In time travel movies, when the time traveler asks 'What year is this?!?' they're always treated like they're being weird for asking.
When in reality, if you go 'What year is this?!?' people will just say '2024. Crazy huh.' and you go 'Wtf where has my youth gone.'
And if you ask 'And what month??' people won't judge you, they'll just go like 'SEPTEMBER!!! Can you believe it?!?!' and you go 'WHAT?!? Last time I checked we were in May?!?'
Stumbling into a diner and asking "What town is this" isn't weird, the workers will think you're on a road trip
If you ask them "Where's the nearest Nano Deck?" they'll assume it's a shop they've never heard of and say "Sorry, I don't know where any of those are"
Going into a store and telling a cashier "I need pods for my comm device" will just get you a "Never heard of those, maybe try Radio Shack?"
I think the problem is that people who create sci-fi movies have never had to work customer service jobs
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EXACTLY this is what always pisses me off when I see people say things like “Batman goes shopping for orphans to put in suits and send them to die!!” (Exaggerated) when Bruce is on his knees BEGGING his children to not be vigilantes
Bruce: chum PLEASE let me give you a normal childhood I’ll literally give you anything you want just don’t wear a traffic light and go fight crime
Literally any of his kids: you DENY miette this wish? You FORBID miette from beating up criminals? Oh! Oh! So much cruelty! You hate miette! Cruel bat furry! Jail for you!
I’ve been patiently waiting for a nice second-hand wood dresser to appear on fb marketplace or at Goodwill for months. Finally, I grabbed this one yesterday for $50.
My inspiration for this project are some dressers I saw at Anthropology that have gorgeous carved details. But I want my dresser to cost $200 or less rather than $2,000.
Of course I can’t add actual hand-carved wood, but I’ve got clay and some silicon molds + epoxy and a potential overconfidence in my DIY abilities.
First up, I removed the existing hardware and sanded this pretty lady down. She is now looking MUCH better without all those terrible stains (and the drawer pulls weren’t doing it for her, tbh).
Up next, I’ll give her a paint wash or three and start trying my hand at faking some carvings!
So I actually ended up glazing her first to bring the wood grain back out a bit and add some depth to the color. The glaze was very finicky to work with, but did exactly what I wanted it to (a comparison of glazed vs unglazed drawers in the first pic). I have several silicon molds filled with drying resin and I will begin experimenting with “carvings” tomorrow!
Alas, I ran out of flowers/vines so I will need to get more epoxy this weekend to finish the bottom corner. Shes so close to being done, though! The next update will be the last once I seal her and get the new hardware added. :)
I surprised even myself with this one and am so delighted by the outcome. I’ve been using her for a week and dusted her once (with the amount of seal I used, a fluffy swifter duster glides along all the finicky crevices just fine) and she seems sturdy. Time will tell! Thanks for all the kind words on this fun little journey.
People with low spoons, someone just recommended this cookbook to me, so I thought I'd pass it on.
I always look at cookbooks for people who have no energy/time to do elaborate meal preparations, and roll my eyes. Like, you want me to stay on my feet for long enough to prepare 15 different ingredients from scratch, and use 5 different pots and pans, when I have chronic fatigue and no dishwasher?
These people seem to get it, though. It's very simple in places. It's basically the cookbook for people who think, 'I'm really bored of those same five low-spoons meals I eat, but I can't think of anything else to cook that won't exhaust me'. And it's free!
by Rachel A. Rosen and Zilla Novikov || Food you can make so you don't die.
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Go for it! From what I’ve seen, everyone has a different genre but instrumental (no words) seems to be key. I guess Sweet Dreams words are so ethereal, ADHD just rolls with it????
For me, orchestral covers of songs I know work best since my ADHD is using the extra hyperfocus to remember and keep up with words. Have fun experimenting!!
Y'all I just listen to Lana Del Rey. Would recommend because with instrumentals I tend to focus on where actual words would be but with Lana’s stuff her vocals sound like music but it’s words
really wish I could’ve done this when I was spending 4 hours on every page of math homework in the 90′s. Fast forward to my last year of college when I finally figured out I could just listen to Blackmill and blaze through an entire semester of college math like it was nothing.
Find the study methods that work for you!!! Help kids find the study methods that work for them!
It takes me all day to do simple chores because i keep getting distracted. If i put in earbuds with upbeat music I’m done with everything in a couple hours AND i feel really good and probably danced a little i.e. exercised.
Try songs in another language - one you don’t speak. The idea is that since you don’t understand the words, your brain doesn’t go “Oh hey, someone is talking to me” and thus you can maintain your focus. Although, this is something probably best suited to writing. But on the other hand, if it works, it works.
Personally, I like Opera. BUT, I advise against using Pandora’s Opera Station. At least in the free version, it either cycles through the same ten Singers/Albums or drifts off into instrumental covers.
On the other hand, it’s great for background noise when gaming. Just be sure you have an ad blocker running. You will also have to confirm that you are listening every hour or so.
Followup on the lofi front:
I recommend the following channels.
Chillhop Music: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCOxqgCwgOqC2lMqC5PYz_Dg
In particular, I recommend the relax/study livestream radio. Or just about any of their mixes.
Fantasic Music: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZyyXrEF2WCZbI653PFNBbA
Both the Chill and the Jazz playlists are excellent.
Jazzhop Cafe: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi8wqezBudeAiTdKOX571ug
Their ChillMix videos are the best.
Jazzhop Cafe Archive: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKbD–QKXKosHmSXarqYUeg
Name is self-evident.
I believe ChilledCow also has a livestream, but I honestly prefer Chillhop. YMMV
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSJ4gkVC6NrvII8umztf0Ow
EDIT: Oh, Pandora’s Vitamin String Quartet IS good, but it tends to drift off into New Age type stuff. Adblocker thing still applies though.
I also find jazz, city pop, and vaporwave work well for this purpose too. Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and Vivaldi’s Four Seasons also got me through many a college paper back in the day.
Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.
The walls didn't bleed, but the black sludge that slid down them at the first hint of rain had no plausible source. The cellar smelled of death, and yet the rammed earth had been swept clean. Doors slammed. The hot water was either ice cold, or a hazard. The stairs were... agile and greasy.
"Do you remember when Grandma got sick? When her feelings got too big and she got tired and sad?" She said, softly and quietly to her children, holding their hands. "I think the house's feelings got very big. I think the house saw some really scary things like Grandma did when she was little, and it's feelings are too big to carry. I don't think houses are supposed to feel things like that. It doesn't want to be mean, it's just tired and sad. We don't have to let it be mean, but we can't be mean back, okay?"
Ashleigh would read the house bedtime stories from her thick, cardboard, books. Stories about the moon, and kittens, and even one about a friendly spider. She still saw shadows sometimes, but they only stood in the doorway now. They didn't try to reach for her ankles in the dark. That was okay, because she didn't like to sleep alone anyway. She would tell the shadow goodnight, and that she hoped it had good dreams.
Bryce knew to use the infra-red thermometer to check the water before showers. "Hey, it really hurts when you try to burn me. Okay? I just don't want to stink like a-... like butt after band. I don't know why you don't want us to shower but like... see these things on the floor? They're rough so you can't slip or nothing, okay? Please don't burn me." And it didn't. Sometimes the temperature shifted a little but never as badly as before.
Sometimes they prayed with the house. They weren't sure what else to do. They didn't pray at it, and it wasn't exactly Christian or ... anything else really, but they just ... just... sat with it, and said words of gratitude and peaceful contemplation. They wondered if it missed that moment of familial togetherness around the table. Each of them would note something good about their day, and something that maybe had been bad but had taught them something important, and there was always mention of being grateful for a roof over their heads... that shelter, togetherness, and safety made it a Home.
"I like it here, Mommy." Ashleigh had said once. "It was scary at first but you were right... the house was just scared. We were new, and different and I think the house was scared we might tear it up and change it. But I like it here."
"I like it here too, Baby." She had said, quietly. She liked that she could afford to feed, clothe, and house two children because the house had sold for pennies on the dollar. She liked that there was room here for hobbies and game rooms, for a home office and a real dining room. "I think, deep down, the house likes us too. We know some sad things happened here, and that's a lot of big feelings. I think that as long as we're good to the house and show it that it doesn't have to be scary, or scared... that it'll get better."
That night she stared at the spot of damp threatening to leech through the fresh coat of paint. "House... or... whoever you are. My kids have been through a lot. And we're going to keep having this little talk for as long as we have to. Please just love them the way I love them. Love them the way they love you. You see how they walk in the door after school and the world falls off of their shoulders because they're home? That's not just us, that's you too."
The house settled, almost sighed. It, the amalgamation of suffering and grief and love and joy and birthday parties and funerals and breakfasts and beatings and... life... emotions... feelings... It, the House, considered the wisdom of this Mother's words. It could run them away and sip on their fear and rage or it could love them fiercely, and grow strong with them for generations.
You scan the briefing documents as your team leader, Mr. Subterranean, drones on. As usual, the pack of graphs and statistics look impressive. As usual, you seem to be the only one at the table who knows they’re wrong. Or, maybe, cares that they’re wrong.
“Crime is down in the 52nd ward by 30% as compared to 2016…”
You take the chance to glance at the nerd. He’s listening to Mr. Subterranean as attentively as you did when you first joined this team of the Hero Force. His hands are folded very nicely on the table and he’s watching Mr. Subterranean lie through his teeth with a very polite look on his face. His thick, coke bottle glasses sitting neatly on top of his black mask hide his eyes, but you bet he’s the only one at the table not daydreaming while the leader talks. He strikes you as a teacher’s pet.
Teacher’s pet glances at you through his peripherals. His mouth twitches, revealing a deep dimple, and then he refocuses on Mr. Subterranean. A chill races down your spine.
You’re not sure why you think he knows, but you’ve got animal instincts. If your brain is screeching at you that your plan is in jeopardy, it is.
What are you going to do about it?
“We can see marked improvement in commerce in Old Downtown thanks to the consideration and dedication shown by our new patrol routes…”
Because you’re watching the new guy, you’re the first one to notice when he raises his hand.
The heroes around the table go still. You’re a small team compared to some others, only five members in total including the leader, but heroes always seem bigger than they are. When all of you start staring at him, it has to feel like a hundred people are. The nerdy guy only sits there with a pleasant, mild smile on his face, one hand raised and the other resting calmly on the table.
“Yes…?” Mr. Subterranean sounds like he’s been asked to improvise after only ever reading off script. He frowns. “Did you have a question, Star Lad?”
See, this is why you don’t remember his hero name. Star Lad? Nerdy guy is infinitely better than anything with Lad in it.
“More of an observation,” Star Lad says.
Mr. Subterranean blinks owlishly at him. “About what? The crime percentages? The patrols? If it’s not about either of those things, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wait until the end of the presentation. As you can see from the pages in front of you, we have a very full schedule today. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”
You look down at the fabricated graph in front of you so he can’t see your face. Waste anyone’s time? That’s all he does.
That’s why you’re going rogue.
You barely feel any remorse about it anymore, which is why you know tonight is the night you run away from all this. You’re all set up to siphon the entirety of Mr. Subterannean’s accounts into yours. You imagine that getting started as a vigilante will be pretty expensive. It’s only right that Mr. Subterranean, the reason for your sudden career change, pays for it.
Your instincts tell you that you’re being watched. When you look up, you meet Star Lad’s grey eyes. To your horror, he winks once before turning his attention back to Mr. Subterranean.
Oh, you think faintly, he definitely knows.
“I’ll be brief,” Star Lad says, eyes sliding from you to Angel at your side and then around to Flower Power. Could he have been looking around the table for reactions? You doubt it.
Mr. Subterranean inclines his head.
“When I first joined the team,” Star Lad says, “I was impressed. I’ll admit to some hero worship! To fight alongside Angel and Flower Power and Mr. Subterranean!” He starts to say something else and then quickly adds your name to list. “And the Shark, of course.”
Of course. Nobody finds your powers particularly impressive. Yes, you’ve got super strength and night vision and the ability to breathe underwater, yes, you’re able to grow fins and swim so fast, but nobody really remembers that when you’re stationed five hundred miles away from the ocean. Plus your insistence on being the Shark rather than Shark Person or whatever it was the Hero Force really wanted you to switch to basically means you’re persona non grata at HQ. About once a month, a Hero Force agent calls to beg you to change your name. You’ve never heard from the same agent twice.
“Yes, we remember your introduction,” Mr. Subterranean says. He’s visibly annoyed now, the wood table under his hands turning moist from his subterranean powers. “Moving on— “
“Then I was impressed by a meeting like this.” Star Lad beams at Mr. Subterranean as if he didn’t hear the leader speak. “Did you know no other team lead takes the time to collect data like this? To analyze their every action from fights to patrols? Other teams rely heavily on Hero Force analysts for that information. You’ve saved the Hero Force a pretty penny by insisting on doing the analyses yourself.”
“Well,” Mr. Subterranean say. He clears his throat and shuffles his papers. You bet there’d be a blush on his cheeks if you could see under his scuba-like mask. “It’s nice of you to notice. I spend a lot of time on these.”
“In fact,” Star Lad says, leaning forward, “you’ve saved Hero Force so much time and money, people can’t believe it! I mean, literally—“ his smile drops “—can’t believe it.”
Angel stops playing her mobile game, slowly lowering her phone to the table. Flower Power frowns and takes a closer look at her meeting papers.
Oh shit, you think. You knew Star Lad was here to bust someone. You just didn’t think it’d be the boss.
Mr. Subterranean either doesn’t get the insinuation or is a better actor than you thought. He nods. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard the same from the head of the Hero Force himself. But I don’t do it for praise. I do it because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Is that why you’ve refused to be audited?” Star Lad asks. He’s definitely not smiling now. In fact he looks very different from the nerdy newbie who got so excited to join the team. He looks like a Hero. “And why you cancelled your annual review?”
“A review would distract us from important work,” Mr. Subterranean says. He squares his shoulders, trying to look bigger, and waves as if to knock Star Lad’s question out of the air like a particularly annoying fly. “I send very clear records every month to Hero Force. It’d be a waste for an agent to do all that work again so I deemed an audit unnecessary.” He flips a page in his packet. “Now, as I was saying, while we’ve enjoyed immense progress in district 14, ward 8 needs—“
Star Lad half laughs, interrupting Mr. Subterranean. He looks around the table with his hands splayed in front of him. “You guys got it, right? I didn’t think I was being that delicate.”
“No, I got it,” Angel says. She looks like she’s going to throw up. Even her halo looks a little green as her light-based powers respond to her emotions. She shakes her head as if to clear it. “Boss, you refused an audit? That’s not how Hero Force audits work!”
“I don’t think that’s how any audits work,” Star Lad says generously. He flips his hands over in a sort of shrug motion. “It’s pretty common knowledge that you can’t just cancel an audit.”
Mr. Subterranean tries to meet each of your team’s eyes in turn to convey his honesty. When he meets yours, he grimaces. You can feel how your pupils have completely overtaken your irises as you watch him. He tries, “It wasn’t necessary—“
“I don’t have anything to do with this,” Flower Power tells Star Lad. She’s not like you and Angel, both heroes in your first year. She’s older, nearly 65 in an industry that kills people before they’re 30, and you know she only accepted this position as a form of semi-retirement. Any wrongdoing endangers her pension. “I swear.”
“You’ve all heard my analyses of the city,” Mr. Subterranean says. The wetness from his palms is spreading across the table like fungus. He casually leans forward to brace his forearms on the table, hiding the stains. “I’m sorry that I didn’t understand what an audit is, but the correct information has always made its way to—“
“Mr. Subterranean,” Star Lad interrupts, “did you really think the Hero Force wouldn’t be able to recognize a fraudulent report?”
Mr. Subterranean looks at him. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “They’re not—“
“Your city doesn’t have a district 14,” Star Lad says. He taps the report. “Your city isn’t big enough to have multiple districts. And crime is not down. It’s up, actually. It’s very, very up.”
Mr. Subterranean stutters. “I guarantee that that is not the case. We have fewer super-powered villains here than there have been in a decade!”
“That’s not true,” Star Lad says. He turns to Angel. “Let’s ask your team. How many villains, on average, do you think a town this size should have?”
Angel’s clear green eyes dart to you and then away. “Um…four?” Whatever she reads on Star Lad’s face makes her flinch. “Six?”
You are very still. You and Angel are both new. Neither of you know the answer to Star Lad’s question, but you should. Flower Power and Mr. Subterranean should have told you. You’re getting the sense of blood in the water. Thankfully, it’s not your blood. When Star Lad looks at you, you have your answer ready. “We currently have five active, regular villains in town.”
“Mr. Subterranean, you reported two.” Star Lad flips his hand and a red file appears in front of him out of thin air. Emblazoned across it is the word CONFIDENTIAL. “I was sent here to verify your, frankly, ridiculous claims. I was expecting some fudging of the numbers or even a few battle exaggerations to make your mediocre leadership look more impressive than it is.”
You have to resist the urge to bite your cheek in an effort to keep a straight face. You’re transformed right now and even you aren’t invulnerable to the razor-sharp shark teeth.
“He’s been a competent leader,” Flower Power says. When Angel and you make sounds of disbelief, her mouth presses into a thin line. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse. I would have reported anything too extreme to the Hero Force.”
“Which is why, as of today, you are retired, Flower Power,” Star Lad says without taking his eyes off Mr. Subterranean. The room is getting suspiciously moist as your team leader’s composure cracks. “You’re excused.”
“What?” Flower Power shoots to her feet. “You can’t fire me because of a difference in opinion—“
“You are being retired,” Star Lad says quietly but firmly. He meets Flower Power’s eyes evenly. “Out of respect for your long career with the Hero Force, I am not going to go into the nuances of that decision in front of your team. If you would like access to the report that led to that decision, you are welcome to request it from the nearest Hero Force Main Chapter.”
“I will,” Flower Power says, chin raised. Whether she senses the losing battle as well as you or not, you don’t know. She turns on her heel and stalks from the room leaving the scent of roses in her wake.
You whistle under your breath.
“Where was I?” Star Lad takes the file out of the air and flips through it. “Right. I expected a lot of things when I began my investigation. I did not expect you to be—“
“So you’re a spy,” Mr. Subterranean says. He stands, bracing both hands on the table. “I should have known you weren’t one of us. From the moment you arrived—“
“I am an auditor,” Star Lad interrupts loudly. “Which I have made abundantly clear at this point, yes?”
“Yep,” Angel says. She shrinks back when Star Lad grins at her and Mr. Subterranean glares. You lean around her so you can meet Mr. Subterranean’s eyes. He glares at you for of all a second and then his eyes dart away.
Ha.
“You didn’t announce yourself,” Mr. Subterranean says. The fungus - part of his power - is swirling across the table now, decaying the wood. On concrete, it makes the footing slippery. Good for stopping villains. In this room, it reeks. “You came onto my team with false pretenses. I’ll be filing a complaint with Hero Force.”
Star Lad is not impressed. He takes off his glasses with one hand and then folds them deliberately, setting them on the table in front of him. He’s still smiling. “You are, of course, welcome to do that, Mr. Subterranean. You will have ample time while awaiting your trial.”
Mr. Subterranean freezes. His suit - a pair of grey coveralls, like a miner - starts looking…moist around the collar. “Trial?”
Star Lad nods. “You’re under arrest,” he says. “If you’d quit interrupting me, I can finish reading your charges.”
Star Lad doesn’t sound like Star Lad anymore. Star Lad is the goofy newcomer who asks stupid questions and is always underfoot. Star Lad doesn’t know what to do with his big, gangly body and whose costume is always ill-fitting. Star Lad can’t sit as still as a predator, his grey eyes fixed to Mr. Subterranean as if considering whether or not he can swallow the other man whole. His voice isn’t dark with menace and his aura isn’t quite so furious.
Mr. Subterranean takes a half-step back and then stops himself. He swallows, hard. “I don’t have any charges,” Mr. Subterranean says with false bravado. “But you will when I report you for threatening a team leader.”
“Okay,” Star Lad says and stands up.
You and Angel lean back. Mr. Subterranean is braced over the head of the table, trying to look as big as possible, but Star Lad fills up the room when he stands. He’s shorter than Mr. Subterranean but broader and a lot more confident. Both you and Angel are at the opposite end of the room, but it feels way too close. Angel nudges your foot with hers. When she gets your attention, she deliberately looks at your hands, shakes her head, and then looks away.
Your nails - as sharp as shark’s teeth - are piercing the softening wood of the table. Carefully you pry them out. You stare at the grooves, your heart rate slowing and slowing as your fight or flight instincts war.
“You are under arrest,” Star Lad says, each word like a bit. “For falsifying mission reports, misleading critical Hero Force personnel and endangering rookie—“
Mr. Subterranean sneezes. It sounds like a kitten’s sneeze. He sneezes again and there are visible particles in it. After a moment, the droplets from the sneeze dissipate into the humid air and Mr. Subterranean wipes his nose.
You and Angel lean back further from him. Angel covers her nose with her long sleeve. Your costume is sleeveless so you don’t have that luxury.
Star Lad isn’t so squeamish. “Bless you.” He continues, “You are under suspicion of aiding and abetting various villainous elements in this city to further your public image as—“
Mr. Subterranean sneezes again.
You are very curious about that suspicion, but you don’t get to hear the rest of it. Star Lad blinks once, twice, three times. He presses a hand to his head.
“You are— you are under suspicion—“ He sinks back down into his seat. “U-under—“ He presses his other hand to his temple so he’s cradling his head. “Wh-what is happening to me?”
At your side, Angel is slumping down in her seat. Her breath hitches before smoothing into deep and even repetitions. Like sleep. But when you look at her face, she’s not sleeping. Her light-based powers undulate with sick fear, casting the room in shades of green and grey. She’s staring wide-eyed and horrified right at Mr. Subterranean.
Mr. Subterranean is smiling.
You’ve always found his smile unpleasant, though you’ve never been sure why. His teeth are a little crooked, sure, but so are yours (having four sets at all times will do that). His lips are thin but not nonexistent and his smiles always reach his eyes. That actually might be the problem.
There’s a feverish light in Mr. Subterranean’s eyes as he stands fully upright. He looms over Star Lad. The fungus creeps from the table and curls across the floor until even the walls are mildewing. “Think you’re clever do you?”
Oh my god, you think, my boss is a villain. You take care to stay slumped in your seat. There was something in Mr. Subterranean’s sneeze. Some sort of fungus that’s caused Star Lad and Angel to lose strength. You flex your fingers under the table, mouth dry as you wait for a similar effect to hit you.
“One thing I learned from Hero Force; don’t tell anyone everything,” Mr. Subterranean says. He drags a finger across the back of Star Lad’s chair and it creaks as rot eats away the varnish. “It’s why we have civilian identities, isn’t it? So that we’re protected. Safe. Able to do our jobs. I left out a few of my power’s affects when I filled out my Hero Force application.” His smile sharpens. “So that I can do my job.”
Star Lad is doing a wonderful job of not panicking. A muscle in his jaw flexes as he fights Mr. Subterranean’s fungus. He shifts in his seat, wiggling so that he can lean his head against the least rotten part of the chair back. “Lying on a Hero Force application,” he says through gritted teeth, “is a crime.”
“Who are you to decide that?” Mr. Subterranean says. He stalks around the table in agitation, eyes barely landing on you and Angel before he’s fixed right back on Star Lad. “I keep this city safe. I do. The crime percentages are wrong, so what? The number of villains is wrong, so what? I’m here. I lead my team. We fight and we win. So what’s the problem?”
“I am an auditor,” Star Lad says. He pants and then squeezes his eyes shut as if in pain. You see a tremor roll through him. “Y-you can’t do what you want.”
“But I can,” Mr. Subterranean says. He spreads his arms to show that the suit underneath his arms is very damp indeed. Drips of spore-laden moisture drip onto the ground. “I file my reports. I do my patrols. You said it yourself - you had no idea the lengths to which I’ve gone until you saw my presentation! When Hero Force asks me where you went, I just have to say you lead my team on a training exercise and none of you came back.”
“S-Sir,” Angel says. She’s not doing as well as Star Lad. Her breathing is becoming more and more labored. “W-why?”
Mr. Subterranean clicks his tongue. “Sorry, rookie. Bad luck, I guess.”
Angel whimpers.
Star Lad’s groans, back arching as he fights with all his might. His power flickers like falling stars all around him, but it doesn’t do anything. Wherever it flashes, it illuminates Mr. Subterranean’s particulates and whatever spore that has incapacitated the auditor.
A spore that, apparently, has no effect on you.
Mr. Subterranean steps towards Angel. His eyes flash as he stretches a hand out toward her, an ominous black fungus rising through the skin of his palm. “I’m sorry, but I can and will do more good for this city than you ever will—“
Angel’s light slips into a despairing blue.
You lunge over the table.
Maybe it would’ve been more hero-like to match Mr. Subterranean monologue for monologue. Maybe you should’ve warned him before you threw all 200 pounds of on top of him, teeth first. Maybe you should’ve done a lot of things, but you didn’t and by the time you think of any of it, Mr. Subterranean’s head hits the opposite wall with a sickening smack!
“S-shark?” He stutters. His hands paw at your wrist where you’re holding his neck.
“The Shark,” you hiss through your growing teeth. Little drops of blood well up under the points of your nails where you’re using just a little too much strength. “Training accident? That’s the best you can come up with?”
Mr. Subterranean sneezes in your face. It’s disgusting and gross, but it doesn’t do anything.
“Sharks,” you tell him, “are immune to poison.”
“No, they aren’t,” he gasps.
You shake him like a rag doll. “If I say they are, they are.” You glance over your shoulder. “Yo, auditor. Am I allowed to arrest my team leader? I don’t think I’m a full Hero yet.”
Star Lad is slumped over in his chair. It takes him two tries to speak. “I—I deputize you to do so.”
“Great,” you say. You manhandle your team leader. He makes all sorts of interesting sounds when he tries to fight only to come up against your super strength. Somehow heroes always forget about your super strength. “I knew you were sketchy. This brings me incredible pleasure, sir.”
“Fuck you,” Mr. Subterranean spits.
There are a pair of power-suppression cuffs hanging from Mr. Subterranean’s utility belt. You grab them and click them on both of his wrists. They activate, flaring neon blue and Mr. Subterranean screams. As a physical power type, suppressing his powers is painful. You watch with interest as the mildew on the walls fades as he loses consciousness.
“Does this mean the mold lives inside him?” You let Mr. Subterranean fall to the ground. “Or is it a fungus?”
Star Lad coughs, sucking in a deep breath for the first time since he collapsed. He rubs at his throat. “How would I know that? He lied on his Hero Force Application form.”
The light in the room changes again to soemthing soft and pink as Angel calms down. She wraps her arms around herself. “Oh my god, are we his accomplices? I swear, I didn’t know anything about—“
“As rookies, neither of you bear any responsibility in Mr. Subterranean’s actions,” Star Lad says. He stands gingerly, testing his legs. “Unless either of you helped him hide villains from visiting heroes in order to defeat them himself at a later date?”
“What the fuck,” you say.
Angel presses a hand to her mouth. “Wait, I thought he had a second apartment for a mistress, not villains!”
“Could’ve been both,” you say. You watch Star Lad bring his mysterious sorcerer-like power to his hand and then dismiss it. “So what happens now?”
“I take Mr. Subterranean in,” Star Lad says promptly. He rolls his shoulders. “Both of you go home and wait for Hero Force to contact you. I assume you’ll be reassigned.” He eyes you. “You’ll probably go to San Francisco. Why didn’t you tell anyone you’re a shark transformer?”
You throw your hands up in the air. “I call myself the Shark!”
“Everyone in HQ thinks you’re being dramatic when you call yourself that,” Star Lad says. “You wrote superstrength and amazing teeth on your Hero Force Application.”
You bare all of your amazing shark teeth at him. “Which is true.”
He stares at you. “…right.” He sets about collecting Mr. Subterranean. His powers wrap around the other man’s arms and legs, lifting him into the air like a dead cow. “You both have options. Luckily we sorted those whole thing before either of you went rogue.”
“Whaaaat,” Angel says. Her halo shifts to a panicked orange color. “That’s craaaazy, I would never go rogue.”
“Yeah,” you say, bracing your hands on your hips. “What she said. Obviously.”
Star Lad shakes his head. “Right. Well, keep your noses clean. We’ll be in touch.”
He leaves the room, dragging Mr. Subterranean behind him. Both of you breathe a sigh of relief when the door closes.
“You were going to ditch too?” Angel asks.
“Big time,” you say. You fish your phone out of your pocket and show her the program you were going to use to drain Mr. Subterranean’s accounts. “I was going to rob our illustrious team leader first though.”
Angel pulls a pair of spark plugs out of her back pocket. “These are from his car.”
“So he couldn’t chase you?” You ask, impressed.
Angel looks at you like you’re crazy and pockets the spark plugs. “I can fly. He couldn’t chase me. I just wanted to ruin his day.”
You laugh. You didn’t know Angel was so funny. You sling an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go get a drink, Angel. We can write a letter to Star Lad asking to be reassigned together.”
Angel wrinkles her nose but allows herself to be led from the room. “Star Lad. What a stupid name.”
You’re delighted. “Right?!”
You go to get drinks.
----------------------.
thanks for reading! A bit of a long one but I had so much fun writing it!
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“What entertainment do you bring before me today?” Squawked Augustine, the king of the birds. “Have the mockingbird players returned from their tour of the provinces? Or maybe that prattling parrot will reprise its human impressions?”
“Alas, milord.” Replied the king’s seneschal, a somewhat fussy flamingo. “You had the parrot killed for excessive repetitions and hesitations.”
“So I did!” The king spread his majestic tail feathers proudly, reliving the happy fuzz of murder. “Well, they knew the rules. Or, at least, *I* knew the rules and they probably should have inferred them.”
“One can never argue with your execution of the law.” Said the long-suffering seneschal, keenly aware that the wrong answer could result in his suffering moving from *long* to *short*. “Or with the law of your executions, for that matter…”
“Speaking of executions,” Said the king, whose mind was never truly far from state-sanctioned violence, “Do we have any on the docket for today?”
“Your majesty, I’m afraid the dungeons are quite empty.”
“What, no traitors left?”
“No, sire.”
“No criminals of any kind? No thieves or fraudsters or comedians who are overly reliant on props?”
“All thoroughly and legally murked, milord.”
“Well, I suppose send in my jester, then. I’m so dreadfully bored.”
At this command, the jester fluttered into the room, wearing a jaunty cap made out of a McDonald’s wrapper with a small lost key jangling from it in place of a bell.
The king and seneschal looked at the jester - the air was heavy with the potential for further royal atrocities. The seneschal crossed his talons.
“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester, hilariously.
A pause. A silence.
“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester again, making unblinking eye contact with the king.
The silence stretched on further. (Surely it could not keep on stretching or it would pull something…)
“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester, tragically.
And at this, the king finally burst into laughter. Uproarious, over-the-top, gut-busting laughter.
Which was just the distraction the seneschal needed. The elaborate flamingo costume was abandoned; the false wooden legs clattered to the floor and the fake neck - a painted length of hose pipe - flopped grotesquely back and forth.
From the costume burst forth a small army of truly tiny owls, which set about tying up the king while he was still prostrate from the laughter.
“What is the meaning of this?” Wailed the king.
“Coup.” Said the pigeon jester, accurately.
“Your reign of terror is at an end, vile tyrant!” Chirped an Elf Owl, puffing up its chest. “Revolution is here and your foul murderous regime will fall. In its place will rise a majestic and fair government! Vive la republic of feathers!”
“This is a conspiracy!” Cried the king.
“No,” Said the Elf Owl. “A conspiracy is ravens.”
“Owls are…” It donned a tiny pair of sunglasses. “...a Parliament.”
#the gonzo and rizzo dynamic this implies is rizzo being like ‘gonzo i think we should get out of here’ at every turn#while gonzo is like ‘rizzo don’t be ridiculous’#gonzo: haha wow this castle is so cool and count dracula is such a nice guy!!#rizzo (trembling like a nervous Chihuahua) oh god oh god oh god#gonzo: check it out this guy’s got no reflection! crazy!!#rizzo: gonzo. we are gonna DIE here.#dracula *crawling down the castle like a lizard*#rizzo: GONZO ARE YOU SEEING THIS- wait#gonzo: *crawling down the wall like a lizard too* wahoo!!! (penny-anna)
You’re an ancient Greek man coming home from 4 months of war to find your wife 3 months pregnant. Now you’ve embarked on a solemn quest: to punch Zeus in the face.
Soon after you begin your quest, you encounter another man in a similar situation. You decide to join forces, as two mortal men stand a better chance at punching Zeus than one.
Two villages over, you encounter a woman who had relations with Zeus and was left with a highly aggressive half-boar half-man offspring. She too feels your anger and offers to join your quest.
By the time you reach Mount Olympus, you’ve amassed a large and formidable army of cuckolded/ravished mortals, demigods with daddy issues, mythical creatures with scores to settle, and a seamstress who you’re pretty sure is Hera in disguise.
Zeus never stood a chance.
What I find best about this scenario is that the original wife probably expected to be murdered for her infidelity at worst or have her relationship with her husband ruined as he grew to resent her baby, at best.
Instead this man looked at his beloved and said, “who did it?”
And she replied “Zeus,” accepting he probably wouldn’t believe her.
And then he sighed, strapped his sandals back on and said, “I’ll be back before the baby is born.”
“Where are you-?”
“The lord of the sky came into my house, molested my wife in my bed and ate my food. I am going to settle the score.”
“The pathway up Olympus is guarded by dozens of traps and perils strong enough to thwart even the Titans. How are we going to get past all of…” the shepherd boy with golden eagle feathers gestured uselessly at the slopes above them, particularly the herd of eight-legged goats snorting fire.
“There’s a way around,” Yiorgos said, though he was not specifically asked. But he had been the first to begin the march on Olympus, and so felt obligated to take the lead whenever possible, “In the stories there’‘s always a way around whatever obstacles the Gods place in our way.”
He hadn’t meant the words to come out as a question, but they had that lilt to them none-the-less. And even though he hadn’t meant it to be a question, much less a question directed at anyone specific, it was directed at one all the same. Just as the eagle-feathered shepherd boy’s had.
“Way I heard it,” a woman’s voice said. Rough with the Mycenaean Greek equivalent of a backwoods accent, and with the depth of a farmer’s wife who straps cattle to her back to carry to market, “there’s a back path. Hidden behind an invisible door that only one key in the world can open.” Everyone’s eyes had turned to the broad older woman in heavy shawl sitting amidst supplies in the foremost cart. “Least, that’s what my grand-mammy always told me.” she added after a moment of dozens of eyes on her.
“Oh, we were so foolish!” That was Lydia, a lithe waif of a woman, many months pregnant, sitting opposite the seamstress in the wagon. “Of course there’d be a.. a quest. They’d keep such a key in the depths of Tartarus or in the golden chariot of Apollo, or, or-”
“Or”, the older woman cut her off in a voice both firm, but much gentler than she used on anyone else, “he’s like all husbands and has been promising to move the key someplace better for the past three thousand years but hasn’t gotten around to it.” She gestured vaguely to the hillside, “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was under, say, that bush right over there.”
It was. Of course. And everyone in the caravan agreed that it had been a very lucky and wise guess from the nameless woman and for the upteenth time since she first sat herself down in the front wagon and announced she was coming along with no further explanation, each and every last member very purposefully gave no further thought to the matter.
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insane how many people just have these incredible artists in their families who get no recognition outside of crocheting circles because this art form is devalued for its association with women
in my country, the word for crocheting, is used metaphorically, to compliment a surgeon’s work.
every AFAB person my mother’s age and older, had practiced this craft at one point on another.
My mom has made literal paintings, that decorate our house for years (I’ll come back with pictures when I visit next) you can only see that they are crocheting when you go very close.
as promised here’s my mom’s crocheting “paintings”
There is another one but it had been stored many years ago, (i remember it from my childhood) and sadly it is probably damaged by mold, it depicted wild horsed running in nature
#That mosaic crochet is absurdly good; it literally looks like it might be cross-stitch#I’ve never seen mosaic crochet this detailed#are we SURE that’s not cross stitch????#oh I should take photos of my grandma’s work#they’re INCREDIBLE#huge tablecloths and doilies often made from sewing thread#I’ve made a few doilies myself before but hers are just…. amazing#crochet
from the looks of it this isn’t mosaic crochet. it’s tapestry crochet which looks like this
[source]
i’m hibernating one myself (far fewer colours, same technique)
There once was a man from the sticks
Whose limericks stopped at line six.
They were fine till line five
Then they took quite a dive —
But the problem is easy to fix
If you just ignore the last line, it doesn't even follow the rhyme scheme oh god I've really lost control of this thing I'm so sorry...
There once was a fellow named Dan,
Whose poetry never would scan.
When told this was so,
He replied, "Yes, I know--
It's because I try to squeeze as many syllables into the last line as I possibly can."
On Tumblr did lasses and lads
Their way with fail poetry had.
You're having your fun
But you're fooling no one -
It takes skill to do something this bad.