Hey, looky here! My Fandom Trumps Hate auction for @stileslovesderek has an official title, and is very close to done. I’ll probably start posting next week, at the rate of a chapter a week. It’s 12 chapters right now, and will probably have one or two more by the time it’s wrapped up. Here’s the summary:
Environmental lawyer Derek Hale is determined to stop the planned defacement of his beloved Beacon Hills Preserve by the mammoth Starr Development company. To do so, he makes a deal with the devil himself — Stiles Starr, the brash young scion of the Starr family and COO of Starr Development. Derek hates Stiles at first sight. Mieczysław Stilinski, on the other hand, is someone that Derek could grow to like…or even love.
And here’s your Sunday Six-(ish) for today:
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Stiles’ amused voice was right in his ear, and Derek startled fully awake, his eyes springing open as his hands scrabbled at the sheet, pulling it higher up around his waist.
Stiles was lying on the bed next to him, his shirt untucked and only half-buttoned, his long feet bare and pale below his trouser pants. He was rapidly texting on his phone, but he hit one more button and then tucked the phone aside. He turned on his side, a smirk spreading slowly across his face.
“What? —” Derek tried to pull up memories of the day before. He remembered the wedding invitation, and drinking the wolfsbane whiskey. And he remembered Stiles showing up, and more conversation, and that’s where the night got a little fuzzy.
Derek inhaled, still feeling half-drunk on the heady smell of himself and sleep-warmed Stiles. “We didn’t…?” he started.
“Oh, it was amazing,” Stiles said seriously, and Derek’s eyes widened as he heard no thump of a lie in his heartbeat. “You were a complete and total animal. You made sounds I’ve never heard a man make before.”
“I — I did?”
Stiles’ deadpan expression cracked and he started laughing, his whole body shaking with it.
“Very funny,” Derek grumbled. “Why am I — did you take my clothes off?” he asked, eyeing Stiles suspiciously.
“No, you did that all on your own, tiger. Or should I say ‘honey badger’?” Stiles was still shaking with aftershocks of laughter from time to time, Derek’s disgruntled expression seeming only to egg him on. “Right before you turned full wolf — and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you could do that — and then engaged in the most epic snuggling session I’ve ever experienced with anyone, on two or four legs.”
“Oh.” That was starting to sound a little familiar now. Memories were always a little fuzzier, a little more impressionistic, when Derek was full wolf, but he remembered Stiles’ long deft fingers in his fur, and the satisfaction he had felt, curling up to sleep in his den with Stiles warm against his side. “Uh. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Stiles said with a grin. “I will treasure it always.” And once again, Derek was a little disconcerted by the absence of a hiccup in his heartbeat.
“I’m hell on heels
Say what you will
I’ve done made the devil a deal
He made me pretty
He made me smart
And I’m going to break me a million hearts
I’m hell on heels, baby I’m comin’ for you.”
Bendy and borris were one of the first cartoons,right along steamboat Willie.They were controversial as having your main character being a litteral devil does not go well with religious people.Henry and Joey were in trouble because they had put a lot of time,effort,and most importantly money from investors into bendy and borris.Joey had one last ditch attempt to put bendy into a positive light.The devil himself.Joey sacrificed more than just his soul for his creations. Unbeknownst to Henry all bendy and borris cartoons from then on were in live action and they all did very well with audiences critics, and in profits.But the prices to make them increased disastrously.Henry had to use more ink and joey had to find people that nobody would miss to play the part.Joey had made a deal that the cartoons would do well as long as the ink machine had someone to play each role.The ink machine mixed ink with their blood, turning their bodies and minds into bendy and borris. After a while Henry had gotten an offer to work for a larger animation company,rubberhose animation grew out of style and Joey was left alone,with a deal hanging over his head and a will to live.By the time of the game Henry has died of old age and joey,an old and dying man,had sacrificed himself to the ink machine.Bendy and borris, dammed souls that don’t want to go back, are on a time limit, bodies rot and ink fades, they have to find two people to replace the bodies they posses and a lot of ink to fill the veins.In the end they can only find one body and not nearly enough ink.Bendy takes the ink from borris and puts the body in the ink machine.After a while you show up, Henry’s son, and bendy is once again running out of time,The game begins
Infinite High School Host Club: Hitachiin Hikaru Sungyeol as the Little Devil Type Although he is considered the “leader twin,” he is less mature than Kaoru when it comes to managing his emotions and dealing with others. Because of this
Hikaru is childishly over-possessive of each club member.
Their selling point in the Host Club is their “Forbidden Brotherly Love” package, which has them acting out various ways of bromance for the entertainment of their female customers.
Hikaru’s rose colour is light blue. In Japanese culture, blue signifies loyalty. Hikaru is incredibly loyal to Kaoru, even to his own detriment in terms of personal growth. In reality, the blue rose does not exist in nature; but in art signifies attainment of the impossible.
The pastel nature of the colour reflects a less intense affect on the character, as in a child or adolescent.
The original version of The Devil Went Down to Georgia was about Chef Gordon Ramsay™
The devil went down to London
He was lookin’ for a soul to steal
He was in a bind
‘Cause he was way behind
And he was willin’ to make a deal
When he came upon this young man
Sautée'n at the stove and doing it hot
And the devil jumped
Up on a prep table
And said, “boy, let me tell you what
I guess you didn’t know it
But I’m a sauteer too
And if you’d care to take a dare, I’ll make a bet with you
Now you Sauté a pretty good pan, boy
But give the devil his due
I’ll bet a grill of gold
Against your soul
‘Cause I think I’m better than you.”
The boy said, “my name’s Ramsay
And it might be a sin
But I’ll take your bet
And you’re gonna regret
‘Cause I’m the best there’s ever been.”
Ramsay, oil up your pan and sauté your vegetables hard
‘Cause hell’s broke loose in London, and the devil deals the cards
And if you win, you get this shiny grill made of gold
But if you lose, the devil gets your soul
The devil opened up his case
And he said, “I’ll start this show.”
And fire flew from his fingertips
As he oiled up his pan
Then he fired up the stove
And it made an evil hiss
And a brigade of demons joined in
And it sounded something like this
When the devil finished
Ramsay said, “well, you’re pretty good, old son
But sit down in that chair right there
And let me show you how it’s done.”
He fried Shrimp on the Mountain run boys, run
The devil’s in the House of the Rising Sun
Chicken in a bread pan pickin’ out dough
Granny, does your dog bite? No child, no
The devil bowed his head
Because he knew that he’d been beat
And he laid that golden grill
On the ground at Ramsay’s feet
Ramsay said, “Devil, just come on back
If you ever want to try again
I done told you once you son of a bitch
I’m the best that’s ever been.”
He fried Shrimp on the Mountain run boys, run
The devil’s in the House of the Rising Sun
Chicken in a bread pan pickin’ out dough
Granny, does your dog bite? No child, no
I gave a presentation on Autism about a year ago, and the comparison I used to explain just what Autistic people have to deal with in society was left-handedness:
It is a natural variation in completing tasks or writing that most people don’t think very much about, but usually they know someone who is left-handed (or perhaps they are left-handed themselves). There are often left-handed people in their work, or at their school, but they never bother to observe their handwriting or which hand they use.
People have been, and still are, ridiculed or even physically punished for using their left hand. It has been referred to as a “sign of the devil”, improper, and lazy. People have been (and still are, in some places) trained out of using their left hand, either through verbal rebukes, restraint, or physical punishment.
If left-handed people are not outright punished or trained to use their right hand, over the years, they learn to use their right hand instead of their left. Because after years of ridicule, disdain, bullying, and shaming, you are forced to change an intrinsic part of yourself to avoid being seen (to avoid being hurt).
I told the people viewing the presentation that this is what Autistic people still go through, only on a far more massive and systematic scale.
Autistic people are murdered for being Autistic, disowned or denied basic care just because their brain works differently.
Parents murder their Autistic children and the media sympathizes with the parents (because the Autistic child was violent, or the parent just “didn’t know how to deal with it”, or the child took up so much of their time and money and resources).
Autistic people are subjected to electric shocks, bleach enemas, beatings, verbal and psychological abuse, neglect, and other forms of physical punishment just to try and “cure” them.
Autistic people are ridiculed every single day, they get called retarded, or defective, or get told that they are burdens to their parents or caretakers, or get pushed or hit or spat on or otherwise assaulted by their peers in school and the people that are supposed to stop those things from happening turn around and say “it’s because you have a communication deficit, you misinterpreted what happened to you.”
Autistic people are denied accommodations for their disability, even when to do so is in direct violation of IDEA and the ADA, and is punishable by law.
Autistic people have hate groups disguised as advocacy networks, Autism Speaks funneled their money into advertising and staff salaries and towards cure research (and the search for a prenatal test for Autism) rather than provide resources for occupational therapy, or weighted blankets or stim toys, or provide spaces for Autistic people to share their experiences with families and other Autistic people. Instead, it just funded commercials that promoted fear, capitalized on non-Autistic parents’ stories of what a devastating effect their child’s Autism had on their family, while ignoring any Autistic person’s rebuttal.
The people who viewed this presentation were so horrified that I heard them talking several minutes after I had finished, shaking their heads about how awful the things I had described were, that they could never support anything like this. To this day, when I tell people all of this, the best of them will say something like “I had no idea, how is it possible that this can go on right under our noses with no talk of it happening?” The other ones will say that this is surely a gross exaggeration, only the worst 1% of therapists could be abusive, that it just isn’t possible for people to defy the law with accommodations in the way I described. Sometimes they’ll say I am the hateful one, the real person promoting fear-mongering in the name of identity politics or political correctness. And I realized, after those conversations, there is no way those people will ever understand how commonplace these things really are.
I was one of those children who was screamed at, denied accommodations and mocked for my behavior by teachers, I was one of those children sent outside (and I mean, I was literally sent outside, into humid Florida weather, ranging above 90° on most days) by my teacher because she told me “Get out, go sit outside, I can’t deal with you today.” I was one of those children who was slapped, hit, kicked, who had my fingers slammed in doors and windows, who was spat on, who had students make a game out of avoiding the door when I touched it or tried to hold it open. I was one of those students who went for help with the teachers, about accommodations or physical bullying, only to be told “I had a great difficulty in interpreting social interaction, and was I sure I wasn’t misinterpreting it?” Only when that happened, it wasn’t called gaslighting, it was just them trying to get the whole story. I had two teachers, and one private Catholic school, refuse to follow my IEP on the grounds that “all children are like this, we don’t provide special treatment.” This is illegal, but no teacher was ever brought to justice, because the two teachers both had tenure, and the Catholic school was never held responsible either. Instead, I was transferred from class to class, from school to school. In my childhood, I went to 11 different schools, and it was rarely simply because my family was military and moved often.
I have had several therapists and psychiatrists suggest the possibility of PTSD to me, at which I always balked, because I have lived this way for so long that sometimes it gets really hard to tell if what happened to me was really as horrible as it sounds, or if I really am just exaggerating. I still wake up in the middle of the night, or sit up until 3 AM, debating myself over and over again. “Can I really blame them for doing what they did? They just didn’t know how to react to me. I WAS a difficult child to deal with…they were just uneducated, they didn’t know…somehow, it was all punishment for the person I am now…it might not have been my fault, but I deserved it…”
I am one of those people, I am Autistic, I am people that you probably know, or have met at some point in your life. This isn’t something Autistic people make up, this did not just snap into existence. My experience is one that happens, and gets swept under the rug over and over again.
Just because I might not “seem” Autistic, or just because I am so “articulate”, do not dismiss my experiences. Like I said: if you beat and ridicule and demonize someone enough times for using their left hand, you can be sure that they’ll struggle and scribble with their right hand any day rather than risk the repercussions of fine cursive with their left.
You made a deal with the devil to become rich. He then tells you that fortune will be yours, but there is a curse. For every $1000 you spend, a random person on the Earth will die. Congratulations! You just won $250,000,000.
Whoo, good job everyone! That was a fun challenge :) You can read all past challenges and today’s HERE on this doc! It also has other’s who participated.
Here’s also mine below!
[END TIME lol I actually finished a contained short story for once!]
You sign the contract in crayon and pray that you haven’t already made a mess of things. The demon in front of you doesn’t see anything amiss, doesn’t question your choice of writing implements, doesn’t do anything but what she’s been doing for the past hour; smiling.
“There we go,” she coos and pets your hair like a mother would. “Easy, easy and so much time life, darling. You made a good deal.”
“…Thanks,” you say, trying not to lean into her touch. It’s been weeks since anyone but a nurse has touched you, even longer since anyone has touched you with something approaching the amount of affection this demon is showing you.
It’s a lie, you think, staring down at your hands. They’re thin and brushed with purple and blue, your skin nearly translucent under the weight of your medications. Your fingers knot in your flimsy hospital gown.
“Take care, kid,” the demon says and brings the contract to her lips. She kisses the crackling paper and smiles wickedly at you. “I’ll be seeing you soon enough.”
She disappears in smoke and fire, a vortex of light and sound in the sterile hospital room that sends all the machines hooked up to you shrieking. She takes with her the sense of peace she’d brought, probably something artificial too.
You sigh and begin to pull the IVs and patches from your body.
“Stop!” Nurse Blanchett rushes into your room, eyes wide. She’s wearing pastel pink scrubs today, the brightest color in the hospital. She grabs your wrist as you go for the heart monitor, pinning it to your side. “Lavina, you can’t pull the–”
She breaks off as, slowly, you lift your arms, forcing hers up. You’re strong, so much stronger than her, and she loses the concern in her eyes to fear.
“I’m checking out,” you say and she lets go, stepping back from you. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet still thin, still sickly, but filled with so much strength that your knees don’t buckle when you stand. “Goodbye, Nurse Blanchett.”
You don’t have any normal clothes at the hospital, but that’s fine. You need to go shopping before your final destination anyway.