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Imagine flamingo!reader joining the 141 with bright, brilliant pink wings, right?
And the team absolutely loves them, even though they have to stay covered during ops. The tiny, barely noticeable flashes of them across the field let your team know your alive. It becomes soothing, in a way.
Which is why they all notice when your pink color begins to fade.
None of them are hybrids, they have no clue what's wrong with you but it's obvious you're sick. That dashing hot pink turned dull and white.
The worst part is that you're acting completely fine! Insisting on training like normal and taking your usual workload. You act confused when price only gives you a handful of small files or when ghost tells you to take the bench for sparring.
If anything, it only makes you more eager to trains and work even as the last bits of pink fade from your wings.
It's not until price attempts to bench you from a mission that you come to his office seething, wings flaring and huffing "what the hell, sir? Why am I benched?"
Price, who doesn't take well to such disrespect, reminds himself that you're sick and clearly not thinking straight. He raises a brow, glances at your wings "I don't know much 'bout avians but I'm not stupid, I know what sickness looks like."
"...sick?? Sir, I'm not sick–"
"Your wings are completely white, sergeant. Piss off. Fuckin' not sick my ass." Price stands now, too. He really wishes you would sit down, standing can't be good for you.
"...sir." you stare at price, face carefully neutral "this is because my...my wings are white?"
"Yes, sergeant." He watches as you cycle through emotions on your face, before you finally settle on mildly amused.
"Sir. My wings aren't naturally white. It comes from my diet." You let the comment sink in, then add "the diet i changed so I could blend in better on the field."
....of course none of them thought to simply ask if you weren't alright.
After a gruff apology from price, you're ordered to return back to your previous diet, something about team morale.
alright I've got to do some quick math to explain attitudes towards AI to my boss.
we're looking to create an AI policy, and when we were talking about this, my boss (older millennial) was genuinely shocked to hear that younger people do not (seem) to view AI positively (a la the recent commencement speakers being booed)
please rb for larger sample size!
Question 1/3
What is your age, and do you feel AI is a net positive or net negative in our lives today?
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your muscles being pleasantly sore after exercise is such a nice incentive I can see why they patched that in. the forced regular logins to avoid losing progress however are a predatory practice and deserve nothing but scorn.
so if you not on testosterone you are not a trans right? then what makes you a “man”? your brain? maybe you should go to the psychologist? (not hate)
Hi nonnnyyy :3 usually I delete these asks but considering its pride month, I wanna make something clear to all my Trans folk on my page!
I support trans folk regardless of their efforts towards a physical transition.
There are many reasons someone may be unable to achieve gender affirming care, whether that be from lack of finances or medical issues or personal beliefs. Regardless they are still trans and just as valid as someone who's been on hormones for years.
More than that, I support trans folk regardless of the amount of dysphoria they experience! Gender is far too complex to boil down into dysphoria and a desire to transition. The only thing that makes someone a man is if they say they are one. That's literally it. Yes I'm serious.
If you want to look more into gender and why transmed thinking is harmful, my friend @profbuppy in gender studies recommended these to read: [light reading] [medium reading] [heavy reading]
project hail mary is insane bc the first half is like oh my god the world is dying and there's alien bacteria eating the sun and there's some guy alone on a ship and he's having a breakdown and the flashbacks are getting darker and this is a tragedy the likes of which i have never seen. then BAM andy weir says fuck you actually. here's this pokemon guy he's here to save the day with the power of friendship. and it's the best thing you've ever seen in your life
When you thought you were following an adult series, like Disney in a mature version, but you realize that it was always a cartoon for kids, but with the addition of scabrous themes, in which everything is fetishized, and you realize that it was just soft corn for thirteen-year-olds, probably written by ChatGPT, full of contradictions, continuous changes of writing, without any moral.
Then you realize that thirteen-year-olds are watching more mature things, and you wonder who that product is for. But definitely not for you.
💀 Making Your Villain Make Sense (Without Making Them Right™)
("because if I see one more war criminal with a sad diary entry get a redemption arc, I’m gonna throw my laptop.")
Here’s the thing: your villain doesn’t need to be redeemable. But they do need to make sense.
And I mean sense beyond "they’re evil and they monologue about it."
Or “they have a tragic past, so now they do murder <3.”
Or “they were right all along, the hero just couldn’t see it 🥺.”
Let’s fix that.
─────── ✦ ───────
🧠 STEP ONE: BUILD A LOGIC SYSTEM THAT ISN’T OURS
Your villain shouldn’t just be wrong, they should have their own internal system that works for them. Morally flawed? Absolutely. But coherent.
Ask yourself:
What do they value more than anything? (Power? Order? Loyalty? Vengeance?)
What do they believe about the world, and how did they get there?
What fear drives them? What future do they think they’re trying to prevent?
The villain doesn’t need to know they’re wrong. But you should.
Make their logic airtight. even if it’s awful. Give them cause and effect.
─────── ✦ ───────
👿 STEP TWO: STOP GIVING THEM THE BETTER IDEOLOGY
Listen. I love a “morally gray” moment as much as anyone. But if your villain is making all the good points and the hero’s just like “no because that’s mean,” your arc is upside down.
If your villain is critiquing injustice, oppression, or inequality, make sure their methods are the problem, not their entire worldview.
✖︎ WRONG:
Villain: “The ruling class is corrupt.”
Hero: “That’s not nice.”
✔︎ RIGHT:
Villain: “The ruling class is corrupt, so I’m burning the city and everyone in it.”
Hero: “So you’re just… committing genocide now?”
Your villain can touch a real issue. Just don’t let them be the only one talking about it, or solving it with horror movie logic.
─────── ✦ ───────
🔪 STEP THREE: GIVE THEM POWER THAT COSTS THEM
The best villains lose things too. They’re not just untouchable horror dolls in sexy coats. They make bad choices and pay for them. That’s where the drama lives.
Examples:
They isolate themselves.
They sacrifice people they love.
They get what they want, and it destroys them.
They know they’re the monster, and choose it anyway.
If your villain can kill a dozen people and feel nothing, that’s not scary. That’s boring.
Let them bleed. Let them regret it. Let them double down anyway.
─────── ✦ ───────
🧱 STEP FOUR: MAKE THEM PART OF THE WORLD, NOT OUTSIDE IT
Villains shouldn’t feel like they were patched in from another genre. They should be part of the world’s logic, culture, class system, history. They should reflect something about the setting.
Villains that slap:
The advisor who upheld the regime until they decided they deserved to rule.
The noble who’s using war to reclaim stolen legacy.
The ex-hero who thinks the system can’t be saved, only reset.
The priest who truly believes the gods demand blood.
They’re not just evil, they’re a product of the same world the hero is trying to save.
─────── ✦ ───────
👁 STEP FIVE: SHOW US THEIR SELF-JUSTIFICATION
You don’t need a tragic backstory™. But you do need to show us why they think they’re right. Not just with exposition, through action.
Let us watch them:
Protect someone.
Choose their goal over safety.
Justify the unjustifiable to a character who loves them.
Refuse to change, even when given a chance.
A villain who looks into the mirror and goes “Yes. I’m correct.” is 1000x scarier than one who sobs into a journal and says “I’m so broken 🥺.”
─────── ✦ ───────
🧨 BONUS ROUND: DON’T MAKE THEM A HATRED MEGAPHONE
Especially if you’re writing marginalized characters: don’t let your villain become a mouthpiece for slurs, abuse, or extremism just to make them “evil enough.” That’s lazy. And harmful.
You don’t need real-world hate speech to build a dark character. You need power, consequence, and intent.
─────── ✦ ───────
TL;DR:
Good villains don’t need to be right. They need to be real.
Not a vibe. Not a sad boy in a trench coat. Not a trauma monologue and then a sword fight.
They need logic. They need cost. They need to scare you because you get them, and still want them to lose.
Make them dangerous. Not relatable.
Make them whole. Not wholesome.
Make them make sense.
—rin t.
// thewriteadviceforwriters
// villain critic. final boss consultant. licensed chaos goblin
P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:
✦ A free (and actually helpful) guide to leveling up your first 10 pages ✦If you're unsure whether your opening is ✨doing enough✨ to hook re
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Okay. This is an experiment wherein I... post a little bit of my OC writing. A little state-setting snippit, if you will. Bear in mind this is older writing, originally drafted approx 2024-ish. I have a little page that has some context on my OCs -- Fox and Coyotl -- here
-----
Driving Lessons
Nineteen was old enough for driving lessons—something Fox soon discovered that Coyotl had no experience with.
"Put your foot down on the clutch. The pedal to your left," he snapped.
The car jolted to a halt. "Fucking shit, goddamn it," Coyotl gasped. "Fucking cunt of a mechanical—"
"Language." Fox's voice was calm and even, but his eyes were narrowed. He had his hand braced on the dash and was trying very hard to not lose his temper. How on earth do parents world over manage to teach their ill-begotten spawn without the wretches killing themselves and their hapless mentors?
Coyotl's head tilted. "I didn't even swear!"
"Yes. You did." Fox took a deep, steadying breath. He'd chosen one of his less-valued vehicles, a car from his 'low-class' fleet, a beat-up old junker that wouldn't be missed when Coyotl inevitably destroyed it. "I've heard your mouth when you think no one is listening, Coyotl," he said, and he smiled, faintly. It had been amusing to listen to his young protege’s rants about Jackson and the other guards. "I am quite aware of your capacity for swearing."
"I don't fucking swear that much, you goddamned prick!" The boy was glaring at him. "You try learning this shit in three days and not crashing!"
"Language. And I have. I've driven since before you were born," Fox snapped. The car jerked again. Fox resisted the urge to slam his head against the dashboard. Barely. "You have the gears. You've mastered them, at least. Just release the clutch slowly."
Coyotl's hands gripped the wheel and his foot lifted on the pedal, slowly. "Like that?"
"Slower. Try not to jerk," Fox murmured. His tone had dropped, and Coyotl's eyes flicked to him for a split second. "Just relax."
Fox had gathered, so far, that very few people had ever bother to instruct Coyotl with anything less than physical violence and terror. And Coyotl responded very poorly to both of them, reacting with fear and anger in a self-perpetuating loop. A typical negative feedback situation. Praise, however… Praise was something he wasn't accustomed to. He didn't know how to deal with praise and approval, with someone being proud of him.
But sometimes praise was a bit hard to muster. Such as when he was being strangled by a seat-belt and an incompetent, stupid, annoying--Fox's mental tirade was interrupted by a lurch of the vehicle as Coyotl shifted too suddenly. The older man bit back an oath of his own, and closed his eyes.
For fuck's sake, Felix. He's nineteen years old and he was never taught to drive. Don't murder the poor kid, he told himself. "Stop the car." He took another deep, steadying breath. "Coyotl. Pull over." His eyes snapped open. His young protégée nodded, slowly, and did as told, pulling over onto a small side road, where a stand of desert shrubbery surrounded the path, making a nice little concealed place to rest.
The engine sputtered and stopped. Coyotl leaned back and looked over at Fox. "…Did I do okay?" He sounded like he knew what the response would be.
He should have taken a centering breath. He should have closed his eyes and counted to ten. But Fox's response was immediate and harsh. "You drove like a blind cripple, Coyotl. I've seen five year olds with cerebral palsy who can drive better! Are you incompetent? Did you learn to drive in an amusement park with geriatric spastics?"
The boy recoiled, his eyes widening, then his expression blanked and his shoulders shook. Fox froze. He's… he's going to…
Coyotl fumbled his seat-belt off, kicked the door open, and bolted. Straight into the uneven Mojave Desert scrub-lands. Fox cursed under his breath, undid his own seat-belt, and scrambled out of the vehicle. "Coyotl, wait."
The desert was dark. Fox couldn't see shit without the aid of headlights. He could barely even see Coyotl. All he saw was the boy's back as he ran. And then he lost track of him, and his curses went from muttered to a shouted litany.
It takes so little to die out here. The nights were colder than many would assume, the uneven terrain made it easy to twist an ankle, and there were wild creatures out there that might kill someone as small and vulnerable as a human. A teenage human, at that. Losing sight of the road could easily be fatal.
Fox walked a few feet out, and then looked around. "Coyotl." No response. He was alone in the darkness, with only a small penlight to aid his search. For a moment, Fox considered. Considered cutting his loss, getting back into the car and leaving the young man to his fate. No one would miss a homeless, nineteen-year-old orphan with a criminal record.
Then he started forward. He wasn't about to lose his investment to a tantrum.
Fox spent a solid half hour trudging through the desert. He'd discarded his jacket in the car and now was starting to regret not putting it on, even as he kept careful track of his course relative to the vehicle, marking landmarks as he walked. He was no fool, but even he knew that getting lost was far too easy, and he was not going to be the latest corpse discovered by a hiker out in the middle of nowhere.
Coyotl was a city dweller, a street-rat. Fox was sure he wouldn't be too far from the vehicle.
He almost stumbled over the young man in a dry wash. Coyotl had curled up in the lee of a boulder and a stunted tree, huddled against the rock and shaking. The characteristic panting of a panic-attack was a dead give-away. "Oh for the love of…"
"Get away from me," the boy snarled, and scrambled away, backing against the rock. His eyes were wide and his teeth were grit. He lifted one hand, clutching a fair-sized rock as a weapon. "Get the fuck away from me. I'll kill you."
Fox's eyes narrowed, slowly, as he stared at the young man, and then he chuckled. A low, cold laugh. It was the first death-threat the boy had dared utter to his face. He was going to remember it. "No, you won't."
The boy paled, then bared his teeth. "Try me." He lunged, swinging the rock.
It was an inept attack, wild and without real strength behind it, but still dangerous. Fox stepped in and caught his wrist, twisting the rock from his fingers and tossing it aside. His other hand closed on his protegé's neck and slammed him to the dirt, pinning him. His fingers dug into his throat and his knee pressed on his belly. "Stop it."
Coyotl snarled, and Fox slammed him to the sand again. The boy's eyes squeezed closed, and Fox felt him take a deep, gasping breath, shaking. "…I…I hate you."
"No, you don't." Fox snorted, softly. "You're angry and scared and you're feeling ashamed. That's not hatred." He was calm, now. "But if you ever threaten to kill me again, I will end your existence so quickly you will have no time to regret it."
Moonlight rendered Coyotl's gold eyes into silver as he stared up at him. "…Yeah, sure." He sounded resigned.
Fox's thumb dug into his neck, pressing on the artery, making the boy gasp. "Do not try me, boy." He had mere seconds to make his point before the lack of blood-flow sent Coyotl into unconsciousness. "Or you will learn just how bad I can be." His thumb moved, releasing the artery and allowing blood to flow. "And I have been kind, compared to my alternatives. Do you know how many of my people would have killed you for threatening me?" Fox leaned down, and his eyes met Coyotl's. "Every one of them."
Coyotl was shaking, now. Fox sighed. He released the boy's neck, slowly, and shifted back. "…Come back with me."
"…Why should I?" Coyotl muttered. His eyes were averted. "I'm fuckin' useless. I can't do anything right. I can't kill anyone, I can't drive, I c--"
Fox slapped him across the mouth. The sound was sharp in the night. Coyotl's eyes snapped open. Fox could see the rage and pain in those eyes, and the hurt of a child who didn't know why they were being beaten.
You're losing him, Felix. Stop. Stop the cycle. Stop it now. "…Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Coyotl," he said. He softened his tone. He had to be careful. So very careful. "I expect mistakes, from a teenager who has had no one in their life who cared enough to teach them. You are far from useless." He slid his fingers along his cheek and held the young man's head, tilting it up. Coyotl tried to jerk away, and he tightened his grip. "…I was needlessly cruel. A poor way to teach anything."
"…You're a mobster or some fucking thing, I can't complain if you're mean." Coyotl muttered the words. "…I mean… that's what you do." He was trying to pull his head out of Fox's grip, trying to break eye-contact. "I'm stupid, okay?"
"Not needlessly so. Cruelty for no purpose is destructive to the end goal." Fox's hand stroked Coyotl's neck, then his side, and the young man gasped and twisted. Tender, from the training? Or sensitive? Fox wasn't sure. "Pragmatism and cruelty do not need to coincide."
"You're not a good man, Fox," Coyotl said. His voice shook.
"No, but I am an efficient man, and an effectual one." He rufled Coyotl's hair, drawing out another of those lost, confused expressions from his protegé. "I have no desire to be a good man. Good men rarely prosper."
"…So I can be a bad guy." Coyotl's eyes flicked up to his face. "I wanna be a bad guy. I don't wanna be a good guy." Fox could hear the desire, the hunger for acceptance in Coyotl's tone. "I wanna thrive Fox. I never want to—starve, or be someone's—someone's fu…"
Fox nodded. "Exactly. You'll never have to live as you did before, again." His voice was a whisper, soft, and gentle, as his hand stroked along the young man's belly again, making him squirm. "Come along. Back to Las Vegas, with you. The desert nights are far too cold."
For a second he thought Coyotl might say something unfortunate, and he'd have to reject some ill-conceived and awkward seduction, but the boy just nodded, slowly. "Yeah. It's cold as shit. We… should go home." He took Fox's hand as the older man pushed himself up. "Th…sor…thanks."
Fox chuckled and squeezed his fingers, and started towards the distant headlights.
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