’t have the energy to give him a sneer or a smart-ass comment. You just started up your computer, planning to type up your notes again. Your hand rubbed down your face as you waited for it to turn on, already anticipating the inevitable interruption.

Sure enough, Parker stuck his head over the half-wall, leaning his forearms along the top of it. His chin rested on them as he said, “You look rough.”

Without raising your eyes to him, you let out a long sigh. “Wow… Thanks,” you said, letting an unimpressed look take over your face. You opened your notebook, turning to the pages where you wrote every piece of information you could remember after the events last night.

Parker raised his hands up in surrender, as if he hadn’t insulted your appearance. “Jus’ saying, you seem a bit stressed. Need any help, sunshine?”

At that, you finally raised your gaze to meet his — his ruffled hair dipping over his forehead while waiting for your response.

You squinted your eyes at him, your eyebrows furrowing at his words. “...I’m not letting you take this story from me, Parker.”

“Hey, I could merely co-author this story with you,” he offered with that smirk of his. “And I’m sick of writing about Spider-Man’s favorite restaurants to order from. C’mon.” He dragged out the word, practically begging you.

Crossing your arms across your chest, you considered him for a moment and his offer. His mouth tightened, drawing your gaze down to his lips and the sharpness of his jaw. Not the time.

“You really want to help me?” When he nodded, you still didn’t believe him. With a scoff, you asked, “Are you going soft on me?”

A sharp laugh escaped his mouth. “Don’t get used to it. This would cost you a week’s worth of granola bars.”

“Aren’t you the one asking to join?” you questioned with a smile you couldn’t hide. When he didn’t budge despite his ridiculous demand, you just muttered, “I’ll think about it.”

The long groan he gave as he sat back down told you how he felt about your answer, but it was easier to ignore now that he wasn’t staring at you. Why he was so interested in this story made no sense to you — not that you thought about it long as you finally typed up your notes.

Instead, you tried to figure out where to go next, where this warehouse might lead you. But a growing fear told you that it wouldn’t lead anywhere, your research online not giving you someone to question or even contact information for Beaumont. This politician seemed to keep things annoyingly tight under wraps.

As minutes slipped away while you ran into dead end after dead end in your searching, you internally debated whether to accept Parker’s help. Waves crashed in your stomach, the tide receding far away as if in anticipation of a tsunami — one threatening to destroy you. Letting him in meant risking your story, and risking the chance that he could get all the credit for your work.

As much as you hated the idea of sharing this with him, part of you thought you might’ve been in over your head. Especially after the run-in last night. And Parker certainly knew his stuff… sometimes. Not that you’d tell him that.

It was only once your search about Beaumont and that warehouse frustratingly turned up blank once more that you let out a sigh. It seemed it’d be a story with him or no story at all.

“Parker?” you called across the desks.

The sound of his chair shifting joined his raspy, “Yeah?” You bit back a grin as you realized you’d woken him up from one of his frequent work naps. When he swiveled into view, the red spot on his cheek from where he must’ve laid it on his arms confirmed your suspicions.

Still, you had to clear your tight throat before telling him, “You can help. But only if my name goes first, got it?” Before he could respond, you followed with, “And I take the lead on things, okay?” Your stare pierced his eyes, silently begging him to not take this from you.

The small laugh he gave loosened your tense shoulders just a bit, made your fists unclench. “Whatever you say goes…” he said, nodding with the most honest look you’d seen from him. “With some exceptions though. Cause you have a lot of bad ideas I’d like to veto.”

You wondered whether asking for Peter Parker’s help was one of those terrible, idiotic ideas. You hoped not.

@reidslovely

#peter parker #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfic #peter parker enemies to lovers #andrew garfield #tasm andrew garfield #tasm!peter #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #spiderman #spider-man #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader

316 notes · View notes

ralfmaximus · 3 months

Text

Remember that 737 MAX whose door plug blew out in flight?

A boeing whistleblower created a burner account and reported the following (reproduced here in its entirety in case the original gets deleted):

Current Boeing employee here – I will save you waiting two years for the NTSB report to come out and give it to you for free: the reason the door blew off is stated in black and white in Boeings own records. It is also very, very stupid and speaks volumes about the quality culture at certain portions of the business.

A couple of things to cover before we begin:

Q1) Why should we believe you? A) You shouldn’t, I’m some random throwaway account, do your own due diligence. Others who work at Boeing can verify what I say is true, but all I ask is you consider the following based on its own merits.

Q2) Why are you doing this? A) Because there are many cultures at Boeing, and while the executive culture may be throughly compromised since we were bought by McD, there are many other people who still push for a quality product with cutting edge design. My hope is that this is the wake up call that finally forces the Board to take decisive action, and remove the executives that are resisting the necessary cultural changes to return to a company that values safety and quality above schedule.

With that out of the way… why did the left hand (LH) mid-exit door plug blow off of the 737-9 registered as N704AL? Simple- as has been covered in a number of articles and videos across aviation channels, there are 4 bolts that prevent the mid-exit door plug from sliding up off of the door stop fittings that take the actual pressurization loads in flight, and these 4 bolts were not installed when Boeing delivered the airplane, our own records reflect this.

The mid-exit doors on a 737-9 of both the regular and plug variety come from Spirit already installed in what is supposed to be the final configuration and in the Renton factory, there is a job for the doors team to verify this “final” install and rigging meets drawing requirements. In a healthy production system, this would be a “belt and suspenders” sort of check, but the 737 production system is quite far from healthy, its a rambling, shambling, disaster waiting to happen. As a result, this check job that should find minimal defects has in the past 365 calendar days recorded 392 nonconforming findings on 737 mid fuselage door installations (so both actual doors for the high density configs, and plugs like the one that blew out). That is a hideously high and very alarming number, and if our quality system on 737 was healthy, it would have stopped the line and driven the issue back to supplier after the first few instances. Obviously, this did not happen. Now, on the incident aircraft this check job was completed on 31 August 2023, and did turn up discrepancies, but on the RH side door, not the LH that actually failed. I could blame the team for missing certain details, but given the enormous volume of defects they were already finding and fixing, it was inevitable something would slip through- and on the incident aircraft something did. I know what you are thinking at this point, but grab some popcorn because there is a plot twist coming up.

The next day on 1 September 2023 a different team (remember 737s flow through the factory quite quickly, 24 hours completely changes who is working on the plane) wrote up a finding for damaged and improperly installed rivets on the LH mid-exit door of the incident aircraft.

A brief aside to explain two of the record systems Boeing uses in production. The first is a program called CMES which stands for something boring and unimportant but what is important is that CMES is the sole authoritative repository for airplane build records (except on 787 which uses a different program). If a build record in CMES says something was built, inspected, and stamped in accordance with the drawing, then the airplane damn well better be per drawing. The second is a program called SAT, which also stands for something boring and unimportant but what is important is that SAT is *not* an authoritative records system, its a bullentin board where various things affecting the airplane build get posted about and updated with resolutions. You can think of it sort of like a idiots version of Slack or something. Wise readers will already be shuddering and wondering how many consultants were involved, because, yes SAT is a *management visibilty tool*. Like any good management visibilty tool, SAT can generate metrics, lots of metrics, and oh God do Boeing managers love their metrics. As a result, SAT postings are the primary topic of discussion at most daily status meetings, and the whole system is perceived as being extremely important despite, I reiterate, it holding no actual authority at all.

We now return to our incident aircraft, which was written up for having defective rivets on the LH mid-exit door. Now as is standard practice kn Renton (but not to my knowledge in Everett on wide bodies) this write-up happened in two forms, one in CMES, which is the correct venue, and once in SAT to “coordinate the response” but really as a behind-covering measure so the manager of the team that wrote it can show his boss he’s shoved the problem onto someone else. Because there are so many problems with the Spirit build in the 737, Spirit has teams on site in Renton performing warranty work for all of their shoddy quality, and this SAT promptly gets shunted into their queue as a warranty item. Lots of bickering ensues in the SAT messages, and it takes a bit for Spirit to get to the work package. Once they have finished, they send it back to a Boeing QA for final acceptance, but then Malicious Stupid Happens! The Boeing QA writes another record in CMES (again, the correct venue) stating (with pictures) that Spirit has not actually reworked the discrepant rivets, they *just painted over the defects*. In Boeing production speak, this is a “process failure”. For an A&P mechanic at an airline, this would be called “federal crime”.

Presented with evidence of their malfeasance, Spirit reopens the package and admits that not only did they not rework the rivets properly, there is a damaged pressure seal they need to replace (who damaged it, and when it was damaged is not clear to me). The big deal with this seal, at least according to frantic SAT postings, is the part is not on hand, and will need to be ordered, which is going to impact schedule, and (reading between the lines here) Management is Not Happy. 1/2

2/2

However, more critical for purposes of the accident investigation, the pressure seal is unsurprisingly sandwiched between the plug and the fuselage, and you cannot replace it without opening the door plug to gain access. All of this conversation is documented in increasingly aggressive posts in the SAT, but finally we get to the damning entry which reads something along the lines of “coordinating with the doors team to determine if the door will have to be removed entirely, or just opened. If it is removed then a Removal will have to be written.” Note: a Removal is a type of record in CMES that requires formal sign off from QA that the airplane been restored to drawing requirements.

If you have been paying attention to this situation closely, you may be able to spot the critical error: regardless of whether the door is simply opened or removed entirely, the 4 retaining bolts that keep it from sliding off of the door stops have to be pulled out. A removal should be written in either case for QA to verify install, but as it turns out, someone (exactly who will be a fun question for investigators) decides that the door only needs to be opened, and no formal Removal is generated in CMES (the reason for which is unclear, and a major process failure). Therefore, in the official build records of the airplane, a pressure seal that cannot be accessed without opening the door (and thereby removing retaining bolts) is documented as being replaced, but the door is never officially opened and thus no QA inspection is required. This entire sequence is documented in the SAT, and the nonconformance records in CMES address the damaged rivets and pressure seal, but at no point is the verification job reopened, or is any record of removed retention bolts created, despite it this being a physical impossibility. Finally with Spirit completing their work to Boeing QAs satisfaction, the two rivet-related records in CMES are stamped complete, and the SAT closed on 19 September 2023. No record or comment regarding the retention bolts is made.

I told you it was stupid.

So, where are the bolts? Probably sitting forgotten and unlabeled (because there is no formal record number to label them with) on a work-in-progress bench, unless someone already tossed them in the scrap bin to tidy up.

There’s lots more to be said about the culture that enabled this to happened, but thats the basic details of what happened, the NTSB report will say it in more elegant terms in a few years.

#737 max #boeing #january 2024

73 notes · View notes

creweemmaeec11 · 1 year

Text

Jealous of the stars

"So why were you acting all weird this morning?" Villain asked as they lounged on the rooftop, gazing at the stars.

"What do you mean? I wasn't acting weird,"

"Yes, you were. We were talking about superhero and you suddenly got quiet and fidgety," they rolled over onto their side, supporting their head with hand as they looked at the other with a raised eyebrow.

"I just had something cross my mind, that's all," they tried to deflect.

"Yes, I could see that, I have eyes believe it or not," villain replied sarcastically, "I'm asking *what* that 'something' was,"

They mumbled something under their breath.

"Pardon?"

The hero groaned, throwing their hands up to cover their face for a moment, "It really isn't that important! Honestly, I barely even remember what it was! Something about-"

"And *that*" villain interrupted, "was too conflicting statements, if you remember enough of it to deem it unimportant," they raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Having had enough, villain shifted sideways, climbing over the other to straddle their hips and gaze down at their quickly reddening face.

"What are you-" the hero sputtered, stopping when the villain grabbed their wrists, pinning them close to either side of the hero's head and using it to support themselves as they leaned over the hero blow.

Before the hero can attempt to ask what they are doing, the villain leaned down, dragging them into a dizzying kiss.

When they parted, the villain stayed hovering close above them, "What was bothering you, hero? Really?"

Hero blinked, trying to get the motor in their brain running again. Damn villain and their stupid effective disarming tactics.

The hero instinctively went to cover their face again, but their wrists were still being held by the criminal on top of them.

The hero only kept getting redder.

The silence was almost worse than the accusations. Now the villain was simply hovering, their expression somewhere between a genuine gentle smile and an amused grin as their eyes drifted over the hero beneath them. Their eyes wandered as if trying to memorize all the details, tracing every curve and angle of the hero's face so well they could draw it with their eyes closed.

It made the hero's heart roar in their ears. They would never get used to being looked at like that. Like they were worth so much. Worth examining like an art critic might the mona Lisa. Worth the time to savour like you might a really good meal.

That was half the reason hero didn't want to admit what was actually wrong with them this morning, because it was so silly, so juvenile and unimaginable with the way villain was looking at them now. But in the moment...

The hero's thoughts got cut off with another kiss, bottom lip caught between gentle teeth in a way that made them shiver. Their arms strained to reach up and link behind the villain's head, to pull them in for more or at least tangle into their hair.

Based on the way the villain smirked into the kiss, they could feel the hero's arms trying to move. This was torture in its own right, because the villain kept pulling back just enough before the hero could fully catch their lips in their own. Teasing.

"Come on," the criminal cooed when they pulled back slightly, "tell me what I want to know,"

"Or what?" The hero asked, trying to deflect to something, anything else. They would swear up and down that their voice didn't shake while they asked, but they would be also be lying.

"Or you might never fully lose the red tint to your face by the time I'm done with you tonight,"

The hero's face already felt like it was on fire, and that statement, paired with the villain's grin only made it worse. Which had been the intention, of course.

At this point, it seemed like the hero was choosing between embarrassing themselves now, or losing half the night and embarrassing themselves later.

The hero sighed, looking anywhere other than the villain's eyes, "okay, okay, fine- it's just- Iwasjealousofsuperherookay?"

"What was that?" The villain asked innocently.

"I said I was jealous of the way you were talking about superhero," they bit out through grit teeth.

Above them, the villain blinked owlishly, processing what they'd heard, before they burst out laughing. They sat up fully, releasing the hero's arms.

"Don't laugh at me!" The hero snapped self-consciously, "You can't force me to tell you something and then laugh at me! Why do you think I didn't want to tell you in the first place!?"

"No, no, it's not-" the villain replied as their laughter started to die down, "I spent all day so worried it was something terrible, and then you tell me it was just over that,"

Finally, the criminal's chuckles died down, "I mean, don't get me wrong, it *is* absolutely adorable. I didn't know you were so possessive,"

The hero was fairly certain they had never blushed this hard "I'm not... usually,"

The villain gave a light laugh again, "but I can assure you, there's only one hero that's won my affections, and it certainly isn't superhero,"

The hero beneath them simply nodded, feeling silly.

"Stop pouting," the criminal hummed, leaning down to give them another gentle kiss, "and don't feel ashamed either; we're all human," they smirked, "I just happen to have the cutest one pinned underneath me on a rooftop late at night,"

Before they could say anything to fluster them even more, the hero yanked the villain on top of them down for another kiss, for teasing them earlier. They wondered what they were so worried about this morning. Sure, maybe Superhero could fly, but they certainly didn't have *this*.

721 notes · View notes

eris-snow · 6 months

Text

4. 𝐀 𝐂𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲.

Tags:bakugou x fem!reader, juxtaposition, angst, fluff, swearing, more swearing (It's Katsuki what do you expect)

Living life like this is like watching a scene unfold from a background character’s eyes. You’re just seeing things happen from the sidelines, and no matter how hard you try, you’re helplessly held in place.

Katsuki has learnt which lines he can step over and which lines he should not when he’s with you. Some of them are blurry, but as long as he stays as far away from the cliff as possible, he won’t fall off the edge. When you don’t want to talk about something, you grow silent and ignore him completely.

He’s learned not to press for details.

He’s mostly hanging there for one or two hours while finishing assignments. Between homework and internships, it’s a miracle that he squeezes you into his schedule.

But he does, and he finds it the best decision of his life.

—

“Bakugou, can you help me with this question?”

“Tch, what's so hard about trigo? Just insert the damn formula, idiot.”

“Get off your high horse.”

“Get a better brain.”

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

“I don’t trust ya. Give me the pen.”

—

“Fuck!”

“Bad day?”

“I will punch your piano to dust and ash, and once there aren’t any more visible chunks, I will find someone to revert it to its original state and do it again.”

“Code red. Take a seat.”

“They moved Speech Day.”

“I don’t care.”

“Aren’t you in it?”

“It’s just two fucking weeks. You try doing paperwork and a literature essay and caring about unimportant shit simultaneously.”

“Okay, Mr I Saved The World, sorry if that was news to me.”

“Shut it, blabbermouth.”

—

“So you just laid in bed? The entire damn day?”

“I’ll have you know that I did homework and watered my desk plant. I’ve been plenty efficient.”

“Your plant?”

“Excuse you, it’s a very nice cactus.”

“We’re talking schedules, Green thumbs. What the hell? I barely have time to sleep, let alone water plants.”

“Maybe I should get you a plant.”

“That has literally nothing to do with this conversation.”

“Mine’s named Fluffy.”

“Oh, come on—”

—

“You’re kind of cool, you know.”

“I do know.”

“Like, you pulled a Harry Potter on the battlefield. Did you see Dumbledore?”

“Are you making light of my death?”

“No, I’m trying to get your mind off it ‘cause you’re being emo again.”

“I’m what?”

“And you’re back.”

—

“Bakugou, Fluffy died.”

“The cactus?”

“Yeah. I’m kinda sad actually.”

“I ain’t comforting you.”

“Well, damn, okay.”

“If it bothers you that much, I’ll buy you another stupid cactus. Will that appease you?”

“Fluffy 2.0?”

“What is with you and naming things—”

“Fluffy 2.0?”

“Yes, jeez! Put the pen down, you look ridiculous.”

“I will fight you.”

—

“You’re a glitch, you know?” Bakugou grouched, throwing his bag onto the stage. The blond has known you for about a month, and he’s managed to pick out a good handful of reactions from you. That’s why, even as you retort, “You’re unpleasant. Did you know that?” as you unplug the earbuds from your ears, he also notices you chew your lip and averts your eyes away from him.

Touchy subject.

“You said you were from Mind Fuck’s old class, right? He didn’t know jack shit about you. You’re practically invisible, but your name is somehow captured when they had to take class photos last year. I just find it strange that you’re there but not fuckin’ there at the same time.”

“I thought we agreed for you to drop this.”

“I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.”

That line seems to make you falter. Whatever the situation, you always seem so against lying straight to someone’s face. Deluding someone, however, didn’t seem to be a problem.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. You don’t see me pushing to know your sob backstory with Midoriya.”

Katsuki reels back so fast that he almost knocks down a stack of neatly arranged certificates on the desk. When he opens his mouth to reply, the words taste like bile on his tongue. “We’re not talking about that.”

You raise your eyebrow as if to say ‘See what I mean?’.

He wants to press for information because every time he gets close you go tight-lipped, but after getting a good look at you he hesitates. You have dark eyebags under your eyes, more prominent than usual, and the way you carry yourself screams how much you don’t want to be here.

It’s almost like your arms are weighed down by chains, and you’re fighting to keep awake.

Katsuki’s been there before. Katsuki knows that place like it was his old friend. He gets it, and that’s the only reason why he stops pushing you..

“You need to go soon,” You said, fixing the stack of credentials and realining the trophies. “Aren’t you one of the awardees? They’re having a briefing downstairs in 5. It’s not very hero-like to be late.”

“Left my pen here, dumbass,” Katsuki rolled his eyes, swiping it off the piano. “And you should leave too. Don’t think the teacher would appreciate stragglers lurking in the curtains like dust bunnies under a bed.”

“I’m part of the backstage crew,” you reply with an eyebrow raised. “Unlike you, I’m supposed to be here.”

You are?

It takes Katsuki to realise he’d said those words out loud, because, of course he did.

You huff, gaze cutting into his eyes. A wave of familiarity washes over him. He swore he’s never lived through this experience before, but it feels all too similar to…

“I don’t tell you everything going on in my life, Bakugou. Easy things flow out like water, and difficult things get stuck like glue. The daily stuff goes in between. It gets sticky along the way, so it never makes it out of my mouth.”

Huh. For some reason, he feels like he’s heard that somewhere before.

—

The teacher glances over you like you’re transparent, and it takes 3 tries to get her attention and 5 to hold onto it.

You watch as the students fly across the stage, each person with a different award. There’re familiar faces.

Studious Yaoyorozu had won Top In Academic Standing(to no one’s surprise), and Izuku had gotten an award for Longest Internship Hours, first runner-up of the Sports Festival, top in Rescue Training and Hero History.

Todoroki had tumbled into third place for the Sports Festival, and was happy to take home the trophy for Best Intern (Voted by their respective heroes-in-charge.)

Half of the hero course had said it was rigged, but Todoroki couldn’t care less and the blatant smugness in his smile said all of it.

You went down the list, taking less than 5 seconds to find the name you were looking for. Katsuki’s prizes were nothing to scoff at either.

Peeking out from behind the curtain, you were just in time to see the ash-blond step onto the stage confidently as the speaker stated his shiny, impressive achievements.

“….Katsuki Bakugou who is the Sports Festival Champion, Top in Combat and Top In Level!”

You watch Principal Nezu hand him all his trophies and certificates, and the way he smirks at the camera, relishing the spotlight on him. You can see the sheer joy on his face.

He deserves it, he really does. You know how hard he works, he’s told you and you’ve seen it.

Jealousy burns the back of your throat, thorns of ‘I wish’ suffocating your trachea.

Damn, I wish that was me.

You slam a hand against your mouth, but almost as quickly as you did, you ease it off. It’s still an instinct, even though you’re sure no one would hear you.

You watch Katsuki turn in your direction as he walks off the stage, which makes you recede into the darkness.

Coward.

Drape yourself in layers of shadows, hide yourself away because you can’t really remember the last time you’ve ever been under those searing lights.

How nice it must feel, to be seen and recognised.

#juxtaposition (Bakugou)#mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #angst #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst #comfort

87 notes · View notes

absolutebl · 10 months

Note

Hi!

I love your Blog and love to read your takes in everything. So thank you so much for all your Posts and thoughts about the industry etc.

Here is my question: i came across one of your posts where you wrote "actually gay, not bl gay" (it was a Post about Jojo and Only Friends) and while I FELT that I TOTALLY understood what you meant and instantly was like "yes 100% clear" Id love to read and learn more about what this means exactly and why some bls feel quite heteronormative while some dont. Would you mind explain the take on "actually gay Not Bl gay" a little bit? And why some Shows feel just more queer than others (besides the unbelievable stupid "gay only for you" trope lol)

Thank you so much and I hope you will have a nice day!

actually gay, not bl gay

There's actually quite a discourse on this right now mostly originating with @waitmyturtles and @wen-kexing-apologist (Post @killiru references above is here.)

I tend to mostly talk about this in broad brush strokes as a queer lens.

But there's a great ven diagram (which of course I've lost the link to) that approaches the idea of and queer lens by tunneling into its approach and intent:

about queers

by queers

for queers

How do different BLs intersect in different ways with these three elements?

When I said "actually gay, not BL gay" I was alluding to this discourse. Specifically the "about queers" category of BL.

There are characters in BL who read as genuinely gay (as in belonging to the queer family of this terrible reality we live in) and then there are those that seem more performative (to exist in a bubble of fantasy were sexual identity is almost unimportant, only the romance matters, everything is safe sweetness & light). For some queers this can read as manipulative or even exploitive (because it is inauthentic to most queer experiences). For me, it's fine... even desirable. I like the safe bubble. I enjoy the utter delusional escapism of it. Sometimes I will call this sanitized gay. (Since it is designed to make gay palatable to non-gay identified folks e.g. seme/uke.)

A sanitized gay BL may be unintentional but it is nested in origin yaoi and mm romance whose target market has never been the queer community, and whose authors have historically not been members of it, either.

Let's be frank, we queers are generally a terrible target market, we don't have enough spending power - especially not for a piece of pop culture as niched as BL. And as creators we really want our voices to be heard (obvs), which makes us produce content that those unsympathetic or uncaring find uncomfortable. (Yes, I know, fuck them, but also, they have all the money and the entertainment industry is a numbers game.)

So in the arena of office romances, just as an example:

actually gay = The New Employee

sanitized gay = Our Dating Sim

actual gay = Step By Step

sanitized gay = A Boss And a Babe

All of the above have the same tropes, archetypes, and premises. All of them are BL. Some are just... queerer feeling than others. And the characters in those shows (Step by Step and The New Employee) read as more "actually gay."

This has nothing to do with the actors, chemsitry, or how much we may personally like the show (Our Dating Sim is one of my absolute favorite BLs). It has to do with how closely those CHARACTERS intersect with the reality of queerness as we inhabit it today. It will be lots of little touches given to the drama by director and script:

language use,

surrounding friendships (and friendship style),

mannerisms and physicality (specially body language around straights vs other queer characters),

makeup & wardrobe,

facial expressions,

surrounding queer-coded behaviors by side characters,

layers of story nuance that indicate a complicated queer-driven back story.

Markers of specifically a queer identity are given to the leads.

These kinds of BLs are satisfying the "about queers" category. ("By queers" can be difficult to extract because IRL outting is involved. "For queers" is the rarest kind of BL, because making something specifically for us often alienates the majority of the rest of viewership/market. I could be argued that SCOY did this.)

I'm sure I've missed things, but I hope that kinda makes sense?

By/For/About discourse from @wen-kexing-apologist here:

Parts 1

Part 2

Part 3

I'm indebted to them for the links!

More Queer Stuff from Yours Truly

BL Linguistics & Queer Identity - I Am Gay versus I Like Men

Will BL Get More Honestly Queer?

Queer lens (from the director) and chemistry (from the actors) in BL (A Tale of Thousand Stars)

Touch & Daisy in Secret Crush On You - Queer Coded Language and 3rd Gender Identity

BL in Taiwan & Gay Marriage

Debating Queerbaiting in BL ( + Devil Judge... is it queerbaiting?)

BL Actors and the Assumption of Queerness - outing actors, coming out, being out, more: Is that BL actor actually queer?

So is it really fetishization? straight women loving bl

Some BL fans are sasaengs, and it’s a problem in this fandom

BLs That Highlight How Society Treats Queers

10 BLs That Are Honest to a Queer Experience

(source)

#asked and answered #bl and queer identity #intersection between BL and queer stories #about queers by queers for queers #thai bl #korean bl #the new employee #step by step the series #actually gay #not bl gay #actually gay not bl gay #BL university

143 notes · View notes

resisteverything · 15 days

Text

I.M.P. are pathetic.

Let’s count all the episodes and who resolves what conflict, more specifically who beats one villain. Beating a villain counts for half, doing something that stops their plans but doesn’t beat them half counts. Resolving a conflict with no attached antagonist, or beating an unimportant villain, those half count.

1. Murder family: Blitz shoots Murder Mom.

2. Loo Loo Land: Blitz kills Robo-Fizz but it doesn’t actually matter.

3. Spring broken: Millie kills the fish but that’s not revelant and the actual conflict ends on a draw.

4. C.H.E.R.U.B.: The plot ends in a slapstick joke rather than any character doing any one thing to resolve the conflict:

5. Harvest moon festival: Striker is defeated by no one and gets away in the end.

6. Truth seekers: The plot is resolved by Stolas. Millie and Loona were partially helpful but the ending negated all that and made it entirely Stolas’s doing.

7-10. No villain to speak of. For four episodes. Of this action series about killing people. Season one was 8 episodes, this is four episodes straight. Brilliant.

11. Exes and Oohs: Millie rescues Moxie from Crimson.

12. Western energy: Moxie and Millie defeat striker as a team. Finally an ending where Moxie beats a villain, except it was also with Millie who delivers the striking blow.

13. Unhappy campers: The guy is killed by a stray rocket which had nothing to do with the conflict, and the guy in question is just an excuse for the real conflict to occur.

14. Oops!: Fizz and Blitz break themselves out and Blitz beats Striker.

15. Mammons mid season who gives a fuck: Blitz kills the stalker but he’s not relevant, and Ozzie stops mammon by revealing his secret.

Let’s count:

Blitz beats the main villain in 3 of these episodes, and in 1 of them that villain isn’t a real villain but some guy Blitz picked a stupid fight with, half a point. He saves himself with the help of Fizz which is another half. He gets the stalker but he was not a real villain so no extra pointsso his final score is:

3 wins

Millie does it one and a half times, the fish being an extra half adding up to two times.

Her score is 2 wins.

Moxie has claim to literally half a villain takedown.

His score is .5 wins.

Now random coincidence scores a 3 for Verosika, Barbie Wire’s grooming victim, and the Cherubs… which is the same score as Blitzo.

This does not count the incidental goons from truth seekers because fighting those accomplished nothing in the end.

Stolas resolves stops Dhorks so his score is a one, higher than Moxie even though he’s not part of IMP.

Fizz helps Blitz escape a deadly situation, that’s a half. He scores the same as Moxie, which is deranged since he’s a side character in his first major appearance.

Ozzie defeats mammon which would be a full point because mammon was about to kill Fizz, except he does it super easy without any violence so that’s a half point. Once again the same score as Moxie.

Also we have Non combat episodes, if you count them you’d say Millie hitting Fizz was a victory because he was a relevant antagonist, so half a point for her putting her at 2.5 because he was the conflict but not a villain. Loona resolved the conflict of Queen bee by driving Blitz home which I am not counting because that was just the situation ending, like it would have anyway. But I will count that she was the one who actually found Octavia because that was the point of seeing stars. So that’s half a point for her actually, because there was no villain but she did solve the problem. And I gives stolas has half a point for the divorce, one and a half points higher than Moxie. A lot of half points.

Let’s compare this to a real show, Avatar, with its first fifteen episodes:

1. Boy in the iceberg: Aang turns himself in and gets Zuko to leave.

2. The avatar returns: Aang escapes the ship and takes down Zuko, Katara takes down the guards.

3. The southern air temple: Zuko defeats Zhao in a fight during his subplot. He counts.

4. Warriors of Kyoshi: Aang beats Zuko and puts out the fire in the village.

5. King of Omashu: Aang wins Bumi’s challenges.

6. Imprisoned: Katara does the prison break.

7. Winter solstice part one: Aang gets Hei Bai to choose peace by reminding him that the forest can heal.

8. Winter solstice part two: Katara’s plan is what gets them through the door, and Avatar Roku saves them.

9. The water bending scroll: Sokka gets the villains fighting amongst themselves so they can escape with Aang and Katara’s water bending.

10. Jet: Katara takes down Jet and Sokka saves everyone.

11. Great Divide: Aang stops the sand crawlers.

12. The storm: No villain this episode.

13. The Blue spirit: Zuko saves Aang from the Yuyan archers.

14. The fortuneteller: No villain but Sokka does get to be useful guiding the village to make a wall and Aang lavabends the lava.

15. Sokka uses the perfumes to incapacitate the mole monster. That victory was entirely his idea and his doing.

So in the end:

Aang has six full victories and two that i’m half counting.

7 Win points.

Katara has 3 proper victories and two that half count,

4 win points.

Sokka has one solo victory and three things that i’m half counting.

2.5 win points.

Zuko scores two victories.

2 victory points.

Roku has one. He is the only person to save the heroes for them and he’s technically the same person as Aang so that’s not even what that is.

And only one episode fully lacks an antagonistic force.

Also if we balance it out on the fact Avatar is different, Team Avatar would score even higher because fifteen episodes to Avatar is six episodes to Helluva boss, since the shows lengths are different.

Also plot wise, team Avatar is new to the whole Hero business, But IMP are pretty experienced in killing.

While you could say it might be unfair to compare Helluva boss to Avatar… sue me.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #helluva boss neg #helluva critical

36 notes · View notes

darklinaforever · 4 months

Note

"The canonically purist blood woman" girl where? the blood purists are daemon and rhaenyra. the targtowers and hightowers are not "pureblood targs" as you TB LOVE to remind us.

alicent never gave a sh*t about house targ, blood purity or any of that bs. that's team black. book!alicent wanted the throne and power - and never gave a f*ck about rhaenyra. and why should she? y'all just hate alicent because she's advocating for herself and her children instead of your lame favs.

but sure, keep defending your racist qween - we'll just keep calling you out on your bs.

Alicent has never been primarily interested in the safety of its children. Otherwise she would never have prepared a coup d'état to usurp the legitimate heir, putting them all in mortal danger, or even ask her last descendant to try to assassinate Aegon III.

She literally harassed Rhaenyra since she was little to try to take her down, simply because she was the heir. An adult woman against a child.

She literally told Rhaenyra that her children were nothing more than the blood of unimportant bastards shed in war... All while trying to negotiate the survival of her own children whom she considered superior ! How stupid do you have to be ?!

That's just for the book.

Just caring about bastards is a ridiculous issue of blood purity. Which Team Blacks never actually had (and no, contrary to what a lot of people say, Daemon had nothing against the Velaryon boys). But obviously, Alicent is not a blood purist, even if she cares about the so-called bastards... Not to mention Aemond openly spewing his hatred for bastards. But the Hightowers don't care about blood purity, obviously... Let me laugh.

A little consistency.

And in the show's version, his remarks about Rhaenyra's children are more than revealing on this subject. She compares them to animals and simple beings for not coming from marriage. For not being what she judges to be true Targaryens, because she doesn't understand that their eggs hatched. She literally married off her two children to reinforce / give more weight to her son's so-called baseless legitimization, while she criticized Rhaenyra a few episodes before for having had an affair with Daemon. A hypocrite who did not hesitate to use Targaryen traditions when it benefited her. But anyway...

Yes, the Alicent of the book is ambitious and power hungry above all else. That's the only thing I like about her.

But stop pretending that she was worried about the safety of her children or her children at all. If that had been the case, she wouldn't have done everything I mentioned above.

And don't come and tell me the excuse that his children were in danger and that it was his only option because that's bullshit.

Anyway, I'm going to stop responding to the demands of the antis. I'm tired of you harassing me since yesterday. It's almost the new year, go find other things to do.

30 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 27 days

Text

WIP excerpt behind the cut; Match is technically also a Luthor.

“The stylist,” the chauffeur–Mercy, apparently–says, sounding disgusted.

“Well, I’m hardly going to be letting the boy run around downtown wearing someone else’s branding,” Luthor snorts. Match considers pointing out how he’s always wearing the Agenda’s branding no matter how he’s dressed, given the obvious, but can’t imagine Luthor appreciating the interruption. Then again, Luthor also might not appreciate finding that out later, if for some reason he’s unaware, so . . .

“I’m already branded,” he says. Luthor pauses, then turns his head towards him, his eyes just barely narrowing.

“Clarify that statement, Lysander,” he says.

“The Agenda had me branded during development,” Match says, because despite his survival instinct immediately kicking into high alert at the sight of that narrow-eyed expression, he’s also not stupid enough to defy a direct order from his new owner. Or any kind of order from his new owner, at this point. He doesn't know where the line is for Lex Luthor yet. “There’s a tattoo of their insignia on the left side of my chest.”

“Hm,” Luthor says, watching him strangely intently for someone who’s not actively attempting to kill him. “Hope. Mercy. Pencil us in for another meeting with Erica next week. Just wherever she’s decided to go to ground by then, obviously.”

“Yes, sir,” Hope and Mercy reply in crisp unison. At least, Match is assuming “Hope” is the bodyguard, at this point.

. . . did Luthor rename them too, actually? Because “Hope” and “Mercy” don’t sound like very Amazonian names, and also are suspiciously close to complementary on top of that.

Well, that clearly is something Luthor’s willing to do, so maybe. It isn’t important or useful information, but it’s still information, Match supposes.

He doesn’t even know why he noticed something that unimportant, though.

“Good,” Luthor says as the elevator stops and its doors slide open all in perfect silence. He adjusts his cuffs, which still don’t need it, and then strides out into the . . . apartment, it looks like. There isn’t a hall, just a flat area with incredibly expensive-looking marble flooring and an end table next to the elevator door, and a much larger open area sparsely-decorated with things that make “incredibly expensive” seem like an understatement.

More than just an understatement, in fact.

Match follows Luthor, because Hope and Mercy seem to be waiting for him to and he hasn’t been told differently by Luthor. There’s no higher floor, as far as he knows, so . . .

This is definitely an apartment. Match has never actually been inside an apartment before, but he knows what they’re supposed to look like from his uploads, and there are too many little hints of personality for it to be an office or hotel. Or at least, he thinks there are.

He really doesn’t know why Luthor brought him here, though. Maybe he just needs to pick something up and this is a detour. Maybe he doesn’t feel like going into whatever lab he’s intending to leave him in today. Maybe–

“I’m home!” Luthor announces to the empty penthouse, and Match feels something move farther into the apartment–back towards the back of the floor, in a large and cluttered separate room that isn’t decorated anything like the rest of the place. And then that something runs out of the room and towards Luthor, a bigger something following it, and Match has exactly enough time to realize what that “something” is before a child rushes into view from the opposite side of the living room, another apparent bodyguard following after her. This one is a generic-looking man in a suit, and looks more harried than Hope and Mercy did in open combat.

The child is . . . five, or maybe six. Female and skinny and tall for her age, with green eyes and chin-length blonde hair held back by a gold barrette, and wearing bright green leggings and a purple T-shirt dress with electric yellow stars on it. She has a few books and notebooks clutched to her chest, and a handful of colored pencils in her free hand. She’s . . .

Match has never actually seen a child in person before, unless in-development and un-decanted clones count. Which they don’t, obviously.

He has absolutely no idea why there’s one here.

“Father!” the child says excitedly, then runs up to Luthor, and Match has the absolutely insane-seeming experience of watching a six year-old prattle on as she shows Lex Luthor a picture of a kitty and a flower and a nuclear reactor.

. . . what? What is actually happening here?

“The reactor design looks promising,” Luthor observes, inspecting the picture with all apparent interest. Match might be hallucinating, he thinks. No, he’s definitely hallucinating. “How’s your new babysitter behaving?”

“He’s inefficient and bad at physics,” the child says with a pout, then makes a face. “And boring.”

“You’re fired,” Luthor instructs the bodyguard pleasantly, who looks alarmed. “Get out.”

“But–!” the man starts to protest, and then Luthor quirks an eyebrow at him and he goes very, very pale and scurries for the elevator. Luthor doesn’t watch him go, his attention already back on the child.

“I’ve brought you something,” he says. “Lena, this is Lysander. Lysander, Lena Luthor the second.”

. . . is this what Luthor wants him for, Match thinks as he stares blankly at Lena Luthor and feels the ex-bodyguard duck into the elevator. Does he want a better bodyguard for . . . whoever this is? There wasn’t any information about any other Luthors in his uploads aside from a passing mention of a sister, so . . . is this that sister, or a niece, or . . . ?

“Lysander,” Lena says, looking past Luthor to inspect Match calculatingly. “He looks like Superboy, but he’s colored in wrong.”

Match resists the urge to bristle. He isn’t–wrong. There’s nothing wrong with him.

“I’m an upgraded design,” he says, short and flat, and then Lena looks fascinated and peers closer at him.

“He’s your new baby brother,” Luthor says, patting Lena’s head. “Make the most of him, hm?”

Lena looks even more fascinated. Match is too busy being absolutely fucking baffled to even say anything to that. He’s physiologically older than her. And also, what the hell does Luthor mean by “brother”? Calling him Superboy's brother is one thing, stupid as it is, but Lena Luthor is a real person.

But also, he’s older than her.

This is the most ridiculous day of his life.

#wip: match is technically also a luthor

116 notes · View notes

im-on-speeeeeed · 3 months

Text

Raaaaghhh bbc Sherlock rant because I desperately need to see more people hating on it

BBC Sherlock is written terribly i can write an essay on it. All the characters were nerfed so bad. The took an expressive emotional considerate man and turned him into a cold emotionless asshole. Which would be fine as just another adaptation, but people are using the BBC version of Sherlock as the base point for what he’s like which isn’t good. In the books when Holmes made a deduction about Watsons alcoholic brother and Watson was like “hey man maybe don’t dig up my family issues like that” and Holmes was IMMEDIATELY SO APOLOGETIC. Meanwhile in the BBC show it just glossed over the obvious emotional weak point for Watson and Sherlock didn’t even apologize. The BBC show is also just poorly written. It gives Holmes information that isn’t available to the audience, and makes it impossible for viewers to solve the mysteries. Which is literally half the fun of mysteries in the first place. It’s like Moffat is more focused on making himself look clever and outsmarting the viewer than actually writing a good fucking plot and mystery. Another character who was nerfed so badly (but let’s face it, they all were) is Watson. For most of the show it treats him as practically Sherlocks pet dog, inconsequential to the story. While in other adaptations, and the original books, he’s an instrumental part of the story and investigations. He’s more than just Sherlocks tag along, he’s Sherlock’s partner. Fucking treat him like it. The female characters are also incredibly poorly written. It reduced Irene Adler’s character to just “the baddie who’s in love with Sherlock.” Which again would be fine if it were just treated as just another Sherlock Holmes adaptation, but people use the show as a base point of Sherlock and Irene’s relationship as well. Which, in the books, it makes it very clear that Holmes is NOT in love with Irene, and Irene is NOT in love with Holmes. The only female character in the show who is actually a person and not a cardboard cutout is Mrs. Hudson. And don’t even get me started on the scientist (doctor?) lady who is so fucking boring and unimportant I can’t even remember her name. Her only purpose for 90% of the show is just being the silly girl who’s in love with Sherlock. The shows writing is so stupid and so ridiculous. Which would be fine, if the show weren’t also trying to be serious. Having this terrible of writing would be alright is it were supposed to be satirical, but it’s not. Moffat wants me to take his shit show seriously, and I can’t. If you’re going to have this stupid of writing, at least be aware that the writing is shitty so it’s somewhat redeemable. A Holmes adaptation that actually does a good job of this is House MD. It’s ridiculous and it knows it’s ridiculous and it’s not trying to be something it isn’t. The BBC show IS trying to be something it isn’t. It’s trying to be this serious and intriguing mystery when in reality it’s just a bunch of shitty writing and even shittier mischaracterization mushed together and thrown onto TV screens. The only parts of the show that I liked was the camera shots and the acting. The show has its pros and I can and will acknowledge them, but the cons outweigh them tenfold.

#might get hate for this but oh well #bbc Sherlock can die by my blade #acd holmes #Sherlock Holmes #ooh I love ranting #I could make a whole other post about how much I love book Holmes #house md #<- it’s mentioned once but wtv

28 notes · View notes

biscuitblinkeu · 1 year

Text

I Hate You [9]

Chaennie x Fem!reader

Word count: 2580

Strong emotions lead you to say hurtful things…

…………………………………………………………………………

“I need you to leave.” Soo-bin says, pointing a finger at Jennie, and you stare— having starred long enough to see the redhead’s face turning distorted. Her smile is clown-like, stretching across her face in such an unnatural way. Her skin turns purple and her pupils grow until her eyes are black. Sharp, long horns grow from the top of her head.

You want to gag.

The girl directs her attention to you. “You, human. You weren’t supposed to bring anyone. It was supposed to be me and you, only.”Irritation was evident in Soo-bin’s voice, along with that darker second voice, echoing around you.

Soo-bin was a demon. Another one of those vile creatures that come after you. You were glad you asked Jennie to come with you. (She would’ve come either way, though.)

In a matter of seconds, the sky has turned dark and the temperature has dropped immensely. Everything has stopped its movement; the cars below, the walking students below, the birds, even the wind. Everything besides the three of you. It’s different from before, you're not moved to a different place. Instead, it’s in your world, your world that’s turned into a grayscale.

“Jennie?” You shivered, stepping closer to her and she softly smiled at you. She’d love to hold you in her arms and warm you up but opted to give you her cloak since she needs her hands free.

“You can’t take her, and you know that, don’t you?” Jennie mused and the demon smiled like the cat who ate the canary. Soo-bin knows, she’s very well aware she can’t fight Jennie, she’s extremely overpowered but...

Jennie wonders why she's so smug. The question is answered when a portal popped up, throwing out a disheveled man. His hair is soaked and he’s covered in cuts from his knees to his arms, he’s trembling. His face is bruised and he’s crying, a thick black liquid drips from his mouth and he coughs violently, making the substance splutter out onto the ground.

Milo.

At the realization your feet move before you can think— but you’re yanked back, hard. So much so that you land against the reaper's chest with a thud, temporarily giving you a headache. Jennie’s arms wrap around you tightly, securing you there. You can see that the reaper's scythe is floating next to you; small wisps of black smoke sour round the blade.

You struggle in her hold— kicking, screaming, wriggling, doing anything to get free. It proves much more difficult than you want. “Why are you stopping me?!” You shriek. Your friend is on the verge of death, coughing up black blood. It’s revolting. “He’s going to die if we don’t help him… Jennie, please!” You beg, but your pleads fall on deaf ears.

“She’s using him as bait. You can’t help him.” Jennie says matter-of-fact. She’s becoming irritated. “Don’t you see she wants to lure you in? How stupid are you?” The feline-eyed woman’s once cordial and soft voice is dripping with poison. She doesn't need you running to an early death. She’ll miss you too much.

She should’ve known. A demon with a hostage is dangerous. Soo-bin had this thoroughly planned out. What would’ve happened if she never came with you? You probably would’ve been killed, and your soul would’ve been taken.

But since she came, Milo was your replacement. She used him as bait, to lure you in with the concept of a crush, and bugged him till he couldn’t take it anymore. He was a pawn.

Jennie scowls, such a fowl thing to resort to.

“You’re not about to risk your life for something so…unimportant. I have an agreement with Chaeyoung. I need to protect you at all costs, even if it means sacrificing someone else in the process.” Jennie reminded you.

As if you didn’t know.

You can’t believe Jennie called your friend unimportant. You want to cry; you already are, actually. Fat, wet tears spill from your eyes, sliding down and down and down your cheeks. You cry so much your vision becomes obstructed. You’re angry.

You won’t watch him in pain, you won’t watch him die. You have to do something.

It’s all her fault: Jennie knows you must be thinking. She wants to comfort you, tell you it will be okay— but that’s a lie. It won’t, at least not for your friend. But maybe Chaeyoung could heal him.

It depends, it all depends.

Jennie groans when you refuse to stay still. You keep moving violently in her arms and she has to keep re-tightening her grip to keep you still. The sooner she gets you to stop— which probably won’t be anytime soon, the sooner she can kill that demon.

But you don’t stop struggling, and that’s when Jennie has had enough. She pokes your forehead, and you feel your vision going black. Your legs are weak and you feel yourself slowly losing function. “I…hate you…” You trail off before falling unconscious.

She put you to sleep.

Jennie places you down softly. She grabs her scythe and looks at Milo who is now choking, grasping his stomach in hope of stopping the wound from bleeding more.

She can’t save him, at least not now.

Soo-bin stares at Jennie with her eyebrows raised— shocked that she made you sleep. Shocked, too, at the fact you didn’t come running to your little friend to help him when you had the chance.

“You know, you’re really pathetic for using a hostage. It’s sad her friend has to die for this.” Jennie mutters, watching as Soo-bin’s face gives off the fear she’s feeling. The demon sees a creature, something un-human that’s holding a scythe.

Milo doesn’t know what the hell is happening.

He wants to crawl over to you and help, but he’s in pain. Everything hurts, he’s going to pass out. He’s bleeding out and if feels like he’s dying— he is dying, isn’t he? Only death would feel like this.

Jennie is glad your friend can’t make sense of the situation. If he survives, she’ll simply wipe his memories later.

Once Soo-bin realizes her plan has failed— her stupid, stupid plan, and as an attempt to salvage it, she grabs Milo by the hair, making him yelp in pain. She adjusts her grip to his neck, threatening to snap it. “Don’t come closer.” The demon hisses.

Jennie just laughs, and laughs and laughs till the sound is everywhere and it’s all the demon can hear. It’s such a horrid sound, just like the shrieks and wails from The Void. Despite the demon’s warning, Jennie walks closer and closer to the frightened demon, who used to be so bold, so confident she’d have you. So confident she’d have Chaeyoung’s prized human.

But it failed.

In fear, Soo-bin pushed her nails into Milo’s neck, and that’s when he’s died. At the same moment that Soo-bin’s done that, her head goes flying far off to the rooftop side. Jennie had sliced it. Although she scowls when she looks at her scythe, sizzling with black blood; the cut was messy because she’s distracted.

It’s disgusting.

The reaper walks right over to the demon's body that stumbles without its head, and stabs it one with her scythe. It vanishes. She feels a bit insulted that such a low level demon had much confidence they would be the winner in the end.

Slowly, a red orb comes out, being the demon's soul. She took it in her palm and crushed it. She would’ve eaten the soul, but this demon was abominable, insulting, it would taste horrible. The sky is still dark and everything hasn’t resumed its movement, but she can fix that later.

Glancing at the passed out boy, Jennie shakes her head and frowns as she walks over to you. She needs to wake you up, but she’d prefer not to. With the amount of time Milo has left till his soul dies, she needs to get you to Chaeyoung and have you wished for your friend to be healed and alive.

You will be angry at her for letting your friend die, she sacrificed him for your cause. But Jennie could care less, you're safe, and that’s all that matters. The anger can come another day.

She crouches down and taps on your head, immediately you jolt up, looking around frantically. You spot Milo and tears return to your eyes. You glare at Jennie before running over to him, almost falling because your limbs are still weak.

More tears fall from your eyes as you see how hurt he is, he isn’t even breathing. “Please, please tell me he’s not dead— you can help him right??” You cry, looking at Jennie. You don’t feel his heartbeat. She shakes her head.

“T-This is your fault! You could’ve saved her!” You sob. Jennie can see your eyes are filled with rage, and that makes her regret everything. She walks over and pulls you into a hug, trying to calm you down. Hoping it might help.

Your tears wet her shirt, and you repeatedly punched her in her chest; or any available spot you could in the position. Jennie could hear small muffled, “I hate you— I fucking hate you. So much…” from you, over and over. It’s starting to hurt her.

You should be thanking her that you’re alive— that she saved you. But she gets hate instead— pity and more hate. Jennie doesn’t understand human’s emotions towards another— they care too much for each other.

She doesn’t want to hear anymore of it.

“I…I can heal her, well, Rosie can,” Jennie says, making you look at her. She wants to see you smile at her again.

“S-She can?” Jennie nods. At that you feel slightly relieved, but still ill towards Jennie. You want your friend back.

“I’ll go get her. Just stay here. You’ll be safe.” Maybe if she does this you will forgive her. You nodded and watched her disappear.

…

“Mother?” Chaeyoung calls as she walks into the meeting room, soon met with the six angels, including Jisoo, Lisa, and Selugi, too. She smiled at them as she walked in, sitting down by Selugi. She suspected they were here to add ideas, and maybe talk about the banquet with her mother.

Her eyes then fell upon her father, who grinned at her sickeningly sweet from across the table. Chaeyoung smiled back in his direction to not be rude, but her eyes lingered on the table, watching Lisa’s fingers tap repeatedly. Something to distract her.

“Now,” Mrs. Park cleared her throat, catching everyone’s attention and glancing between Chaeyoung and Mr. Rose. “You’ve done the banquet training, yes?” She asks. Chaeyoung wants to scoff, roll her eyes even, but it’s not appropriate.

“Yes, so many times,” she answered, propping her cheek on her palm. Meetings with these questions were so bothersome for her, it's the same thing every year.

Go to the banquet, talk to the angel families, get asked to bond with their sons and daughters for a potential marriage— all which she’ll never do. Dance, make an announcement, end. That’s all it is.

“It has to be done. Now on the more important matter…how long will you be skipping family blessings? You need a husband, or a wife for all I care.” Her mother said, rubbing her temples as if it hurt her to say that, but it didn’t.

The angel knows her mother doesn’t care who she's with, she only cares if she loves them or not. She wants her to be happy and that's great. Her father on the other hand wants her to marry someone like Areim, or a pretty high-class angel boy.

Chaeyoung doesn’t want that.

She’ll choose you over anyone. You’re rather perfect for her, and she admits she likes you. Even if it has only been a short while.

Before she could answer, her father spoke up, her expression unreadable. “I have some suggestions, if you don’t mind me talking, dear.” Mr. Rose asked Mrs. Park, who nodded.

“About your guardian job…” He trails off, clearing his throat like a bug got stuck inside, like it was foul to even say. Just the word “guardian” coming from his mouth makes her mad.

“I think she should be promoted, and her human can be looked after by one of our other angels. Chaeyoung could do so much more.” He finished.

“If that’s okay with you Chae—”

“No, father. It is not okay.” She cut in harshly. “How could you ever think I’d want that?” She added, angered. Her father frowned, furrowing his brows and chewing on his lip anxiously. More unreadable emotions flashed across his face.

“What is it with you and that human?? She has no value and takes up your time. Being a guardian is for low angels, and there are other ways to protect the human, other humans too. Why don’t you just change back to your old position, killing— just like that Grim Reaper.” He says, smoothing back his hair. Chaeyoung remains indifferent, further irritating him. “You could easily get a better position! Any if you wanted, just like your mother and me!” His voice gets harsher as he goes on, practically shrieking.

Chaeyoung and her mother exchange looks, and her mother awkwardly adjusts her earring. She waits for Mr. Rose calmed down, the red leaving his cheeks slowly. He himself realized that was unprofessional and felt embarrassed. Seulgi and the others are silent, surprised by his outburst.

After a moment of silence, her father rubs his temples and apologizes. Chaeyoung almost wants to forgive him, since she can see he’s truly sorry, he has outbursts like that and it’s somewhat normal to them, but he involved you. She doesn’t like how he talks bad about you when you have done nothing to him.

“It’s alright, but I don’t forgive you. I don’t appreciate how you talk about my human. (Y/n) is a very respectable person, and she’s…” Chaeyoung stops herself before she calls you cute and maybe a bit more.

“I do like her, if you both must know.” She says slowly, watching her father and mother for any signs of an outburst. Her father’s face falters but he fixes it and nods.

“If you don’t accept my relationship, I will not be a part of this anymore.” She threatened, and her father’s eyes went wide in response. She knows he wants anything but that.

“I-I see. If that’s the case, you won’t want a fill-in then. I understand…” His lip quivers and Chaeyoung can tell he’s trying, trying to understand her. She knows he doesn’t want her to hate him. So he’ll have to comply, for now.

He can’t break his bond with his daughter.

“I suggest we let the human—” Selugi spoke up after a while of silence from Chaeyoung’s confession, only to be interrupted by a crash; something falling on the glass table, but It doesn’t break.

That’s when Jennie appears, right in the middle of the oval table in front of Chaeyoung, scaring everyone in the room. Jennie doesn’t hop off, she stares back at everyone there, specifically your angel.

She’s in a squatting position, knees pulled to her chest, one arm cradling her legs; she bites the nail of her thumb; Chaeyoung can tell she’s upset. She’s pouting, along with the scowl on her lips. “Rosie. I sacrificed (Y/n/n)’s friend and he’s dying, fast. Will you please save him?”

She doesn’t want you to hate her.

Would you like to continue?

“Rosie. I sacrificed (Y/n/n)’s friend and he’s dying, fast. Will you save him?”

She doesn’t want you to hate her.

#biscuitblinkeu #jennie x reader #rosé x reader #blackpink x reader #somethingpeculiar.biscuit #park chaeyoung x fem!reader #rosé x fem!reader #jennie x fem!reader #fanfic

111 notes · View notes