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redflagshipwriter · 2 days

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Hot Ghouls in Your Area 8

Chapter 8

Masterpost

“You're just now going to campus?” Jazz said. Danny scowled ahead at the sidewalk. Her tone wasn't judgmental so much as mildly surprised. He still hated it. “That's a lot later than usual. Is everything alright?” Danny hunched his shoulders up and consciously reminded himself not to get defensive. He wasn't slacking. He'd gotten home after his class and slept 13 hours. He still felt wiped out.

“Ghost stuff,” he said cryptically. “Ruined my night.” He dodged someone on the sidewalk without thinking about it, used to the crowds by now.

Jazz inhaled sharply into his ear. “They're supposed to leave you alone to focus on your education,” she hissed. “Just so you know, I do have the venomous Fenton electric creep stick-”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny cut her off. She was probably holding it up right now, thumb on the trigger. He couldn't fight off the rueful smile. She had his back, didn't she? Always did. With that in mind… “I think I need help,” he admitted. Oof. Felt bad. Not as bad as failing his classes, though, which was the danger if he got pulled too deep into more Ghost bull honkey.

“Of course!” Jazz enthused. He stepped off the curb and then quick-stepped backwards to avoid getting hit by some asshole running the red light. Danny lifted up his free hand to flip them off as he hung on his heels on the edge of the pavement drop. He dropped lightly back onto the balls of his feet and jogged across the street.

Jazz was still talking, voice clear over the morning meld of honking and running engines. “How about you come over to my place after your classes tonight? My roommate is out for a conference.”

“You just don't want to come to Crime Alley,” Danny accused her. “Even for me, your beloved baby brother.” He dodged a car that was parked on the cross walk and made an ugly face at the driver. “Despite your professed love for crime, when it counts, it's all talk.”

“I don't love crime,” Jazz reiterated with her inhuman patience. She didn't take the bait of his deliberate mischaracterization of her career plans. “But I am exquisitely stabbable." Her tone went lofty with the brag. "So yes, I avoid Crime Alley.”

Danny blew an unimpressed raspberry to show what he thought of that.

He hadn't met anyone in Gotham yet who he thought would really throw Jazz for a loop. She was a 6ft 2 judo black belt, and she was liminally spooky as fuck. “No one would stab you,” he said, making it sound like an insult. His janky ass was more likely to get held up. "But fine, I'll haul my poor broken corpse all the way over there to do you a favor-”

“So I can do you a favor,” Jazz corrected wryly.

“My poor broken corpse,” Danny cut back in, because that was a really relevant factor to him. He put the back of his hand to his forehead and swooned a little. He felt like he'd been in a tumble dryer. Missing a full night of sleep was an insufferable insult to his desperate shoe-string construction of a healthy routine.

“I would so get robbed if I came there,” Jazz argued. “Maybe even kidnapped.” He could all but hear her flip her hair.

He snorted but let her keep her delicate feminine delusions about not being one of the scariest motherfuckers in the crime capital of the country. He wasn't actually worried about her interning at Arkham Asylum. Maybe he'd freaked out a little when she'd moved here, but that wasn't why he was here. No matter what anyone said.

“There's no immediate danger, right?” Jazz checked. “No reason I need to be concerned today?”

“Nah,” Danny reassured her, as the campus came into sight. He had about an hour before class to spend in the lab before his lecture. “It's not that kind of problem.” He felt his face arranged itself into a wry smile. “You might like this one.”

“Oh?” Jazz asked, intrigued. “Do tell.”

“Only after I've sworn you to perfect silence,” Danny shot back instantly. “I mean it, for real, you can't tell a soul living or dead or nonliving or-”

“I think I get it,” she cut him off. Jazz huffed. “As if I can't keep a secret. You think I can't keep secrets? I know the most incredible things that you could never dream up.”

“...Big if true,” Danny snarked, pretending that he wasn't extremely interested.

“You never knew what happened to the Robinsons,” Jazz said airily. “And you never will.”

“...that doesn't bother me at all,” Danny lied. He stopped walking.

“Ahuh,” Jazz said knowingly. “Hey, remember the neon cheese incident?”

Danny gritted his teeth. “Can't say I do,” he said. It was bullshit, and even he knew it wasn't convincing Jazz. He was dying to know the truth. It had been the talk of the town for weeks and was still occasionally featured on unsolved mystery podcasts. He'd gone far enough to ask the Dairy King, but even the dead wouldn't speak on it.

“Have a good day of classes, little brother,” Jazz said sweetly. She ended the call.

He rubbed at his temples. Ancients, she gave him a headache. She was fantastic. She was killing him and absolutely ruining his unlife. He couldn't even beg her for answers about the neon cheese, because if he managed to badger it out of her, it would prove she could be manipulated into telling secrets. That would be a loss anyway. It was more likely that either she didn't know anything or that she knew and her lips would stay sealed: Danny didn't have any to waste his breath.

He did a few calming rounds of breathing, now that he was thinking about it, and then went on with his day a bit invigorated by the familial aggravation.

Danny felt a little better about focusing on class now that he knew he could count on Jazz in his corner. She was the smartest person he knew. She could probably get him divorced by the end of the day. Hell, she probably already had a contingency plan for getting him a divorce. She was so ready for him to have a relationship so that he would have relationship problems to ask her about.

When he finished up on campus, Danny cut across town to pick up takeout food as an offering. He presented it to Jazz as soon as she opened the door, head bowed and food theatrically high.

“Oh, come in,” Jazz said, exasperated. She grabbed him by the back of his collar and bodily pulled him inside. “My neighbors are going to think I'm so weird, Danny!”

“My liege,” he intoned seriously. “I come bearing- ow! Stop hitting my- hey, my face!” Danny wrestled away from the horrible pinching grip his terrible sister had on his cheeks, scowling. “That hurt,” he complained. “Have you ever thought that you're getting caught up in the cycle of violence?”

“I don't lose sleep over it.” Jazz lowered herself delicately onto one of the weird puffs she had instead of chairs and made grabby hands at the takeout. “What did you get me?”

“Coal,” Danny snarked. But he handed over the bag without a fight and plopped himself onto the closest poof thing. He fully laid out and let his head flop past the edge to hang upside down.

“Inversion therapy, so chic,” Jazz said absently.

He considered flipping her off, but his balance was really off in this position and it would be hard to defend himself if she lunged at him. Hell, if she picked up his legs he'd probably tip over onto the floor. Danny dug his heels into the side of the poof in defensive preparation. He kept her in his peripheral vision.

“Oh, Malaysian,” Jazz enthused. “I wanted to have this!” She sounded a little too surprised.

He shot her a thumbs up. Two days ago, she'd sent him a screenshot of a text landing from someone else that had shown most of her screen was the active map app she was using to get to an appointment. The Malaysian restaurant had the star mark that she put on the places that she wanted to try.

He'd gambled that she hadn't gone yet because she hadn't had a late night at work. Jazz only got takeout with company or if she got home too late to cook.

“Cool,” Danny said, because he didn't want his rotten sister to think he cared about her interests. “It was on the way and it smelled good.”

Jazz hummed and put the food on the side table. “So I see.” She folded her fingers in front of her face and peered at him over the steeple. “What happened? What ghost do I need to soup with a fragrant combination of turmeric and saffron?”

“Please don't waste that, ghosts taste fine on their own,” Danny said.

Jazz grimaced. “Ew, Danny,” she enunciated carefully. She paused. “Ew.”

He shrugged and accidentally slipped a little closer to the floor. “Just saying. But actually, no one dead was involved, unless we count-”

“We don't count,” Jazz cut him off, serenely unbothered by his attempts to score empathy points off his death. She was a cold customer.

“Boo,” Danny said, because he knew his brand and respected ghost tradition. “Anyway, Jeremy Waters. Remember -”

“How could I forget,” Jazz muttered. She put her hands on her face.

“Hey,” Danny said, offended that Jeremy got that reaction and he got a big fat impassive nothing no matter how annoying he was.

“What’s Jeremy done?” Jazz sounded exhausted by the concept.

“Well… He uh.” Danny stared at the ceiling. He couldn't look at her directly. “Well. You know how he wants the good favor of the god of the underworld?”

“Yup.” Jazz hit the ‘p’ sound hard.

“He uh, hit the idea that uh. Maybe a Persephone of sorts was just the thing to suck up.”

He heard fabric rustle as Jazz sat up. “He did?”

Wow, she had one of the most fascinating ceilings in the world. Danny stared intently up at a splotch that looked vaguely malign. She ought to get that checked out by an expert before it possessed somebody. “Yeah, so he's been trying to vault people into the Ghost Zone as bridal sacrifices.”

“Ahuh.” Jazz sounded a little bit choked up. She wasn't laughing, so he couldn't complain.

“I had Dani get Vlad look into it-” because Dad or Mom would have been mortifying- “and apparently, he told her the odds of some hack wizard managing to send a living human to the ghost zone was laughable.”

He paused. He couldn't go on.

“And Vlad would know,” Jazz said leadingly.

Danny put a hand over his face. “Yeah, see, the thing is that I'm now very concerned that Vlad might not know.” His words came out muffled.

Jazz was so intent on him. He pretended even harder not to know she was leaning in towards him. “Does- does the ghost king have a bride, Danny?” She somehow managed in a professional tone.

He nodded miserably.

She promptly lost her shit laughing at his misfortune.

#red hot ghouls #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #dc fanfic

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moni-logues · 2 days

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Hi there, pretty Moni!

If it isn’t too much to ask, may I please request a professor Yoongi x female college student reader piece?

For the genre, hmmm. Surprise us, maybe? 🤭🥹

Thank you very much, eonni. ☺️

okkkkkkkkkkk

SO, I am not super comfortable with a professor/student dynamic so I have done a peer tutor type situation; hope that is ok! I really don't know if this is anything, tbh, but I'm really just trying to leave the tap on to get the rust out!! So thank you for this request; I hope it at least in some way satisfies!

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (gender neutral)

Genre: acquaintances-to-?? dating? maybe?? tbc lol; college/uni AU

Summary: Your university forces you to be tutored to bring up your grades; your tutor is the quiet loner from class whom you begin to realise you should have noticed long before now.

Word count: 1.2k

Content: none to warn for, unless you have traumatic memories of philosophy essays lmao

Kant or Won't?

You pushed through the heavy library door with a sigh. It was a beautiful day – one of the first of the year. The blossom was budding on the trees; the grass was dry enough to sit on; the sun was bright and warm overhead. You were heading into the dim, crowded world of studying on a Saturday.

You only had yourself to blame. You knew that. One too many parties and too few essays written. You knew you had to try harder. What you didn’t know was why your school was mandating tutoring. It wasn’t that you didn’t know things! You didn’t struggle with the material; it was the sitting down and focusing on it that was the problem. How a tutor was supposed to help with that, you didn’t know. You did, however, want to stay at university so you accepted your fate.

The peer tutor service had told you which private study room was booked for your session, but when you peered in through the door window, you assumed there must have been some sort of mistake.

“Uh, it’s Yoongi, right?” you asked, tentatively as you entered the room.

He looked up and nodded.

You knew Yoongi. Well, you knew of him. He was in your philosophy group. He contributed only when forced to and you had never seen him chatting to anyone either before or after seminars. You assumed he was just some kind of loner loser guy and that was really the first and last you ever thought of him. You didn’t notice him and no one else seemed to either.

It surprised you that he would volunteer to do this: meet with lazy, unfocused students to bring their grades up. It wasn’t exactly socialising, but it was social. It would involve talking to people. Strangers. Maybe even people he actively disliked.

You sat around the corner of the table from him and pulled out your notebook, full of half-finished sentences and scribbled notes from lectures. The edges were black with doodles and your first clean page was the one right next to where you had snapped and written ‘FUUUUUUUUCK’ in huge capital letters. You tucked that page to the back and readied your pen.

“Just so you know,” you started as Yoongi opened his textbook, “I’m not actually like, dumb. I’m fine with the material; I just hate doing the essays, y’know? I’m just too lazy to get around to it, so then, when it’s the night before deadline, I just have to write any old shit to get it done. You know how it is, right? Procrastination nation.”

Yoongi looked at you, thoughtfully, and it was the first time you’d ever really seen his face. It was nice. He was kind of good-looking actually. You wondered what sort of life he had off-campus. Maybe he just didn’t like the people at school. Maybe he had other friends. A partner? Not that you cared, but you thought, now that you were really looking at him, maybe he could have one. Not bad at all.

“Lazy?” he asked.

You nodded, expecting him to say something more. He didn’t.

“Ok, well...” You spoke for him. “I guess we’re supposed to get my essay on Kant done?”

You flicked through your notes to see if you’d taken any while Yoongi still just looked at you.

“What are you views on Kant?” you asked.

“What are your views on Kant?” he countered.

You wondered if it was a test. You’d told him you knew the material; it was only reasonable for him to ask for proof.

The directness of his gaze made you feel a little flustered; the focus of his attention unwavering in a way you found unsettling.

“Um, well, ok...”

* * *

“Guess what I’ve just done,” you demanded as you walked into the private study room two weeks later.

“What?”

“I’ve just submitted my Kant thing!”

Yoongi didn’t look surprised, but he did look pleased. You felt a genuine sense of pride, swiftly followed by an embarrassed guilt that you should feel so proud of something that thousands of other people did with ease every day.

“Wow,” he said. “And the deadline isn’t for three whole days.”

“I know!”

“How do you feel?”

You didn’t want to tell him how pleased with yourself you were. You knew he had submitted his last week. You didn’t want to let him know that you were pathetic enough to feel a genuine sense of achievement over what you’d done. It was minor. Embarrassingly minor.

“Good, I guess. Nice to have it out of the way.”

Yoongi nodded.

“That’s really great.”

He smiled at you and you smiled back. If you got a good grade for this essay, you wouldn’t have to come back for tutoring. That alone had almost made you not complete the essay. Yoongi’s presence was soothing and something about being here in this room with him made it easier to focus. You liked studying with him. He mostly kept to himself and let you ask questions when you needed to. It didn’t really feel like tutoring at all, to be honest. He was a study buddy, not a teacher.

You were surprised how much you enjoyed it, actually, when it really got down to it. Without the screaming panic of a deadline just hours away, you had more time to focus on the content, think about the topic, read about it, dig in. You remembered why you had chosen philosophy in the first place. And, when prompted, Yoongi would talk to you about it, too; your views were often the same, but not always. He was smarter than you, but not by much.

You met frequently, first in short bursts, then in longer and longer sessions that you often found yourself wishing would last longer. Yoongi was good at sticking to the topic, pulling you back around when your conversation veered into general chat or something irrelevant, which you did more and more each time, because he was nice to talk to, he was interesting; you wanted to know what he thought and what he had to say.

You also still didn’t know if he had a partner.

“Aha!”

You cornered Yoongi in the classroom before he could escape, thrusting your essay into his face. He took it from you and eyed the grade in the corner with a smirk.

“Well done, you.”

“Nailed it, mate!”

“You did.”

“This means you don’t have to tutor me anymore.”

He laughed softly.

“It’s not like I really ever did anything. You said so yourself: you know the material. You never really needed me.”

Something about that made you feel sad. You had needed him. You would not have been able to do it without him, if all your past experiences were to be relied upon.

“Well, actually...”

You had been working up to this. It was the perfect opportunity so you had just been waiting, waiting for your grade, waiting for this open target.

“I was kind of hoping you might have some time to talk over the next one with me... Not formally, as a tutor, but just... y’know... Like, as a classmate. Or friend.”

Yoongi blinked rapidly, his mouth slightly open.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah ok.”

“Cool. I’ll, um, text you or something and we can set up a time?”

He nodded. There was a tiny stretch of tension between you, held for just a moment, before he stood from his seat and you straightened up, readying to walk away.

“I’ll see you... soon, I guess.”

“Yeah, soon.”

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #min yoongi #suga x reader #suga fanfic #yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic

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ellafushiguro · 3 days

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“Not bad…” Chapter 5

(Links to: Prologue, Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4)

The 57th Recon Mission was a success… at first. The female titan put up a good fight, killing all those who stood in her way. But in the end, the mission failed. She bested us. Mikasa and I almost fucking had her! We lost countless soldiers. Comrades. Most of whom you were just starting to get to know and appreciate. And they won’t even get to receive a proper burial. “That’s part of being a Scout” I guess. The devastation left the Regiment in disarray.

“Our taxes, hard at work ladies and gentlemen. Bravo.” One man said, sarcastically, in the crowd who greeted you all on your return. Laying in the cart injured, Eren grinds his teeth in anger hearing the words. “Eren, ignore it.” You and Mikasa try to reassure him. You look forward, trying to keep your chin held high. “Beat but still ready to go! You gotta be tough as nails to ride with these guys! They’re unstoppable!” You hear one kid say. Your heart sinks at the sound of his sweet voice, unable to look into the crowd. The ride back to the Capital felt like an eternity.

After leaving Mikasa and Eren in the infirmary, you go to find your temporary quarters to rest. After a few minutes of walking around the compound, bumping into familiar MP faces asking where to find Suite ‘15’, you finally found it. Reaching for the door handle, another hand meets yours. “Oh—“ You look up to see Levi. “Y/N. Glad to see you’re still alive.” He says. Thank God. I would’ve killed Erwin if she didn’t make it. “Right back atcha sir.” You smile. “Is this… your room?” He asks, looking around confused. “Umm yes I believe so. Room #15A.” You look down at your key tag. He holds out his key that reads ‘15B’. Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Why would they place a male and a female in the same suite?” You ask. “Beats me. We just got here.” He answers, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you have a problem with it?” He continues, an eyebrow raised. “No sir.” You blush, looking back down at the handle, sticking your key into the hole and twisting it open. You both walk into a decent sized living room. Big enough for two. Maybe the front desk was overwhelmed with all the Scouts coming in, that they didn’t bother to check who is rooming with who? Or maybe since you’re his assistant, they didn’t think twice about it? “Captain what happened?!” You ask in surprise as you watch him walk with a limp. “Landed on it wrong. No big deal.” He says nonchalantly. “Did they at least give you a crutch? Or a cane?” You continue with concern in your voice, looking around for the item. “Yes. Matter of fact, I beat the medic with it before leaving.” He answers. Limping back to the front door to pick up the cane that was leaning against the wall, lifting it slightly to show the bottom, “that’s his blood.” He says proudly. “LEVI!” You exclaim, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I hate infirmaries.” He shivers, unlocking the room that says ‘15B’ and walking in, shutting the door behind him. You sigh, walking over to the other room across from his, unlocking it and shutting it behind you.

11:00pm. You lay in bed staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep again. But who could blame you after everything that’s happened. Frustration and grief seem to have your mind racing. You skipped dinner, not ready to look anyone in the eye. Not ready to see how many dining chairs would be empty. The hot bath didn’t seem to help relax you. And you can’t exactly make some tea either. Too bad you don’t have your own assistant. Your stomach starts to grumble. Maybe there’s some snacks in the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen table, you found Levi deep in thought, with a cup of whatever. You’ve never seen him dressed in anything other than his uniform. A small candle lit nearby, you could make out that he was wearing a black suit, the usual white cravat around his neck, and some shiny dress shoes. He should wear suits more often. You bite your lip, folding your arms and leaning against the wall, admiring his side profile. “Stop being a creep.” He finally says after a while. Fucking embarrassing. You shift around in place, not knowing what to do or say next. “Your stomach has been growling for the last 10 minutes. Get over here and eat something already, Jesus.” You bite your tongue, fearing saying anything will make the situation more embarrassing. Sitting in the chair in front of him, he slides a small plate of crackers over to you. “Here, they surprisingly go well with the wine.” He offers while pouring you a cup. “Thanks.” You say as you start to dig in.

You both sit in silence after you guys finish the crackers. You’re 4 cups of wine in. Your head starts to feel a little woozy whenever you move your eyes too fast. You don’t remember the last time you’ve had a drink. “You’ve only had 4 cups Y/N. Pull it together.” You hear Levi say. You tried to get up but ended up on the floor, bursting out in laughter. Levi rolls his eyes and helps you to your feet and walks you over to the couch. “You’re so sweet Captain” you slur. “Yeah yeah, sit.” He responds. “Krista knows what we did. She thinks we’re in loooove” you continue, wiggling your eyebrows, smirking. He loosens his cravat while clearing his throat. “Would that be such a bad thing?” He asks. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in love. I’ve only ever had one fling and that was a looooong time ago, you see...” You trail off, leaning your head back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling that you swear is spinning. “What do you think Captain?” You add. He pauses for a moment. “I’ve never had time for ‘feelings’. I’m a busy man…” You turn your head to look at him, urging him to continue. “But recently… I’ve… made an exception.” He looks at you with soft eyes. “She must be helluva woman eh?” You smile at him, closing your eyes. Drifting off to sleep.

He moves a strand of your hair out of your face. “She’s not bad at all.” He says, taking your hand and kissing your bruised knuckles.

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badolmen · 10 months

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I really feel like some of you genuinely think that if all billionaires died tomorrow the world would magically be a better place. Their wealth doesn’t come with a will ensuring it’s redistributed fairly across the planet - it goes to their kin or organizations of their choice. The systems that allowed such vile people to maintain their status will still exist. 4 dead billionaires isn’t this victory you think it is - there’s 4 new billionaires inheriting their wealth and status. Killing every billionaire would just shuffle the pieces and players, it wouldn’t change the game.

#ra speaks #personal #sorry last I’ll post abt this until there’s some closure on the OceanGate issue #but like. ‘why should I care??’ well a dead billionaire is a dead body but a living one can still make choices #and a traumatized living billionaire may be reminded of their mortal humanity enough to see how they live the way we see it #and maybe. just maybe. channel all of that wealth into actual functional good in the world.#i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again #if your solution begins and ends with ‘bad people should die’ you are at best ignorant to how poor of an ethical code that is or at worst #knowingly encouraging the perpetuation of the current system where ‘bad’ is anyone inconvenient to the current authorities #violence does solve some problems! but not one of this scale and systemic magnitude! there is no glorious revolution!#there are only small victories won for by small acts by small people!#is it so wrong to imagine that someone of greater status in the hellmachine of capitalism may be able to win greater victories #should some event reopen their hearts and eyes to the horrors they have created and perpetuated?

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timeisacephalopod · 11 months

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Its real strange when Americans especially (meaning politicians, less citizens but them too sometimes) say socialism doesn't work because how the hell would you even know. Half the shit American politcians describe as socialism isn't socialism, and often they treat those things like the sky will fall if they're implemented (like healthcare. Ignore Canada right above you. Lie about how our system works by telling people you need to wait years to see Drs about life threatening issues when you only get waitlisted for specialists and not for years either, it's generally a few months. Not ideal but not what American politicians say either. Ignore every other country with universal healthcare better than Canada's, which is everyone's, because there's no need to even lie about those after making the country above you look bad for not charging 80K to look at a band-aid, which is somehow an improvement to waitlists like the poor won't just die instead of seeing a dr).

Not to mention the US has invaded so many countries with politics farther left then theirs just to install right wing terrorists and then get mad when some of those terrorists they straight up funded do a 9/11 to them like they have slaughtered thousands to "spread democracy" by overthrowing democratically elected leaders all over the world for being "too socialist" or communist so how do you know socialism doesn't work? If it doesn't it's because America specifically has never allowed it to, like you can't invade every single country that does things mildly different, completely destroy them, and then say "see socialism doesn't work!" like you had nothing to do with the collapse of that system???? It's literally the meme of Eric Andre shooting that guy and being like "how come socialism didn't work!" like they didn't just shoot socialism in the face in cold blood. And also capitalism doesn't need to work at all in any way, efficient or not, for everyone to defend it to the hilt so like ok who cares if socialism works if you don't care that capitalism doesn't and you defend it anyway? Clearly "works" isn't a prerequisite to using that system so that's not even an argument worth bringing up at that point.

#winters ramblings #every time i hear Americans say this but mostly politicians im like ok stop invading EVERYONE #and MAYBE socialism will work like it seems to JUST FINE in denmark!! granted its not a FULLY socialized system theyre still capitalist #obviously. but like you cant i avde everyone and their dog because you hate socialism destroy all their shit and blame SOCIALISM for it #like NO that was american military meddling not anything to do with ANY political system beyond americas like ???#also if other countries have A Thing probably it isnt killing that country. like canadas healthcare DOES suck #its literally the WORST socialized healthcare system in the world like actually. so americans aremt wrong that our system sucks #but NOT FUCKING LIKE THEIRS at least we can GET cancer treatments here no meth cooking needed #our system sucks because not ENOUGH is covered not because NOTHING should be covered #and we should all be at the mercy of 6 healthcare amd insurance companies making money off people dying #still how the fuck can you say socialism does or doesnt do ANYTHING when no one knows what it looks like #in a TON of countries BECAUSE of american meddling they ignore when they shriek about Venezuela #MAYBE if america didnt FUCK EVERYONE AROUND socialism would be just as flawed as capitalism!!#which is allowed to be ALL KINDS OF FUCKED AND FLAWED and no one even CARES but socialism does A ;#*A Bad and suddenly we need to throw it the fuck out. capitalism can employ CHILD SWEAT SHOPS and thats fine #but socialism doesnt work 200% perfect 80 000% of the time and nope it doesnt work lets go back #to using LITERAL SLAVES from prisons thats not a problem worth invading a country about i guess!!

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skrunksthatwunk · 11 months

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"hey HEY what do you have in your mouth!!! sit SIT. SPIT IT OUT GIVE IT—" but instead of talking to a dog it's me about my parents using the word overstimulated as nothing but another way to make fun of our anxious traumatized dog for doing things they find inconvenient or unreasonable or illogical (and, by extension, everyone who uses the term for legitimate reasons). (WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM!!!!!!!!!! AND ALSO WHERE THE FUCK DID THEY HEAR IT BECAUSE I DON'T USE IT AROUND THEM On Purpose BECAUSE I KNOW THEY'D BE ANNOYING ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

#cannot stress enough that they are ill informed. they do not know what they're talking about and would not accept it if i told them #they're not accomodating to sensory needs and do not fucking know the context of capital o Overstimulation in regards to like. ppl with #sensory difficulties. like. c'mon man. if i told you i was overstimulated you'd tell me it wasn't that bad and i should just sit still and #shut up. but suddenly it's fine when you're making jokes about??? completely unrelated things??? i mean. dogs can probably be #overstimulated. i think everyone can in kind of a general sense. but they act like her getting up from the couch or smth is some frantic #strange action. they're super fucking weird about her actually they'll like. tease(?) her about how needy and pathetic and unloved she is #and how 'traumatized' she is and how that makes her act in ways that bother them in kind of an eye roll-y way which like.#SHE *IS* TRAUMATIZED. WE'VE ESTABLISHED THAT SHE HAS REASON TO ACT LIKE THIS #like 'haha she's soooo afraid we'll abandon her she's so ridiculous' what like how she was ditched as a puppy and lived on the streets for #like a year? you don't think that could've affected her at all #fucking psych major bullshit ass. 'formative experiences actually don't affect you lol' go fuck yourself #im not saying you can't tease your pets but they're treating her like her anxiety and even basic affection seeking is some huge burden #when it's absolutely not. they just want to be mean to her because they don't want her to act that way and don't care about how she feels #because they think they know better and she has no immediate reason to feel that way. god i wonder if THAT has any relevance to how they #raised their children. christ on a cracker man what the fuck #how to create an environment where your children feel safe expressing their problems (a goal they supposedly have):#1) not whatever this shit is. what the fuck is wrong with you #look maybe it doesn't sound that bad but it's been going on for years and it's been pissing me off for years. they're so cruel and for what #it's such a double standard. our other (male) dog seeks affection about as often and they don't ever make fun of him for it #and they've gotten more and more entitled about her showing affection. like it's commanded now. it's gross to me okay i don't like it #she's a sweet and kind and loving girl and i don't get why they feel the need to act like her wanting their love is so horrible when they #literally want that from her and scold her when she doesn't do it #this general attitude that ppl are over exaggerating their trauma or their feelings or their needs/wants/boundaries is so pervasive w them #that complete disregard for/invalidation of how others feel if you can't personally relate to or understand it. the mockery and cruelty #they wouldn't do it if she could understand them. i think they just like having that power over smth small that loves them #so *i* have to be like 'ohhh i love u ur so good!! im so happy ur here' to her to balance it and then thats also seen as ridiculous. wtf #skrunks' parents be considerate and introspective to ppl without risk of rejection if unkind & also don't be ableist challenge (impossible)#they will call low/no empathy ppl frightening monsters and then do this shit. empathy is not necessary for kindness and frankly if that's #your only reason to care about the wellbeing of others i think that's worse. bitch IM low empathy. at least i give a shit #im so glad my mom didnt puruse psychology after her bachelor's she woulda hurt so many people. or maybe she'd be better idk. fucks sake

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bibleofficial · 11 months

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idk what my father thought the take-away would be by taking my brother & i downtown to look at homeless people every holiday and birthday growing up was. like all it’s turned into was ‘communism = good’ & 🤝 like 😭😭

#diary #‘rhat could easily be u one day’ ‘one accident is all it takes’ then to the -> ‘we will kick u out if u do something we don’t like’ -> im #poor & therefore the poor is me ALSKALSKALKSLAKS #like idk. i mean i’ve been thinking abt it so much like how things could’ve been different if only money weren’t a problem #like yea he grew up basically homeless so i understand what his point ? was i guess ? but idk like the looming ‘u can be kicked out’ had #been held over me since i realized my faggotry at like 7/8 like ALSKALSKALSKLAKS #i didn’t have money ? i was a child ? i couldn’t afford things ? but also the money i did have was from work i’d do around the house or #whatever like if we got birthday money like 80% would go into a savings account but i didn’t have access to that account until i turned like #17 so like still its not like it was MY money - all my money was what i had or what i could hide or stash like #the HOARDING #JUST IN CASE I GOT FOUND OUT #maybe this was really unhealthy #but REGARDLESS it’s like ok idk the class solidarity but HE doesn’t like the homeless now bc he’s a crotchety old man that was a child of #neoliberal capitalism so i mean yea idk i get it but MY generation like my brother & i - or at least I REALIZED THIS - but like the flourish #that my father received from the economy he came of age into is NOT being passed along to me like im just floundering i keep thinking abt #money like im so fucking stressed all the time abt MONEY like i RESENT it so much like i WISH i could’ve been born into wealth like just #be NORMAL have a NORMAL college like be able to GET A LOAN at ALL for school loans but #like even if i COULD get a loan it’s not like i’d be able to PAY IT BACK !!!!! like oh my god ? & then who’d end up having to figure out how #to pay it back ? my family bc .. gov gon get their money somehow & i can’t do that even if i DID get kicked out like #im just so envious of the wealthy; those who could pay their way - or get it covered #like literally ‘what’re u going to do :)’ bro i don’t FUCKING KNOW DO U HAVE MONEY FOR ME TO DO ANYTHING ? BC WORKING FOR 30K/YEAR IS MORE #like time available to look for Real work vs Working at Work like it’s MORE affordable to NOT work #what’s the POINT if fucking WALMART pays MORE THAN A DEGREED REQUIREMENT #like 😭😭😭😭😭#cost of living crisis ever rising #like ok let’s just #im going to light things on fire

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rigelmejo · 2 years

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Now that I can read a little better I understand a bit more why translations vary so wildly.

Like. On the one hand, if you translate word by word you have so many personal choices to make on which word to use for each thing since there's not many one to one translations. There's deciding to keep idioms or localize them, keep terms and ways of conversing or localize to some degree, etc. And then there's deciding if you cut anything for time it takes to translate and time pressures (I finally get why one guardian translator cut out some of the novel, they were trying to get out the weilan content asap for people). There's also parts where you just won't know how to word it in the language you're translating to, what would be best, and you have to make a decision you don't think is perfect and surely isn't (and maybe there is no perfect decision for translating that line, just many various "Okay but not perfect" choices).

On the other hand. Translation is absolutely a skill. A skill that requires a LOT of practice and is separate from language comprehension skills. Yeah, knowing the languages helps so you don't make foolish grammar or mean meaning errors that machine translations make. But beyond that, so much is you personally breaking down sentences and words and deciding what's a good equivalent in meaning/style/effect in the language you're translating to. And there's no perfect answer, only various "okay" answers that will be biased by translator. Which is why it can be fun to read various translations of one piece, they might all be right but retain certain elements and not others (like when I think of rainbowse7ens edited translations with details added a lot of the emotion/atmosphere of the writing style was retained but specific wording was lost, when I translated some guardian I retained wording amount but wasn't super confident of my word selection and think yuka did better however I felt I retained priests writing style of sentences well and therefore the Effect of it, Yuka did a great job retaining word choice but I think some sentence structure and atmosphere the style created was lost, and meanwhile for modu I think edanglarstranslations did about as perfect a job as one could attempt at retaining mood/style/word choice to the point I could very easily match chinese audiobook to their translation and get a ton of phrase and wording and structure matches). So it's cool to see various translations as every single one will be tinged by translators interpretation of text, strengths and weaknesses, and what they personally valued keeping most and How (cause again there's no perfect one to one way to translate).

I realize the more I learn how much I do value people who do mtls and clean them up, and people who put out "gist" translations that may skimp on details but convey the mood of the text and plot and do it quickly. In both cases, so that either overall words get preserved (as best they can in edited mtl since mtls do tend to shorten and summarize] or so that the overall Feel of the novel gets preserved. So that there's a translation quickly, which is nice when otherwise there'd be none. Or until we hope and wait for a more in depth translator to have the time for those particular projects. Merebear translates is amazing for putting out so many timely dmbj translations which otherwise wouldn't exist at all, Yuka is amazing for putting out a guardian translation that kept the word choice, rainbowse7en was amazing for putting out a guardian translation when there was none and keeping the overall mood intact.

Theres value in a lot of different kinds of translating, along with how each individual one will simply vary by translators own things they tended to interpret/focus on most.

#rant #translation #i would say i think in Company cases where translations get paid for by hour #i personally prefer detail AND mood and style retained when possible. since the translator has time and is paid well #but in reality plenty of companies are cool with mtl then quick proofread or rushing and underpaying translators #so its a capitalism problem ToT. and under those cases which is likely all. i realize #still theres value in quick mood retaining translations - they come out and serve the main purpose and mood #when otherwise no transpation would exist. someone translating roughly then using other ppl and mtl #to just scan if they can make better word choices for some sections. makes more sense given this #i also realize lol. i am actually more an overall mood/style kind of translator #i can keep specific wording but always second guess if maybe a different word pick would be #a better translation. so i now realize why one might make a specific into a more general to Ensure its more accurate #rather than changing meanjny by picking a specific word a bit off.

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david-watts · 1 year

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desperately calmly I try to explain that a couple of additions to the dish that she’s making will make it a little more palatable to my m*ther and I, because it won’t be runny as hell and actually have flavour to it, while I get screamed at and called rude and useless and that I’m not allowed to touch what she’s cooking, and when I don’t and it goes wrong because the plates don’t hold heat like she insists, it’s my fault again. woohoo

#I'm gonna order pizza or something. if she's not gonna take constructive criticism and instead yell at me #I won't touch it. mostly because I can't #since it's gonna be super runny and have cooked cherry tomatoes in it which is Gross with a capital G to me #y'know the practical thing is actually to listen and go 'while I don't like those changes if this is how it has to be in order #to not waste food then so be it'#that's the practical and sensible option right. I'm not being stubborn and rude.#the fact that I now will not be able to cook myself something alternative because that's 'disrespectful' is. crappier still #I'm not even gonna scream back at her. I think I'm just too tired. and I'm never gonna stop being too tired because of course not #maybe the fact that I react like this to grief is good. I'm lobotomised and less of a problem

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wowitsverycool · 5 months

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legitimately if you think copyright law in any way benefits individual artists over corporations you are. not a fool because that would be very mean to say about someone that's just trying to live in the hellworld nightmare fuckshow that is capitalism. but you are solely mistaken imo

#...i think that's a better way to put it than the way i put it in the reblog i deleted earlier #bc i don't want to antagonize artists that are just scared and #trying not to get fucked over by asshole capitalist generation version 46916 #but it's very frustrating to me!!! to see emphasis be placed upon strengthening copyright law because no!!!! that's going to make things #worse!!!!!#ahhh!!!!!#but i still want to support things like the actors and writers guild fighting back against hollywood's use of ai #because i will always always support workers demanding proper compensation from their employers #no matter what.#but when you're yelling at random disabled people on the internet that use ai for whatever reason #i think!!! personally!!! that is very misguided!!!!!#it's like... i agree with you when you say that every single billionaire on earth could give away #their money to make the world a better place but use it on yachts and houses instead and that's bad for the world #and is another example of how fucked capitalism is #but when an internet rando buys. like. a stupid check mark from the tumblr shop.#and you say they could've given that to charity instead and are super selfish for having not done that instead?!?#i think that's not the same thing!#i think the billionaire is 100% more the problem there?!?#maybe it's easier to compare it to global warming and 'carbon footprints'...

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kittykatinabag · 7 months

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While I greatly enjoy the subject of place making in urban design, I utterly hate the amount of pandering to capital holders a lot (if not most) of current "place making professionals" do in their work.

#also really hate some of the current trends of 'pop up events' that run for maybe a month and then never again #'its to get peoples imaginations going kristen!' until you realize that you dont actually leave any reliable framework when its done #and theres an inherent bias against creating those frameworks because that requires decentralization of your knowledge #which makes you and your work finacially threatened and even as a nonprofit you still need to make a living #idk im just pondering webs of power and the paradoxes of creating a better world using capitalism instead of dismantling it #also avoiding doing the newest academia bs and trying to avoid any fucking grades talk with the people i know here #because i havent told them that i havent turned anything in yet because depressions been kicking my ass #and they dont get the executive dysfunction part of it because their anxiety is so out of control that it still forces them to do things #and their reward circuits in their brains still work while mine dont anymore #and while they might have sympathy all theyre going to do is suggest solutions which is not what i need rn #also the solutions they will probably give probably wont work because ive tried pretty much off of them except cocaine #and im trying to avoid doing that for obvious reasons #i already know what i need is to 1- live alone; 2- live in a place with more amenities nearby; and 3- have an understanding support system #the problem is money. and circumstances. and having a support system. but mostly money and circumstances #the thing i cant figure out quite yet is why im avoiding telling them instead of just laying it out there #maybe cause it would seem like im putting part of this burden on them?#maybe something in my instincts and years of social observation is telling me that if i tell them their view of me will drastically change?#and then there goes whatever scraps of a support system i have out here #idk its probably just trauma leaking again #late night ramblings

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trans-leek-cookie · 9 months

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crocheting in the dark has made me much more aware of the random shit I do to get proper tension on the yarn and like. I get why machines can't do this shit how the fuck would u program that

#I have various thoughts abt machines and labor most of which are Capitalism is the Problem not necessarily machines but also u gotta #Consider how automation can make things more accessible to certain ppl especially when it comes to creative mediums (ai neutral here) but i #Terms of straight up machine physics and limitations humans will not be replaced by machines- at least not ones that can do what a human #Does as well- within our lifetime. For example my dad worked at McDonald's and remembered having to adjust the cooking time of the burgers #To account for the cooking stuff getting greasy and such. Unless they somehow changed shit up thats probably still the case and when it com #Comes to automation there isn't a really good fix that can match a humans ability to adapt. Like maybe you could program a process to try #And gradually increase the time cooking but that would be difficult and have to consider a lot of factors. Or you could have it scrape the #Grill regularly but that could end up with a lot of time the grill could be used being wasted on unnecessary scrapings or it could happen t #Infrequently. Not to mention glitches that would require the robot to be actually tampered with- the equivalent of which would probably be #Very minor issue of a human made the same mistake. There was also an interesting post I remember abt the topic of automation and like I #Think there was a focus on navigation in machines and visual input as a part of that? Anyways machines are nothing without the humans behin #Them and some people need them. They aren't inherently evil they're just a tool we have to adapt to and use ethically

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youryanderedaddy · 1 month

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Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere soldier

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putragismf · 1 year

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I hesitated to introduce my s/o (now ex) to my friends when I did bc I had this nagging feeling it wouldn’t end well. And I was right

Now they all talk happily and I feel like I’ve lost friends I really really loved… mainly bc they talk to my ex constantly and make excuses on why they haven’t replied ((when I see them active on the chat 48/11))

Trust your gut, guys

#part of me isn’t even bothered most of the time #bc like i still have that™️ feeling that everything was my fault #and so maybe i deserved it?#but also. fuck u because i really liked those friends #capitalized on our relationship and the friends I INTRODUCED TO YOU #oh and the fact that my ex complained that i was acting all fine just bc i was going to my classes after we broke up?#like. bffr. i went to class bc i can’t afford failing atop a failed relationship. and ur out here giggling with them on the chat #maybe i truly am the problem idk 😍#toxic thoughts ig.

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bleedingoptimism · 5 months

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Eddie was ugly when he was a kid. Ugly with a capital U. And not like, his peers said he was, so he thought he was ugly, but he really wasn’t, no. He was UGLY. Big bottomless eyes, a big round nose, big mouth, full lips, small face, and with his head shaved even his ears looked too big. Plus he was thin and long-limbed... He looked like a bug! He was U-G-L-Y

But it’s okay. It’s just a universal truth and not a problem anymore because he grew up. And he grew into the too-big features that made him look bad. Now they are part of his charm. He grew up and he looks good now, and he knows it. His big dark eyes, his round nose, and his plump lips are attractive features now.

The thing is, it didn’t bother him then, and it doesn’t bother him now. It’s an inconsequential matter, laughable really. So why is he wrestling Steve Harrington in his living room to stop him from looking at the photo he found while cleaning up Wayne’s trailer? Who knows, maybe, and just maybe he doesn’t want to hear Steve call him ugly. Maybe he’s vain like that. Maybe he doesn’t want the most beautiful boy he’s ever met to think he’s ugly. Maybe he doesn’t need confirmation that Steve will never notice him like that because he’s so out of his league they are not even playing the same sport. Not that Eddie knows anything about sports. Whatever.

Steve had come over to help him move out. He is moving in with Jeff to a tiny place that’s closer to college and Eddie had wanted to surprise Wayne by giving him back his room and leaving it spotless and fit for a grown man. And Steve had kindly offered to help when he’d told him about it.

They were just finishing up boxing some books when a photo fell out of an old copy of Moby Dick. Why was it there in the first place?! Eddie’s eyes had gone wide when he saw it was a ridiculous photo of him, standing straight and with a huge smile on his face hanging on to a pass-me-down backpack on his first day of school. He’d dived to the floor to try and grab it but when Steve saw he didn’t want him to see what it was…

Steve wanted to know what it was now, obviously.

He took the photo and ran back to the living room, screaming and laughing with Eddie close behind as he screamed bloody murder and jumped on top of him, clinging to his back. Steve stopped just long enough not to let him fall but then started running again trying to shake him off. Eddie let himself fall off Steve and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him close to him to try to grab the photo that Steve, giggling uncontrollably, was keeping at arm's length.

Eventually, when their lungs couldn’t get enough air, they stopped struggling and sighed in unison, which prompted another laughing fit. And then, Steve looked at the photo, with Eddie still holding onto him from behind, looking over his shoulder.

When he saw the picture again Eddie flinched waiting for Steve’s laugh. And laugh he did but not meanly, instead he said,

“Oh my god, Eddie you were so cute!”

“Shut up. No, I wasn’t” he answered with a scoff. Then, and just then, he noticed the position they were in. How close he was standing to Steve. He swallowed loudly and looked at Steve, to see if he noticed too, to see if he’d pull away.

But Steve was smiling at the photo, biting his lip and letting little giggles escape from time to time, “You were!” he insists.

Eddie laughs, “Dude, stop I was not. You don’t have to mean about it” starting to get a little annoyed but Steve shakes his head looking way too sincere.

“You are not serious,” Eddie frowns searching his eyes which are still looking at the picture, “Look at my tiny face and the ears!” He says exasperated.

Steve chuckles again, “I know, they are huge! And the eyes! Oh my god- You looked like a bug Eddie-!” he laughs, and yep. There it is. Eddie thinks bitterly- “You were so pretty!” Steve exclaims actually cooing at him.

And wait-

“You are ridiculous” Eddie laughs and Steve finally turns to look at him and notices how close they are. He blushes furiously and Eddie is so close to his face that he can feel the heat on his cheeks now. Eddie removes his hands from Steve’s waist so he doesn’t feel trapped by him, but moves his face a fraction closer and smirks flirtingly at him, “Were?” he asks.

Steve blinks at him and Eddie can feel his eyes moving across his face as if it were a caress. He looks at his eyes, his nose, his jaw, his lips, he swallows and his eyelids fall a little before he looks back up at Eddie’s eyes and smiles shyly before he says, “Are. You are pretty.” and Eddie closes the distance between them.

💋

a drink? ☕🥐💕

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #i wrote something #i know eddie knows he's handsome and acts acordingly #and he loves flattery #he gets a kick out of getting compliments from his crush i just know it

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

Hi! I would love to see Steve being really affectionate with shy reader? Maybe at the beginning of their relationship when everything is really „big” for reader? Only if it’s something that you like. Lots of love and thank you! 🩷

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 745 words

Selfishly, Steve has an easier time being brave when you’re so clearly the nervous one.

“So this guy, he wasn’t being a dick or anything,” he says, fingers loosely intertwined with yours as you walk down to the 7-Eleven, “but he just wouldn’t leave Rob alone. Couldn’t take a hint, you know?”

You hum. Your hand starts to slip in his, and you tighten your fingers almost imperceptibly. Steve adjusts, taking your hand more securely in his so it doesn’t happen again. A bit of pink tinges your cheeks that he doubts has much to do with the warm weather.

Steve doesn’t mean to fluster you, but if he waited on you to make the first move there’d be no moving at all. That said, he doesn’t mind flustering you either. You get this sweet, startled look on your face and sometimes you try to hide behind your hair so that he gets to move it away. He sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand to soothe you, and you press your lips together like he’s done something far more brash.

“What did she do?” you ask.

“She told him we were dating.”

“What?” You laugh, the sound starting up a pleasant buzzing in Steve’s chest. “But she tells everyone else you’re ‘platonic with a capital P’.”

“Exactly!” He shakes his head, grinning at you. You smile back for half a second before your gaze drops to his chest. “He’s gonna find out as soon as he brings it up to literally anyone, and then she’s gonna have to cover her ass all over again. I don’t know why she does this to herself.”

“Maybe she’s panicking,” you muse. “Just, like, saying the first thing she can think of.”

Steve guesses you’d know something about that. The first time he’d tried to ask you out, he’d suggested going to the drive-in and you’d blurted that you didn’t watch movies.

“Maybe,” he says, unable to mask the amusement in his tone (and not trying very hard, if he’s being honest).

You look at him curiously, then shy at whatever you see in his expression. “Oh, I forgot.” You duck away under the guise of digging through your bag. “I got this off my neighbor’s tree today.”

You hold a peach out to him, and Steve thinks he’s going to melt on the spot. His heart feels all heavy and made of mush. “No way.” His voice is soft, reverent. “You stole from your neighbor for me?”

He takes the peach from you, and you immediately turn from his gaze, pretending to adjust your bag over your shoulder. Steve knows you didn’t really forget to tell him earlier; you just hadn’t wanted this display in front of your roommates. It’s cool. He’s fine with adoring you in private.

“I didn’t steal it.” The smile is evident in your voice, and Steve waits until you turn back to shoot you the best one he’s got in return. The pink spreads to your ears. “I asked. They always say they have too many to eat by themselves.”

“Still.” He thinks about mushing a kiss into your temple, but even Steve’s not feeling bold enough for that yet. He settles for wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s sweet, thanks.”

“It was no problem,” you murmur, tilting your head so your hair curtains your face.

Steve is gleeful at this development. He reaches forward with his other hand to brush it out of the way, hooking what he can behind your ear. Your eyes flit to him bashfully. He knows he’s smiling like an idiot, but he can’t help it. It’s just the way his face likes to be around you.

“Well, I appreciate it,” he says, then decides to put you out of your misery. “So, what kind of slushee are you gonna get?”

“Mm, dunno,” you reply softly. “You?”

“Blue raspberry every time.” He nods certainly. “Never wavered since I was a kid.”

“I don’t think I’ve tried that one,” you say. “I usually get a coke and cherry mix.”

“You can try mine,” Steve offers.

“You don’t mind if I sip from your straw?”

“I mean, I was thinking you could just kiss me to taste it,” he says. And fine, now he might be stirring the pot a little bit. It’s worth it when you put your face in your hands. Steve squeezes you tighter against his side, affectionate. “But that works too, yeah.”

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