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dreamertrilogys · 4 years

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saying your names, richard siken / nice2knou, all time low / @pragmaticam / the loneliest sweet potato, sabrina benaim / invisible fish, joy harjo / lost in the supermarket, the clash / the glass essay, anne carson / you are jeff, richard siken / @retropopcult / hard feelings/loveless, lorde / the book of delights, ross gay / bag of bones, mitski / boot theory, richard siken / @th3-n30n-d3m0n / a supermarket in california, allen ginsberg / source unknown / cynicism at a supermarket, hedonic nihilist / punisher, phoebe bridgers / @suffer-rosa / @inthefields / grey tickles, black pressure, john grant / @elijahreblogs / @itsmieille / shopping for yesterday, adrian wait / @alexsiple / perfection, and this your living kiss / love in the supermarket, bardo / my north market, nate pentz / supermarket blues, bobby gross / loneliness in supermarkets, mateuš conrad / the raven cycle, maggie stiefvater

[ID: image 1: "I'm saying your name in the grocery store"

image 2: "We always say that we'll keep in touch / Nobody does, but it don't matter much / One last call at the corner store"

image 3: a comic panel of a woman dricing her car, saying "I'VE GOT A TANK FULL OF GAS AND A HEAD FULL OF DREAMS. TIME TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE FOR NO REASON."

image 4: "So, I'm at the grocery store because I feel sad."

image 5: "Invisible fish swim this ghost ocean now described by waves of sand, by water-worn rock. Soon the fish will learn to walk. Then humans will come ashore and paint dreams on the dying stone. Then later, much later, the ocean floor will be punctuated by Chevy trucks, carrying the dreamers’ decendants, who are going to the store."

image 6: "I'm all lost in the supermarket / I can no longer shop happily / I came in here for that special offer / A guaranteed personality"

image 7: "The shadowless light makes him look immortal,"

image 8: "After work you go to the grocery store to get some milk and a carton of / cigarettes. Where did you get those bruises? You don’t remember. / Work was boring. You find a jar of bruise cream and a can of stewed / tomatoes. Maybe a salad? Spinach, walnuts, blue cheese, apples, and / you can’t decide between the Extra Large or Jumbo black olives. Which / is bigger anyway? Extra Large has a blue label, Jumbo has a purple / label. Both cans cost $1.29. While you’re deciding, the afternoon light / is streaming through the windows behind the bank of checkout coun- / ters. Take the light inside you like a blessing, like a knee in the chest, / holding onto it and not letting it go. Now let it go."

image 9: an image of a retro grocery store

image 10: "But I still remember everything / How we'd drift buying groceries, how you'd dance for me"

image 11: "I dreamed a few years back that I was in a supermarket checking out when I had the stark and luminous and devastating realization -in that clear way, not that oh yeah way- that my life would end. I wept in line watching people go by their carts, watching the cashier move items over the scanner, feeling such an absolute love for this life. And the mundane fact of buying groceries with other people whom I do not know, like all the banalities, would be no more so soon, or now. Good as now."

image 12: "Fluorescent store lights, you shine through the night / Illuminate my pores, and you tear me apart / Mercy on me, would you please spare me tonight / I'm tired of this searching, would you let me let go"

image 13: "A man walks into a convenience store, still you, saying: / I only wanted something simple, something generic..."

image 14: a picture of the door to a convenience store, its edited and the entire photo is bright neon

image 15: "In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations! / What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!—and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?"

image 16: a picture of a empty grocery store, fluorescent lights reflecting on the tile floor

image 17: "I propose that we are all products in an / increasingly capitalistic market // No one wants you in the end"

image 18: "The drugstores are open all night / The only real reason I moved to the east side / I love a good place to hide in plain sight"

image 19: "Do sane people haunt the aisles of grocery stores in search of some sensibility?"

image 20: "Time does not exist inside of a supermarket. People walk in with lists and cravings and they're out automatic"

image 21: a picture of a somewhat rundown grocery store

image 22: "I often stand and stare / At nothing in the grocery store / Because I do not know / What to buy to eat any more"

image 23: "You enter the same grocery store you’ve been going to for years. The layout is entirely different. You don’t recognize any of the employees. The only thing linking it to the previous times you’ve been here is the faded tile floor."

image 24: a drawing of a supermarket, the view is from above, and you can see the aisles

image 25: "Busy crowds, lonly hearts, broken dreams / Shopping for yesterday. / Visiting the shared moments, / In all the familiar places / When shopping for yesterday."

image 26: a drawing of an aisle in a grocery store

image 27: "Those nights in that in-between time / In in-between spaces, / Truck stops and 24-hour diners / From bygone eras and unforgiving lights all / Left up bright,"

image 28: "I could spend my life in the supermarket, going around the aisles / Walking among the plentiful and the abundant / Looking for things to help plug the holes inside, / Looking for something, hungry for something, I don't know what / But something that probably can't be found on shelves / Something that was maybe lost a long time ago."

image 29: a picture of a grocery store at night, taken from outside

image 30: "I'm a lost child in the supermarket / Looking for my mom / I have no idea where to look"

image 31: "at the local (supermarket) - / and i can't feel the bitter loneliness / while walking down an aisle / of ready-meals... // to be honest, walking in a graveyard / gives me a more cheerful aura / than walking in the supermarket..."

image 32: "but tonight, under the fluorescent lights of Dollar City," /END ID]

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mrpenguinpants · 4 years

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Venti and Diluc: Friendship HCs

Hi elliechan! I’ve already written friendship hcs for Venti but I never want to leave anyone hanging (unless the dupe request is incredible specific and I can’t add onto it anymore) so think of it as a part 2. But if you haven’t seen Part 1 yet, I added a link.

Also, I would like to credit fulltimeventisimp for helping me out with this fic. My monkey brain couldn’t think of anything for Venti but they gave me literally a fics worth of content. PLEASE IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY, MAKE IT AN ACTUAL FIC! I LOVED IT! I tried my best to not piggy back too hard off it but if it does seem that way, let me know and I’ll definitely change it.

But thank you 💕💕💕

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Part 1: Venti Frienship HCs

Xiao: Frienship HCs

[Masterlist]

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[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten

Venti and Diluc: Friendship HCs

Venti

The first time you met the bard, it was when you were visiting Mondstadt as a small pit stop. He was sat on top of some wooden boxes, next to an apple vendor, singing a short ballad. You’ve never encountered bards throughout your journey and he did have a lovely singing voice so you decided to stay a bit and listen in. It felt like the wind itself was carrying his voice throughout the streets but you couldn’t help but feel a bit...melancholy from his tune. Was it homesickness? You clapped with the crowd when the bard finished and on a whim, you decided to buy him a small bag of apples. He seemed to like them as he only asked the apple vendor to gift him two for his efforts. When you paid your purchase the bard seemed to be in a deep conversation with the same vendor that you didn’t want to disturb them, after all you weren’t going to be in Mondstadt for long. So you placed the small bag of apples beside the bard’s lyre with a quick thank you note, a couple extra coins, and continued on your journey.

You didn’t expect that small act of kindness would lead to anything but when you were preparing for bed, the same bard popped his head outside your window and almost gave you a heart attack. This bard was lucky he didn’t catch you while you were changing your clothes or else things might have turned ugly. He wanted to thank you for your generous donation which you simply waved off explaining that throughout your journey, you never met anyone that could sing quite like him. A small token of appreciation. Perhaps it was because you fed his ego too much or other reasons but that seemed to peak the bards interest and ask about what other fascinating places you’ve been too. You talked about the horrible mountain you needed to climb through to reach Mondstadt, the shining electro lamps of Inazuma that would spark if you got too close, to the clear pools and lotus heads in Liyue.

“You’ve been around all over the place! Perhaps you would allow me to write a ballad of your conquests?”

“Hm? Is that so? Why don’t you come with me? Go outside the walls of Mondstadt and explore. So you can write your own ballad instead of others.”

“Is this another acting whim of yours?”

“Haha, perhaps.”

Unsurprisingly, you don’t see the bard the next day. It was probably a lot to suddenly ask a stranger to drop everything and come with you to unknown places. But you decided to stay in Mondstadt for a short while and see what the City of Freedom had to offer. From meeting the supposed gliding champion and learning a few pointers, to the mysterious Calvary Captain who you were sure was probably the shadiest person you’ve ever met, to the aloof red headed tavern owner. You weren’t much of a drinker but everyone in Mondstadt, especially the knights, seemed to really enjoy their wine and were incredibly friendly to strangers. On the night you were planning to leave Mondstadt, the rowdy knights you’ve became friends with decided to celebrate and urge you to drink to your hearts content (please drink responsibly haha). You must have been a bit tipsy when you met the bard for a second time, introducing himself properly as Venti. You could blame it on the alcohol when you suddenly challenged him to a drinking contest but it was the most fun you had in a while. You were pretty sure everyone got kicked out but as you leaned against Venti absolutely hammered, laughing about the silliest things, it was the most freeing feeling you’ve ever felt.

From then on, even after you had left the City of Freedom, you could would randomly see Venti pop up sometimes. Should it be at Starsnatch Cliff or all the way in Wolvendom, you would see a few fluffy feathers appear as the bar- Venti announced his arrival. You were pretty sure Venti was bored whenever he visited you to see what you were up to but you didn’t mind. His liveliness nature was addicting and you were an easy going person. Though, some of the jokes he made, made you a bit suspicious of him. Whenever he would say that Andrius was secretly a grumpy mother hen or that Dvalin was actually a shy sweetheart.

“You sure do know a lot about Mondstadt. You sure you’re just a bard Venti?”

“Hmm, well it shouldn’t hurt to tell you. I am Barbatos. The Anemo Archon of Mondstadt. Pleasure to make your acquaintance..-again.”

“I see...and yet you still get ID checked?”

“Rude!”

Outside of Mondstadt, Venti is a whirlwind of emotions. Always wanting to see what’s changed or linking your hands and dragging you off to some far off chest he found. How did his small body have so much strength to nearly pop your arm out? He did come in handy during your Liyue expeditions since he can give you a small boost to just reach the top of that cliff. You thought violet grass was bad, it should be illegal for Qingxin flowers to grow on the very top of mountains. Venti thinks it’s really sweet that you put so much faith in his winds to let yourself fly when he uses his elemental skill. Though, it’s a bit of a double edged sword. When you finally reach the very top and you’re waiting for Venti to join you, he might pretend to loose control and throw himself off the cliff. You sometimes forget he’s literally the anemo archon and you’re ready to go gliding after him before he pops up in front of you to give you another scare. While he’s laughing, you’re already planning how to sneak slime condensate into his hat.

“You should have seen your face! I didn’t know you could scream like that! Liyue must think a banshee is haunting their mountains again!”

“Watch yourself gremlin, you might wake up without hands tomorrow.”

“Haha, you wouldn’t do that...right? How would you even do that? Why aren’t you saying anything?!”

“Isn’t there a saying in Liyue Venti? You can’t run from your debts? Prepare yourself.”

For as child-like Venti appears, you both end up getting into a bit of trouble when Venti get’s a bit too bold. While it’s incredibly refreshing to see someone speak their mind regardless of the consequences, you actually kind of admire him for that, usually the boldness comes from trying to bribe the bartender for free drinks. Your poor wallet is crying out every time Venti spots a new tavern. While he say’s he will pay you back or he’ll pay you back in a song, you can’t actually eat his words. But on other occasions you can’t help but join in when it happens to be one of the Fatui guards giving you both a hard time. You feel like you’re acting out a Shakespearian play with all the flowery nonsense and metaphors you’re both spitting out.

When you’re both in the thick of a forest or even on top of Liyue’s mountain, Venti will bring his lyre out and strum his strings softly as you both fall into a comfortable silence. Looking at the sunset or relaxing under the trees as the sun peaks through as you both live in the moment. It’s these times that you’re harshly reminded that Venti is an archon as he slips out of his persona and speaks as Barbatos. He tells you how fun your adventures have been, that he was glad to have made friends with you, speaking as if you’re about to die tomorrow. You’re not sure how to handle it, what kind of burden Venti is carrying, but you immediately drop everything and comfort him. Giving him a strong but warm hug that you’re still here and he’s not alone right now.

“Come on, I’m still waiting for the Ballad of Venti. You haven’t given up on that right?”

“Hmph, of course not. Every being deserves a name to be called upon, and woven into a song.”

Diluc

It was a peaceful day, one Diluc hadn’t felt in a long time in his hectic life. Though it was a bit too early to determine how the day would go since it was still noon. The tavern would soon get loud as it approached night but for now. Everything was peaceful. The sounds of Monstadt streets bustling. The peaceful atmosphere as the sun shone through the windows. Working on mundane tasks of wiping the counter down. No Kaeya in sight. A small moment of peace. All broken when his door was kicked nearly off its hinges as you announced your return from your shopping trip as if you had returned after a 3 year long journey. Diluc sighs under his breath, takes a moment to pray he doesn’t need to repair his door again, and helps you with your bags as you ramble about your day.

To others, it’s always seems a bit weird when they catch Diluc and you chatting since Diluc always gives off the lone wolf persona and yet you’re this ball of sunshine. Maybe it’s because you knew Diluc when he was a child, back when he was still bright-eyed, that you never treated him any differently when he came back. Diluc never really talks about it but he’s happy that you’re still the same and he can let himself relax with you. He still keeps his silent demeanor as he listens to you talk about anything and everything, it helps keeps his mind occupied, but he might add a few comments here and there. Just to let you know he’s still listening.

You know what sounds really hot? Sitting in the same room with someone while you both do your own respective thing. You both don’t feel forced to talk to each other just because you’re in the same room or you have to do everything together just because you’re together. It’s an easy atmosphere that settles as Diluc works on business papers and you’re planning your next expeditions. Until you end collapsing on his couch because your brain processing has suffered enough and it’s time to take a nap. You always end up dragging him out of his work to go outside and take a nice doze in the sun.

If you ever have a problem, he won’t necessarily coddle you unless it really bothers you or you’re in a situation where it could hurt you, but he’ll do everything to help you work through it. You’re his friend and if someone is giving you a hard time then he has no problem chasing them away, especially if its a Fatui member. If it happens to be Kaeya, well that’s an entirely different story. Likewise, if it appears to you that Diluc is going through a rough time you’ll try and comfort him. Do small little things to let him know that you care and while he doesn’t need to tell you what’s wrong, you’re here to support him.

Diluc enjoys playing chess against you, even if he wins most of the time, you’re always so determined that he can’t help but laugh along with your over reactions. Presenting him an entire 20 page paper on chess and yet getting checkmated in 10 turns. You’re 95% sure all the chess strategies he offered were all fake, if his smug grin is anything to go by. You both have agreed to never play darts together, well more specifically, you’re pretty sure you’re banned from playing darts when you almost hit Adelinde. That was the first time you ever genuinely feared for your life.

Whenever Diluc has to attend a gala or has to host a party to further his business, he’s always appreciative when you show up. You’re not exactly apart of royalty or even a business owner but it’s so refreshing to Diluc, after spending so much time keeping a polite attitude and trying to talk business, when he can come to you as you laugh about how one lady almost tripped because her dress was too long. Sometimes he’ll lean a bit on you or pretend to be in a conversation just so he can recharge.

More often then not, you’re mistaken to be Diluc partner even though the idea of holding Diluc’s hand makes you want to throw up. But when Diluc get’s random father’s trying to offer their daughter’s hands in marriage, he’ll pull the excuse he’s already with someone if they can’t no for an answer. It’s always funny to you, linking arms with Diluc and re-telling the grandiose story about how Diluc saved you from falling off a cliff when you were both younger and you were both star-crossed lovers that were destined to be together. Or something like that, you’re pretty sure you’ve changed the story enough times that you can’t keep track. But it seems to work and as soon as they are out of ear’s reach you make a quick gagging motion. He shoves you a bit to which you elbow him in the side. Old habits die hard.

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I swear, I could probably recite character stories word for word at this point. Gripping my writing hand don’t make it angsty, don’t make it angsty, don’t fucking do it. But I still did, whoops.

I feel like my fics are really long so I’ll add a read more tag. Mmm writing styles are hard. I don’t know if I like this;; I ended up writing so much to try and combine my “hcs are just another word for fics just without the dialogue” and “actual headcanons” styles. Ahh, well whatever. I have to go speedrun my assignments since genshin is going to eat all my time this week.

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a-nice-and-interpretive-fanzine · 3 years

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[ID: A cream-colored banner that says "A Nice and Interpretive Fanzine: essays and art about the meanings we've found in Good Omens." There is a photo of a book page with a key on it behind the banner text. The photo source is rosy_photo on Pixabay. /end ID]

A Nice and Interpretive Fanzine: Information Masterpost

Welcome!

This is a zine for those of us who love the subtle, complex work that is Good Omens, and who’ve enjoyed the thoughtfulness of the fandom as people interpret how the many moving pieces of the story come together, creating a slightly different meaning for each of us.

To put it simply, it’s a book full of the fandom’s own analysis and commentary about the Good Omens TV show, enhanced with illustrations from our brilliant artists.

This zine is analytical in the sense that all the writers are expressing their own nonfiction thoughts and feelings about the show, rather than writing fanfic, but it is not meant to be heavily academic. Anybody who likes to pick apart the series and discuss it should be able to enjoy it.

The zine will contain essays by fans who are passionate about analyzing and interpreting different parts of Good Omens - the characters, the plot, the writing techniques for the book and script, the cinematography of the TV show, the popular content of the fandom itself. Accompanying these essays will be black and white illustrations from our artists.

How are you organizing this process?

May 1-May 15: Everyone submits their application to do writing or art through a Google form. Behind the scenes, I’ll be setting up a separate email and Discord.

May 16-20: Applicants will be screened during this time.

May 20: I’ll email everyone to let them know the outcomes of their applications. The final participants will get a link to the Discord server for the zine (totally optional, of course).

May 21: If there’s any clarification or solidifying of ideas that needs to happen, I’ll contact you and discuss with you by this point. This is also when artists will be matched up with essays.

May 22 to August 14: This will be a period of just working on our essays and art. The Discord chat and Tumblr will be there for support and for exchanging ideas!

August 15: Participants need to email their full works to the zine’s email address by this date. No special formatting is needed; I’ll do that in InDesign.

August 15 to August 31: I’ll be putting the zine together in InDesign.

September 1: Preorders will open.

September 30: Preorders will close.

October 1: The zine order will be placed!

October 15: Assuming all goes well with printing and shipping, the zines will be shipped out in waves starting on this date. If the printing or shipping from the manufacturer is delayed, then shipping will just start ASAP.

Writer Application HERE Artist Application HERE Asked and Answered Questions on Tumblr The Fanzine's Page on Twitter

Read below for more detailed information about the zine in a Q and A format!

What are the specifications for the zine contributions?

For writers, I’m starting with 3k words or fewer per essay (approximately 10 pages at the size of this book). This depends heavily on how many participants we actually get, so it may change!

For artists, I’d be looking at black and white works, 300 DPI, 5.5 x 8.5 inches or smaller. If your art is supposed to fill up the entire page (i.e. no white space), please make it a total of 5.75 x 8.75 inches with nothing too important around the edges to account for bleed during the printing process.

Can I submit an essay to this zine if I’ve already posted it on Tumblr?

Not as you’ve already posted it. We don’t want to just copy/paste the exact thing that hundreds or perhaps even thousands of people have already read.

However, it IS fine and maybe even a good idea to take the same thought from your post and refine it, preserving your same thesis. For example, a lot of Tumblr posts are just us fans jotting down 5 or 6 paragraphs of random thoughts at 2 AM, but some of them are really cool thoughts! Expanding them and turning them into a bona-fide Essay would make those posts into excellent zine chapters. And you can copy small pieces of your own language as long as the whole thing isn’t just pasted word-for-word.

How long do essays have to be? Is there a limit?

With the number of writers we have, I've calculated that each person should ideally keep their essay to about 6000 words. There is wiggle room.

There’s no real minimum for your contribution; some analytical ideas are really good but can be expressed concisely, so it’s okay if your essays only come out to a few pages typed. For reference, with our book size, a page is about 300 words.

What happens if the zine sells a lot and you end up not only breaking even, but turning a profit?

It’ll go to charity. While I’ll ask the participants what they want to do for certain if we do make enough money, my suggestion will be donating it to Alzheimer’s Research UK in honor of Sir Terry Pratchett.

I’m not really comfortable calling this a “charity zine” up front since I simply don’t know if it will raise a significant amount. For the most part, I just want the thing to physically exist, which means breaking even, and don’t want to make it more expensive for buyers than it needs to be to afford the printing costs.

What kinds of essays are you talking about? What could be included?

In short, any analytical thoughts about the Good Omens TV show - and possibly even the fandom as it interacts with the show - are possible inclusions for the zine.

To expand a bit, think about the meta posts you see floating around Tumblr. Often these involve analyzing characters, or picking up on patterns in the plot. Sometimes fans use their own background knowledge to write posts about the significance of certain costume choices or the way music plays into each individual scene. Some posts examine the ways the series approaches gender, while others might discuss ways that the characters present as neurodivergent. That’s how diverse the pool of possibilities is for subjects in this zine.

How does art come into this?

Images will be black and white, to match the bookish mood of the project overall. Images can range in size from a half page to a full page.

I’m planning to talk to the artists and authors and loosely pair artists with essays that appeal to their personal interests.

I know how to illustrate a story, but how do I illustrate an essay?

There are infinite answers to this! I’ve seen some beautiful symbolic artwork in the fandom already (e.g. a number of takes on Aziraphale munching on an apple with Crowley in snake form curving around him), and there are tons of symbolic motifs to draw from, but these are not the only options. An artist illustrating an essay about cinematography, for example, could draw a well-known scene from an alternative angle. An essay about Heaven as a capitalist corporation could be illustrated with a cartoon of Gabriel giving some sort of excruciating PowerPoint presentation. A character analysis could be accompanied by a simple portrait. And on and on. I’m not interested in limiting the possibilities by trying to make a list, but just know that there are many and you don’t have to make it complicated if you don’t want to.

If the writers can reuse their essay ideas, can artists reuse their drawings?

Similarly to the writers, if you already have an interpretive drawing that you’re in love with, artists can use the same ideas and the same fundamental composition that is present in their own existing work. However, it has to be redone in some significant way. Whether it’s taking something you drew in 2019 and redrawing it using an updated style, taking a sketch and turning it into a lined and shaded piece, or redoing a full-color drawing so it presents more strikingly in black and white, it shouldn’t be identical to the thing you’ve already posted.

So how are you choosing participants here?

It’ll be based on what people are interested in writing about (or illustrating). I’ll be looking for people who are passionate about their essays, but I’ll also be looking for variety. It all depends on what people want to offer, so I won’t know for sure what it will look like put together until everyone’s application is in.

For artists, I’ll be trying to figure out whose style looks like it would adapt well to illustrations in black and white, and also who demonstrates an interest in the same subjects as the writers.

If we don’t get a lot of applicants, I’d love to simply include everyone, but I can’t commit to that without knowing for sure how many people are involved.

Do I have to use a formal writing style to participate?

No. You should use a style that makes your thoughts and ideas as clear as possible, but as long as it’s understandable, you can also get a little artistic with it. You can “write like you speak,” though perhaps in a more organized way. You definitely don’t need to worry about stylistic rules like not using the first person. This is not academia.

Is this zine going to center only on Crowley and Aziraphale?

That remains to be seen! It depends on what ideas show up in the applications. There will be a lot of the ineffable partners for sure, but whether the whole zine will center on them or whether there’s plentiful stuff about other characters will depend on what the participants suggest.

Do we have to agree with all your personal interpretations of Good Omens to be in the zine?

No! In fact, I’m assuming that a number of essays will contradict each other, too, and that’s perfectly okay. The zine is a sampler of fan interpretations meant to inspire, not instruct. It’s not “Here’s a fan-made guide on how to understand this TV show,” it’s “Look at all these moving parts and how many meanings we can find in them. What does it mean to you?”

However, there are some basic rules and assumptions by which I’m working here.

I don’t personally have the energy to include essays that are highly critical (“negative”) in this zine. It’s analytical but also meant to be fun.

I’m pretty focused on the TV adaptation. This isn’t “no book analysis allowed” but just that the essays will end up being weighted toward subjects that apply to either the TV show or both the book and the show.

Each writer should focus on making their own points over disproving other fan interpretations. If you’re writing in an expository style, it’s normal for the essay to contain rebuttals to opposing ideas, but these should be minor supporting points, not the heart and soul of your essay. For reference, I’d say the majority of meta I see floating around on tumblr would follow this rule just fine.

Essay ideas that seem to contain bigoted or exclusionary sentiments will not be accepted (no TERFy stuff, for example).

What kinds of editing will go into the zine? Are you going to argue with us about the contents of our writing?

While I might ask you to elaborate on certain points in your writing or clarify your thoughts about your subject, I’m absolutely not here to ask you to change the thesis, opinions, or headcanons on which your writing is based. If I really have a problem with your initial idea, I’ll tell you that up front and politely decline the contribution.

While formatting the zine, I’ll make minor edits if I think I see a typo or misspelling, something small and obviously unintentional. As with any other zine, your content won’t be changed without consulting you.

Is this a SFW zine?

Yes. If people want to discuss sexuality in a theoretical way, like erotic subtext, that would be allowed. There are canon references like Newt and Anathema’s moment under the bed that might come up, too. But there will be nothing explicit, and since these are essays instead of stories, there will be no “action” going on between characters. Let’s just say sex isn’t a forbidden topic, but it will be like discussing it in English class.

As for other topics that could make the zine NSFW, like gore or extreme language, I don’t think they will be an issue. Some dark topics, like abuse by Heaven and Hell, may be discussed, but they will be warned for, and these are not stories, so you aren’t going to see violent actions playing out.

Will there be any “extras” like charms or stickers?

I’m not sure yet. I’m most inclined to keep it simple, because of the nature of the zine, but would be open to including some bonus items if there’s an artist who’s really passionate about it.

With that said, I am pretty committed to making a hardcover edition of the book available, in addition to the standard softcover version.

You’re doing this with only one mod?!

Yes. I personally find it easiest. While I’ve worked on multi-mod projects in other domains and adore all of my co-mods, it’s a little bit different when it’s a project with this many moving pieces that includes real-life components like printing and shipping. Though there are a lot of individual things to be done, I am experienced with all of them, so it’s less overwhelming to just take on the whole project. That way, I know exactly what needs to be done and when, and there are no issues with assigning tasks.

What qualifies you to run this zine?

The résumé answer: in fandom, I successfully solo-modded a large not-for-profit zine in the past, the @soulmakazine2018, and while I can’t speak for the whole fandom, it definitely seemed to be well-received. <3 In real life, I’m a case manager and this involves coordinating and communicating with a lot of different people including my 100-person caseload, budgeting services, and filling out all kinds of paperwork on the fly, all skills that can be imported into zine work.

The practical answer: well, I’m the one who decided to start this project, so if you like the sound of it, you're stuck with me. I say with encouragement and enthusiasm that if you’d like to do a different take on a commentary zine, you should absolutely do it.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #fanzine #good omens zine

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licieoic · 4 years

Photo

“Pour One Out” - Digital Oil Painting

Inspired by Suptober, theme: Pour One Out. Bartender/Patron AU! This one was actually inspired by a number of themes from Suptober including “Family Business” and “Favorite,” as shown in the ficlet below the cut. (It’s PG, though Dean is having some more adult oriented thoughts, LOL.)

Please see the pinned post at the top of my Tumblr for my links if you'd like to help support me in saving for a safe place to live!

“Hey.”

Looking up, Dean saw his brother, Sam, sticking his head into the brewing room. It had to be nearly time for his shift, he already had his abundant hair pulled back.

“Your favorite’s here,” he said.

Dean straightened up so fast, he nearly dropped the pitcher of beer he’d been pouring so carefully. “Trench Coat?” At least, that was the name he used with Sam; he didn’t want his brother knowing what he called the quiet man in his head. He’d never quite had the courage to ask the man’s actual name and since Winchester Bros was cash only, he couldn’t sneak a look at a credit card either. He’d considered asking for his ID, as that was perfectly acceptable in a bar, but since he was clearly over legal drinking age it would just make Dean look like he was stupid or an ass.

“Usual spot,” Sam answered before popping back into the main area of the bar.

He got up close to the shiny brewing vat in front of him and tried to check his appearance, but the metal didn’t make for a good mirror and left him looking deformed. Damn… He hoped there was nothing to worry about, like food in his teeth or crustiness in the corners of his green eyes, and that his light brown hair was just the right amount of tousled, leaning more toward ‘I woke up like this’ and less like ‘I use a lot of product.’ Then he reached into the pocket of his apron for the breath mint he always kept there, on the chance that his favorite patron would stop by.

It was easy to remember the first time he’d ever seen him, he doubted he would ever forget. Five months after he and Sam had opened the bar, they’d had to strike a deal with the Devil (Dean’s private name for their wealthy investor, Crowley) in order to save it from going under. It had always been their dream to start up a family business and they’d each quit lucrative careers (Dean as a mechanic, Sam as a lawyer) to open Winchester Bros. It had taken every penny of their life savings to do it, they just couldn’t give up so soon.

Pride still smarting with the knowledge that they’d be under Crowley’s thumb for the foreseeable future, Dean hadn’t exactly been the friendliest bartender that night. After being short with a small bachelorette party, Sam told him to concentrate on the solo patrons at the bar who usually weren’t the chatty types and leave the groups to him. Dean hadn’t argued, they needed as much patronage as possible, he could ill afford to turn what could be repeat customers into people who never came back just because he was in a mood.

Down at the far end of the bar, he saw a man with dark, messy hair hunched over the bar. He wore a slightly dirty trench coat over a deep navy suit and had a five o’clock shadow darkening his jawline. All in all, a fairly standard-looking barfly, if he were judging a book by its cover. Dean leaned both hands on the bar and tried not to sound too brusque as he asked, “What can I get you?”

Then the man looked up… and Dean forgot everything. He was lost in the bluest eyes ever to blue, bluer than the tie hanging crooked from the man’s neck. Dean’s mouth might have gone slack, he wasn’t sure. They were like angel’s eyes, almost too pretty to be real.

“I don’t know,” said the man, immediately dubbed Angel Eyes. He seemed kind of down, but that wasn’t unusual for a lone bar patron. “Do you have a menu?”

“W-we do,” said Dean, pulling over the list printed on laminated cardstock once he remembered how to speak. The line at the top read ‘Winchester Brews,’ which he’d thought damn clever at the time, now he worried it was corny. “Ahem… Everything on offer is brewed in-house, plus I can make you just about anything you like.”

“Anything, huh?” He looked at the menu, but didn’t really seem to be reading it. “I don’t know,” he said again, “surprise me?”

Something was really bothering this man, Dean could tell, his bartender instincts were jangling like crazy. His bi-dar, however, was all over the place. He never had a problem flirting with the ladies who came in, but it was always hard to tell if he was clear to make a pass at a man. That kind of thing could get dangerous, depending on who it was and what kind of attitude they had.

“Surprise you,” Dean repeated, reaching below the bar for a tumbler which he filled with a few ice cubes. “Well, you look like a man of… discerning tastes.” He followed this with a wink to test the waters. To his delight, Angel Eyes smiled. And Dean’s heartbeat doubled. He turned around and took a surreptitious breath in an attempt to calm it down, but it didn’t work.

From the back shelf, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey with a simple handwritten label on the front that read ‘Winchester Special #5’ and turned back to face him. As he poured, Dean said, “This here is our monthly special.”

“What makes it special?”

“It changes every month,” said Dean. “Afterward, we add it to the list of brews. And if you can guess the flavor, the inspiration behind it… it’s on me.”

“Has anyone gotten it right yet?” It was the nineteenth, he’d assumed correctly that some people had already tried Dean’s challenge.

He shook his head. “Not quite.” Gesturing at the tumbler, he quirked a brow and asked, “Care to try?”

Angel Eyes picked up the glass and took a sip. He tilted his head, appearing thoughtful.

“So?” asked Dean when he didn’t get an immediate answer. “What’s it taste like to you?”

“Hmm. Molecules.”

Dean laughed outright and Angel Eyes grinned. “Well, you’re not wrong!” he exclaimed. “Molecules, heh, can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before, but is that your final answer?”

Swirling the ice in the glass, Angel Eyes took a longer pull, maintaining eye contact with Dean as he rolled the whiskey slowly over his tongue. Dean’s mouth went dry as he watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down when he swallowed. Unconsciously, he licked his lips and those bluer than blue eyes followed the movement.

Angel Eyes clicked his tongue. “Blueberry…” he said, slowly. “But there’s something else… It’s sweet and… creamy?”

“No hints,” said Dean, but mentally he was cheering the man on, wanting him to make the right guess, and he was so, so close.

He took one last sip from the glass, finishing it off. “It’s good. I like it. It reminds me of a blueberry sour cream pie. Final answer.”

Dean grinned broadly. “We have a winner!”

He returned the smile with one of his own and it seemed like both of them had forgotten their problems prior to their meeting each other. “Really?”

Nodding, Dean poured him another. “On me. Since you’re the first correct guess.”

He picked up the tumbler and saluted Dean with it. “Cheers.”

Dean nodded, a little disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to keep their conversation going, and turned to go back to work.

“Oh, and—”

Heart in his throat, he looked back. Angel Eyes hesitated.

“Thank you,” he said, finally. “This… really helped.”

“Yeah?”

He made a vague gesture. “I don’t want to get into it, I know bartenders aren’t therapists,” he said. “Just some family issues.”

Dean’s heart sank. He had a family. Of course he did. “Well, you’re not the first guy to come here to escape his wife for a while,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, I’m not married,” Angel Eyes said.

“Girlfriend?” came out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop himself.

He shook his head. “One of my brothers is constantly going through a rebellious phase. Our father isn’t happy about it.”

“Ohhhh, well, I can definitely understand annoying brothers,” said Dean, aiming his thumb at Sam who was down at the opposite end of the bar, and forcing himself to swallow down any follow-up questions. He’d already said he didn’t want to talk about it, Dean wanted to respect that. “You should bring your family around,” he said, smiling. “It’s easier to open up after a few, you know?”

Angel Eyes chuckled. “I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. Besides…” He thumbed the rim of his glass before glancing back up, hitting him with that blue gaze all over again. “I don’t know if I want them coming around here. Maybe I want to keep you all to myself.”

Any thoughts of pushing for more patrons to offset his and Sam’s massive debt had flown away. Dean could only nod like an idiot, he knew what the man meant, of course, but the unspoken implications in the statement were pinging around in his head like a super ball. He might have squeaked out an ‘okay’ or a ‘yeah’ as he headed back to work, he didn’t remember. He did remember almost tripping over his own feet and not looking back, knowing his face would be bright red. He pretended to not remember hearing another chuckle.

Since then, Angel Eyes came in at least once a week, always sat at the end of the bar, and always ordered the monthly special, even though he paid for each subsequent drink following his correct guess. He was never wrong about the flavor either, which amazed Dean, he even got the lemon meringue right. He’d been so sure that no one would get it – he’d heard lemon-vanilla, toasted marshmallow, all kinds of other things because who guesses ‘meringue’ for a whiskey anyway? Apparently, a man with gorgeous blue eyes in a slightly dirty trench coat. Three months in, he was the only person who’d figured out that Dean based all the specials on his favorite pies and it only made his guesses come that much quicker.

As he headed out to the front, he dropped off the pitcher of beer and grabbed #15 from the shelf. He almost couldn’t believe it had been ten months since his favorite patron had first come in. Tonight was the night, he resolved, he would ask for Angel Eyes’ actual name. Maybe in another ten months, he’d work up the courage to ask for his number. Dean internally rolled his eyes at himself. He was truly pathetic.

Angel Eyes perked up at the end of the bar the moment Dean emerged from the back, yellow light from a nearby neon sign on the wall reflecting off his dark hair, almost like a halo. They smiled at each other and Dean’s heart was immediately doing flips, seeing how obviously happy he was to see him. Could be the Crush Goggles, but still…

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Dean, filling the glass with ice and setting it down on the bar. “I was wondering when you’d be in to try the latest special.”

“I’m just hoping it isn’t Pumpkin Spice,” said Angel Eyes. Being that it was October, it was a fair comment. You couldn’t go ten feet without encountering something bearing that smell and/or flavor.

“I do like pumpkin pie,” said Dean, pouring the whiskey. “But I think it’s more of a November flavor.”

Dark brows lifted. “A hint? This is new. What did I do to deserve that?”

Dean laughed. “Maybe I’m in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Me too. It’s a good night.”

“Hopefully, about to be better,” said Dean, nodding at the glass.

“I don’t need to drink to have a good time,” he said, but picked up the tumbler all the same to have a sip.

“Your continued presence at my bar says otherwise,” said Dean.

Angel Eyes swallowed. “There are other reasons a person might come to a bar.”

“Such as?”

“Good ambience.” He took a longer sip and let his eyes wander over Dean before traveling back up as he swallowed. “I like the company.”

Dean hoped he wasn’t blushing but he couldn’t hold back a goofy smile. “You do get to meet all kinds of people in a place like this,” he said.

“Yes, though I was referring to one specific person.”

“Yeah?”

He finished the whiskey and set down the glass, meeting Dean’s eyes head-on. “Yes.”

Mouth dry, Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh…” He gestured at the tumbler. “Any guesses?”

“Maybe.” He trailed one finger around the rim of the glass. “If I pay for the drink, can I have something else as my prize? If I get it right, of course.”

“Uh.” He swallowed hard. “S-s-sure.” He could hardly manage the one word; he couldn’t even summon the brain power to ask what it was he wanted.

Smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Angel Eyes considered his answer. “This is a good one,” he said. “Definitely not pumpkin, but it has sweetness… and a note of tart as well.”

“Are you a sommelier?” Dean asked suddenly. “That would sure as hell explain a lot.”

He laughed, the bright sound so incongruous with his gravelly voice, it had quickly become one of Dean’s favorite things about him. So much so, that he would go out of his way to come up with a corny joke or allow himself to be a little clumsy, just for the chance to hear that laugh.

“No,” he said, still smiling. “Disappointed?”

“No. I just can’t figure out how you’re never wrong.”

“I haven’t made my guess yet,” he pointed out.

“And?”

Deliberately, he reached into his glass and retrieved a small ice cube. Before Dean knew what was happening, Angel Eyes was popping it into his mouth and sucking on it while he thought about what answer to give.

Guh. He has to be doing this on purpose! Dean thought. How does he make everything he does so sexy?

Still keeping eye contact with Dean, he bit down hard. Crunch! If he kept this up, Dean would need to run to the bathroom and readjust his jeans. To try and diffuse some of the tension in the air, Dean attempted to make a joke like he usually would.

“You, uh, you know what they say about people who chew their ice, don’t you?” he asked, almost tripping on his own tongue.

“No,” he said, to Dean’s surprise. “What do they say?”

Well, this backfired spectacularly, thought Dean. “They, uh… that they’re, well, you know…” Those clear blue eyes wouldn’t give him an inch, Angel Eyes sat patiently waiting to hear the punchline of Dean’s naughty joke like they were talking about the weather. He had no choice but to quietly stutter, “That they’re… s-s-sexually frustrated.”

“Oh.”

Really? That’s all you have to say, ‘oh’? thought Dean, incredulously. While he watched, Angel Eyes fished out another ice cube and crunched down on it viciously, all while holding Dean’s gaze, as if to punctuate his statement. Heat creeping up into his cheeks, Dean took a steadying breath. Curse blushing, he thought. Curse the noun, curse the verb, curse the act!

“H-have I finally stumped you?” Dean asked when his tongue decided to work again.

“Caramel apple rhubarb,” he said, definitively. “Final answer.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Dean, pounding one fist on the bar. “You did it again!”

All he did was smile in response, the handsome bastard. As he reached into his coat pocket, he casually remarked, “You know, your freckles disappear when you blush.”

He blinked. “They do?”

“Then I get to notice them all over again when they come back.” Retrieving his wallet, he pulled out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the bar between them. “It’s what I’ve been calling you in my head all this time. Freckles.”

“Well, that’s kind of rude, how would you like it if my brother and I were calling you Trench Coat behind your back?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, good, because that’s totally what we’ve been doing.”

They snickered together.

“Out of curiosity,” said Dean, “what were you calling Sammy?”

“Manbun.”

Dean snorted. “I’m absolutely going to call him that.”

“So, his name is Sam? You don’t wear nametags, so I’ve only ever known your last name.”

“Nametags are lame.”

“They are. What’s your name, then?”

“Is this what you wanted instead of a free drink?”

“No, this is something I should have asked ten months ago.”

Fair point. Dean held out his hand. “Dean,” he said.

His fingers were cold from the ice but his palm was warm and smooth. “Castiel.”

“Wow.” It wasn’t a name he’d ever heard before; surprise mixed with his pleasure over finally learning the name of his long-held crush. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Not sure. Probably something anti-climactic, like Steve.” He picked up the ten with his other hand. “I’ll get you some change.”

Castiel tightened his grip when Dean would have let go. “Keep it,” he said. “Consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” Dean said, slowly, tucking the bill into his apron pocket.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” asked Castiel.

“No.”

He grinned and it put all of the smiles Dean had received before to shame. It held a hint of mischievousness as he said, “That’s what I want.”

“You-you want—what? D-dinner? W-with me?” Dean couldn’t quite believe his ears. He’d barely been able to hope for a first-name basis tonight, he couldn’t possibly be so lucky as to score a date. But then, considering they’d been dancing around each other for ten months, maybe Castiel thought if he didn’t make the first move, it would never happen.

Bringing up his other hand, Castiel sandwiched Dean’s between the two as he said, very deliberately, “I don’t believe I’ve guessed wrong.”

Dean could be pretty dense sometimes, but he knew unequivocally that Castiel wasn’t talking about the whiskey. “I’m off in half an hour,” he said, smiling like an idiot.

“I’ll be waiting… Freckles.”

Okay… so maybe blushing wasn’t such a bad thing.

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fruggin-bitch · 2 years

Text

ask game from this link

1. chipotle order? I haven’t actually ever eaten chipoltle :/ 2. thoughts on veganism? I think vegans are really cool and come up with great alternatives for meals without meat that have the same amount of nutrients! 3. a specific color that gives you the ick? That tone of yellow-green that looks like baby vomit. Also super bright hot pink hurts my head 4. mythical creature you think/believe is real? Honestly- I’d believe that anything could be out ther in the ocean. Mermaids? Why not. So much of the ocean is undiscovered so there could be legit anything out there 5. favorite form of potato? Twice baked potatoes or McDonalds fries 6. do you use a watch? Nope, I did for a while but I hated the weight on my wrist 7. what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium? Turtles!! 8. do you change into specific clothes for the house when you get home? Not really. If im gonna change for whatever reason I’ll just throw of whatever pajamas I have clean or a big hoodie n shorts 9. do you have a skincare routine (and how many steps is it)? Nope even though I probably should lol 10. on a plane, do you ask for apple or orange juice? Ive never actually been on a plane BUT I do prefer apple juice 11. anything from your childhood you’ve held on to? I have a stuffed hippo from when I was a little baby and a stuffed dinosaur that my childhood best friend gave me when we were five that I named after him 12. brand of haircare/bodycare/skincare that you trust 100%? Uhhhhhhh idk man I just grab Walmart brand 13. first thing you’re doing in the purge? Honestly I got no clue id probably just like walk into the bakery I work at and take some of the stuff that I don’t wanna pay for that looks tasty 14. do you think you’re dehydrated? Probably I don’t drink enough water 15. rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning. uhh freezing cause I think it would be quicker and id get nerve damage, then burning for the same reason cause id definitely get damaged nerves and would feel less I think, then drowning cause you’re completely aware of the water and pressure and augh im so scared of drowning dude 16. thoughts on mint chocolate chip? LOVE IT god I love mint stuff its so tasty 17. an anxious compulsion you do everyday? Chew on my nails and pick at my skin 18. your boba/tea order? Mango or peach tea with black boba pearls, mango jelly and cream foam 19. the veggie you dislike the most? Broccoli. Cant stand the shit 20. favorite disney princess movie? Does moana count? Otherwise I rlly like brave 21. a number that weirds you out? Hmm I don’t know, maybe three 22. do you have an emotional support water bottle? nah 23. do you wear jewelry? Yeah I have a necklace that I wear every day with a witch’s pentagram on it and a bracelet from one of those save the ocean groups 24. which do you find yourself using, american or british english? American mostly with some British spellings thrown in there 25. would you say you have good taste in music? I mean I like my music taste but that’s really subjective 26. how’s your spice tolerance? Absolute shit dude, my tastebuds are so weak 27. what’s your favorite or go-to outfit? My favorite ripped jeans and a collared shirt with a crewneck sweater over it with converse, and for summer its jean shorts with a blue knit tank crop top and converse 28. last meal on earth? Uhh mac n cheese or pho 29. preferred pasta noodle? Mmm I really like farfalle or ziti

#ask game #bean thinks #i was bored

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spriteandnicotine · 4 years

Text

Sweater Weather

A/N: It is official that August is national I Love Ukai Keishin Month for me. Forgive me in advance because my smooth brain has the attention span of a goldfish. Obviously doing this for the Haikyuu-Creations Monthly Prompt Event, which you can still enter here! (insert link) I also would like to thank @hairbleachwhore @revasserium and @cherryonigiri for being my beta readers. It’s also been a while but I’m doing alright I promise.

Prompt: As the chilly weather rolls in, A notices that B is shivering. A can’t help but take both of B’s hands into the long sleeves of A’s sweater to warm them up. “It’s too cold, huh? Do you want my sweater?”/”Are you cold? Can I hold your hands to warm you up?”

Fandom: Haikyuu!

Pairing: Ukai Keishin x GN! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: A little under 1.3K <3

With a pumpkin spice latte in one hand and an ice cold bottle of water in the other; you make your way down the block towards your boyfriend, Ukai Keishin’s apartment.

The weather outside is cool and the light from the sun is disappearing behind the tree line. The wind starts to pick up, causing goosebumps to rise along your exposed arms.

You reach the apartment just as the sensation of pins and needles prickle the hand holding the bottle of water. Releasing one finger from the grip around the latte, you ring the doorbell. Not even a minute passes before Ukai appears before you, wearing a white and black knit striped sweater.

You pass him the latte and give him a kiss before the two of you move onto the couch. In order to compensate for the chilled hand, you decide to slide it underneath your thigh.

“Babe, are you cold?” Ukai asks, staring at the goosebumps on your arms.

Not wanting to concern him, you simply shake your head no, but at that same moment a chill runs down your spine from the AC kicking on right above you, and your teeth begin to chatter.

“Okay, obviously you’re cold. Maybe my sweater and a blanket will keep the both of us warm. I will cook you some ramen as well if you would like,” as he finishes saying this, he slowly lifts his sweater up over his head and signals for you to hold your arms up.

Once his soft, bare chest is revealed, he grabs your arm and holds it up in the air, while you take the water bottle from your other hand and set it to the side before lifting that arm as well, while he grabs the sweater and slides it over your shivering body.

He then disappears into his bedroom and returns moments later with a Karasuno blanket he received last year when the boys graduated. They made it by tying knots with black, blue and orange fabric together until it was a cohesive piece.

He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, getting ready to binge watch Netflix, Hulu, or Amazon Prime, which is normal for a night in with your boyfriend.

He’s been getting more into vaping as of recent, trying to quit smoking cigarettes because they are finally beginning to affect his lung function. As the show plays and you cuddle into him, a cloud of vapor floats the aroma of pink lemonade up your nostrils. You take a drink of water in an attempt to quench your thirst.

Once done drinking, you sit up a little bit and wrap your hands around his neck, causing him to shiver from the cold one that was holding the water bottle. He grabs the cool hand and takes it in his.

“Babe, your hands are so cold, let me warm them up with mine, please?” he asks sweetly.

You can’t help but melt into his embrace, using your other hand to trace lines up and down his chest, savoring the smooth skin beneath your fingertips.

Once your hand is warmer, you snake your right arm around his back, while placing your left hand on his sternum. He wraps an arm around your body, resting his hand on your shoulder. You lay your head on him, allowing him to lightly tug at your hair while drinking in his scent.

He takes another hit from his vape and the two of you hang out for the rest of the evening, eventually eating ramen together and having some snacks while watching TV. He makes sure that you know he appreciates bringing him the pumpkin spice latte. It’s one of his favorites. He even got a picture of it tattooed on his arm in attempts to cheer you up one day.

He also recently began stretching his ears, and as of right now they were big enough to stick a pinky finger through. The most comforting thing, though, is just listening to him talk, whether it be something serious or just something random he couldn’t get out of his head.

Your favorite thing to listen to him do is sing. He really enjoys rock music in general, and the two of you go to concerts, the majority of them playing in the fall. The next date you have officially planned out is going to the apple orchard and creating home-made apple pie and apple cider to share with his relatives.

“Hey, Y/N?” he asks, moving just enough to kiss your forehead.

You look into his eyes to show him you are paying attention.

“You know I love our Netflix parties, but I really love our Karaoke dates. Would you be down to sing a few duets?” he asks, pausing the TV mid-question.

He switches over to the channel the karaoke machine is attached to, and starts up the Elvis Presley song “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He takes the mic in his right hand and softly begins to sing, and you join in to make beautiful harmonies with him.

As the song comes to a close, you can hear a knocking coming from the door. Ukai stands up and starts to walk over, still shirtless.

“Babe, put a shirt on!” you say quietly, yet sternly.

He runs to the bedroom and comes back moments later, the knocking proceeding to become even louder. Suddenly, his phone begins to ring, and the caller ID shows that Hinata is calling. The pieces come together, and Ukai opens the front door, allowing a visibly cold red-head into the apartment.

“Hinata, what’s going on?” he asks.

“M-my house is too far f-f-for me to walk and it-t started to rain and get cold outside. Do you m-m-mind if I stay here until my parents can c-c-c-come and get me?” he asks.

You take the blanket from around your body and lay it against the top of the couch. Ukai takes a towel from the bathroom closet and hands it to Hinata so he can remove the cold water particles from his hair. He then goes back into his bedroom and grabs a fresh change of clothes, handing them over to the sopping wet high schooler, and then points to the bathroom so he can change.

You aren’t even upset that date night ended this way. It just shows how much he cares for the students he coaches, even if he doesn’t like to make it known. Hinata comes back from the bathroom with his wet clothes in hand, and Ukai takes them and slides them into the dryer in an attempt to get the rain water out of his clothes before he has to leave.

You stand up and as the red-head stares at you, you become a bit self-conscious, knowing the sweater doesn’t necessarily match the rest of your outfit. You make your way over to the stove and pour some milk into a saucepan.

You then grab some hot cocoa mix from the cabinet and mix it throughout the milk as it begins to heat up.

“So Coach, this is your girlfriend you talk so much about huh?” the kid asks, and the heat rises immediately to your cheeks.

“Well, about that,” he starts, digging into his pocket and fishing a small black box out of his pocket.

“Y/N we have been together a while now, and I know that I want to spend the rest of my life together with you… wanna get married?”

Tears well up in your eyes and you nod your head, managing to choke out a, “Yes,” between your happy sobs.

Hinata’s parents show up shortly after he finishes his hot cocoa, and once he is gone the two of you move to the bedroom to celebrate.

Taglist: @tamcitrus @strawbirb @onthe-virge @mira-astralis

#haikyuucreations #spritewrites #ukai fluff #fluff #ukai #haikyuu #haikyu #hq

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caracalliope · 3 years

Note

"i feel really complicatedly about her getting trickster'd" -- ooh! Are you willing to share?

Yes, I'd love to! ♥♥♥

[this is about Rose Homestuck because of course it is, and it's vaguely inspired by this gorgeous piece of art. It's also about addiction and self-harm.]

OKAY so, in Homestuck there are many different takes on addiction. Tricksters are used, in part, to explore addictive highs and their aftermath.

Some characters become addicts due to a combination of remorse, loneliness, hopelessness, and an unwillingness to face the truth. For each of them (Vriska, Roxy*, Gamzee, Mom Lalonde), I think the Trickster transformation would lead to turbocharged, candy-cane avoidance of their own issues.

For Kanaya and Jane (I mean specifically the Jane who bought elixirs from Gamzee, I'm ignoring any post-canon material here), addiction is externally imposed, a habit they picked up at a moment of vulnerability, extremely biology-driven in Kanaya's case. It robs them of their dignity. It's foreign to who they are and who they want to be. In a Trickster transformation, I think they'd both default to (their own species' equivalent of) wanting BABIES BABIES BABIES in a way that's separate from their actual priorities and values.

And then there's Equius. His addiction is as follows:

Unfortunately, you SUCK AT ARCHERY. You have not successfully fired a SINGLE ARROW. Every time you try, you BREAK THE BOW. You are simply too strong. You have broken so many bows, it has developed into a habit BORDERING ON FETISHISTIC. You have to stop. But addiction is a powerful thing.

He breaks things! Would he break more things as a Trickster? I don't think so. He's uncomfortable with his STRENGTH and wishes to be good at something he can't ever achieve, that's why he developed an addiction to doing something he sucks at. (Well, that and the impossible forces of genetic determinism and narrative parallelism ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.)

Which of Equius's vulnerabilities would Tricksterdom build on? I think it'd probably take him in a horny-to-be-dominated direction which has nothing to do with his addiction to breaking bows.

Tricksters are childish and selfish, they don't care about the consequences of their actions. And freedom from consequences is what they offer. But for Equius, freedom from consequences and loss of control is a self-destructive kink thing.

His addiction builds on the opposite of that urge. He wants control over his body. He wants consequences.

Okay.

So, Rose?

Okay, so. Rose.

The first thing Rose gets addicted to is power/knowledge/power obtained through knowledge, and - especially - knowledge obtained through power. That is how her gothic woespiral happens, way before she starts drinking.

And she feels invincible while learning things that are probably better left unlearned. But she's also willing to surrender parts of herself in the process. In fact, she's eager to surrender parts of herself.

Theatric self-destructiveness is always a part of it for her. It's not just a side effect of her addictive spirals, it's a major motivator. She wants control, power, knowledge... and to burn away.

And then!

Then her mom dies, and she becomes addicted to alcohol.

In the case of drinking, the whole thing is subtly framed as the cost of seeking knowledge.

She tried making various things with Game magic, including apple juice, and apples in general! But apples are much harder to make than shitty apple cider.

ROSE: Why do you thing, HIC!!! Why do you think Adam mand Eve were punished for biting in to one?? ROSE: They attemped to pentetrate an indivisible unit, uf fundamenetal knowledge. To consume the interior of a thought whish cantot be reduced any further. ROSE: This knowleshe was for BIDDEN..! Hic. So humanity was forever bandished to live in sin, and, hass strive ever sinse to redeem isself from the hubrinse of this innallectual foily. ROSE: Hahaha! , Foily. ROSE: *FOLLY. :) ROSE: Or what about, the tale of Isaac Newdon under the tree?? He was BONKED on the head by an apple. ROSE: Not reallyan apple though... an atomic idea. An emlemental unit of inspripation itself, id clocked him right on then noggin ... DAVE: well shit DAVE: looks like i wandered into a really weird uncharted side of town tonight DAVE: its called the drunk rose district DAVE: and i am scared out of my fucking mind

What knowledge is drunk Rose seeking? The elemental components of the universe, and also wtf her Mom had been thinking for all those years.

Rose first tried a martini because she was curious what her mom loved so much about it. She hated the taste. But later, she goes back and starts drinking anyway. I believe that's because she has a tangle of grief/guilt about looking down on her mom for drinking.

Drinking is in part a concession - to her mom's memory - and in part self-punishment. It's not an escape from consequences, it's one big consequence.

In short:

In Rose's case, addiction is very closely tied with the need to break everything down into component parts and hurt herself in the process.

But what about the Trickster transformation?

Well, I think that they have nothing to offer to her that she usually seeks in addictive behaviors. Tricksterification is not a cerebral thing. It's not going to bring her any scorching, cathartic clarity.

So I think ultimately it could work on her in one of two ways:

1. She remains fundamentally unchanged, apart from a wardrobe upgrade, like Dirk did. In Dirk's case, it's very much an "imprisoned in his own mind, which he would love to escape from but can't" kind of thing. For Rose, I think it's more that there's nothing that Trickster candy can offer her that she really wants or craves.

That's what I imagine is happening in the linked art. I like it as an option.

2. She embraces self-destruction fully, with no regard to love or to her friends needing her. I imagine that for this she'd be trapped in a morbid, frothy little-girl outfit she'd hate, and she'd... set her own planet on fire? Maybe. Or make an awful deal she can't take back later when she's sober. Or create a new, more optimistic timeline that is intentionally based on her own destruction.

Or she'd go on to seek knowledge at everyone expense, forgetting they're real people and trying to reduce them to conceptual atoms. I do not like this option.

But it's morbidly fascinating to consider. And hey, that kind of morbid fascination would be a main driving force for Trickster Rose!

_____________________

*with Roxy, there's also the fact that she wanted to connect with her dead mom. And punish her dead mom for being dead. And be punished by her dead mom, even, possibly. So there's some intentional self-destructiveness there too, as well as in Vriska's addiction to luck. But I think their need to escape from consequences is stronger, which is why Trickster candy would have a straightforward effect on them.

#characters named rose #eeek #i'm always absurdly nervous about writing meta #i tried making this into a fic tbh #but #who would narrate it?#even an omniscient narrator would garble the message i think

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shotgun--rider · 4 years

Text

Fake It Till You Make It - One

A Sam x Reader Series

PART ONE

Y/N knows it’s a bad idea to try telling her family that she’s dating Sam Winchester. But it’s just for the week of her sister’s wedding, and it’s all fake anyway. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 3600

Warnings: plus size! Reader, background Destiel for a hot sec, fatphobic comments, Y/N’s family are demons

A/N: Has this trope probably been done five million times? Yes. Am I about to do it again? Yes.

Your cellphone rang and you grimaced, rolling your eyes as you took in Dean’s all-too-amused expression. Your best friend may have thought your situation was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, but that didn’t mean you were of the same opinion.

“What?” you snapped out, not bothering to read the caller ID. Who else would be calling you for the fifth time in as many hours?

“Well that’s not a very nice way to greet your mother.”

Here you went again, the same thing over and over. You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “What do you want now, Mom?”

Bent over something under Baby’s hood, Dean snorted, shamelessly listening to your half of the conversation. He could probably hear your mother too, you thought wryly. The woman was certainly loud enough.

“Well, listen, honey,” your mother began. “I was just talking to Jimmy...you remember Jimmy? From down the street, you used to--”

“Yes, Mom, I remember Jimmy.” you said tiredly. “Why do we care about Jimmy?” Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.

“For the wedding! I just asked, and Jimmy agreed to come with you.”

You let out an alarmed noise before you could stop yourself. “Mom, no.” you said firmly, with an undercurrent of panic at the thought of being trailed around by awkward Jimmy for a week. “I know it’s hard to imagine,” you drawled sarcastically, “but the vows will still be successful if I’m there without a plus one. Not like I’m the one getting married, you know.”

Still focused on the Impala, Dean’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. You seized the apple core you’d been munching on earlier and chucked it at him, feeling marginally better when it bounced off of his back.

“Y/N L/N! You should be a little more grateful. Besides, have you even thought about how it’s going to look to Dick if you show up alone?”

“I don’t care,” you said automatically. “He’s a dick, pun absolutely intended.”

“He’s marrying your sister.”

“At least it’s not me.”

“That miserable attitude is exactly why you’re going to die alone, young lady,” your mother snipped. “You could at least make an effort. Maybe if you just lost some weight--”

“Yeah, okay Mom.” You hung up the phone before she could get another word in, immediately flopping back onto Dean’s front lawn in defeat. “If I ever get married, it’s going to be in Vegas with Elvis, and nobody is going to know about it.” Not that you would. Given your complete inability to keep a boyfriend for longer than two months and your habit of getting hung up on guys who were completely out of your league, marriage, or a relationship of any kind didn’t seem to be in the cards.

“Who’s Jimmy?” Dean’s green eyes were sparkling with mischief, and you let out a groan, smoothing out the skirt of your sundress as you sat back up to answer him.

“Straight-laced, awkward, kind of greasy. Went to high school with me.” You wrinkled your nose. “My mother is really scraping the bottom of the barrel. She’d throw a fit if I actually tried to bring him home. But apparently Jimmy is a better temporary solution than being single while my sister marries my ex.” You trailed off into silence, your hand pulling absently at a few strands of grass in your best friend’s front lawn. “Maybe I should just rent a boyfriend to shut her up. That’s a thing, right? Like a non-sexual escort.”

“If you’re going to the trouble, you should also get the sex,” Dean returned, still smirking at you as he wiped grease off his hands. “Or you could take me. I would make the best fake boyfriend. And I’m free if you feed me.”

You rolled your eyes at him, laughing at the mental image. “My mom knows you have a boyfriend,” you sighed. “Which, believe me, is a great source of sadness to her every single day.”

Dean laughed loudly, both of you glancing toward the house as the screen door swung open. “Maybe we broke up,”

“Well, she still doesn’t understand the concept of bisexuality, so as far as she’s concerned, you’d still be gay.” You rolled your eyes, long since over your mother’s narrow-minded opinions.

“Who’s gay?” Castiel inquired vaguely, making his way over to the flowerbeds.

“Dean is,” you pointed out helpfully, prompting a wide-eyed stare from Cas.

“Really? Dean, you should have told me!”

When you’d first met Dean’s new boyfriend, he’d been stiff and absolutely useless at sarcasm. It was always nice to see yours and Dean’s combined efforts working.

“D’you want me to ask Sammy?”

You were still laughing at Cas’s antics, and snapped your head back to Dean so fast that you were positive something popped in your neck. “W-what?”

“I can ask Sam if he’s free that week,” Dean repeated, looking at you like he thought you were stupid. “If you want,”

You blinked, irrational panic running through you at the thought of Dean’s younger, perfect, brother.

“It’ll shut your mom up,” Dean went on, oblivious. “Sammy wouldn’t mind.”

“Dean, I barely ever see Sam,” you protested after an awkward pause. A fact that was quite devastating, actually, not that you’d ever admit to your hopeless crush on the younger Winchester.

Your best friend and his boyfriend shared a look. “That’s because he’s a hopeless do-gooder on top of being a hotshot lawyer,” Dean said fondly. “But I bet we could talk him out of taking a bunch of free cases for a week,”

Walking into your sister’s wedding with Sam Winchester on your arm sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. On the other hand, it would shut your mother up. She’d been vocal in her fears of you dying alone since you’d been barely out of college, sending you links to weight-loss workout videos and advertising her fixer-upper daughter to single men in the grocery store for years. Sam’s presence might even serve to stave off comments about your weight, which seemed to be the family’s second-favorite discussion topic any time they were together.

Still, that meant pretending Sam Winchester was your boyfriend for a week, which just seemed like some masochistic form of self inflicted torture. Besides, if even you knew Sam would never go for a girl like you, how in the world were you supposed to sell it to your nosy, skeptical family?

“I was mostly kidding about the whole fake boyfriend thing, Dean,” you said wearily, not wanting to devote any more thought to the idea.

Dean shrugged easily, sharing one more pointed look with Cas before refocusing on you. “Fair enough. You’re still staying for dinner, though, right?”

You’d have to be crazy to turn down one of Dean’s steaks. “Obviously.”

“Great,” he returned brightly. “I think Charlie’s coming.”

You were going to kill Dean. And Cas too, potentially, though it was entirely possible that he’d genuinely just been too preoccupied with his backyard beehive to remember the full extent of his boyfriend’s dinner plans. Because, apparently, “Charlie’s coming” actually meant, “Charlie and also Sam are coming.”

It only took about five minutes for Dean to bring up your mother’s nonsense, prompting you to consider just face planting into the mashed potatoes in embarrassment while Charlie burst out laughing. She thought the whole thing was unbelievably hilarious, and had immediately offered herself up as a fake date. The offer was well meant, you knew, but you were only trying to get your mother to shut up, not disown you for bringing home a girlfriend.

“I don’t need a date,” you finally huffed out, irritated with the whole thing. “I’m perfectly capable of showing up by myself. It’s not like anyone’s going to have anything to say about it that I haven’t already heard.” It was true. Your mother, and you sister and all of your aunts and uncles, for that matter, had been making the same jabs at your weight and relationship status for the past decade. You were used to it by now.

“Doesn’t mean you should have to hear it,” Charlie shrugged. “If we’re too gay for your mother, get somebody else.”

“I tried to tell her Sammy would do it,” Dean put in unhelpfully, elbowing his brother, who had been silent up until this point. You contemplated kicking him under the table.

“Poor Sam does not need to be subjected to my family for no good reason,” you said firmly, hoping that would be the end of it.

Sam was studying you across the table. “Or you could just ask me,” he said finally, and you felt your face heat up as you realized you’d basically been speaking for him.

“Yes!” Charlie burst out before you could come up with a reply. “Sam doesn’t mind, do you, Sam?”

Too late, you realized Charlie was the real villain in all of this. Your old roommate, after all, was the one who knew about your little crush. You wondered if it was worth running the risk of trying to kick her under the table without hitting Cas, who thus far had remained off of your hit list.

Sam cleared his throat roughly, looking between you, Charlie, and his plate. “No, I don’t--I mean, I don’t think Y/N really--”

“No, I do,” you blurted out, scrunching up your face immediately after the words left your lips. I do? I do? Since when? And what was it about Sam fucking Winchester that always made you act like a complete idiot?

Dean was smirking at you across the table, and you idly wondered what would happen if you tried egging Baby.

“Oh,” Sam brought you back out of your thoughts, looking hesitantly pleased. “Well, I just wrapped my latest case up, so I don’t mind coming up with you for that week. If you want.”

“Are you sure?” you bit your lip. There were a lot of emotions vying for your attention, but the dominating one was concern for Sam’s wellbeing. He had no idea what he was trying to agree to.

Sam sighed, staring you down with those hazel eyes. “Y/N, you’re basically family. Of course I’m sure. You just worry about the maid of honor stuff, and I’ll watch your back. Okay?”

This was a significantly softer ending to dinner than you’d expected, but you couldn’t deny the warm feeling that rushed up inside you at his words. I’ll watch your back. Pretty much no one in your life had ever done anything of the sort, until you met Charlie, and, through her, the Winchesters. You’d known Dean for months before you finally met Sam, and of course he was perfect.

It was easy with Dean, since he’d been the big brother you’d never had from day one. Sure, he wasn’t bad looking (seriously those boys won some kind of genetic lottery, you swore) but it just wasn’t like that. And then Sam had shown up and he was six and a half feet of walking perfection.

And now he was smiling reassuringly at you across the dinner table, having just agreed to pose as your completely fake boyfriend in front of your god awful family. Well, at least you’d be able to pinpoint the exact moment your life went completely sideways, if you ever had to look back.

Two anxiety-filled weeks later found you in Sam’s car, because subjecting his long legs to your tiny vehicle for a seven hour drive just seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. You were driving at his insistence, and Sam was in the passenger seat with a legal pad on his legs like he thought he was going to take notes.

“Sam,” you whined out, “is this really necessary? Can’t we just... you know, lie?” Since the whole thing is a big fat giant lie anyway.

Sam raised an eyebrow at you, and it just wasn’t fair how sexy that made him look. “Y/N, you’re the one that kept trying to warn me about getting cross examined by your mother,”

“Such a lawyer,” you huffed. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Let’s write our fake love story,” You batted your eyelashes at him exaggeratedly, punching a surprised laugh out of Sam. He watched your antics in amusement for a moment, and then refocused, absently playing with a pen in his long fingers.

“Okay, how did we meet?”

You cocked your head to one side. ��My mom knows who you are,” you explained. “Vaguely, but she knows you’re Dean’s brother. We can just tell them how we actually met and stuff,”

Sam smirked at you. “You tell your mother about me?”

You made a face at him, smacking his arm as the heat of embarrassment suffused your entire body. “Just in passing, don’t go getting a big head. Well,” you made a show of studying him, “a bigger head,”

He looked affronted, running a hand briefly through his hair. “Okay, fine, we met because of Dean. Where did I take you on our first date?”

“Why did you have to take me out? What if I took you out?” You were mostly arguing for the sake of arguing, trying to keep yourself from thinking too hard as you imagined a fake life with Sam that had never happened and never would. He thought of you as family, he’d said as much, and you had to remember that.

“Because I had been waiting forever to ask you out, and I had all the good date ideas saved up,” Sam answered immediately.

“O-okay,” you said hesitantly, jarred by the conviction in his statement. But that was the point, wasn’t it? You were trying to sell it, and Sam was obviously a good actor. And unfairly attractive. And kind. And...and oh god. Your fingers gripped the steering wheel harder as you thought about the unexpected trial he hadn’t signed up for. “Sam, can you golf?”

He shrugged. “I know how it’s supposed to work. I’m just...not that good at actually getting the balls in the holes.”

If Dean were here, he would have taken that opportunity to make a lewd joke. As it was, you just winced. “My dad is going to force you to go golfing,” you explained tiredly. “I should have thought of that, I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s no big deal, Y/N,” Sam assured you easily. “I don’t mind. Besides, I want to meet your dad,”

You blinked at him, almost missing a turn in the process. “You actually want to meet my family? Sam, they’re terrible. Well, my dad’s probably the least awful of the bunch. Mostly he just hides. But Ruby will definitely try hitting on you, even though she’s supposed to be getting married, and Dick will try hitting on everything with legs, which is just gross, and Gramma Lilith is gonna give you the speech about how you could do so much better, and my Uncle Az is going to start Googling you and making weird threats, probably…” you trailed off in a huff. “It could be worse, I guess. At least if Uncle Fergus shows up everybody’ll start yelling at him instead. One can hope. He’s pretty harmless,” you shrugged, “if sometimes high. And my mother will probably just stick to the usual fat girl comments, so…”

Sam’s quiet laughter at your descriptions trailed off. “Y/N, you know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

You just shrugged again, deflecting. “Oh, come on, Sam, you don’t have to pretend like you think I’m a size two or something,”

“I’m...not,” Sam sounded genuinely confused, and you risked a glance over at him in the passenger seat. Oddly enough, he didn’t look like he was lying. Huh. “I think you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t want to have to pretend not to be affected by that, and this was maybe the first time in your life you’d actually been grateful to see the turnoff for your family’s old estate. “Here we go,” you narrated a little shakily. “It’s a big house,” you warned, still smiling a little at the way Sam’s eyes widened.

It had been a given that the wedding would take place at your Aunt Abaddon’s old estate house, which no one was quite sure how she’d acquired and which no one questioned. The only fun of the house was watching people’s reactions on the rare occasion that you brought someone here.

“I’ll get the bags,” Sam said vacantly, still staring at the house, and you chuckled softly, getting out of the car in a rush. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt important that you got to your family before Sam did, to put yourself between them, though at this point you weren’t quite sure who was being shielded from whom.

You smoothed down the little sundress you’d decided to wear, grabbing your small duffel out of the backseat and hastily going up the front walk, Sam still rummaging in the trunk.

“Y/N!” Ruby opened the front door to meet you, her smile already insincere and condescending. “You’re late. We thought you weren’t coming.” She glanced behind you briefly, then smirked. “And you’re alone. I mean I figured you wouldn’t actually find a plus one, but you know you’re gonna owe me for the meal--”

“Got everything?”

Oh thank god for Sam Winchester. You smiled tightly at your older sister, glancing briefly at your shoulder to reassure yourself that Sam was there. He was, holding a bag in each hand and a pleasant smile on his face. It was totally his false courtroom smile, but Ruby didn’t have to know that. “Ruby, this is...my boyfriend. Sam.”

Ruby blinked long eyelashes at him, processing. You figured she was torn between insulting you and flirting with him, and, as expected, the flirting won out. “Hi, Sam,” she purred. “I can’t wait to get to know you a little better,”

“Right,” Sam said flatly. “Well, I can’t wait to put these bags down, so…”

Something in Ruby’s expression soured as she looked at him, and her hand fell away from the doorframe as she stepped back, letting you both into the house. You lost no time in ducking past her, Sam right behind you.

“There’s rooms on the second floor,” Ruby said quietly, then, “I’m up there too, just in case you get bored...”

“Great,” Sam returned, and he shifted both of the bags into one hand to put a hand on your back as you walked toward the staircase. You shivered at the touch, exhaling the frustration that was already tensing your shoulders, and started up the stairs. God, it hadn’t even been five minutes. How were you supposed to get through a whole week of this?

Sam’s warm breath on your ear startled you, and he whispered, “So, third floor?”

You turned to catch him with a mischievous spark in his hazel eyes, and nodded quickly, a little smile pulling up the corners of your mouth as you started toward the second staircase with a new energy in your step.

“Hurry your fat ass, Y/N!” you heard Ruby shriek from somewhere below. “Everyone’s already out in the garden,”

You blew out your breath, hastily swinging open the first door you saw. The room was mercifully unoccupied, with a queen bed in the middle of the room and not much in the way of decoration. Your Aunt Abaddon had always been pretty minimalist.

Sam shut the door behind you both, setting the bags down in a line at the foot of the bed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” you said quickly, figuring that it was best to get that out of the way as quickly as possible. “I’m the one that got you into this, so--”

He turned to face you with a quizzical expression. “Why would you...Y/N, you didn’t get me into anything. I said I wanted to be here. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor,”

“No,” you sighed out, defeated. “Ruby’ll probably try barging in here anyway. I don’t think she believes you’re dating someone like me. We’re adults,” you went on with more confidence than you felt, “we can share,”

Sam’s brow furrowed adorably. Stop that. “Someone like you?” He moved to stand in front of you, one hand sliding very gently along your upper arm. “She doesn’t think I’d go for someone that’s funny and clever and really pretty?”

Something in your chest eased at his words, and, before your malfunctioning brain could stop you, you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his solid chest. “Thanks. She’s a bitch,” you mumbled into his shirt.

Sam’s hand migrated to gently rub over your back. “I’m beginning to get that impression,”

You stood there for a few more moments, letting yourself breathe within the safety of Sam’s arms, and then you straightened up and shook yourself. “Alright, boyfriend, ready to go meet the rest of the firing squad?”

He smiled down at you. “Whatever you say, honey bunch.”

You grimaced, but it got a laugh out of you, which you supposed had been his goal. “Absolutely not.”

“Cutie pie? Boo bear?”

“Stop it,” you threw a mock glare over your shoulder, opening the bedroom door.

“Okay, darlin’,” Sam murmured, and somehow that one sat better than all the rest. “I’ve got your back, remember?”

You smiled back at him, letting him slide his hand in yours for the show, and you braced yourself to head back downstairs and deal with the full force of your family.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #x reader #reader insert #spn #series

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years

Text

Pluralistic: 11 Mar 2020 (Saturated fat and obesity, which foods produce satiety, spying VPNs, Twitter's research-friendly terms of service)

Today's links

Obesity and unsaturated fats: Blaming unsaturated fats for obesity is very plausible, but likely wrong, alas.

The satiety index: Which foods cause or satisfy cravings?

Sensor Tower's VPNs and adblockers spied on users: Like sneaking laxative into Immodium.

Twitter's new Terms of Service help academics: Good bots welcome.

Italy's "I Stay in the House" law: The comprehensive quarantine plan.

Scam-buster hacks into a scam-factory: He gets their CCTVs, recordings of their calls, transaction data, Whatsapp chats, and more. Delicious.

Postmortem: the catastrophic EU Copyright Directive. Testimony from yesterday's Senate hearing.

Podcast: A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick: My latest Locus column, on how copyright failed artists and enriched corporations.

This day in history: 2010, 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading

Obesity and unsaturated fats (permalink)

Scott Alexander does a very deep dive into the literature on diet, weight, and saturated vs unsaturated fats.

https://slatestarcodex.com/2020/03/10/for-then-against-high-saturated-fat-diets/

The most important elements for me were first, the validation that something really has changed: average US adult men's weight went from 155lbs to 195lbs from the 1800s to today. The 90th percentile 1800s man weighed 185lbs, today, it's 320lbs. US obesity rates in the 1800s were 1%. Today, they're 25%.

But the usual culprits can't explain the change: they ate more bread and potatoes in the 1800s, for one thing.

In China, obesity rates were very low even with a diet dominated by white rice.

1970s France had 1800s US obesity rates, on a diet of "baguettes, pastries, cheese, meat. Lots of sugar, white flour, and fat."

It's true that some tactics (intermittent fasting, low-carbing) work for some people, but they're not what worked in 1970s France or 1800s USA. So if those things work, they're "hacks" – not an indictment of carbs or eating three meals a day.

There's a widespread theory that the change is driven by the switch from saturated to unsaturated fats, which was driven by spiking heart disease in the 1950s. It's likely this heart disease epidemic can be attributed to the vast increase in smoking a couple decades earlier, but the tobacco industry's denial machine meant that the blame fell on diet, and the US (and then global) diet's fat composition shifted dramatically.

We ate a lot fewer animal-derived fats and a lot more plant-derived fats. These fats had lots more Omega 6s and (to a lesser extent) 3s, and the ratio of these Omegas also changed dramatically, both in our diet and in our bodily composition. Intriguingly, these play a significant role in metabolism. There's a plausible ring to this whole business – particularly as a way of crisping up what we mean when we say "avoid processed foods." What is "processing?" Maybe it's doing something that requires vegetable fats.

Unfortunately, neither the literature nor the lived experience of experimenters support the theory. Studies don't support it. Meta analyses don't support it. Reddit forums skew heavily to people saying it didn't work for them (dotted with people for whom it did).

Which makes weight gain a mystery. It can't be (just) exercise: we're exercising more now than we did 40 years ago, and we're heavier now. Studies about causes are inconclusive overall, but clear that weight gain is more explained by diet than exercise. What's more, we're seeing weight gain in lab rats, pets and feral animals, so exercise seems an unlikely culprit here.

Alexander ponders other possible causes: plastics or other contaminants in our diet, or that it's a "ratchet" (once your weight set point changes, it doesn't change back.). Both have little evidence to support them.

He concludes that he's "more confused than when I started it," but will avoid unsaturated fats where possible, with the exceptions of Omega-3 rich oils (fish/olive oil).

I am likewise confused, but also better-informed than I was before I read his post.

The satiety index (permalink)

I lost ~100lbs in 2002/3 with a low-carb diet. The thing I immediately noticed when I started eating (lots) more fat and (lots) less carbs was that I was always satiated, with none of the food cravings that had plagued me all my life.

No other diet since has had that effect. I really struggle with cravings (and have put 50lbs back on through my 40s, though some of that is muscle from a much higher level of exercise). For me, satiety is the barrier to sticking to any diet. I don't just get ravenous, I get these all-consuming cravings that I can't put out of my mind, even if I resist them (and the longer I resist, the more likely it is that I'll really blow it out when I give in at last).

So I was really interested in this 1995 open access study, "A Satiety Index of common foods," which offers a league table of the foods that made subjects feel full.

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/15701207_A_Satiety_Index_of_common_foods

The meaty (heh) parts are in these charts on pp682-3.

Sensor Tower's VPNs and adblockers spied on users (permalink)

Sensor Tower, a company that made apps billed as privacy-protecting, installed man-in-the-middle certificates on your devices that let them spy on everything you did online.

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/craigsilverman/vpn-and-ad-blocking-apps-sensor-tower

They made 20+ VPN apps for Android and Ios, but didn't disclose that all those apps were owned by analytics company, Sensor Tower. The apps had names like "Free and Unlimited VPN, Luna VPN, Mobile Data, and Adblock Focus."

The apps installed a "root certificate" in users' devices. With this cert, the company could insert itself in all the device's otherwise secure, encrypted sessions – web browsing, email, etc. Sensor Tower admits that they collected data using this cert, but insists that it was "anonymized," which is something most computer scientists agree is likely impossible for this kind of data. Re-identification of anonymized data is devilishly hard to avoid.

The claim is made even less credible when you listen to the company's other claims about its practices, such as the idea that they hid the authorship of their apps "for competitive reasons."

Or this howler: that "the vast majority of these apps listed are now defunct (inactive) and a few are in the process of sunsetting." Well, yes, they were removed for violating their users' privacy. It's not like the company had a change of heart or anything.

And then there's this: "Apple and Google restrict root certificate privileges due to the security risk to users. Sensor Tower's apps bypass the restrictions by prompting users to install a certificate through an external website after an app is downloaded."

Twitter's new Terms of Service help academics(permalink)

Twitter just published a new, and much-improved developer policy, one that permits academics to field bots for research and auditing purposes.

https://blog.twitter.com/developer/en_us/topics/community/2020/twitter_developer_policy_update.html

"Researchers will be able to share an unlimited number of Tweet IDs and/or User IDs, if they're doing so on behalf of an academic institution and for the sole purpose of non-commercial research, such as peer review."

https://techcrunch.com/2020/03/10/twitter-rewrites-developer-policy-to-better-support-academic-research-and-use-of-good-bots/

Twitter's also creating a bot registry that must include contact info for the botmaster, so that "it's easier for everyone on Twitter to know what's a bot – and what's not."

https://developer.twitter.com/en/developer-terms/policy#4-b

Italy's "I Stay in the House" law (permalink)

The FAQ for the Italian government's "I Stay In the House" decree is a fascinating document:

http://www.governo.it/it/articolo/decreto-iorestoacasa-domande-frequenti-sulle-misure-adottate-dal-governo/14278

Most notably, Italy has kicked out its tourists. As Bruce Sterling writes, "It's a tourist-ectomy. An Italy devoid of all tourists. It's fantastic, unheard-of. Surely this hasn't happened in at least 700 years."

https://www.wired.com/beyond-the-beyond/2020/03/stay-house-decree/

People are allowed to go to work, to shop, and to run errands, provided it is for an "essential purpose," which you must prove "by means of a self-declaration which can be made on pre-printed forms already supplied to the state and local police forces. The veracity of the self-declarations will be subject to subsequent checks and the non-veracity constitutes a crime."

Business travelers are permitted to enter and leave the country, cab, delivery and freight drivers are allowed to do their jobs, and "outdoor motor activity is allowed as long as not in a group."

Public offices are open. Training activities are suspended. Government offices need to provide hand santizer, but if they run out, they have to stay open ("disinfectant is a precautionary measure but itstemporary unavailability does not justify the closure of the office").

Bars, pubs and restaurants may open from 6AM to 6PM, but have to cancel live music, games and screening events. Theaters, cinemas and museums are closed.

Schools are closed. Universities are closed. Exams and graduations will be conducted by video-link. Med schools are not closed. Research institutions are not closed.

Masses and funerals are canceled. Islamic Friday prayers are canceled.

Farms are open.

Scam-buster hacks into a scam-factory (permalink)

Jim Browning is a talented and prolific scambaiter. He calls the numbers listed in pop-up tech support scams and has the scammers log into a specially prepared system that lets him trace them.

In his latest adventure, Browning thoroughly turns the tables on http://Faremart.com , a Delhi travel agency that was the front for a sprawling network of tech-support scammers taking in millions every year through fraud.

Browning not only traces the scammers: he breaks into their unsecured CCTV network so he can watch them work. He compromises their phone system and listens to the recordings of all their scam-sessions.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=le71yVPh4uk

He gets hold of their ledgers, which list how much money each scam nets for the gang. He doxes the scammers and learns their real names. He gets a confederate to fly a drone over their HQ and maps out their comings and going.

In part II, Browning treats us to a delightful scambaiting session in which he mercilessly trolls a scammer who claims to be in San Jose, CA, tripping him up in a series of ever-more-desperate lies.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uV-qa9M-o4E

It's part of a growing genre of journalists who explore and document the operations of overseas scam operations. See, for example, Reply All's excellent podcasts on this:

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/6nh3wk https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/76h5gl

There are two more parts to come in Browning's series (you can watch them now on his Patreon, apparently):

https://www.patreon.com/JimBrowning

He also turned his footage over to the BBC's flagship investigative programme, Panorama, which has produced its own doc based on it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rmvhwwiQAY

Postmortem: the catastrophic EU Copyright Directive (postmortem)

Yesterday, the Senate Subcommittee on Intellectual Property held hearings on "Copyright Law in Foreign Jurisdictions," at which two key copyright experts testified on last year's catastrophic EU Copyright Directive.

First up was Pam Samuelson, one of America's leading copyright experts, who explained in eye-watering detail how the compromises made to pass the Copyright Directive produced an incoherent mess that no one can figure out how to implement in law.

https://www.judiciary.senate.gov/imo/media/doc/Samuelson%20Testimony.pdf

Next was Julia Reda, who served in the EU Parliament during the passage of the directive and helped spearhead the opposition to it.

Her testimony really shows you where the bodies were buried: how the EU knew it was making a pig's ear out of things.

https://www.judiciary.senate.gov/imo/media/doc/Reda%20Testimony.pdf

Both are essential reading for anyone striving to understand Article 17 (formerly Article 13) – it is such a tangle of garbage lawmaking that these kinds of guides are indispensable.

Podcast: A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick (permalink)

I've just posted my latest podcast: a reading of my new Locus Magazine column, "A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick," on how copyright failed artists and enriched corporations and what we can do about it.

https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/11/a-lever-without-a-fulcrum-is-just-a-stick-2/

Tldr: Giving monopolies to artists doesn't help them gain leverage over the super-concentrated entertainment industry, because the corporations control access to audiences and force artists to sign away those monopolies to get past their gatekeeping.

The more monopolies we give artists, the more monopolies are transfered to corporations, and the more they dominate the market and thus the more they can retain from the earnings generated by the artists' works.

Fights like the EU Copyright Directive are a distraction, a fight over shifting some points from Big Tech's balance sheet to Big Content's – but without any mechanism to move more of that revenue to creators.

Enriching creators means thinking beyond more "monopoly"-style copyright: instead, we have to think about inalienable rights that can be taken away through one-sided contracts (like the "reversion right" that lets US artists take back copyrights after 35 years).

And we have to think beyond copyright itself, by beefing up competition laws to break up entertainment cartels, and by beefing up labor laws to let artists form unions.

There is a role for copyright, but in things like extended collective licensing that would allow all online platforms to access the same catalog and pay for it based on the number of users they have, so a new platform pays pennies while Youtube pays hundreds of millions.

These blanket licenses have been key to keeping other forums for artistic revenues open: think of what the world would be like if one club or radio station could buy the exclusive rights to play the hits of the day, and then use their ensuring dominance to squeeze artists.

If you prefer the written work, you can read the column here for yourself, of course:

https://locusmag.com/2020/03/cory-doctorow-a-lever-without-a-fulcrum-is-just-a-stick/

Here's a direct link to the MP3 of the reading (thanks as always to Internet Archive for hosting – they'll host you too, for free!):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330_-_A_Lever_Without_a_Fulcrum_Is_Just_a_Stick.mp3

And here's the RSS for my podcast:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

Now in its 14th year (Thanks to Mark Pesce for convincing me to start it)!

This day in history (permalink)

#10yrsago London Olympics: police powers to force spectators to remove non-sponsor items, enter houses, take posters http://uk.news.yahoo.com/22/20100303/tts-uk-olympics-london-ca02f96.html

#10yrsago Leaked documents: UK record industry wrote web-censorship amendment https://www.openrightsgroup.org/blog/2010/bpi-drafted-web-blocking

#5yrsago Piketty on the pointless cruelty of European austerity https://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/thomas-piketty-interview-about-the-european-financial-crisis-a-1022629.html

#5yrsago Rightscorp loses big on extortion racket https://torrentfreak.com/rightscorp-hemorrhages-cash-profit-from-piracy-remains-elusive-150311/

#5yrsago UK foreign secretary: stop talking about Snowden, let spies get on with it https://web.archive.org/web/20150315031642/http://www.theinquirer.net/inquirer/news/2399082/government-minister-is-bored-with-snowden-and-wants-to-get-on-with-surveillance

#1yrago Defect in car security system aids carjackers, thieves https://www.pentestpartners.com/security-blog/gone-in-six-seconds-exploiting-car-alarms/

#1yrago Former Archbishop of Canterbury cheers on students who are walking out to demand action on climate change https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/mar/10/rowan-williams-school-pupil-climate-protests

#1yrago Leaked Chinese database of 1.8 million women includes a field indicating whether they are "BreedReady" https://twitter.com/0xDUDE/status/1104482014202351616

#1yrago Why #Article13 inevitably requires filters https://www.communia-association.org/2019/03/05/final-x-ray-article-13-dangerous-legislative-wishful-thinking/

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: Slate Star Codex (https://slatestarcodex.com/), Slashdot (https://slashdot.org), Fipi Lele, Matthew Rimmer (https://twitter.com/DrRimmer).

Hugo nominators! My story "Unauthorized Bread" is eligible in the Novella category and you can read it free on Ars Technica: https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

Upcoming appearances:

Museums and the Web: March 31-April 4 2020, Los Angeles. https://mw20.museweb.net/

Currently writing: I'm rewriting a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I'm also working on "Baby Twitter," a piece of design fiction also set in The Lost Cause's prehistory, for a British think-tank. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel afterwards.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330_-_A_Lever_Without_a_Fulcrum_Is_Just_a_Stick.mp3

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020.

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a very special, s00per s33kr1t intro.

#pluralistic

13 notes · View notes

snowfall-fanfictions · 4 years

Text

Lost in the Woods Ch. 4

Previous Chapter

Ao3 link

FFN link

I had to remove my favorite song from F1 for this one :(.

Enjoy!

Kristoff let his mouth hang agape at the sight he beheld. As he and Anna made their way up the mountain, they came across large icy pikes, each hanging sideways and as sharp as needles. There was no denying it: Elsa had been this way.

Removing his glove, Kristoff placed a bare hand on a nearby spike. It was cold, but still firm, a sign that it was fresh ice. Elsa shouldn’t be too far from here, he thought. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Olaf had managed to pierce his midsection on a short spire, all the while giggling like a child. Anna yanked him off the pike and plopped him back on his wandering legs. At this point, he had seen enough magic to be desensitized by something like this. Sven was at his side, slightly cowering at the jagged ice all around them. Kristoff placed a reassuring hand on his reindeer friend, casually stroking the beast’s fur.

“So, uh,” Kristoff yelled back to Anna, “What’s the plan with Elsa?”

“I’m gonna talk to her,” Anna replied, “We need her back in Arendelle to fix the winter.”

Kristoff shot her a surprised look, “That’s your plan?! Just talk to her?”

“Ok, I haven’t thought about all the details yet, but when we get there, I’m sure something will come to me.”

“I sure hope it does, or we’ll be out of a job,” he muttered to himself. He didn’t show it, but deep down he was slightly scared. If the winter was as bad as Anna had described, it could jeopardize his livelihood. And what was he to do then? Ice was his life, he didn’t know what else he would do...

As they reached the summit, Kristoff stopped abruptly as Anna ran into him.

“Hey! Why’d you stop?!” The princess demanded. Kristoff said nothing as he pointed in front of him. A massive crystalline palace sat perched on the side of the mountain, beautifully fashioned and glistening in the sunlight of the midday. Kristoff was awestruck by the creation before him. The craftsmanship, the attention to detail, the ice. It was almost too much for him to take all at once.

“Now that’s ice!” Kristoff said, “I think I might cry…”

“Go ahead,” Anna replied, taking a few steps forward, “I won’t judge.” Kristoff broke from his trance and scurried after Anna and Olaf up the stairs before them. Sven stayed behind, understanding that these steps wouldn’t hold a fully grown reindeer, not to mention that his tongue was currently stuck on the icy railing.

Kristoff was still enamored by the ice structure around him. He had never seen ice sculpted like this before, nor had he seen it as this pristine aquatic blue before. As the three of them approached the top, they were stopped by two enormous doors of ice. Anna stepped forward and raised her fist, ready to knock on the door, but she hesitated.

“Just knock…” Olaf encouraged, “Go on, knock…” the snowman leaned over to Kristoff, “I don’t think she knows how to kno-”

As Olaf said that, Anna banged on the door thrice. The doors swung inward, catching all of them by surprise.

“Well, that’s a first,” Anna said as she turned to Kristoff, “Uh, you should probably stay here.”

“What?” Kristoff gawked, “Elsa knows me! It’s not like I’m some random stranger.” “I get that, it’s just… this is sort of a family thing, I hope you understand.”

Kristoff could do nothing but scoff in agreement as Olaf began trodding into the building, “So long, Christopher!” he shouted before Anna stopped him.

“Olaf, I need you to stay out here too.” “Aww, why?”

“I need a moment with her, okay? It’ll just be a minute.”

“Oh, okay!”

Anna walked into the building as Olaf took a seat on the stairs and began counting. Kristoff joined the snowman as he propped his head up with his hand. He was secretly praying that Anna could fix this “eternal winter” as she called it, less for his sake, but more for the sake of the other ice harvesters. Unlike Kristoff, a lot of those harvesters had families and loved ones that they supported through the ice harvest. What would happen if all of them lost their jobs? Maybe if Anna could convince Elsa to come back, she could figure something out.

Hopefully… he thought as he tried zoning out Olaf’s constant counting.

XXXXXX

Elsa sat alone in her newly constructed dining room, munching on an apple. She praised herself for grabbing that sack of food before running up here, since she didn’t have much around her for sustenance. As she let the juices of the apple trickle down her throat, she came to realize how… boring life was in isolation. In her haste, she had forgotten to bring something to occupy her time. She tried making ice sculptures to talk to, ice skating, and building a few snowmen, but nothing really staved off boredom for long enough. I really wish I brought a book or something, she thought, taking another bite of the apple and absentmindedly bouncing her foot. She raised her free hand and began making quick gestures onto the table before her. Ice and snow swirled in a miniature flurry upon the icy surface. When it had dissipated, two miniature crystalline figures stood on the table, one which looked like an exact replica of Anna, and the other was in the likeness of Kristoff. She let out a small sigh, slumping over onto the table and allowing the apple to tumble out of her hand. This wasn’t the most ideal situation for her, but it was necessary, for Anna and the rest of Arende-

“Elsa?”

The queen shot up in her seat. Was that… Anna? Elsa picked up the small Anna figure and twirled it around in her hand. With no response, she put it back on the table, shaking her head somberly. Perhaps this isolation was starting to affect her hea-

“El- WOAH!”

Elsa jumped out of her seat. She definitely heard what sounded like Anna’s voice. She hastened out of the dining room and down the icy stairs, unsure of what she would find. Once she reached the bottom of the steps, she hesitantly peeked her head around the corner. In the main entryway of the palace, she saw Anna trying her best not to slip on the icy floor. Just like when we were kids… Elsa thought.

“Anna?” she said coming out to the grand staircase with a warm smile on her face. Anna shot her head up to where Elsa was standing, her eyes wide like saucers.

“Woah, Elsa,” the redhead exclaimed, “You look different! N-not like different in a bad way, in a good way! And this,” she gestured to the palace around her, “just… wow!”

“Thank you. I never knew what I was capable of…”

“Yeah… Look, Elsa, I’m sorry,” Anna started making her way up the stairs, “I had no ide-”

“No no no, it’s okay,” Elsa started backing away, worried she might hurt her sister again, “Y-you don’t have to apologize. I-I think you should go.”

“But I just got here.”

“You belong back home, in Arendelle…”

“So do yo-”

“No, I belong up here. Where I can be alone and not hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, about that…” before Anna could say anything else, she was interrupted by, “Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, SIXTY! HI, I’M OLAF AND I LIKE WARM HUGS!” A snowman bolted through the doors over to where Anna was standing. Elsa wondered whether it was the prolonged isolation or the food that was causing this obvious hallucination. At least, she thought it was a hallucination until Anna put her arm around it. Before she had time to process the talking snowman in her presence, a familiar voice echoed throughout the ice palace.

“Olaf! Wait!” Kristoff dashed through the doors and over to where Anna and Olaf were, “She didn’t mean a literal min...ute?” he looked up, his brown eyes meeting her sapphire ones. His face turned a bright red upon seeing her.

“Kristoff?” She asked.

“Elsa!” he began scratching the back of his head, “Uh, I-I mean, Your Majesty… I had no idea you were-”

Elsa’s eyes went wide. How could she have forgotten to tell him? “Ohmygosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

“It’s fine, really. Anna filled me in on the way up here.”

The queen smiled warmly at the ice harvester and his kindness before turning towards Anna and… Olaf? Why does that name sound familiar?

“Olaf?”

“You remember me, right?” he asked like a small child, “you made me.”

“Just like when we were little, Elsa, remember? We can be like that again.”

Yeah… Elsa thought. Suddenly memories started flooding back. Memories of that awful night…

Catch me!...

It’s too high!... Anna, stop!

ANNA!

Elsa snapped back to reality in an instant, “No.”

“What?” Kristoff and Anna said in unison. Elsa started backing towards the stairs.

“We can’t. Goodbye, Anna.” She ran up the stairs, cradling herself in her arms and attempting to mask her tears. She couldn’t hurt Anna, not again. Unfortunately, Anna wasn’t having any of it.

“You think I’m just going to walk away from you?!” Anna marched up the glass-like stairs, scowling fiercely. Kristoff ran over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Maybe we should just leave her b-”

“Get. Off. Me.” Anna jerked her body away from the ice harvester as she followed Elsa up the stairs. “You’re being ridiculous, Elsa! I’m not leaving without you.”

Elsa spun around on the stairs, “More ridiculous than marrying a man you just met?” How could Anna not see how dangerous Elsa was? Why wouldn’t she understand that this was for her own good?!

“This again?! At least he cares about me!”

The sisters’ argument echoed throughout the palace. Kristoff gripped his fur jacket tight around him as he felt the temperature drop. It was then the ice harvester made a sudden realization.

When she scared off the wolves, she didn’t do it willingly. She was scared. Her powers, they have to be emotion based. What happens when she’s… oh no! Kristoff ran up the stairs after the two, only to find them at the top still arguing.

“For the last time, Anna. Go. Home.”

“Not without you! We need you back in Arendelle!”

“I’m just trying to protect you!”

“Protect me?! I climbed up this damn mountain by myself to get you back and you want to protect me?!” The two of them were now arguing in the top floor of the palace, with a large ice chandelier hanging above them.

Kristoff tried to intervene as a large blizzard began swirling around the room, “Uh… guys…”

“Enough, Anna. Just go home.”

“I BURIED OUR PARENTS ALONE BECAUSE OF YOU!”

“I SAID ENOUGH!” A powerful blast radiated out of Elsa. Kristoff ducked behind a large ice wall as the energy splashed out to the edges of the room, followed by a small whimper. When Kristoff emerged, he saw Elsa, frozen in place and her hands on her mouth with Anna doubled over, her hair slowly turning from copper to a snowy white. Kristoff ran over to Anna and helped her to her feet. Even through his thick fur gloves, Anna’s skin felt cold to the touch.

“Anna…” Elsa murmured clasping her hands together, “N-no. you need to leave.”

“Elsa, we’re not leaving without you.” Kristoff said. Anna did nothing but glare at her sister.

“Yes, you are.” Elsa conjured magic from her hands and threw it to the ground. In a swirling flurry, a hulking monstrosity arose from the floor, it’s fingers made of icicles. Without a second to react, the icy golem grabbed Anna and Kristoff and carried them out of the room as Elsa turned away from them. Kristoff struggled under the icy clutch of the monster, but to no avail. The only time it released them was when it hurled them out of the palace.

“Go away,” it said in a somewhat somber tone. The two of them landed in a small snow bank just before the stairs. Anna weakly scooped up some snow in her hands and compacted it into a rough sphere shape.

“It’s… n-not nice… to throw people…” she huffed. She raised the snowball over her head and threw it with all her might, only to have it fall right in front of her as she doubled over again, letting out an agonized groan. Kristoff ran over to her, watching as the last of her red hair turned as white as the snow around them. Anna attempted to walk forward as she fell forward, falling into Kristoff’s arms.

“Save your strength,” He said as he picked her up, “You’re in no condition to do anything.”

“B-But your ice business…”

“It’s fine.” He turned to Sven, who was still stuck to the railing. “Hey, pal, can you get her and Olaf to Grandpabbie?” As if on queue, the parts of Olaf came hurling at them from the palace, sticking to a rock nearby.

“Woah, now that’s an arm!” the snowman’s head exclaimed, “Watch out!”

The snowman’s torso came flying at them, narrowly missing Kristoff entirely.

“Y-you’re not coming?” Anna started shivering in his arms.

“I’ll try to get Elsa to come back, Grandpabbie will know what to do about this magic.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen him do it before.”

Olaf put himself together and helped Sven get his tongue off of the railing. Kristof gingerly placed Anna on the reindeer’s back as the snowman leaped onto the beast at the same time.

“Make it fast, Sven. GO!”

Sven bolted down the mountain path, disappearing from sight in mere minutes. Kristoff let out a small sigh as he fished out his climbing gear from his satchel. He knew that thing was still in the front entrance, so there was only one way into the palace at this point. He walked up the side of the mountain, tied his rope around the handle of his pickaxe, and with all of his might, hurled the axe to the balcony, hooking it onto the railing. Giving the rope a secure tug, Kristoff approached the gorge between him and the palace. There was a few hundred feet between him and the ground, so he knew that if the rope failed, he’d be dead for sure. I’ve got to do this, for Anna and the others, he thought. With no hesitation, Kristoff leaped off of the mountainside with as much force as he could muster.

XXXXXX

“Keep it together… j-just don’t panic,” Elsa murmured to herself as she paced the floor. She came up here to avoid hurting Anna, and now look what happened. How could she so stupid to think this would actually work? No matter where she went, she was a danger, a monster even. “It’s no use…” she whimpered. She slumped back onto the icy wall and buried her head in her arms. “Don’t feel… don’t feel,” she murmured to herself. Suddenly, a loud *CLANK* came from the balcony. Snapping her head up, she noticed a rather large pickaxe wedged between the design of the railing. She stood up and cautiously walked over to the balcony, trying to see what had put that there. As she stepped out to the balcony, she was greeted by Kristoff hurling himself over the side and onto the balcony floor. Elsa looked on in both surprise and horror as he laid there for a few moments, gasping wildly.

“Kristoff!”

“I’m n-never doing that again!” He heaved as he hoisted himself up on the railing. Kristoff steadied himself against the ice, visibly shaking.

“What are you doing here? I told y-”

“Technically you told Anna to leave. I thought I’d try my luck getting you home.”

“W-well you won’t get anywhere. I’m not leaving,” With that, she walked back into the palace closing the door behind her. Kristoff caught the door just before it slammed shut.

“I kinda promised that I’d get you back home. So, uh, I can’t really leave without you…”

“You’re wasting your time. I already told you I can’t go back multiple times,” Elsa started to choke up as she slumped down in front of the large ice wall the mountain man had taken cover behind earlier, “J-just go home, Kristoff. Back to your family. To your wife.”

“Um… what?” Kristoff gave her a confused look.

“You’re not married?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of a people person,” Kristoff moved to join her, leaning against the icy wall, “Besides, I’ve been alone my entire life. No sense in changing that now.”

“What do you mean?” Kristoff let out a long sigh, “When I was a baby, I was left on the doorstep of an orphanage. I have no idea who my parents were, whether or not they’re still alive, or where they are. For as long as I can remember, It’s just been me and Sven. It wasn’t until one night that we were adopted by the trolls in the valley…”

Elsa shot up, “You mean…?” “The same ones that saved Anna before.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” “Why didn’t you tell me you were the queen of Arendelle before?”

Elsa let out a small scoff, “Fair point.”

Kristoff continued with his story, “Life after that didn’t go over so well. I was taunted, teased, harassed, everything, just because my only family was a bunch of rocks. Ever since then, I’ve just been more wary of people, always stuck to myself. All I’ve ever really needed was me and Sven.”

“Kristoff I’m so sor-” “This isn’t about me. It’s never been about me. This is about you. Right now, you have something I never had before: A family that loves you enough to run up here and try and bring you home. You shouldn’t throw that away.”

“I-”

“Stop. It’s obvious that she cares about you despite your powers. Anna came up here by herself, I don’t think she needs any more protection.”

“B-but I hurt her… again…”

“You weren’t in the right state of mind,” Kristoff placed a hand on her shoulder, “to be honest, neither of you were, but that’s beside the point. From how she talked about you on the way up here, it’s gonna take a lot more than some ice magic to make her hate you.”

“But what about her? Is she alright?”

“I sent her to Grandpabbie, he’ll know what to do. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Elsa gave Kristoff a weak smile. She wasn’t sure what possessed him to help her and Anna, but she secretly thanked God for him and his kind deeds. It was at that point that she heard the sound of footsteps outside the palace. Kristoff and Elsa shot up from the floor, both bearing confused looks on their faces.

“Wait here,” he said before stammering, “uh, if you please, Your Majesty.” With that, Kristoff bolted down to the stairs and out of sight.

XXXXXX Kristoff flung the main doors open, slightly confused at the sight before him. A small group of Arendellian soldiers were amassed in front of the steps beside a rather large snow pile. At the head of the group, a red haired man upon a brown steed was giving some kind of order to them, flanked by two mysterious men in red. Kristoff walked down the steps to meet the group, many of which were already staring at him. The man in the front had turned around to see what everyone was distracted by, sporting a confused look on his face as he dismounted his horse. He tread through the snow and met Kristoff at the base of the icy stairs.

“Um… who are you?” He asked in a confused tone.

“Just a local,” Kristoff replied, “the name’s Kristoff. You don’t exactly look like you come from around here, I gotta say.”

“Prince Hans of the Southern Isles,” the man gave him a slight bow,“If you don’t mind me asking, have you seen the princess of Arendelle around these parts?”

Kristoff was taken aback by the question. If he was just here for Anna, why did he need such a sizable force?

“I may have, why?”

“She went up here to get the queen to return, but no one’s heard of her since she left yesterday. I’ve been in charge ever since, but I was worried about her.”

“Wait, you’re her fiancé?”

“So you met her? Is she alright?”

Kristoff let out a small gulp. How was he going to tell him that she was currently dying from magic and being taken care of by the trolls? He’d either be hung or thrown into an asylum.

“I helped her get up here. And, uh…”

“Is she in there?” Hans pointed to the ice palace.

“No. She left a few hours ago. With the queen, I think.”

“You think? You mean to tell me that you helped her up here, without a horse, and just let them go through the wilds without an escort?”

“Is that why you needed a small army, then?”

Hans began to get frustrated, “We weren’t sure of what was up here. You live around here, you should kn-”

“What about these two then?” Kristoff gestured to the two men in red, “They don’t look like they’re from Arendelle.”

Before Hans could retort, one of the red-clad men shot his gaze to the palace, nudging to his friend as they barreled past the prince and the ice harvester. Kristoff rotated his head to see what caused them to run past them in such a fashion. Elsa quickly slammed the doors, revealing herself.

“She left with the queen, hm? Arrest this man!” Hans drew his sword and chased after the two men in red. Two guards came up to Kristoff with their own swords drawn. Before they could do anything, the snow pile soon came to life, revealing the ice monster that threw Kristoff out before. It let out a monstrous roar as the guards started firing crossbow bolts at it. While they were distracted, Kristoff bolted for the palace as Hans stuck back to fight the monster. Bursting through the door, Kristoff was met with the sounds of the two men running up the steps. With no hesitation, he followed suit, his footsteps echoing throughout the palace as it turned a bright yellow.

Reaching the top of the steps, the two men had Elsa cornered with her hands up, crossbows fixed on her position.

“No, please,” she pleaded, her eyes darting between the two men.

One of them fired a bolt right at her head as she brought up a wall of ice to catch it. Kristoff dove towards the other man, knocking him to the ground with a loud thud. The man in red struggled underneath him as Kristoff tried to knock the crossbow out of his hand. After a few blows to the stomach, Kristoff gave the man a swift headbutt, causing him to go limp. Kristoff looked over to Elsa, who had pinned the other man to the wall with a series of jagged ice spikes. She produced a vengeful scowl as she used her magic to edge closer to the man, almost as she wanted to impale him.

“ELSA, NO!” Kristoff yelled. Just then, Hans and the other soldiers appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Queen Elsa!” the prince shouted, “Don’t be the monster they fear you are!”

Elsa paused, allowing the magic to dissipate from her hand. Her scowl faded into a look of horror. Twice she had let her emotions control her, and now look at what happened. Kristoff saw how shaken she was and started to walk over to her. Kristoff’s sight moved to the man on the wall, who was slowly struggling to raise his crossbow towards Elsa. Hans dashed over and attempted to wrestle the weapon out of his hands, accidentally firing a bolt at the rope holding the crystalline fixture up. Kristoff dashed towards Elsa, tackling her out of danger as the fixture fell onto him, knocking him out.

#kristelsa #Kristoff #Elsa #Canon Divergent #Anna #frozen fanfiction #teen

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imaginedisish · 6 years

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Take On Me (Otis Milburn x Reader) (Sex Education)

A/N: THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE OMG. OKAY UMMMM THANK YOU FOR 300 FOLLOWERS. I KINDA CRIED BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL SO AMAZING. ANYWAY...here’s some smut :) hehehehe! This was SUPER requested. The title is based on the Aha song of the same name. My friends tell me I look like the girl who dances to this song in that vine...so if you ever wanna know what I look like, I kinda look like her??? ANYWAY... I hope you alllll enjoy :) Thank you for all the love and support <3 xxxxx (oh and Colin Ritman smut is up next LOL BYE)

Summary: You and Otis decide that it’s time to take things to the next step in your relationship....for the first time...SMUT!

Warnings: SMUT. SMUT. SMUT. language...fluff...yeppers.

Word Count: 2,124

Also...I made a part two that I’ll link here!

You walk down the road, your hand in his, giggling, talking about anything and everything that comes to your mind. Your yellow sundress sways in the wind, a smile plastered across your face.

“I mean you’re lying if you say you wouldn’t kill to go back to 1979 and see Joy Division live!” Otis says, his ocean eyes glowing in the moonlight. You stare into them, drowning wave after wave.

“Well sure, but what about Lou and Bowie?” You say back, arching a brow in Otis’s direction. He nods, agreeing. “You rather see Joy Division, don’t you?” You ask, laughing a bit. You knew when Otis was holding something back from you. You could see it in his eyes, or simply in the way he held himself. He gets fidgety and restless.

“O-okay w-well m-maybe. Yes. I’d rather see Joy Division,” Otis says finally, an apologetic smile spreading across his face.

He was too cute to even care that he disagreed with you. “Oh well,” You say, pausing, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I guess I just have better taste than you.” You giggle loudly.

“Guess I’ll just have to accept that my girlfriend is far cooler than I ever will be,” Otis says back, throwing his hands up to meet yours, grabbing them softly. He plants a kiss on your forehead, and you hum with pleasure. It was little moments like these that made your heart sing, no matter how innocent or small.

You two continuing walking, your hand still in his. Otis had been your boyfriend for about two months, but you and he had been friends for much longer. Everything seemed so perfect, except for one thing.

Sex.

It wasn’t necessarily taboo in your relationship, you and Otis had talked about it before, but, you were a virgin, and so was he. Obviously, there was no problem with that. But you had both gotten to the point where you genuinely wanted each other. Otis was over his intimacy issues, thanks to you, and you felt like you were ready to take your relationship to the next step.

You see Otis’s house up a head, the massive, red, Queen Anne style home still vibrant in the dark of night. A few lights are still on inside the house, but it was likely that Otis’s mother had gone to bed. It was late. Stars hang carefully in the night sky, dancing over a round, full moon. The trees sway in the crisp summer wind. Otis stops for a second, taking both your hands in his.

“Do you want to, m-maybe, c-come inside?” Otis asks nervously, biting his lip. You can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that,” You say, pulling him along the path as you walk forward. He stumbles a bit, tripping over his own feet as he catches up with you. Eventually you two approach the front door.

Otis puts a finger to his lips, cautioning you to be quiet. You nod your head in response. Otis slowly opens the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. The door creeks loudly, and Otis’s turquoise eyes fling open widely, filling with anxiety. You let out a small giggle, covering your mouth immediately after, trying to suppress your laughter. Normally, sneaking around was “sexy”, but not with Otis. He was so adorable, so cute.

“Now that’s not fair. My sneaking skills are quite good, ya know,” Otis whispers, a smirk plastered on his face. You smile, shaking your head in disbelief. Then, Otis grabs your hand, pulling you swiftly into the dimly light house. He shuts the door behind you, and guides you up the stairs and into his room.

You somehow successfully reach Otis’s room without banging into anything, or worse, waking his mother up. He closes the door to his room, and slides the brass lock into place.

Your eyes gloss over his room. His bed sat in the center of the attic like space, the walls covered in different band posters. You spot a giant Joy Division poster next to his bed, and a The Stranglers poster right next to that.

On the other side of the room was a bookcase, holding Otis’s extensive collection of records and books. You walk over to the case, scanning to see which records he had. Not to your surprise, the boy had everything from Arcade Fire, to Arctic Monkeys, to the Beatles, to Nirvana.

The room screamed Otis. It was a perfect personification of his personality, and you loved it.

Otis smiles at you softly, grabbing your hand again, and walking you over to the bed. He sits down on the edge of the twin mattress, and you sit down next to him. Otis looks deeply into your eyes, his aquamarine gaze filling your stomach with excitement. Your heart flutters in your chest.

“I know that we’ve been talking a lot about…” Otis trails off. He swallows harshly, his Adam’s apple bopping in his throat. “W-well about sex. If you don’t feel comfortable with this I completely unders-,”

You cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “I want this, Otis. I really do.”

“A-are you sure?” He asks, arching a brow.

“Yes, I’m positive.”

Without any hesitation, Otis’s hands come up to cup your cheeks, and he pulls you into a hungry kiss. His tongue brushes against your top lip, asking for permission to enter. You part your lips slightly, as his tongue dances across your teeth, intertwining with your tongue every now and then. You pull apart for a second, trying to catch your breath.

Otis breathes deeply as his hand brushes against your inner thigh, his eyes refusing to leave yours. You melt under his touch. He slowly moves higher, searching your eyes for permission. You nod your head eagerly in response.

His hand then makes its way closer to you core, and you whimper in anticipation. Otis slowly pushes your flowing yellow dress up.

“I know I already asked but I just want to-,”

You cut him off again. “Otis, I want you.” He nods, pushing your dress up farther. His hand slides up your thigh again, reaching towards your heat. His thumb begins to brush against your clit over your panties, getting faster each second.

A muffled moan escapes your lips. Otis smirks, and stops. You send a disapproving frown in his direction, but to your delight, Otis slowly begins to pull at the hem of your panties. He takes his time as he gets down on the floor, and slips them off your legs.

You decide it’s time to turn the tables a bit. Your hand reaches across Otis’s thigh as he sits back up on the bed. You begin to palm him through his jeans.

“F-fuck,” Otis groans loudly. You quickly put a single finger up to his lips, signaling for him to be quiet. His mother is most likely just down the hall, you think to yourself.

Otis nods, and you continue to palm his shaft through his blue jeans, his erection growing. You slowly unzip his pants, undo his belt and pull down his jeans. You reach down to continue palming him, but he grabs your hand before you can do anything else.

“No. My turn to make you feel good,” Otis says, pushing you down on the bed. You’re shocked at Otis’s sudden confidence, but pleased nonetheless. He pulls your yellow sundress over your head, revealing your lacy bra underneath.

“My god you're gorgeous.” Heat rises to your cheeks.

Otis’s hand travels across your chest, down your stomach, finally resting on your heat. He begins to play with your clit again, circling the spot slowly with his thumb.

“O-otis,” You call out, your eyes falling shut, a fire beginning to burn in the pit of your stomach.

“Do you like that?” Otis asks, rubbing faster now. You open your eyes, nodding your head up and down eagerly.

“Y-yes,” You mutter. You had touched yourself before, but this felt so much different. It felt amazing. Suddenly, you feel Otis’s finger slide over your wet opening. He looks to you for permission once again. “Y-yes please.” He does as you say, sliding a finger into your opening.

“Tell me what feels good, and what doesn’t,” Otis says, his eyes wide with concern.

“H-holy shit,” You cry out, pleasure washing over you. Otis shushes you politely, a smirk stretching across his face. “Th-this f-feels r-really g-good.”

The feeling of Otis’s finger filling you up, and his thumb toying with your clit begins to become overwhelming. You were seconds away from coming, and you knew it.

“O-otis, I think I’m going t-to,” You stutter as Otis picks up his pace, inserting another finger, the sensation itself practically sending you over the edge. He thrusts become even faster. In, out, in out, in out.

“Shuuuush, let go love,” Otis coos. Your walls flutter around his fingers.

“F-fuck! Otis!” You shout, coming around his fingers. Otis lessens his pace, and pulls out of you. “M-my god that was a-amazing.” You laugh, pulling Otis closer to you. “I want you, Otis. I need you.” Otis’s jaw drops. He quickly reaches over to the nightstand next to him, grabbing a condom from the drawer. He unwraps the packaging, slowly slipping the condom over his hard cock.

You hurriedly pull off his shirt, kissing him passionately at any chance you get. You yank down Otis’s boxers, revealing his hard member. Otis takes his erected cock into his hand, looking to your eyes one more time for permission. You nod your head in response as he lines himself up with your entrance.

Suddenly, Otis’s cock fills pushes through your folds and inside of you.

“Oh sh-shit,” Otis mutters, burying his head in your neck, and then pushing himself up again.

“H-holy f-fuck,” You cry out, tears rushing to your eyes. You knew it would feel different than fingering yourself, or how Otis had just fingered you, but this was different than what you expected. It hurt, but just for a second. After some time, the pain began to subside. Otis waits a minute, making sure you’ve adjusted to his size.

“A-are you alright?” Otis asks, brushing your cheek with his hand.

“Y-yes,” You mutter.

“Are you sure. We can stop if you don’t want to go any further,” Otis says, his voice kind and reassuring.

“No, I want this. I want you,” You say back to him, passion in your eyes. Otis nods, and begins to thrust in and out of you gently. The pain erases itself, and is replaced by total and utter pleasure. “F-fuck Otis.”

“(Y/N),” Otis hums as he quickens his pace. His cock was hard. It felt so good. “M-my g-god you’re so f-fucking wet,” Otis coos. His words alone could make you come.

Otis’s hand reaches down to your clit, and he begins to toy with it again. You dig your fingernails into his back, practically ready to scream in pleasure as he draws circles at your heat. Otis begins to lose his rhythm, his thrusts becoming extremely sloppy.

“I’m, I’m g-going to c-come,” Otis cries out shakily as a fire pools in your lower abdomen.

“M-me too,” You breath heavily. Your walls tighten around Otis’s pulsating cock. “Otis!” You cry out, coming around him.

“Oh-oh fuck,” Otis moans, letting go, thrusting deeply into you one last time.

Otis pulls out of your opening, crashing down on the bed, next to you. You lay there for some time, not saying anything, just enjoying each other’s company.

“That was…” You trail off. “Absolutely perfect.” You turn on your side to face Otis. He’s beaming with joy. He reaches a hand to your face, pushing the hair out of your eyes.

“Yeah, just like you,” He smirks, wrapping his arms around you and pulling the covers over you two.

“I love you, Otis,” You whisper into his ear.

“I love you, (Y/N),” Otis murmurs. Your eyes flutter closed, and open again, becoming heavy with sleep. You press your face into Otis’s chest, pressing kisses there.

“You know you aren’t just some guy in the corner, right? You’re special. You’re so fucking special,” You say, looking up to him. His diamond eyes meet your gaze.

“And you know you’re more important and more beautiful than every star in the galaxy, right?” You smile against his chest, pressing a kiss on his collarbone.

You really did love that boy, far more than words could ever say.

Far more than anything else.

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agent-yolk-writes · 5 years

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Friends Like You and Us - Venom!Reader - Ch. 6

I really gotta post this after I updated it on AO3 goddamn

In today’s episode: The gang puts too much thought into planning, you have terrible codenames, and you wonder if the circus is in town.

Don’t forget to reblog so others can see it! If you want something featured, don’t be afraid to drop an ask. We’re almost around the halfway point and it’s all downhill from here. Get your thoughts in now or forever hold your peace,

AO3 Version | Masterlist (TBD)

After scrambling to figure out a plan and translating interdimensional slang, the plan goes as follows:

1. You enter the building with Ham in a backpack. Peni has hooked all of you guys with little telecommunicators that can fit into your ear. They look like they can be passed off as the cool new earbuds you’ve seen your classmates wearing.

1a. Peni, SP//dr, and Noir will be outside as backup should anything happen along the way.

2. Get through the guards by showing your ID, which indicates a trusted employee of the building, Mary, has granted an outsider, you, permission to enter the building and their individual office. That’s it, that’s your only access.

3. While you do what your aunt asked you, Ham goes in the vents and finds a way into the Alchemax section upstairs. There he’ll find anything that could help figure out what happened to Spider-Man.

From there, depending on the situation, it could go two ways.

4a. Ham retraces his footsteps in the vents and gets back to your aunt’s office.

4b. If Ham needs to be recovered, you’ll “accidentally” stumble into Alchemax, claim you’re trying to find the bathroom, to retrieve Ham and any data he managed to recover.

5. Leave without raising any suspicions, if possible.

A simple plan in five or so steps. You’re taking the usual subway route to her office with Ham squished inside your mini backpack. It’s uncertain what Peni and Noir are doing above ground, but you could imagine them hopping between buildings in a cool montage like that cool cartoon of those ninja lizards. Thankfully this cart was almost packed to the brim, so no one can see, Ham included, tendrils wrapping around your hand and giving a comforting squeeze as if someone was actually holding your hand.

You got this. We believe in you.

I...I dunno. It sounded too easy in my apartment.

We can handle anything that comes our way.

“I sure hope so.” You muttered, glancing at the people close by to see if they’re looking at you. Swinging your bag around so it’s hanging in the front, you subtly zipped open the bag to look at the cartoony companion. At the sign of first light, he hisses at the sudden stimulation by squinting his eyes for a few seconds.

“Are we there yet?” He asks, a bit bored.

You glanced over at the display showing how many stops are left. “Not for another stop or so. How are you feeling in there?”

Ham sighs at the response. “I knew I should’ve brought something to read.” He pulls out a sleeping mask and puts it over his eyes.

“It’s either this or waste SP//dr’s fuel but doing about three trips back and forth.” You could feel some glances over your way, so you lower your voice a bit. “Anyone with a phone is going to post it on Twitter and we really don’t want that. Especially if it’s going to be on Insider Edition tonight.”

Your communicator buzzes to life, even with all the concrete around you.

“Actually, it’s powered by the psychic link between me and my spider friend in the suit.” Peni corrected you.

“There’s a spider...in the suit?” You said with genuine surprise.

“Hey now, you didn’t ask.” Well, she has a point there. “Oh heads up, here comes your stop.” As if on cue, the overhead speaker announces your stop. It doesn’t help your heart kicking up a notch in anticipation. A thousand scenarios are running through your head as you tried not to give Ham a whiplash putting your bag in its proper place. You even straighten out your blouse as you exited the subway train. Despite only being bonded for a week, it felt strange wearing clothes outside of your symbiote. All there’s left is to pray to your not-so empty head that everything can and will go right for a simple infiltration.

“This is Black Spider. I’m in position.”

“Spider Pig here. Let’s get this show running.”

“Mecha Spider is ready when you are!”

“This is Classic Spider, cruising for a bruising on the bench.”

…

You should’ve opposed to using codenames. This is an in and out, not an actual heist. If anything, you could’ve at least used different spiders to call each other by. It’d make sense if you refer to yourself as, for example, Black Widow rather than Black Spider. In the end, it’s all apples to pears.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled on the ID card you knew was on you just to make sure it's really there. It doesn’t go bad for another year, so they can’t stop you by saying it’s expired. If one of your aunt’s coworkers spotted you, then the suspicious glares from security will weaken. They swap floors every six months or so for security purposes. You haven’t been in the building proper since...ten months ago. Hopefully, that retired Sergeant got mobilized to the main floor. If he got moved to Alchemax, then you’ll have to pray for Ham’s safety-

Said spider-pig poked his head out. “What about my safety?”

“Nothing.” With Venom’s help, your arm pushed your smuggled package back into your back of the cramped bag. With Venom’s sixth sense you can almost feel Peni and Noir staring down from the roof of a neighboring building. “Let’s go.” With a shaky step, you begin your ascent up the stairs and entered the revolving door.

To your left, you see the guest desks and the CCTVs in an open room behind the woman at the desk. She had her head down, so she’s probably on her phone. Directly in front of you is the series of elevators being guarded by a single security guard, a glorified elevator worker if anything. You vaguely remember him, but it might not be the same vice versa. Through the handful of people coming in and out, you make your move to the first elevator open.

Your aunt’s workplace is one of the higher floors, so it’s going to be a while in this metal death trap. It became empty quicker than you expected, not that you don’t mind.

“What’s your status Black Spider, Spider Pig?” Peni said through the communicator.

“Entering the building was a success, no complications so far.” You whispered back. You try not to stare at the camera you know is staring at you in the corner. ”Pretty much going to be a smooth ride up.” Was the last thing you said before said smooth ride came to a halt at a different floor.

Oh no, someone else is coming up.

If you don’t make eye contact and shuffle to the side, maybe they won’t-

“Oh look, it’s you.” Oh no, it’s her.

You forced your eyes to look at one and only Stacy Adams from your school. She’s a senior, just a year above you. She’s one of the most popular people in your school and like every high school movie out there, she thinks she’s the queen of the institution. The only reason she could be here is that senior intern experience your school offers where seniors spend three of the five day school week learning. To your chagrin, it looks like today is one of those days.

She hates your guts for some reason. You couldn’t recall what you did to piss her off. Maybe she got jealous of you a guy that just so happens to be a friend of your friend. You did, however, ate her boyfriend aka the top varsity football player bound for Ohio State, so there’s that. In your defense, he attacked you.

We should eat her as well.

Shush, you.

You eyed the security camera in the corner.

Not yet.

“Hey, Stacy...weird meeting you here, huh?” You mustered up whatever you can to pretend you’re happy to see her.

“It’s weird meeting you here.” She shoots back. “Should I report you for skipping school to trespass?”

“Unlike your daddy’s money, I actually know people here.” You replied before you could process it. So much for putting up a fake front.

Stacy, of course, wasn’t having it. “You don’t need to know people if they’re hiring a fucking clown.”

“A fucking clown? Oh wait, is that who you’re seeing after Kyle basically ghosted you? Wooow Stacy, how faithfu-“ You didn’t get a chance to finish it when a handmade sharp contact with your cheek. You weren’t sure if the sting was from the palm or the sharp nails she raked across your skin for extra damage.

Your heart was beating so loud in your ears. Whether it was Venom’s boiling rage or your own, it almost affected the next step you were about to do. If it wasn’t for Peni bringing you back to Earth with, “-ck Spider, is everything alright in there?” in your ear, you would be deep in bloodshed.

Instead, you calmly removed your earpiece and stuffed it into your bag. You hope she notices the unhuman bend of your arm.

“Look, I don’t have time for you.” You said lowly, voice borderline a growl. “I’m going to do my thing, you’re gonna do your thing, and then you’ll continue to pop your gum loudly every time I even blink in your direction. Got it?”

Stacy stares at you like you grew two heads on the spot. Your cheek tickles a bit as Venom heals the scratch marks.

She started sputtering some nonsense to try and get something in before the elevator finally slowed down to your aunt’s floor. Time to finally get out of this cramped box.

But first…

As you took a step out of the elevator, you couldn’t help but turn around to face her one last time.

“Oh, by the way…” You said with a growing devious grin. “Kyle’s brain was absolutely delicious.” Venom couldn’t help but join in at the last second, but it got the results that you wanted. Stacy tried charging at you but the closing doors were quicker. You could hear her banging at the door all the way up. Ah, you’ll remember the face she made. You wonder if her boyfriend had that same expression.

Ham decided to pop his head out once you used your aunt’s card to get into the bathroom. He had a sponge lodged into his ears that managed to take out by pulling it out of one ear with a comical pop. You’re too

“Geez, took you long enough. Thought the catfight was gonna take foreeeever.” He complained.

“Well sorry for having enemies, I guess.” You replied as you readjusted your communicator. “This is Black Spider. Um...Sorry that I went AWOL there. Bumped into a rather unpleasant classmate of mine in the elevator.”

“About time! Thought about going in there thinking you croaked.” Noir’s voice crackled through his mic.

“Weren’t you able to hear anything from Ham’s mic?”

Peni answered your question with, “The microphone is designed to cancel out any background noise so whoever’s talking into it can be heard. You’ll never find anything better for noise cancellation!”

The wonders of the future could not be thanked enough.

You pushed Ham’s head back in the bag at the sound of the bathroom door unlocking for someone else. This is your cue to leave and head to your aunt’s office.

The first phase of the plan is now successful. Now that the second part is about to be achieved, you’re looking forward to the idea of getting away without being caught. Well, you almost did, but that doesn’t count in your books.

It should be smooth sailing from here, right?

...Right?

#spiderverse #spidersona #x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse & reader #spiderverse x reader #venom x reader #venom & reader #venom symbiote x reader #venom symbiote & reader #venom/reader #venom symbiote/reader #reader insert #my writing #friends like you and us

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humansoulsarg · 4 years

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Recap - artifact555 video solve

In the early days of this blog, some of the solves weren’t documented as cleanly in one post as has become the pattern. In reviewing the solutions to Pangent’s publicly available videos, it was discovered that a few of them could use a newly compiled summary solve post. So here goes the first of those, enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVWfnqiuVXk Binary title: artifact555 Video begins with a warning about flashing images, and whoo boy, those happen. There’s lots of shots of the cube, glitching in colors and flashing, and interspersed with possible flashes of Lottie, and some more interesting effects. The sound is also ‘interesting’. The cube is alive. There doesn’t appear to be any coded content in the video, but the description has some things worth investigating. almost-binary in the description, replace the ‘O’s and 'C’s with '0’s and '1’s to get actual binary for: xV_OQ4CQqE8

This is a YouTube ID: https://youtu.be/xV_OQ4CQqE8 - A video with binary title 'theline’, showing Lottie 'speaking’ but the audio sounds computer-generated and states:

There are some things we as a species weren’t meant to know

This video also contains some pastebin links in the description, more on those later.

Back to the text in the description of 'artifact555’:

imgur bAqfpxr

This is theoriginal MSPA ad which was the trailhead for this ARG imgur jbUD1v0

This is a nonogram, popular in those days. Can be solved manually or with tools like http://a.teall.info/nonogram/

Interpret the squares as binary:

011010110111101001110110 011000110110011101110001 011010000110001001110111 011110010111100101110101 011101000101011001101011 011000100110111001100010 011011010110101101110011 011001110111010101100011 011101100110110101101001 011011010110111101111001 011011010111001001100111 011110100111001101110001 011011000110111001100111 011001111111111111111111 kzvcgqhbwyyutVkbnbmksgucvmimoymrgzsqlngg Vigenere with key 'conscioushumansouls’ (and add spaces): i like it here it Isnt quiet can you hear the waves imgur 7Foyrsz

Kcode - read off the RGB values of each square In decimal they are: 49 53 32 104 111 117 114 115 32 102 114 111 109 32 116 104 101 32 99 101 110 116 101 114 32 111 102 32 116 104 101 32 115 111 117 114 99 101 0 15 hours from the center of the source xV_OQ4CQqE8 is a YouTube ID leading to: https://youtu.be/xV_OQ4CQqE8 unlisted video with binary title: theline Contains several Pastebin links in the description: PB CBiWsY85 https://pastebin.com/CBiWsY85 - hex title: themoth contains binary text encoded as Vigenere with key 'guineapix’ which decodes to:

I have a friend, let’s call her C. Let me talk about C for a minute. The wonderful and terrible thing about C is that she’s a moth drawn to flame. For a few years now I have supported her in everything she’s done. She’s reckless. If she were a character in a movie, she’d see an explosion and run toward it while most people are running away. She’d run into the burning building and inhale the smoke while taking notes on how it affected the building structure. And she’s probably the one who caused the fire in the first place. Metaphorically, I mean. She gets results only because she loves the danger of it. She’ll come up with a solution and write it down without knowing if it’s right or not. She’ll try it a dozen different ways, watch the entire thing fall to pieces in a dozen different, irreplaceably expensive ways. Destroy everything while taking notes on the wreckage. When she’s done she’ll clean up the mess and she’ll understand the problem on a molecular level, from the inside out. She’ll be standing in the catastrophe she created, with a thousand pages of notes on how to do it right next time. I believe she’s the greatest genius I’ll ever know. And she’s a disaster. A walking disasterpiece. Her mind makes leaps that other minds can’t, because they understand that actions have consequences. She knows that messes can be cleaned up, and systems rebuilt. So she plays with fire. Well, not every mess can be cleaned up. You can’t put toothpaste back in the tube. Now that I’ve typed that I’m not so sure. She could probably figure it out. She’d ruin a lot of tubes of toothpaste in the process. But hey, toothpaste is cheap. The Twitter archive is still broken because of her, but I suspect if she hadn’t been fired she’d have fixed it within a few days. And because of her we did figure out how to decrypt the deleted data. It’s a slow, manual process, but it’s all there in some form or another. I wonder if that was X’s plan all along, somehow. He remembered Sandy Bridge, and figured if there was smoke there there was fire. He followed a trail of clues and now he’s taken everything. It’s not C’s fault. She did what she always did. She made a mess so that we could learn something. Maybe something we shouldn’t have been messing with in the first place. There’s this object, Artifact 555, alias The Cube. I’m not going to ask where it came from or how X’s father got it, because I value my life and my career and I know that questions have consequences. I’m not going to ask what it is, either. But I don’t have to. C is asking. What I know is this: X, because he’s an asshole, sent the three of us photos of this thing. It’s hard to see and harder to look at but I’d describe it as a glass cubic box with reflective blue matter inside. When I looked at the photos of this thing, I was filled with a paralyzing fear unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Afterward I was sick for two days. Leslie was sick too. Even her cat was sick. I don’t know how that’s even possible. I don’t want to know how that’s possible. But then, I’m not a moth drawn to flame. C was at the store when she saw the photos. Just on her phone, not even on a big monitor. She fell and hit her head. E had to come and get her. She didn’t walk straight for days. Now, a normal person’s instinct would be to get the hell away from this thing, and get the hell away from X, who used it as a weapon. Another kind of woman with another kind of mind would have changed her name, left the country, called in an exorcist and dedicated her life to rejecting satan and all his ways. Instead she signed the world’s worst contract and said she’d be back to work on the second. Because she’s a moth drawn to flame. She loves the mystery and danger of meddling where she shouldn’t. I know that right now every cell in her body is screaming out wanting to know what this thing is, even if she has to burn the world down around her to understand it. Well, that’s just who she is. X knew that too. He knew that if he shouted “DANGER” at her with a megaphone and police sirens and flashing lights five hundred feet tall, she’d come running toward that kind of danger. She can’t help it. For years, I’ve supported her in everything she’s done. I hope I never have to regret that.

PB i1pxP041 https://pastebin.com/i1pxP041 - hex title: gnixob (reversed: boxing) It’s almost-binary again, replace the 'C’s and'O’s with '1’s and'0’s then reverse, then decode as binary, then Vigenere with key 'argentina’ to get:

Another question. Let’s say there’s an object. Let’s call it “an object.” I looked at a few photographs of this object and became violently ill for reasons passing understanding. It was a couple days before I could walk without worry. The others in my group had a similar reaction. Here’s the question. What happens when I see this thing in person? And work alongside it for a long period of time? What exactly happens to my sanity? Happy Boxing Day.

PB sd7MrRX5 https://pastebin.com/sd7MrRX5 - hex title: analog Contains binary, Vigenered text with key 'argentina’:

Okay, I’m calm now. The Cube reacts to electrical stimuli. It even reacts in a predictable and reproducible way, suggesting that data can be imprinted on it for later use. X’s father must have known this. Someone must have run tests, suggesting this could work for data storage, if we could only understand how it works. Well, we don’t need to understand the Cube. And it doesn’t need to understand us. We’ve been thinking of this thing as digital, thinking how can we connect to it, like it’s a hard drive. But it’s not. It’s squishy, it’s meat, it’s liquid, it’s practically a brain. It’s analog. Do you understand? When I was a kid, we had cassette tapes. We had vinyl records. A vinyl record isn’t made with digital data. Vinyl doesn’t understand and interpret the music, it’s just plastic. And the needle is just a needle. There is no artificial intelligence there. But when a song is playing, you can etch the vibrations of that song onto that dumb plastic, and the needle will react the same way to play it back again. Magnetic tape is dumb too. It doesn’t need to understand and interpret the signals being sent through it. It just needs to be able to play them back accurately. VHS tapes of movies, cassette tapes of music. Did you ever record a computer program onto a cassette tape, and then play it back? You could just play the sound, all of this whirring and beeping, and your Apple II or Commodore 64 would understand what the tape couldn’t. The original analog medium is a book. The pages of a book don’t understand the data written on them. But the writer understood, and the reader understands, and that’s enough. We don’t need to understand the Cube. We don’t access that data by plugging in a cable. We don’t learn its language and it doesn’t learn ours. It’s a book. We write something on it, and then we can read it later. So. Let’s say I set up a server which reacts to data. And we test the Cube’s reactions to the same data. And we test it and test it and change the way we deliver the data to the Cube, until the reaction matches. We don’t need to speak the Cube’s language. We just need it to react in the right way when we speak ours.

PB 18E6yhak https://pastebin.com/18E6yhak - hex title: repair Contains binary, Vigenere’d text with key 'argentina’

Questions for this Christmas, asked of nobody but myself. The first question is whether or not data can have a soul. This is a question with two possible answers, so for the sake of argument let us assume the ridiculous - that the data of a soul can be saved, and that this does not disprove the existence of the soul as a theological concept and construct. Let us say that data can have a soul. The second question is, what if that data stream becomes broken and corrupted, in the way that souls also become broken and corrupted? If we save the data, do we save the soul? And if so, do we save it in a theological sense or merely on a technical level? What exactly would we be tampering with here? It’s four AM. I’m drunk. I should go back to sleep.

#video #unlisted video #puzzle #puzzle solution #human souls arg #submission #13ago

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