#if you know why I used apples as a measurement...
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“i’m tireddd.”
*in a whiny voice* “i’m tired.” *mocking them*
this is sooo eddie coded
ty for feeding my grumpy eddie obsession anon — grump!eddie's boyfriend instincts take over when you're sleepy (ditzy!reader-ish, established relationship, fluff, 0.6k)
bug's one year celebration ♡
There’s something heavy in Eddie’s lap. Something heavy and warm and smelling like a fresh shower.
He fights open drooping eyelids, not knowing when he’d dozed off or how long he’d dozed off for — or exactly when you crawled haphazardly into his lap. He figures it couldn’t have been that long ago. ‘Cause his show is still on, and you’re still shifting to get comfortable over his legs.
“What are you doing?” he asks you, voice thick with sleep until he clears it away.
You’ve got yourself curled in a tight ball, trying to make yourself as tiny as possible so you can fit more of yourself in his lap. The effort is futile. Only half you thrown over half of him. It doesn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but you settle with a contented sigh like you are, anyway. Eddie smooths a warm hand over your back and lets you lie there, on top of him.
“Laying on you,” you answer, muffled against him.
“Okay… Why?”
“‘Cause I love you.”
“Boo,” he moans. “Too vague.”
You whine. “Today was just so long, and I’m sooo tireddd.”
“Aww, you’re tired?” Eddie coos in a mocking voice. “You poor baby.”
He uses his sarcasm to compensate for how sweet he is to you. He acts annoyed but grabs a blanket from the back of the couch to drape over you anyway. Even goes as far as to swaddle you in it when he resituates you in his lap, sitting you more wholly over his thighs.
Vulnerability has always been hard for him, only ever feasible when he pretends it’s insincere.
“Is this better?” he mumbles into your hair.
You hum, warm against his neck. “Mhmm.”
“Good. ‘Cause you’re blocking the TV.”
“Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this,” you tease and pull slightly back from him. The tip of your nose runs up his jaw to the apple of his cheek. “There’s a reason I call you Teddy, you know?”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you’re soft. And fuzzy. And you love to cuddle.”
Eddie squints at you. “…You just made all that up.”
“You can like me, you know? We’re not in high school anymore, Teddy.”
“I always liked you,” he scoffs and holds you tighter against him, one arm around your back and the other beneath your knees. “Even before you knew I existed.”
“I always knew you existed!”
“Yeah? Since when?”
“Mr. Hauser’s Sex Ed class. Freshmen year. He was like, ‘That’s how the homo sapien male holds an erection—’” You recite it like it’s something you think about often. A reminiscent smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “—And the boy with the grown-out buzz cut behind me said, ‘Actually, Mr. Hauser, I think an erection is better held in the hand of the homo sapien female.’”
Eddie laughs at the long-gone memory and starts to sparkle with it.
“And I’ve been smitten over that boy ever since,” you tell him with a sickly-sweet smile.
He scrunches his nose in disgust, still not used to the affection you show him so effortlessly. “You had a crush on me in ninth grade?” he teases like he hasn’t loved you since eighth.
“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Still do.”
“That’s so gross,” he grumbles like a storm cloud right before hugging you that much closer.
He holds you with firm hands, suffocating in the best of ways, with every intention to melt with you. The bridge of his nose smushes into your neck. He inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of your shampoo. His exhale fans warm against your skin.
“Too gross to kiss?” you wonder in a tiny voice.
“Yes,” he answers quickly as he pulls away. “But I like gross, so…”
You press a smacking kiss to his plush grin. Then another for good measure. You hug him closer and bury your face into his neck. “Mm. You taste like a TV dinner,” you mumble into his skin.
Eddie tries hard to hide his laughter. It bubbles from his throat like sunshine, anyway.
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson imagine#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble#event: bug turns one
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Cockney Rhyming Slang Phrases Part 1
Part 2
In a previous post I went into Cockney rhyming slang history and gave some tips on how to use it.
In this post I’ll give you some commonly used Cockney rhyming slang phrases, phrases that I find funny, as well as some phrases that I think would be useful for Spider-Verse fic writers specifically.
So let’s get started!
A-B
Adam and Eve - Believe
E.g. “I don’t Adam and Eve it!”
Apples and Pears - Stairs
E.g. “He fell down the apples.”
Aunt Joanna - Piano
E.g. “Play me a song on the old Joanna!” Or “Get on the Joanna and we’ll have a sing song!”
Barnet Fair - Hair
E.g. “How do I fit my barnet under my mask? Wouldn’t you like to know.”
This is a very common Cockney phrase; you’ll hear a lot of true Cockneys talking about getting their barnet done.
Barney Rubble - Trouble
E.g. “Looks like someone’s lookin’ for a Barney!”
Bread and Honey - Money
E.g. “I ain’t got enough bread for that.”
Bird Lime - Time (in prison)
E.g. “He’s doin’ bird.”
Bird lime is a sticky substance you spread on trees to catch birds (now illegal, thankfully). You can understand why people relate it to feeling trapped.
Boat Race - Face
E.g. “He’s got a handsome boat!” Or “Shut your boat!” Or “I’m not just gonna show you my boat race, mate. Secret identity and all that.”
Bottle and Glass
I’m going to let you figure this one out.
E.g. “Look at the bottle on that guy!” Or “I slipped on the steps and went bottle over tit!”
Brass Tacks - Facts
E.g. “Let’s get down to brass tacks!”*
*Some people think that this phrase originates from the Cockney rhyming slang, however others say that it is referring to brass tacks used in upholstery or tacks that were hammered into sales counters to indicate measuring points. I don’t have the answer.
Brown Bread - Dead
E.g. “He’s brown bread!”
This is an example of a Cockney rhyming slang phrase that you don’t abbreviate. You always say “brown bread” and never just “brown”.
Bubble Bath - Laugh
E.g. “Are you having a bubble?”
This is meant more in an irritated sense rather than joyful laughter, like saying “You must be joking!” Or “Are you having a laugh?”
Butchers Hook - Look
E.g. “Let’s have a butchers at that.” Or “Take a quick butchers at this!”
It’s good to keep in mind that there can be multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases for the same word, as well as multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases that start with the same word. For example, ‘Birds Nest” and “Bristol and West” both mean chest, and “Birds Nest” and “Bird Lime” both can be abbreviated to “Bird”. For the latter, context is important for knowing what someone is talking about.
As always, I’m not an expert; a true Cockney would know far more than I do. I just want to share the knowledge that I have. I hope that someone will find this helpful, informative, or entertaining at the very least.
I’ve got more Cockney rhyming slang phrases coming, but if there’s any other areas of British slang you’d like me to go into, let me know and I’ll see what I can do!
Happy writing and happy speaking!
My other British slang posts: Cockney Rhyming Slang, British Police Slang, Terms of Endearment, Innit VS In’t - a PSA
#hobie brown#spider punk#atsv#hobie brown fanfiction#writing help#cockney rhyming slang#british slang#fic help#across the spiderverse#hobie brown fanart#writing#writing tips#comic#language#I messed up the alphabetical order#my bad#just one of those things that reminds me I’m dyslexic
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TW: past verbal and emotional abuse
The Harrington house is a game of perfection.
Steve has known this fact for as long as he can remember. There is a right way, a narrow way, a rigid way, of doing things. Numbers dictate all: rebounds, points, and assists for basketball, new PRs in freestyle and backstroke for swim. The numbers themselves do not matter; all that does is that they grow and shrink appropriately.
Infinite growth is not sustainable; not for Steve's stats, not for Richard's stocks. Both of them strive for it anyway.
The house must be clean. The parties can't be busted. The people of Hawkins will only say good things about the Harrington family. Gloria strives for these things, day in and day out.
The Harrington house is also a game of Perfection.
Steve hated that game growing up. The one with the little yellow pieces and the blue board. He was never able to get all the pieces in the right spot before the board spit them all back out.
It made a ticking noise, like a time bomb. Steve doesn't know when he started associating that sound with his parents.
It fits. It fits almost too well. They're fine, at least for a little while. The ticking starts quiet, then grows louder and louder until everything blows up.
The thing is, in Perfection, that the board blows up even if you put all the pieces in the right spots in time. The thing is, in the Harrington house, that everything blows up even if Steve does everything right.
The ticking lasts for days sometimes, weeks others. It's impossible, random, and impossibly random.
The only consistent thing is the board blowing up. And when that happens, so does the shouting.
The Party thinks that Tommy and Carol taught Steve to be cruel. That they're the ones who taught him how to bare his fangs and spit venom. That once he left them, the rage left him.
He's okay with letting them think that. It's easier than explaining that Richard and Gloria are the ones who taught him how to snap and shout, how to tear holes in other people with a few well-spoken barbs.
When Steve thinks of his parents, he thinks of fighting. He thinks of his father calling him useless and his mother calling him an idiot. He thinks of his mother calling his father dirt and his father calling his mother a bitch.
There are never any apologies. "I'm sorry" is never said in the Harrington house, even when the board gets reset.
They say "I got you pizza for dinner." "I saw this at the store and thought of you." "Do you want to come with me to get gas?"
And with that, the ticking starts up again.
Horrible things are said when the board blows up. Steve says horrible things when the board blows up. He's called his father an asshole and his mother self-absorbed and apologized without any apology at all.
He cleaned the pool instead.
Steve doesn't want to the board to blow up in the middle of the Munson trailer. It's why he's keeping his mouth shut while Eddie yells at him.
"What the hell, Stevie?" Eddie shouts, arms flying. "I told you that you can’t do that!"
“You told me you don’t want me to,” Steve says, staying calm and measured.
Calm and measured. Not blowing up. Steve isn’t going to snap or shout or bitch. He isn’t.
“Fucking semantics!”
“They were saying-”
“I don’t care what they were saying!” Eddie roars. “I don’t give a shit what they say about me!”
It’s true. Wayne calls Eddie “Teflon,” says that nothing sticks to him, least of all anyone’s opinion. Steve knows that Eddie doesn’t care about what most people in Hawkins think about him.
But he cares very much about what the people who care about him think.
Steve can say a whole lot of things right now. He’s angry, physically biting his tongue to ground himself. He can say a whole lot of things to cut Eddie to the bone, to end the argument and then some.
But he won’t.
Love is knowing how to hurt someone and choosing not to. It’s using a knife to split an apple to share instead of to cut skin to ribbons.
Steve can’t trust himself not to slash Eddie open. He says awful things when everything goes to hell like this, snaps back hard when snapped at first, operates purely on instinct.
He doesn’t want to hurt Eddie, so he keeps his mouth shut.
“I care that you could have gotten hurt when you swung at those assholes,” Eddie continues. “I care that I wasn’t there with you when you defended yourself. I care that you won’t let me take a look at your hands and make sure they’re alright.”
Steve squeezes the knuckles of this right hand in his left. It stings, but he’s fine. Nothing broken. He knows from experience
“Stop it, you’re hurting yourself,” Eddie barks.
Steve lets go of his hands, lets them hang loosely at his sides.
“So, what the hell, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, still loud, still snappish.
A variety of terrible answers surges to the front of Steve’s mind. Eddie’s biggest insecurities, the things he’s only told Steve when he thought he was asleep. Ways to wipe the anger off his face and replace it with stuff easier to manage: shock, hurt, sadness. Things he would say if he didn’t particularly like Eddie, if he were still in high school, if he were still in his parents’ house.
Steve doesn’t say anything. He keeps the knife in its drawer. He closes his eyes tight and breathes in once, then again.
“Hey,” Eddie says, softer.
Steve opens his eyes to find him a step closer, hands up in surrender.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says.
Oh.
Well.
Steve doesn’t know what to do with that.
He’s said it before. Of course he has. He knows the words, knows that he needed to say them to Dustin and Robin and Max, and he has. He’s stepped too far with jokes and forgot about some things and missed some things they’ve said.
But he’s never yelled at them. They’ve never yelled at him.
This is not how this is supposed to go. Eddie isn’t supposed to apologize. He’s supposed to clean Steve up or make him dinner or invite him along to go grocery shopping.
And Steve was supposed to snap back.
“It’s okay,” he says because that’s what he’s supposed to say, yeah?
Eddie shakes his head. “It’s not. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“It was bound to happen.”
Eddie stares at him, big doe eyes shining, like he has five heads. It makes Steve want to put his bloody hands behind his back, make him shrink.
He swears he can hear ticking, but the board just reset. Didn’t it?
“What?” Eddie asks.
Steve shrugs. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I got scared, but that doesn’t mean I get to yell at you. That’s not okay.”
What does Eddie get to do, if not yell?
I deserve it, Steve thinks, but he’s smart enough to know that saying that out loud will just lead to another fight.
There’s been barely any time to put the pieces back.
Steve doesn’t get it. But, he figures he’s always been a little slow on the uptake, so he can watch. Observe. Figure it out later on his own. He’s pretty good at that.
“Okay,” Steve says.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, and he holds his hands out for Eddie to take.
He’s dragged along to the sink, where Eddie rinses the cuts out with cool water before bandaging them up with the remnants of a box of Band-Aids from the bathroom. When they’re dry and finished, he presses a kiss to each knuckle, feather light.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, looking at Steve very seriously.
“Me, too,” Steve says, voice a little hoarse. “I’m sorry.”
It feels good to say. It feels good to mean.
Standing there in the kitchen of a trailer in Forest Hills, looking at the mismatched furniture and half-full ashtrays of the living room, holding hands with his boyfriend formerly accused of murder and apologizing for the first time and meaning it, Steve feels like he can finally breathe.
The ticking has finally stopped, and silence sounds so sweet.
#ria writes#steddie#steddie ficlet#st#st ficlet#stranger things#stranger things ficlet#steve harrington#eddie munson#angst#fluff#happy ending#tw verbal abuse#(it’s in the past)#idk what else to tag this#i’m tired#anyways it’s projection hours
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Hello, I hope your having a nice day, can I request Yandere 1st Years + Grim (Platonic) with a Komi Reader? (From Komi can’t Communicate)
Reader’s known for being incredibly beautiful, intelligent, athletic and elegant in everything she does, however she has crippling Social Anxiety and ends up scaring everyone away with her ‘mean/scary’ look so everyone tends to avoid her (When it’s actually herself that’s nervous since she doesn’t know what to say)
Except for Ace, Deuce and Grim after they spent time with Reader in the mine, they discovered her anxiety she wrote it out so now they’re mostly the ones who do the talking for her and try to help her reach her goal of making 100 Friends in NRC, even though they both think that’s a ‘weird/bad goal’ because this IS NRC
Reader loves cats, so she spoils Grim and Lucius (The latter likes laying in her lap and even follows her around) with pets, treats and affection and helping her friends with studying since she gets perfect marks
How would they react to hearing Reader’s voice for the first time? Not to mention have Reader tell write out that she made a friend all by herself who visits her dorm at night and does nightly walks (You know who it is)
Komi-San Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland
You’re quiet and intimidating but not because others find you scary. The exact opposite, they’re obsessed. You’re athletic, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re kind, and the list goes on. Without so much as opening your mouth, the school is at its hands and knees all for you. Little do they know about your silent struggle, not like your dearest first-year friends. More than anyone they know how hard you work and if their hearts could overfill with love for you it already has. So imagine your stalkers' friends; reaction to you’re never heard before voice:
Ace Trappola
“Aw man, (Y/n) I can’t begin to explain how much of a pain he is! With his moodiness, we’re not going to win the game.”
“...”
“Don’t say that, I am great but not that great.”
“...Y-you c-can d-do it!”
He plays 10x better
All while running on his excitement and embarrassment
“Whoa, Ace! W-were you holding out on us!”
Everyone is floored that he’s suddenly just doing so well
He’s keeping your quiet cheers to himself
Replaying it in his head
He will teasingly ask you for a recording even when you cutely shake your head
“Oi oi don’t get all shy now, you were doing so well!”
He does circle back having already written down the names of those who turned their heads
If they’re so inclined to hear your voice in a roaring crowd
Then they should be alright with their ears no longer working
He’s being merciful when he does just this
And if you mention any mysterious friends, he’d no doubt try to follow up on that same treatment
Deuce Spade
“M-maybe being an honor student was too high of a goal.”
You shake your head
“Ahh I appreciate it, (Y/n) but if I’m going to flunk again I’ll be in trouble. Both with Riddle and my mom, I just can’t measure up. ”
“You…are a good student.”
He blushes
“G-g-g-g-good j-job (Y/n)!”
He knows how much this is taking for you to try
But he just can’t keep it together
He’s among the first to hear your precious voice
He has to be the only one
He doesn’t know what this feeling is but he doesn’t want to share
It especially rubs him the wrong way when you mention a mysterious friend
He decides to wait it out
See who this new friend he’s going to gut he has to meet
Epel Felmier
“Grrrr I can’t stand it! Why can’t I be taken seriously? I just hate my face!”
“...”
“Don’t hafta lie ta me, (Y/n)! I know I’m not handsome.”
“...I….th-th-”
“Huh?”
“I think you’re handsome.”
“Aw shucks, (Y/n)!”
He definitely wasn’t was expecting that
You’re just the sweetest as he predicted
He already keeps the notebook you’ve lost+ gone through with your written words
And the apple cores he lovingly retrieves from Ramshackle’s trash no doubt cultivating whatever ends up growing from them
He avoids the impulse to tear his book open at the mention of a new friend
Well I hope they like a poison-apple
Jack Howl
“I have a magift practice later on…are you still going to come?”
You nod your head
“T-thank you, I’d appreciate your support from the stands.”
When he says that he doesn’t expect you to actually whisper anything out
“G-go Jack!”
His keen ears pick it up and suddenly he’s breezing through obstacles like never before
And of course, he did his mate practically cheered him on
It makes it much earlier to replay that encouragement when he’s fighting for your honor his ownership of you
No doubt Savvannclaw is filled with your admirers
But some are a little too bold
So leave it to your mate to take action first
And while he’s at it he might as well guard your home more intensely
Sebek Zigvolt
“WHAT A MARVEL HUMAN! YOU’VE TAMED ALL THE FERAL FELINES ON CAMPUS!”
“...”
“WELL FOR A HUMAN IT IS DECENT WORK! PERHAPS YOU DO HAVE–”
“C-can you please be quiet?”
“...?....!..Y-you think y-you, a mere human, can tell me what to do?!”
Yes you can, having the loud half-fae go down two whole octaves was a feat
And he keeps replaying the moment in his head specifically the way your lips moved
Burning hot all over he’s not really listening to anyone for the next week month
But once he’s broken out of it he’s determined to repeat the miracle
And it seems it works best if your alone?
Then he’ll be sure to chase off the gaggle of scum+ admirers who you claim to be friends with
And he thinks nothing of a midnight friend…that is if you’re alone with them than that’s completely unacceptable
Grim
“Henchhuman! Everyone is soooo mean! Why doesn’t anyone like me? I know I’m so cool and maybe that’s why–”
“I like you.”
“Well of course you w–W-wait did you speak? T-t to me! Whoopee, I’m going to tell everyone the great Grim is who you spoke to first!”
He runs off to do just that
Bragging to anyone who would listen
He has to dodge a lot of assassination hits that day
But it gives him the content whenever that icky feeling comes up sometimes
And as for your ‘Hornton’ friend he’s seen him and next time he comes around he’ll boast all about his greatness and how you spoke to him
#yandere ace trappola#yandere ace x reader#yandere deuce spade#yandere deuce x reader#yandere deuce#yandere deuce spade x reader#yandere deuce spade twst#yandere jack howl#yandere jack x reader#yandere jack howl x reader#yandere grim#yandere epel felmier#yandere epel felmier x reader#yandere epel twst#yandere sebek zigvolt#yandere sebek x reader#yandere sebek twst#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twst x reader#yandere x reader#yandere twst
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hi would like to make this clear that this is gonna be an unhinged rant about my college classes.
For context, one of my classes is a semester-long group project (hell) and I pitched the idea of solar powered community fridges to my group and we rolled with it. Here's a post i made on it previously. We don't have to make the fridges themselves, basically just talk about the problem our concept addresses (food insecurity in this case) and how we think this concept would work and how, in a hypothetical reality where we made it real, we would test to see if it worked.
Anyways we had to post the rough draft of our presentations so people in other groups could see what we were doing and comment on them with their thoughts and all. Yknow. Classic 'college class discussion board have to reply to at least one project with quality feedback' stuff. And
Man.
I am so frustrated.
Highlights:
My group keeps insisting that we should have an app for the solar fridges. I don't know why they think app design needs to fit into community fridges but they put it into the draft posted to the forum.
In this case they proposed the app would be kinda like Instacart? Where people who want to donate to the fridges but don't have groceries on them and don't feel like going to get groceries can put in money and then people will then go buy the groceries to put in the fridge. Or use the funds to help with fridge maintenance. And the fridges would have 'QR codes, links, etc. to connect community members for the common cause of helping tackle food insecurity in the community.'
Lots of the comments were pretty good! People liked the idea. There were some concerns about insulation and keeping things cool with low energy cost (the program is online but the college itself is in Georgia USA so many people are in Georgia) but yknow.
But the frustrating part to me I guess is that a lot of people seem convinced that people would use the fridges 'unfairly' and that we'd need to find a way to restrict how much food people can take out or how many times they can use it or something. Which frankly in my opinion defeats the purpose of it being a community fridge. Here are some examples of things people have said so far (comments are due tomorrow evening but I'm mad now so I'm venting now):
One student said "How will you know if the pantry is being utilized fairly?" and "How will the app work? In a dream world, this might be a way to help with tracking and accountability. (Just a thought…) Maybe folks would need to sign up on the app, they get a code… and the fridge acts as a sort of vending machine to deliver what they need. This would give you data to measure success. :)"
Which. I just. This feels completely antithetical to the purpose of a community fridge??? Or a community anything???? Little free pantries and little free libraries don't operate on a 'you get a code to access it once' vending machine basis?? We even mentioned community farm stalls/community pantries in the draft write up! And showed examples!
Another student said "Great thoughts. I am concerned about one person taking all the food for themselves. It might be a great idea to have them in an enclosed area with access control through the app that would log and lock out people who are overusing the resource. Perhaps a barcode could be added to Apple Wallet to track each individual's arrival? Possibly having a mechanized lock and opening mechanism that would only allow each fridge to be open for a specific time before automatically closing and locking? Each scan would only allow access once each 24-48 hour period, preventing "password sharing.""
I cannot emphasize enough that this is the comment that has brought me here today because with all due respect what the flying fuck do you think is the point of a community fridge! I'm already prickly about the idea of limiting access to the fridge itself to only people with cellphones, but to this degree?! Like maybe its because I'm the one who came up with the concept and I care about terms like 'mutual aid' and 'community building' and 'judgement free accessibility to food' but have these people not heard of the concept of helping people?!?! With no strings attached?!? If someone takes all the contents of a community fridge or pantry--which, seriously, how likely is that--they're probably hungry and need it! The concept of putting community resources behind a lock and limiting accessibility is just repulsive to me???
Like someone else commented with this excellent point--"As several have addressed above, I am also wondering how would you monitor use? If you use the simplicity of the honor system, it could easily be taken advantage of. However, I feel like if you were to create some sort of access code, how is it to say that they people needing the use of the fridge will have access to the necessary technology to get the code? It's a tricky situation to think about." For the purposes of this hypothetical assignment where we'd need to track how many people are using the fridges? Yeah I guess we'd need to be able to track how many people use it and when. But in reality??? In real life reality where people are living and struggling and hungry??? I just don't really give a shit!! Helping five people is better than helping none, and locking access behind technology everyone pretends is universal but really isn't is not the way to help!
And of course one of my groupmates is already commenting on all these posts like 'oh! I really like the idea of restricting access to a code! :)' even when someone said 'hey my family struggled with food insecurity when I was a kid and I think this would be helpful but not if you could only access it with an app some of the most vulnerable citizens wouldn't be able to access it I wouldn't have been able to access it' my groupmate was still like 'oh but that wouldn't be a problem today now would it? :) Maybe we should make a way to get a code without downloading the app :)' like maybe there shouldn't be an access code in the first place?!?!
Like am I crazy or like. What the fuck. Again I am here so I don't blow up on a bunch of masters students in a discussion post but like UGH
"you gotta be able to gague if the people who're using it are the people who actually need it" food insecurity can look so many different ways for so many different reasons and you can't always judge by appearances and income levels who is struggling to feed themselves or their families!! There are people who have nice jobs who are struggling because they're caring for sick family members or kids or dealing with student loans or ANYTHING! There are people with nice clothes who are trying to decide between buying groceries and paying rent! There are people living in their cars or couch surfing looking for jobs who also happen to own an XBox or a Laptop!!! "Sorry you can't access the community fridge because you don't look poor and needy enough to me. but if you do, good news--you can only use it once every 48 hours so make it last!" Bullshit utter bullshit.
I talk to people in my life about things like community fridges and little free pantries and mutual aid and the like and people are always like 'ok but theres gotta be strings attatched' BUT ACTUALLY NO THERE DON'T GOTTA!!! Maybe we could change how we view our fellow human beings and stop assuming that everyone around you are greedy little demons looking to ruin everything good and that you are the only holy and righteous saint on the streets who understands the concept of 'community resources' and 'sharing' maybe??? It's like that post about community fruit trees where people are like 'oh but what if people steal all the fruit' like HELLO? how do you STEAL a PUBLICALLY ACCESSIBLE RESOURCE
I'm tired of this goddamn class I'm tired of this goddamn group project if anyone actually has the ability to make a solar powered community fridge you have to promise to keep it accessible and not put it behind locks and QR codes and limited access and facial tracking BS promise me promise me promise me
#out of queue#community fridge#i am going to go INSANE this class is driving me INSANE have yall not HEARD OF ACCESSIBILITY#AND COMMUNITY RESOURCES????#ani rambles#solarpunkani is solarpunkangy
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hehe scara let me feed u Apple rabbits
"... There is absolutely no way."
If looks could kill, it’s likely you’d be on the brink of death, convulsing and cursing him with your final breath. Instead of that macabre scene taken straight from a light novel, you’re left with something unremarkably ordinary. You, holding a plate of meticulously prepared apple rabbits, and Scaramouche, sitting on the edge of the inn’s engawa looking as unpleasant as ever. Scratch that, he seems extra unpleasant. A truly commendable feat considering you never thought it possible for him to exceed his usual level of emanating dark energy.
It’s a wonder the verdure surrounding him hasn’t started to wilt.
Disregarding the oppressive atmosphere, you situate yourself beside him, careful to maintain the plate’s balance. He makes a point of not looking at you (which is odd, considering his affinity for staring incessantly), lips pulled tighter than a bowstring and his eyebrows knitting together.
What’s his issue? Scaramouche is acting like he’s the one being held captive here, not you.
“Ohh, I get it,” you prolong the initial syllable for dramatic effect, “You must be worried they’re poisoned since you didn’t see me prepare it.”
You help yourself to a piece and make a show of how you’re very much not dying from the not poisoned apple rabbit.
After swallowing, you smile, then wipe the juice from the corner of your mouth with your long sleeve. “See? Still alive and kicking.”
“Lucky me,” he grumbles. He then actually turns his nose up to you. Who does that? “Why don’t you go feed them to Childe instead, since it’s him you call out to in your sleep? You’re more than welcome to use poison then. I’ll even be the one who supplies it.”
Ah, it would appear your unconscious self saw fit to condemn you. It’s no wonder Scaramouche was brooding every time you had the misfortune of glancing in his general direction. You thought preparing these apple rabbits, a gesture associated with affection, would cheer him right on up. So much for that.
However, if you don’t do something to fix this debacle, you’ll be forced to endure his sulking for who knows how long. That future sounds far from appealing. Especially when you’ll be in extra close quarters due to how humble this inn’s size is. You could make the argument he misheard you, which in all likelihood is probably true, but he isn’t receptive to logic in this state.
You’ll need to take extreme measures. Even if those measures hurt your pride.
Rather than playing by his game and losing, you reinvent the rules, giving his sleeve a rough tug in your direction. Before he can roll out a string of curses at your impudence, you place half an apple rabbit slice in your mouth. The other half hovers by his lips in a silent invitation.
Beneath the paper lanterns swaying overhead, you watch his face turn beet red.
His eyes widen, then narrow dangerously, realization flickering within them. The dark chuckle he lets out causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. He cups both sides of your face and leans forward, past grievances forgotten, his eyes lidded with carnal hunger.
You don’t think said hunger has anything to do with the fruit, though.
#need to write a story called 'how to train your scaramouche'#yandere scaramouche x reader#scaramouche x reader#yandere wanderer x reader#wanderer x reader#yandere genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#scaramouche brainrot#interactions#my stuff#answered#Anonymous
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hello! your requests are open, so here i am! could i request the dateables noticing that mc hates demon food? like complete refusal to eat it, even starving themselves if there is no option for human food. if you dont want to do the group it can just be barbatos :3
.｡*♡ A/N: Honestly Devildom food really can be something else ತ_ತ, though I can understand Mc since I would also hesitate to eat anything that seemed strange. How would I even know that the dishes weren't poisonous to humans? Regardless I hope you enjoy!
.｡*♡ Characters: Simeon, Barbatos, Solomon, Thirteen & Diavolo
.｡*♡ Warnings: Yandere content, forced feeding, that's all.
Simeon understands your struggle with eating Devildom's food since everything is so different from what you are used to, but the angel understands that you need to adapt since you will be spending a long time down here. Simeon is not at Barbatos' level but he prepares varied snacks and meals hoping you'll find something you like; the result however is always the same. You hate it and he doesn't have the heart to force you to eat it, even for him the demons' food is extremely strange and has a peculiar taste.
.｡*♡ Lying is wrong, but if you don't eat anything you will get sick. So Simeon lies about the ingredients that Diavolo supposedly sent to you and uses his angelic magic to disguise the taste, the texture, the smell and to change the appearance of the dish. If you discover his little lie, he will feel guilty and apologize, and he will be sincere about his intentions. He doesn't like lying to you after all but he's not gonna let you starve yourself, he will hold you in his lap and spoonfed you if necessary.
.｡*♡ Barbatos imagined that something like this could happen, after all demonic cuisine is completely different and he can understand why you would be uncomfortable trying something so strange. There are dishes that genuinely don't look good but taste good but you vehemently refuse to try any dish that isn't human. But his knowledge about food is extensive, drinks, foods and fruits, he is sure he can create the perfect dish that suits your taste buds.
.｡*♡ However, starving yourself is not possible in front of him. If necessary, he will shove food into your mouth and hold your limbs while you struggle, and you will eat everything until there is no grain left. He can be an attentive butler when he needs to be, but if you continue to act like a child and refuse to eat he will think of more extreme measures to get you to eat.
.｡*♡ Well... You are insistent on eating human food, but I think that after you taste Solomon's dishes you will be able to eat Devildom's dishes without any problems. Or, you can persist through the horrors and continue eating the food of your fellow human, whose appearance always looks like the food is going to jump off the plate and choke you to death. But well, it's human food like you wanted.
.｡*♡ Solomon understands your reluctance to try Devildom's food since it looks strange, but he convinces you little by little to eat it so you don't get sick. And as a human, you trust him (bad idea, really, you shouldn't trust someone who doesn't know how to cook). While he gets you used to Devildom food, Solomon still happily cooks for you, even packing lunches for you and inviting you on kitchen dates to spend time together - the brothers and the dateables reaction is like this btw: (╬☉д⊙)⊰
.｡*♡ At least there are instant noodles, apples and pancakes in Devildom, so you can possibly survive on that.
.｡*♡ Thirteen is a reaper, but reapers and demons share similarities in many things, especially food. It might be a little weird at first, but Thirteen likes it and she shares her food with you, piling food on your plate until it looks like a mountain and she watches you push and turn the vegetables and meat around. Humans are funny, why don't you just ignore the taste and texture and eat? You know that if you don't eat you can get sick and die, would this be your way of telling her that you want her to harvest your soul early? Oh my, are you courting her?
.｡*♡ Thirteen goes to the human world often to collect souls so while she is there she can bring you snacks and food that you like, however this all comes at a price. Sometimes it's easy things like spending time with her or helping her build her traps, but she tends to escalate her requirements with each trip made to the human world.
.｡*♡ Diavolo, bless his heart, was too excited about the exchange program stuff and ended up forgetting about that little aspect. He's never tasted human food and you've never tasted demon food, so it's only fair that he invites you to a little feast where you can taste each other's worldly food. He's having the time of his life, listening to you talk about the human world and the place you live, but you're not having as much fun. Who the hell eats Quetzalcoatl Brain? What even is Quetzalcoatl brain?
.｡*♡ It's important for you to note that although he has the power to bring human food here and he wants to do that, Diavolo won't. You will get used to this new cuisine whether you want to or not, isn't it customary to eat different foods when visiting different countries? You're just being silly in his opinion. Do you want to go hungry? May you go hungry then, it's his exchange program and he chose you to be part of it, your little aversion won't be a problem. In the end of the day, Diavolo could very well just use his magic to make you eat.
#obey me#yandere obey me#yandere barbatos#yandere diavolo#yandere solomon#yandere simeon#yandere thirteen#solomon x mc#simeon x mc#thirteen x mc#barbatos x mc#diavolo x mc#solomon x reader#barbatos x reader#simeon x reader#diavolo x reader#thirteen x reader#13 x mc#13 x reader
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Muddled Waters 1
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: your boss has a dangerous secret.
Character: Nick Fowler (mob au)
Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.
You skewer candied cherries on a long toothpick and balance them over a martini glass. The deep blue drink with a layer of foam is perfectly aligned with the crystal brim. You stand straight as you top off the last of the drinks, a new batch for the waiting customers.
You put the small silver measuring cup aside and nearly cry out as the silhouette hovering in the corner of your vision moves. You touch your chest in surprise as you face Nick with a bashful smile. You didn’t even know he was around that day. Lately, he’s been absent more than not.
“Oh, hi,” you laugh at yourself, “I didn’t hear you...”
“I have a bad habit of that,” he grins, “some have compared me to a cat.”
You tilt your head, “some? You mean, me?”
He shrugs, “was that you?
“Maybe,” you turn and carefully move the stemmed glasses to a tray.
“New flavour?” He nears and stands close. You can smell his cedar cologne.
“Blueberry,” you explain, “bit sweet for my tastes but it fits the season.”
“Ah, sounds interesting,” he reaches and takes one of the glasses and you gasp.
“Nick!” You turn to him and he grins as he sips, the foam clinging to his top lip. He hums as he removes the toothpick from across the rim and nibbles off one of the cherries.
“Tasty,” he commends.
“Why-- Now I’ll to make another.”
“They can wait. It’s more than worth it,” he assures, still standing close as he slurps.
You work in the warmth of his looming proximity. He’s never had much of a personal bubble. Working behind a bar, you’ve grown used to being crowded. You measure and pour and muddle. You garnish and set the drink to replace the one your boss took.
“Right, ready,” you declare.
“Here, let me get those,” he slides the tray across the counter before you can react.
“No, you don’t have to--”
“I want to. Boss man’s gotta do some work around here,” he scoffs and lifts the tray. “You take a load off, sweetheart, I need those hands well-rested. No one else has that magic touch.”
You tisk and shake your head. He can be ridiculous. You won’t complain, he’s the least uptight boss you’ve had. The place isn’t too bad. Upscale with well-tipping patronage. It’s not your typical bar. Most of your work is done behind a wall as the customers drink in private rooms or in the common room where refined jazz wafts through the dim air. The whole place drips of exclusivity.
You clean up and wipe the counter before you wash your hands. Another order appears on the screen. Customers order on a sleek touchscreen, unbothered by servers amid their hushed conversations. You assume they are the types with private jets and luxurious yachts. Of course, they’re too special to drink like normal people.
You start up the next order. Spiced apple cider. A classic though it’s not often ordered. Two to put up. You mix the drinks in mason jars with thick handles. You finish them each with a cinnamon stick.
“Ready to go?” Nick has you squeaking again.
“God,” you throw your hands up and laugh, “how do you keep doing that?”
“Hey, not my fault. You’re in the zone. You know, you get all squinty,” he makes a face, “it’s like the whole world doesn’t exist. Makes me feel a bit small.”
“Mm, well, I guess you’re right. I should pay more attention to my surroundings,” you lift the mugs, “I got these, Nick.”
“It’s no problem, one of my buddies,” he wraps his hands around the jars, “been a while since I’ve seen him.”
“Oh, okay then,” you let him take the cups.
“Take it easy. You do too much.”
You smile tightly and lean on the counter. He goes and you turn around to tidy again. You can be precise. You like a clean station. You’ve worked with too many people who leave the bartop littered in lime peel and broken toothpicks. You can’t make a good drink if you’re working in filth.
But it isn’t just your work. You try not to let the personal seep in but you can’t help who you are. Things should be just so. Books should be lined up and sorted alphabetically and the dishes should be stacked neatly, and the carpet can’t be crooked.
You exhale and run your hands over your apron. Most people might envy your boss for his high company and exorbitant wealth, you just covet his coolness. He’s never bothered by much.
“Sweetheart,” he enters, this time with fair warning. You look up at his pet name. He always calls you that. “What’s that chocolate one you did last time?” He snaps his fingers, “you know, it was kinda creamy--”
“Brandy Alexander,” you answer, “yeah, uh, we’re out of dark creme de cacao. I put it on the inventory.”
“Inventory,” he nods and his blue eyes flick away guiltily, “yeah, I was supposed to do that.”
You cross your arms, “yeah, you were.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, I swear, I thought of it,” he crinkles his nose, “but it must’ve slipped my mind.”
“Mhmm,” you sniff, “well, you have been busy. I didn’t even know you were in town.”
He looks up and his cheek dimples. His gaze falls back on you, “lots of running around. Sorry, sweetheart, if it was up to me, I’d be right here, tasting all your delights.”
You nearly snort but instead just furrow your brow.
“What?” He asks.
“Nothing,” you shrug and turn away, the screen showing another order. “Sometimes... the way you say things...”
He chuckles and leans his elbow on the counter, “I do like to choke on my own foot.”
“You know, I said before, I could make time for inventory. I don’t mind making orders--”
“Don’t bother,” he cuts your offer short, “I know people. I can take care of it. I’ll make a few calls tonight.” He stays as he is, angled against the counter as he watches you. He rests his chin on his knuckles and you glance over as you squeeze a lime dry.
“What?” You ask as you measure out the juice.
“How’d you learn to do all this?” He asks.
“I took a few courses, worked a few dives,” you say, “did a gig on a cruise ship. You know, you figure it out.”
“And you enjoy it?” He says, “I mean, I can tell you do.”
“It keeps my hands moving and my head from racing,” you explain as you mix the drink in a shaker.
“Sounds amazing,” he stands straight, “sooner or later, I need to find something to keep me busy. Something that doesn’t make me crazy.”
You garnish and he swipes up the glass before you can stop him.
“Well, you might just have a calling as a waiter,” you say sarcastically as you wipe your hands on a towel.
“I don’t know about that,” he grins, “I’m not much for taking orders.”
#nick fowler#the 355#dark nick fowler#dark!nick fowler#nick fowler x reader#drabbles#series#au#sweet and spicy#muddled waters
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My Little Spawn Pt.4 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)
Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mindflayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, violence, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game, mentions of blood, animal death...Uhhh...I think that is all.
You whine trying to chase after the ball as Astarion was tugging you back to him to check your measurements. You pout as you finally stand still. “Hells, even a cat does better at holding still. “ He sighs before slipping on your new outfit. “There, how does it fit?” He steps back watching you admire the new outfit made. “It fits me better!” You smile, finally you could stretch without hurting your limbs from how tight your old outfit was. You go to chase the ball but once again the pale elf stops you “Please don’t create holes in your new outfit” He sighs before letting you go off. Karlach walks over “Seems like the little soldier is growing up.” She smiles watching you play off with the ball in camp. “Well obviously, they're Dhampir. Very different from humans and vampires.” He crossed his arms looking at the one horned woman. “So free spirited…do you think we can contain their blood lust?” She whispers as you were near them playing. Astarion thinks on the subject. Even he was shocked to see the bunny in pieces. “ I don’t know, that is why I am reading this book…it should be…possible since they have a human side…we just have to be patient…” He says slowly. He wasn’t even confident in his answer. “It all depends how strong our little soldier is,” Karlach smiles, keeping a positive attitude. Astarion nods and thought, ‘yes it all depends on them’
Night came, everyone was in the fire waiting for Gale’s cooking to be done. You look around hearing the Owl hoot but you weren’t hearing their whoo but rather how their blood pumps. Tav was watching you before gently nudge Astarion. He looks over to them before seeing Tav move their eyes towards (Y/N). He looks over to you and where you were looking before calling out your name “(Y/N) foods almost ready, look” He tries to distract you. Tav smiles seeing you and Astarion make small talk, each word flowing out of his mouth made your eyes shine with glee. The pale elf stops and gets up holding your hand. Everyone else stood up seeing the blade of Frontiers in their camp. You tried to peek around Astarion before he pushed you back “Stay back.” He mutters. After finally convincing Wyll that Karlach was no threat, everyone was back in their spot around the campfire eating the meal Gale had prepared. You look at the bowl in front of you before pushing it aside. “You need to eat” Astarion pushes the bowl back into your hands. You shake your head “No!” You whine.
Wyll looks over “ I find it odd that a vampire spawn is looking after a child.” He smiles looking at you fighting Astarion with the bowl. Tav looks up “It’s not really…(Y/N) isn’t exactly Human either…or …a vampire spawn…” They began. Wyll looks over to them. “Oh? What can this little adorable apple be?” He smiles. “For the love of…just tell the monster hunter.” Astarion huffs feeling annoyed as you reject the spoon in your mouth. “They are a Dhampir” Tav broke the news as Wyll stopped midway with the spoon in his mouth. “ I beg your pardon…” He says looking back at you seeing the spoon being shoved gently in your mouth with the help of Gale holding you still. “ A Dhampir ... .never in my life haunting…I would ever come across such a creature…an adorable one as well.” He walks over to you, taking a look. “Watch it, they are not some artwork” Astarion mutters, placing you in his lap and kept feeding you. Keeping you away from Wyll.
The day has risen and you were happily bouncing around holding on to Tav as you were included in the group. Astarion threw a fit, not wanting to leave you alone with Wyll and Gale who were going to be left behind. So here you were, admiring the wilderness before looking over and hearing some shouting in the distance. “I told you this is better if (Y/N) joins us when we won’t be battling the globins to rescue this stupid Halsin guy. Gale is so irresponsible and Wyll, don’t get me started” Astarion huffs. Shadowheart turns around but stops “We lost them….” She sighs. Tav turns around “(Y/N)?” They call out before walking around trying to find you before seeing you standing in front of a wooden cage that had Lae’zel inside. “Don’t ever leave our side” Tav looks over to you before walking forward to speak with Lae’zel. Astarion walks over and holds your hand. “Don’t ever walk off ever again! You do know this goes on the possibility of letting you join in our adventures.” He looks at you. “But I heard yelling so I wanted to check it out.” You pout only for Astarion to sigh “You are a big headache you know that?” He mutters holding your hand letting Tav handle the situation with Lae’zel.
After not getting a please from Lae’zel, everyone was back at camp. Gale was cooking as always, everyone else was doing their own thing. You were walking around the camp, collecting even more flowers. You were collecting them near Lae’zel’s camp “Istik, come here” She called out. You walk over holding your flowers staying quiet. “What are you, are you also a vampire Spawn?” Her eyes look at yours. “No…I’m a Dhampir.” You meekly whisper. “Chk, a Dhampir.” She says “Listen here Istik, if you ever take one bite off of me. I will show you what a blade does” She threatens. You only tear up and ran off running to Astarion who was busy talking to Tav, “Astarion!” You yelled, hugging his leg. “What’s the matter?” He looks down at you and picks you up. “She! She!” You only hiccup, not able to form complete sentences. “Come out now, I am no mind reader.” Tav rubs your back “ What’s wrong?” They whisper. “She threatened me…” You whisper, laying your chubby cheek on Astarions shoulder. Tav looks over to where you were pointing. “ I see, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll talk to her.” They pat your head and walk off. Astarion huffs “Oh please, she only did so because she was scared of you. She knows you’re powerful…even I know your strength ... .so does Cazador.” He whispers and rubs your back. “I think it’s time we eat and then we’ll sleep for the night?” He plants soft kisses to the side of your head and he stops. What the hells was that for? Why did he do that? He looks down at you only to see you smile clinging on to him. Watching Shadowheart and Lae’zel argue with each other, Tav tries to keep the peace between the two. He smiles, planting one more on your head and walks over to the campfire.
#dadstarion#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate 3 fic#astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion x child reader#dad astarion#wyll#lae'zel#shadowheart#gale dekarios
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The Framework is the most exciting laptop I've ever broken
From the moment I started using computers, I wanted to help other people use them. I was everyone’s tech support for years, which prepared me for the decade or so when I was a CIO-for-hire. In the early days of the internet, I spent endless hours helping my BBS friends find their way onto the net.
Helping other people use technology requires humility: you have to want to help them realize their goals, which may be totally unlike your own. You have to listen carefully and take care not to make assumptions about how they “should” use tech. You may be a tech expert, but they are experts on themselves.
This is a balancing act, because it’s possible to be too deferential to someone else’s needs. As much as other people know about how they want technology to work, if you’re their guide, you have to help them understand how technology will fail.
For example, using the same memorable, short password for all your services works well, but it fails horribly. When one of those passwords leak, identity thieves can take over all of your friend’s accounts. They may think, “Oh, no one would bother with my account, I’ve got nothing of value,” so you have to help them understand how opportunistic attacks work.
Yes, they might never be individually targeted, but they might be targeted collectively, say, to have their social media accounts hijacked to spread malware to their contacts.
Paying attention to how things work without thinking about how they fail is a recipe for disaster. It’s the reasoning that has people plow their savings into speculative assets that are going up and up, without any theory of when that bubble might pop and leave them ruined.
It’s hard to learn about failure without experiencing it, so those of us who have lived through failures have a duty to help the people we care about understand those calamities without living through them themselves.
That’s why, for two decades, I’ve always bought my hardware with an eye to how it fails every bit as much as how it works. Back when I was a Mac user — and supporting hundreds of other Mac users — I bought two Powerbooks at a time.
I knew from hard experience that Applecare service depots were completely unpredictable and that once you mailed off your computer for service, it might disappear into the organization’s bowels for weeks or even (in one memorable case), months.
I knew that I would eventually break my laptop, and so I kept a second one in sync with it through regular system-to-system transfers. When my primary system died, I’d wipe it (if I could!) and return it to Apple and switch to the backup and hope the main system came back to me before I broke the backup system.
This wasn’t just expensive — it was very technologically challenging. The proliferation of DRM and other “anti-piracy” measures on the Mac increasingly caused key processes to fail if you simply copied a dead system’s drive into a good one.
Then, in 2006, I switched operating systems to Ubuntu, a user-centric, easy-to-use flavor of GNU/Linux. Ubuntu was originally developed with the idea that its users would include Sub-Saharan African classrooms, where network access was spotty and where technical experts might be far from users.
To fulfill this design requirement, the Ubuntu team focused themselves on working well, but also failing gracefully, with the idea that users might have to troubleshoot their own technological problems.
One advantage of Ubuntu: it would run on lots of different hardware, including IBM’s Thinkpads. The Thinkpads were legendarily rugged, but even more importantly, Thinkpad owners could opt into a far more reliable service regime that Applecare.
For about $150/year, IBM offered a next-day, on-site, worldwide hardware replacement warranty. That meant that if your laptop broke, IBM would dispatch a technician with parts to wherever you were, anywhere in the world, and fix your computer, within a day or so.
This was a remnant of the IBM Global Services business, created to supply tech support to people who bought million-dollar mainframes, and laptop users could ride on its coattails. It worked beautifully — I’ll never forget the day an IBM technician showed up at my Mumbai hotel while I was there researching a novel and fixed my laptop on the hotel-room desk.
This service was made possible in part by the Thinkpad’s hardware design. Unlike the Powerbook, Thinkpads were easy to take apart. Early on in my Thinkpad years, I realized I could save a lot of money by buying my own hard-drives and RAM separately and installing them myself, which took one screwdriver and about five minutes.
The keyboards were also beautifully simple to replace, which was great because I’m a thumpy typist and I would inevitably wear out at least one keyboard. The first Thinkpad keyboard swap I did took less than a minute, and I performed it one-handed, while holding my infant daughter in my other hand, and didn’t even need to read the documentation!
But then IBM sold the business to Lenovo and it started to go downhill. Keyboard replacements got harder, the hardware itself became far less reliable, and they started to move proprietary blobs onto their motherboards that made installing Ubuntu into a major technical challenge.
Then, in 2021, I heard about a new kind of computer: the Framework, which was designed to be maintained by its users, even if they weren’t very technical.
https://frame.work/
The Framework was small and light — about the same size as a Macbook — and very powerful, but you could field-strip it in 15 minutes with a single screwdriver, which shipped with the laptop.
I pre-ordered a Framework as soon as I heard about it, and got mine as part of the first batch of systems. I ordered mine as a kit — disassembled, requiring that I install the drive, RAM and wifi card, as well as the amazing, snap-fit modular expansion ports. It was a breeze to set up, even if I did struggle a little with the wifi card antenna connectors (they subsequently posted a video that made this step a lot easier):
https://twitter.com/frameworkputer/status/1433320060429373440
The Framework works beautifully, but it fails even better. Not long after I got my Framework, I had a hip replacement; as if in sympathy, my Framework’s hinges also needed replacing (a hazard of buying the first batch of a new system is that you get to help the manufacturer spot problems in their parts).
My Framework “failed” — it needed a new hinge — but it failed so well. Framework shipped me a new part, and I swapped my computer’s hinges, one day after my hip replacement. I couldn’t sit up more than 40 degrees, I was high af on painkillers, and I managed the swap in under 15 minutes. That’s graceful failure.
https://guides.frame.work/Guide/Hinge+Replacement+Guide/104
After a few weeks’ use, I was convinced. I published my review, calling the Framework “the most exciting laptop I’ve ever used.”
https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/21/monica-byrne/#think-different
That was more than a year ago. In the intervening time, I’ve got to discover just how much punishment my Framework can take (I’ve been back out on the road with various book publicity events and speaking engagements) and also where its limits are. I’ve replaced the screen and the keyboard, and I’ve even upgraded the processor:
https://guides.frame.work/Guide/Mainboard+Replacement+Guide/79
I’m loving this computer so. damn. much. But as of this morning, I love it even more. On Thursday, I was in Edinburgh for the UK launch of “Chokepoint Capitalism,” my latest book, which I co-authored with Rebecca Giblin.
As I was getting out of a cab for a launch-day podcast appearance, I dropped my Framework from a height of five feet, right onto the pavement. I had been working on the laptop right until the moment the cab arrived because touring is nuts. I’ve got about 150% more commitments than I normally do, and I basically start working every day at 5AM and keep going until I drop at midnight, every single day.
As rugged as my Framework is, that drop did for it. It got an ugly dent in the input cover assembly and — far, far worse — I cracked my screen. The whole left third of my screen was black, and the rest of it was crazed with artefacts and lines.
This is a catastrophe. I don’t have any time for downtime. Just today, I’ve got two columns due, a conference appearance and a radio interview, which all require my laptop. I got in touch with Framework and explained my dire straits and they helpfully expedited shipping of a new $179 screen.
Yesterday, my laptop screen stopped working altogether. I was in Oxford all day, and finished my last book event at about 9PM. I got back to my hotel in London at 11:30, and my display was waiting for me at the front desk. I staggered bleary-eyed to my room, sat down at the desk, and, in about fifteen minutes flat, I swapped out the old screen and put in the new one.
https://guides.frame.work/Guide/Display+Replacement+Guide/86
That is a fucking astoundingly graceful failure mode.
Entropy is an unavoidable fact of life. “Just don’t drop your laptop” is great advice, but it’s easier said than done, especially when you’re racing from one commitment to the next without a spare moment in between.
Framework has designed a small, powerful, lightweight machine — it works well. But they’ve also designs a computer that, when you drop it, you can fix yourself. That attention to graceful failure saved my ass.
If you hear me today on CBC Sunday Magazine, or tune into my Aaron Swartz Day talk, or read my columns at Medium and Locus, that’s all down to this graceful failure mode. Framework’s computers aren’t just the most exciting laptops I’ve ever used — they’re the most exciting laptops I’ve ever broken.
[Image ID: A disassembled Framework laptop; a man's hand reaches into the shot with a replacement screen.]
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SR Leona Kingscholar - Apprentice Chef Vignette
"Master Chef"
[Kitchen]
Master Chef ― Leona Version
～ Let’s Make Pannacotta 1～
Ghost Chef: Today, we'll have you make a pannacotta. It's a dessert that's made by hardening milk using gelatin.
Ghost Chef: Dessert required more delicate handling than any other aspect of cooking.
Ghost Chef: There are many ways to make mistakes when making it, including baking it too long, measuring out the ingredients wrong, or even mixing up the order of the ingredients added, so don't let your guard down.
Leona: Yaaaawn…
Ghost Chef: EXCUSE ME, LEONA-KUN!
Leona: Huh?
Ghost Chef: Don't yawn at me like that. Were you listening to my explanation?
Leona: Of course I was. I got pretty good hearing. Basically, all I have to do is follow the recipe and everything'll work out fine, right?
Ghost Chef: I-I mean… That may be… Ahem! Then, I shall go through the recipe.
Ghost Chef: Then first, can you go fetch the ingredients for the pannacotta? You'll need milk, fresh cream, sugar―
Leona: Wait. I'm already taking up your precious time having you teach me how to cook this, having you explain every step is much too gracious.
Leona: If you just hand me the recipe in the beginning here, I'm sure I won't have to bother you too heavily, Chef.
Ghost Chef: Eh, the recipe? Normally we don't give it out right away…
Ghost Chef: But if you're thinking of me that much, I suppose I can give you a spare recipe sheet. Thank you for your kind concern!
Leona: Yeah, sure, thank you, too. Okay, then…
Epel: Um, sorry to interrupt. I would like to grab some of my ingredients out of that fridge.
Leona: Ah, good timing, Epel. Grab my ingredients out of there, too.
Epel: Yes, sir.
Leona: I'll read off the ingredients. I need milk, fresh cream, sugar, powdered gelatin, vanilla beans, and fruit for the garnish.
Epel: First, I'll grab the milk and fresh cream… Are you okay with using apples for your fruit?
Leona: You gotta peel and slice apples, so it's a pain. I'd rather just have something that you can just eat right away…
Ghost Chef: STOP, STOP, WHY ARE YOU ORDERING AROUND EPEL SO CASUALLY!? THIS IS YOUR ASSIGNMENT!
Leona: There's less chance of a mistake if I leave it to the more experienced Epel, right? 'Sides, nowhere does it say that I have to prep my own ingredients.
Ghost Chef: You always have an excuse… This is your assignment, Leona-kun, so you need to work on it yourself and not have others do it!
Ghost Chef: We've had many a student who've tried to cut corners in this course, but this is the first time someone has tried to shove his work onto someone else.
Epel: Ahahah, Leona-san's always like this. I'll leave your milk and fresh cream here.
Ghost Chef: Alright, let's go, we'll start cooking now! AND OF COURSE THAT MEANS YOU, LEONA-KUN! YOU!
Leona: ―This says to throw the pods in with the milk after shelling out the vanilla beans…
Ghost Chef: That's right. Vanilla beans are wonderful on their own, but if you add their pods, the aroma grows richer.
Leona: Huh, then, I'll just leave these pods out, then. You can use them for another dish.
Ghost Chef: I know you just don't want to have to fish them out of the bowl later. I'm picking up on your mannerisms fairly quickly…
Ghost Chef: Turn the heat off right before the milk starts to boil. Keep an eye on the pot and time it well.
Leona: So, I just have to watch the pot. Easy day.
Ghost Chef: Don't get complacent and mess this part up.
Leona: Mess it up, huh. Must be super sensitive if the temperature of the milk can throw off the whole thing.
Ghost Chef: Just so. When it boils, fat and oil rise to the surface, and it releases a very distinctive smell.
Leona: Hmph. It's like I'm taking a potionology class.
Ghost Chef: By the way… You said that you were just taking this class for the credit, but do you have any interest in cooking at all?
Leona: Sorry, but no. I wouldn't have even taken this class if I hadn't heard that one of my precious juniors would be taking it.
Ghost Chef: What a simple response… Well, I know I would be nothing less than happy if you were to gain a little interest in cooking from this venture.
Leona: I'll do my best so as to not upset your expectations.
Ghost Chef: You say that, but your face is screaming that it'll never happen…
Leona: Well, I never wanted to ever cook anything, so.
Leona: The fact that I've never had an issue up to this point in my life means that cooking isn't a skill I really need at all.
Ghost Chef: Hmmm, so you're definitely the type of student that the Headmage was worried for.
Leona: Crowley, worried? …Riiight, that thing he said about living healthy and independently. It's all much ado about nothing.
Leona: Everyone has things they're good at, and bad at. For each person and each job to be efficiently managed, have someone who wants to do it, or can get it done.
Leona: It would be absolutely terrible if everyone got so good at cooking that you were out of a job.
Ghost Chef: Yes, yes… Regardless, I'll need you to do your given tasks properly during this course. To begin with…
Leona: Chef, thousand apologies for interrupting you, but looks like the milk has been warmed up to the right temp.
Leona: It'd be bad for me to mess up here. Can we get to finishing this now?
[Kitchen]
Master Chef ― Leona Version
～ Let’s Make Pannacotta 2～
Ghost Chef: Next, we want to dissolve the gelatin we left soaking in the water.
Leona: Feels like it'd dissolve if we just threw it in the pot like this… What's the point of heating it up separately?
Ghost Chef: The temperature at which the gelatin dissolve is also important to keep an eye on. For this, we'll use a method that's easier for beginners.
Leona: An easier method, hm…
Ghost Chef: Good, good, you're following the recipe well. I'll go and fetch the fruit you'll use to garnish the plate, then.
Leona: …
Ghost Chef: How is it, has the gelatin completely dissolved into liquid?
Leona: Yeah, see?
Ghost Chef: Alright then, add the melted gelatin into the pot. Once it's all mixed, you'll pour it into the mold and wait for it to solidify.
Leona: Finally, it's almost over. Can't believe it takes this much effort to just make one measly dessert…
Ghost Chef: Okay, while we wait for the pannacotta to solidify, let's make a sauce out of the blueberries.
Leona: A sauce? If we add in too many random things, you won't be able to taste the pannacotta.
Leona: Even the recipe only said, "add enough fruit for garnish."
Leona: I'm just gonna choose some toppings that'll bring out the flavor. So, I'll be skipping out on the sauce.
Ghost Chef: I see, I see… Wait, no! I almost went along with it, but you definitely cannot skip the sauce!
[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]
Floyd: Where's the pannacotta I ordered? Isn't this takin' too long?
Floyd: How long does it even take to fix up one dessert? This wouldn't happen at the Mostro Lounge.
Leona: I thought I heard something annoying out here… So, Floyd's my judge.
Floyd: Ohhh? If it isn't Sea Lion-senpai. That outfit… No way, you're actually taking the Master Chef course?
Leona: You have eyes, don't you? Don't ask stupid questions.
Floyd: Huuuh, so I'm about to eat something you made? Is it safe? Didja even make anything edible?
Leona: You're the one that's gotta decide whether it's edible or not. Here, the pannacotta you ordered.
Floyd: Hm? Isn't it a little deformed on the bottom there? …Meh, whatever. I'ma dig in.
[bite, chew, chew…]
Floyd: HUH? WHAT'S THIS SUPPOSED TO BE?
Floyd: THE TEXTURE'S TERRIBLE. THIS IS HILARIOUS! TOTALLY FELT WEIRD AS SOON AS THE SPOON SLID INTO IT, TOO.
Floyd: All's you gotta do to make a pannacotta is mix all the ingredients in and harden it. How can anyone screw it up this badly?
Leona: …
Ghost Chef: Ummm… Well, actually…
―While cooking
Leona: I was wondering what kinda frustrating fiddlin' I'd have to do here, since there's something about wattage and the number of seconds, or whatever, but…
Leona: There's this handy button labeled "Auto" here.
Leona: That probably means that if I press this, then it'll determine the perfect power and heat time.
[clack! beep! vrrraaaah...]
Leona: …'Kay, good enough.
Ghost Chef: ―So, when he used the automatic function, it looks like he overcooked the gelatin…
Floyd: SEA LION-SENPAI, YOU TELLIN' ME YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO USE A MICROWAVE OVEN!?
Floyd: You only use auto when you wanna heat up a dish, not get the gelatin dissolved into a perfect consistency.
Floyd: THAT JUST MAKES THIS SCREW UP EVEN BETTER～～!
Leona: Tch… Stop laughing like an idiot. You think it's that funny? Huh?
Floyd: Yuuup, it's way too funny. I thought all you people on land could use a microwave.
Leona: …Ruggie said something like that before, too. Something about "even kids know how to use them," and "it's just common sense."
Leona: Back home and here on campus, we have chefs that present hot meals every day.
Leona: That's the life I've always had. So, you can imagine that I've never had the chance to use a microwave, don't you think?
Floyd: Haha, what, are ya making excuses now? You should just admit when you can't do something like a good boy.
Ghost Chef: Well, Leona-kun was very skillful and quick on his feet.
Ghost Chef: I'm sure he'll take this failure in stride and be able to use the microwave properly next time. Right, Leona-kun?
Leona: Right… Just as you say, chef.
Leona: This is a prime opportunity for me, so I would absolutely appreciate a deeper focus on learning how to use a microwave for the rest of this course.
Requested by @dida-books.
#twisted wonderland#twst#leona kingscholar#floyd leech#epel felmier#twst leona#twst floyd#twst epel#twst translation#twst masterchef#mention: ruggie
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Billy Lenz X GN! Reader where the reader is so gentle and surprisingly patient with him? Billy would believe he doesn’t deserve their kindness and he assumes the reader is “pretending” to be nice, but they’re not pretending at all.
hmm i was kind of torn if it should be established or not .. went with not but i think i regret it !! so i might post more of this but this is mostly a rlly short first meeting blurb hehe
warning: general billy lenz gross dialogue, thats it
☾⋆⁺₊ billy lenz x gn!reader
Waiting is the worst part. Billy looks outside, where the dark sky and white snow stretch on forever and ever. It's almost time, he tells himself, just a little while longer. Then, he can finally fill his grumbling stomach.
True to his own word, he lets himself sneak down the ladder after a few more minutes, taking it rung by rung to keep as quiet as possible. He gives the same treatment to the staircase, taking each step with measured precision. Billy isn't an amateur, and he's taken this route many times since he started staying in the attic.
Billy freezes in the kitchen doorway when he sees he’s not alone. He sees you sitting at the kitchen table, a partially full glass of milk in front of you. Billy wants to book it back to his attic and pretend that you were just a ghost, or that he was a ghost. You’re both ghosts, haunting each other.
“Hi,” you say softly. Billy doesn’t answer you. He stares, standing still in the doorway.
“Are you hungry?” you ask. Billy still keeps quiet, but his stomach doesn’t get the message; it growls lowly, long and drawn-out.
When you smile, you try to cover it with your hand. He doesn’t know why. You’re so stupid. Why would you hide a pretty smile? You don’t want him to see it? Do you hate him that much? He wants to hold your mouth open and see your teeth. They looked so white.
“I’ll make us sandwiches, okay?”
Billy watches from the doorway at first, but he moves closer to watch. He might as well see what you put in it. He won’t eat it if there’s tomatoes. He hates tomatoes. They make the bread all wet, even if he picks them out.
You don’t use tomatoes. Just ham and cheese, mayo and mustard. His mouth waters as you cut it in half. Billy doesn’t realize how close he is until you turn and you have to look up at him.
“Thirsty?” you ask. Billy doesn’t answer.
“Water?” You pause. “Beer?”
Billy looks into your eyes. He wants to scare you. Why aren’t you scared? You shouldn’t be making him a sandwich. You should be crying and calling the police. Billy is scary. He’s filthy Billy, he’s the Moaner.
You hold his sandwich out to him on a napkin and he snatches it out of your hands. He turns away from you when he takes his first bite, and then he can’t stop. He eats and eats until there’s nothing. He licks the crumbs off his fingers. It’s better than the pickles or the peanut butter he’s been stealing.
When he’s done, you poke your head out around him. You’re holding the other sandwich.
“Still hungry?” you ask. He takes this one too, and destroys it similarly.
You make two more sandwiches, one for him and one for you this time, and Billy sits down at the kitchen table while he waits. Once the sandwich is front of him, along with a tall glass of water, Billy eats it slower than he did the others. He chugs the glass of water.
“You’ll make yourself sick, slow down,” you murmur, pouting. Billy gasps when he stops drinking, wiping his chin with his palm. He starts to drink again, but slower. He looks to you and you smile.
“What’s your name?”
Billy doesn’t answer. He takes the half you weren’t holding and eats it too. He expects you to lash out. Hit him, pull his hair, throw him out of the house. Yell at him that he’s being bad. Bad Billy.
Instead, you get up and refill his cup with more tap water.
“Want an apple?” you ask. Billy takes the cup of water and sips some of it. He shakes his head afterward.
You smile without any teeth. Billy misses them.
When Billy’s done, you take his napkins and clean off his crumbs from the table before tossing it all away.
“Want more water?” you ask. Billy shakes his head and watches you carry the cup to the sink and leave it there.
“Do you want to see my bedroom?” you ask him quietly.
Billy’s eyes open wider. Stupid. So stupid. Billy could ruin you. Billy could destroy you. Don’t you know what Billy is? Aren’t you afraid of the Moaner? You’re not supposed to welcome Billy in.
Billy doesn’t answer your question, but he follows behind you up the stairs. You close the door to your room behind him, but Billy stays next to the door as you walk to your bed.
“This is it,” you say. Billy stares at you. He’s seen your room before plenty of times, just never like this. Never with you, inside with you.
“Come here.” You pat the edge of the bed next to you. Billy waits to take his first step, then waits again for the next. He’s slow, but it's only because he still can't figure out your angle.
Still, he manages to sit beside you. He stares into his lap while you look at him.
“You’re the one from the attic, aren’t you?” you whisper.
Billy’s hands clench. He expects it now. You’ll be so scared of him. You’ll push him away, call him a freak. You’ll hit Billy until his nose bleeds, and then he’ll choke you with both hands because you made him mad. You'll deserve it because you hate Billy.
But you don’t do anything - you just wait. Billy doesn’t know how to answer. Your teeth are so white.
“I can hear you up there sometimes. Your foot steps. You have to be really quiet, don’t you?” you ask. He nods, because he does have to be quiet. He didn’t want to get caught, but you caught him anyways.
Aren’t you afraid? Why are you letting him sit with you? Billy can’t understand you. Why are you being so nice?
“It’s a big house, but I can hear your phone calls too. You can be loud when you want to be.”
Billy’s heart plummets further. He grunts and rubs his eyes. With his vision obscured, it’s easier to talk. It’s like he isn’t really in the room with you. He wants to be up in the attic with his phone. He’d feel better talking to you that way.
Instead, he only lets himself say, “I want to cum on your teeth.” His voice is quiet, whispered into the dark room. You sigh.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” you murmur.
“I’ll lick them clean,” he promises. They were really white. He catches another glimpse of them while you’re talking, pearly and shiny like the sun.
“Do you want to take a shower? Or a bath? I could show you where the bathroom is,” you say.
“No,” he says quickly, firmly. He hates wet hair, wet skin. Cold.
“Okay. Do you want to sleep here?” you ask him. Billy hates it. Why do you get to be so nice?
“Wanna put my cock inside your hole. Pig fuckhole,” he mutters, pressing against his eyes until his vision swims and flashes.
You sigh, and Billy blinks a few times to get back his sight before watching you twist and lay down. Your hair fans out against your pillow and, from he still sits at the edge of your bed, he imagines rubbing his cock against it. Evil, disgusting Billy. He should be put down like a dog. Bad dog, bad Billy.
“When’s the last time you slept on a real bed?” you ask him.
“Woof. Lay down, Billy,” he says quietly. He watches you and you watch him. The bed was really soft. He could curl up at the bottom of the bed and sleep at your feet like a puppy dog. He imagines rubbing his red cock against your toes. Would you hate Billy if you knew his brain? Would you still let him sleep with you in your big warm soft bed if you knew he was terrible?
He doesn’t want to find out. He crawls over your legs and lays down next to you, his head resting on the pillow beside yours. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to imagine what boxes of junk he’s underneath.
“It’s lonely out there,” you say suddenly. Billy looks at you, and you’re also looking at the ceiling, so Billy looks back up.
“You can sleep here tonight,” you tell him, fixing the blanket around the both of you.
Billy could easily roll over on top of you. He could bite your throat and pull out your flesh. He could chop you into pieces and then fuck whatever’s left. Instead, he stays still and watches the ceiling until he falls asleep.
© slicznymartwy 2023, please do not repost or copy.
#black christmas (1974)#billy lenz x reader#slasher x reader#billy lenz#₊*. ⋆༘ — requests#not sure if this is what what requested .. i am so sleepy rn my eyes keepclosing on their own#i just want gross billy and sweet loving mc#who comforts billy#maybe will write mc who holds billy against their chest and rubs his back or something idk idk idk
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OC QUESTIONNAIRE: IVO
thank you @simarcana for the tag :)
if any of you wanted to know ivo a little better, here's your chance.
hello, my dear. i believe we never met... i'm the spellweaver here at the Academia, and a substitute librarian for the time being, until they find someone else for the job. so... in which capacity i may be of help?
NAME: that would depend on who you see in front of you right now, me or the... oh. then just ivo is more than enough, there is no need to stand on ceremony ~
NICKNAME: with such a short name as mine, no one really called me anything else. if you don’t count common words of endearment, but i don't think that counts.
GENDER: ...hmm. that made me think. i’m used to think of myself as a man, but when i imagine being offered a different opinion, it doesn’t feel alien or make me uncomfortable either... there's always something yet to be discovered about ourselves, isn't it.
STAR SIGN: Pisces, but you might not find it very fitting anymore, now that i... oh, apologies, i got a little distracted for a moment.
HEIGHT: i never bothered measuring my own height exactly. probably a little over 180 barefoot, a little under 190 on heels... why would that be important? i assure you, 171-cm-on-heels worth of the Grand Sage in a bad mood can be much scarier. ah, you want me to get you this book from the upper shelf? in that case, my dear, how about i teach you a little beckoning spell if you have the time? it will come in handy when i’m not around to help. ~
ORIENTATION: there was a time when i preferred one gender over all others. now i prefer not to prefer either. that is just for the best for everyone. i’m truly sorry if you asked out of... personal interest, my dear.
NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: i’m afraid even i don't have the answer. i was here for as long as i can recall, but my childhood memories are rather... hazy. it was definitely warmer than here though, that much i remember.
FAVORITE FRUIT: peach, the juicier the better. even imagining it in my hand, its fuzzy skin is warm from the sun, juice streaming down my fingers and palm and staining my sleeve... ah, it almost makes me feel the taste in my mouth.
FAVORITE SEASON: summer. cold and damp weather can be very hard to endure, it takes a huge toll on my mind and body alike.
FAVORITE FLOWER: a whole field of forget-me-nots. and the apple tree blossoming in the warmest month of spring. it’s not something you could pluck for your amusement and put in a vase... you can only appreciate it and step away, carrying this moment of peace in your heart.
FAVORITE SCENT: oh, you know these thick, spicy scents that are an essential part of every tiny store that sells all kinds of fake occult knick-knacks impressionable young humans are so obsessed with? yeah, this scent. it’s just... so nostalgic for some reason.
COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: i much prefer pomegranate wine, my dear, but alas, now that i’m not allowed to drink alcohol anymore... it would be linden and melissa herbal tea. aside from its mild taste and soothing qualities, another great thing about it is that it never becomes tart even if you forget about it for a long time... however, i would also never say no to a cup of hot chocolate in a pleasant company ~
AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: more than nine, preferably. sadly, i’m rarely given that luxury. everyone always needs something here, and you can't really say no when it's the Grand Sage who's asking, now can you?
DOGS or CATS: neither, my... guest doesn’t like animals. or, rather, they do not like to be in my presence anymore. why are you looking at me like that? i thought professor Ember warned you about... i see. apologies for confusing you then. at any rate, if i have to choose, then cats. a cat sleeps for twenty hours a day and wouldn't give me any trouble, while having a dog demands too much physical activity for my taste.
DREAM TRIP: anywhere warm, my dear. (...where i really want to go is to go back in time and make a different decision, one i won’t be regretting for the rest of my days, but...) oh, i look sad? these cold stones just aren’t good for my morale. winter this year was awfully long.
NUMBER OF BLANKETS: indefinite. nothing better for the night than making a warm cozy nest out of thick fluffy blankets. the flip side is that the warmer and cozier your blanket nest is, the more heartbreaking it is to leave it in the morning.
RANDOM FACT: there’s a belief among academia students that if you jump across the hall all the way to the statue of the First Sage on just one leg the day before the exam, and throw the note with your request, and the note stays in the statue’s hands, you will get an A+ without trying. no, no, not lazy, most of them prepare for exams anyway... it’s more of a tradition now. sometimes they write completely unrelated things. poems, love confessions to each other... someone even begged the statue to make professor Ember have a crush on them, poor soul. how do i know all that? whose responsibility it is to retrieve all these notes from the statue, you think?
--
tagging @kisica-plays, @pralinesims for OC you didn't answer this for, @agena87, @adoringsentiment, @kri-babe, @puppycheesecake and anyone who sees this and suddenly wants to hop on that train
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prompt/blurb: different types of dates the boys would plan
first off, i LOVE this ask and i love the idea of the boys going on dates like we see their outings on insta i think they would be so into dates even if youre in a long term relationship
these are also what i imagine but as always we can discuss 😏
julien:
painting - you know the interview she is SO. CUTE. i think she would be so into taking a painting class or one of those wine+painting things, even like color me mine where you paint plates for your kitchen. she would definitely smile everytime one of you eats off the plate, wiggling her eyebrows.
if you paint on canvas, she gives me the vibes of after your paintings dry hanging them on the wall of her studio, grabbing your by your belt loops and pulling you into her chest so your back is flush with her front and being like "look at us, couple'a picassos baby," and then giggling, smacking a kiss to your cheek.
cooking class - miss pesto pasta over here, i have this very specific scenario where you guys take a cooking class once a month or like whenever she's on break from tour. she despises the baking ones because its not as freeform as the cooking ones, but she loves watching you measure stuff and how excited you get whenever the baked goods are coming out of the oven. she definitely says some cheesy joke after trying it being like "almost as sweet as you sugar," especially in her little twang AHHHH
but she loves the cooking classes, i think specifically pasta making or a pizza class. she loves wiping the flour off of your face and standing close to you, your arms brushing against each other as you both fiddle with the pasta attachment on a stand mixer. she loves the domesticity of it and leaves with recipes that she can make for you when she's home
phoebe:
fall things - okay don't kill me for this but homegirl loves a spooky moment, she DEFROSTS in the fall and i think she secretly loves a christian girl autumn moment. i imagine phoebe taking you (and maxine ofc) to a corn maze-fall farm-apple cider-hayride-esque date. you guys walk around (bundled up depending on if ur in la or somewhere that's colder in the fall) hand in hand, maxine trots along in front of you. you'll be standing in line for caramel apples or some fall treat, wrapped around phoebe as she looks up at the menu options, maxine at your feet, jumping up and stretching at your knees. Phoebe would turn her head, asking what you want and then kissing your nose softly before ordering. i just think she'd live for walking around and looking at all the farm to table goods in the little store near the exit. you'd definitely leave with some pumpkins and some random Halloween costume for maxine.
thrifting - i don't know why but i think she would be so fun to thrift with, like not so much you buy a ton of clothes but she would love to look around and get some stuff for y'alls house, like random dad joke mugs or vintage plate sets. i think she would be SO DOWN for the vintage painting trend where people buy old paintings and paint ghosts on them. she would be so stoked when you found the perfect painting, both of you getting home and painting the lil ghosts, hanging it in the kitchen. you both stare at it, heads cocked to the side when she's like, "good job baby.... but this is like... too on brand...right?" before laughing.
lucy:
museum - cultured queenie! i think she'd take advantage, especially when on tour to bring you to museums with the rest of the boys, you'd walk around with all of them before the two of you wander off and spend some time leisurely walking through different exhibits. she would definitely buy you some overpriced cheap souvenirs at the gift shop, kissing the corner of your mouth before rolling her eyes, a loving smile on her face when she sees you bouncing on your heels excitedly.
if you're living with her in philly, y'all def take advantage of the art museum in the city and visit the ones in the suburbs or even take weekend trips up and down the east coast/mid-atlantic to go to different ones. I also think she'd be down to road trip, stopping at museums and galleries along the way, holding your thigh as she drives on the interstate, nodding along as you describe some new exhibit you're excited about.
bookstore - you know the vibes, luce looooves a good bookstore. i feel like the vibes would be sooooo goood, she would definitely seek out used bookstores and the aisles are more narrow so she walks right up on you, rubbing your hips or lower abdomen as she stands behind you, your back flush with her chest. she would love letting you rest against her in a hug, rubbing your ass through your jeans . You'll be reading the back of a book, her lips subtly kissing the skin of your shoulder and neck before squeezing past you.
okay so it's not all kissing and ass grabs, you def have intellectual discussions about theory and the books you're both grabbing. there's also talks about if more books will actually fit in your home because the spare bedroom is already a library and you love to indulge lucy's bibliophile habits but you genuinely don't know if they will fit.
all da boys:
hiking, conservatories, nature reserves, aquariums, etc.
we know based on insta that they live for this shit, i can imagine any of them taking you to one of these places and just enjoying the shit out of it, maybe even a group date with all of their partners 👀i think they'd all be thrilled by a conservatory or botanical garden, idk so much about aquariums but i love aquariums so let me have this. but again i just think anything leisurely they love, all of them walking hand in hand with you at any of these places, being able to cuddle up to you when standing.... i meannnnn cmonnnnn
#anon cutie#julien baker x reader#lucy dacus x reader#phoebe bridgers x reader#boygenius#julien baker#lucy dacus#phoebe bridgers#boygenius blurbs#boygenius x reader
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Ancestral Chapter 21
Probably the last one for this month, if not this year. Written for ectober day 27: circus gothica (yes, I am behind).
.
Somehow, Danny wasn’t even surprised at this point.
"Yeah, I, um. I met the guy, once?"
"Sorry?" said Gwensyvyr.
At the same time, Jazz asked, "Who?"
"Pariah Dark," said Danny.
"He is supposed to be sealed." Gwensyvyr's form briefly flickered back to her battle regalia. This close, Danny could see that each of her braids had a spiked chain woven into it, starting low enough down that the spikes would bounce off the back of her armor, not the back of her head.
"He was," Danny hastened to reassure her. "He is. He just. Got out for a little bit. Last year."
Gwensyvyr leaned back, her elbow phasing slightly through the chair. She covered her mouth with her opposite hand. "It seems my suspicions might not be as far-fetched as I thought before. If he was out at all, they might have–" She stopped. "You still need to know the whole story."
Matthew's phone began to tweedle. He snatched it up with a look of panic on his face. "Sorry! I need to take–" The panic transformed into a kind of exhausted horror as he stared at the phone. "Does our honored ancestor know about phones? I mean…" He looked back and forth between Danny and the phone, which was still ringing.
"She knows about phones," said Danny, unsure whether to be amused or not.
Matthew seemed to take this as permission, because he answered the phone. “Yes, did you find it?” He was silent for a moment. “No? Do you know what happened? Could he have moved it to some other spot? No, no, I understand. If possible, please keep looking. It’s very important. Goodbye.” He put down the phone. “That was Aldryk Wylfred, his father was one of grandfather’s close friends. He’d been named a Knight of the Key, and given one of the Great Gate Keys to safeguard… His key is missing. I’m waiting on the other Knights of the Keys.”
“I had hoped it was not so.”
“Is… no one going to ask why Danny knows someone that Queen Gwensyvyr fought?” asked Leo. “Or how?”
“Well, he was a ghost at the time,” said Danny. “But we really ought to…” He waved at Gwensyvyr. “Listen. And stuff.”
Yeah, he wasn’t going to be able to get away with that for much longer.
“Thank you,” said Gwensyvyr. "But if you met Pariah Dark, you know what he became."
"King of Ghosts."
"He thought of himself that way, yes," said Gwensyvyr. "It is not something Artyr and I considered, when we killed him. Nor did any of the ghosts and spirits who haunted him and wanted him dead as badly as we did."
“His name really was Arthur, then,” said Lewis, who had taken out a notebook at some point. "Your husband."
“In his birthplace, perhaps. He was named after a famed king of that land, long dead, as I understand it, then and now. It has made our respective legends rather confused, at times.
"With me, he was always Artyr. He was trained as a blacksmith, which was why they kept him. Such skills are valuable still, as you well know.” She nodded to the ritual knives many of them had set on the table, and then again to the knives Irene had set the table with. "He made the very first of those. To kill Pariah."
"Why?" asked Danny. "Why did you need that? Wasn't he human, then?"
Gwensyvyr shook her head. "Not entirely," she said. "Not anymore. He had his men desecrate the pool. Mine was not the only blood spilled in it that day, and they did more than that. They threw trash into it. They blocked off the spring. They did things in it too foul to speak of. They cut down the tree and burned it. But not before Pariah and his sons ate every single apple that grew on it that year."
"They were syvyrys," said Danny. "That's why you needed a knife that could cut a ghost."
"Not like I was and not like you are, but, yes. They had already had some measure of magic to them - that is how they cut down the nine of us priestesses. Numbers alone did not do that. But the apples gave them terrible power.
"They took me and the others they had chosen as slaves - beautiful girls and men with valuable skills, for the most part - back to their homeland. The islands were not the only place he had taken slaves from, though they were always quite careful not to ever take so many as to be outnumbered. So, there, I met Artyr. There, we plotted. There, I came into my powers. There, I killed Pariah Dark.
"But to my continuing regret, I did not kill his sons."
"You think they have something to do with all this," said Matthew.
"Or their descendants," said Gwensyvyr. "They are the only syvyrys I ever knew of who could use blood blossoms like that. They were always doing some new, terrible thing. We had more spirits on our side than they did, even with their ridiculous cult, so they spent much of their time making new weapons against them. They had ways to keep themselves and their spirits safe from blood blossoms that we never learned. They had ways to imbue objects with their powers. At one point, they used some alchemy to make this sphere of red glass that could control most ghosts and even tugged on my mind…" She trailed off. "You've encountered that, too, haven't you?"
Danny squirmed. "Maybe."
"How?" asked Gwensyvyr. "Why?"
"It was–" He looked at the rest of his family. "It was– This crazy circus ringmaster had it and was using it to make ghosts rob banks and jewelry stores for him."
"Are you talking about Freakshow?" asked Jazz.
"Freakshow?"
"His real name was Frederick Isaac Showenhower," offered Jazz. "At least, that was his pen name."
"Amazing," said Gwensyvyr. “We ought to sit down and talk about all of the history you managed to run into despite living an ocean away and under a different name. But– Showenhower. That has a German root, doesn’t it? There was some suspicion that the younger son had fled to that area after betraying his brothers… I’m getting ahead of myself.
“While Artyr and I worked at cleansing the sacred pool, reviving the tree, and healing the other damage done by Pariah’s attack, Pariah’s sons built up a cult around their father’s ghost. A group of fanatics that stayed loyal even in death.
“They attacked Avlynys again when I was pregnant with my second daughter, seeking revenge and the power of the sacred pool. Imagine for a moment, such a battle between syvyrys and spirits. The sky was shattered with lightning, the air green with power. Trees uprooted themselves to take part in the fighting. The dead sacrificed themselves to take up their buried corpses. I myself fought Pariah in his glory, bolstered by prayers and sacrifice, wearing a crown of fire and a ring forged from the souls of a hundred berserkers. I banished him through the pond, whose door had been stuck open since it drank of my blood.
“It broke the ground beneath the pond and spring, and the spring sank deep underground where, to the best of my knowledge, it still rests.”
“That’s the portal in Andyr?” asked Danny. “Just checking to make sure.”
“The pond, yes,” said Gwensyvyr. “Kyr Argyn was built on the rift - we also used it as a silver mine for a while. Very useful, for a newly-formed country.” Her lips twitched up. “Artyr also enjoyed the chance to learn silversmithing. I do appreciate your attempts to get back the Kyp Styrryse, Lwys. It took him a hundred years to get that good.” She made a face. “It was also a great aid when maintaining the pool. Having it again would be very good.”
“Oh,” said Lewis. “I, well, I’m working on it. But– A hundred years?”
“Artyr died in that battle, but he did not leave. We had three more children, after, though they were… strange. Even now, he has not left, though he sleeps with many of the other spirits of this land.
“After we had driven off Pariah’s sons, we found the pool again. It took time and a great deal of effort even with magic, and once we did, we were determined that no one should use it for evil ever again, and that even if all of us should die - me, and my children, who numbered three, only, at the time, and my closest friends - it should be safe. But we could not simply bury it and leave it. It was not yet clean and still too powerful. So, we made nine Great Gates and nine Great Gate Keys, to guard all the paths that could reach it. We pledged our family to the cause of safeguarding it and tending it, and we named ourselves after those gates, those doors, so we would not forget.”
Gwensyvyr paused significantly.
“We’ve done that, haven’t we?” asked Matthew. “Even before Uncle Leon died.”
“It was a good while before that, too, to be fair,” said Gwensyvyr. “In truth, I think it started as early as my great-grandchildren’s time. A hundred years of fighting with the sons and grandsons of Pariah…” She trailed off and shook her head. “Alys wanted peace, and thought that both sides were worn down enough that she could get it. She married her daughter, her only child, to one of Pariah’s scions. But Kythrin chose never to have access to the sacred pool, or take up her duties to it, and so never to become queen herself. The throne and its duties went to her cousin, and her husband killed her and took their children to Britain, where he made a pest of himself for the rest of his natural life, despite efforts to end it prematurely.
“One of the children came back. We were overjoyed, but…” Gwensyvyr’s face soured. “Once welcomed, they used the pool to try and call up Pariah once more.
“That is when the pool and the journey andyr Kyr Argyn became so entwined with the succession. Before that, we had helpers, who came freely. They were not the priestesses of old, but they had some knowledge, and it made the burden easier for the family. After… we did not trust so easily.
“Later, many years on, Queen Arynryd saw the danger in this and founded the School of Heroes in an attempt to gather those that could be trusted. That was the original point of it - not to be a pre-approved pool of heroic suitors to pick from to prevent inbreeding in the royal line.” She rolled her eyes as a faint susurrus of ohs rose up around the table. “Although, I will grant that it has been useful for that, on occasion.”
Gwensyvyr shook her head. “After that incident, though, many of us were worried that Pariah might return, so I and some others went through the pool, and directly into a war. I am not sure how long it lasted. Time was strange, there, in the otherworld. But it was Pariah and his fanatics against all other spirits, and we felt that, as his old enemies, we must join in.
“When Pariah was sealed, we returned, but we found that more than a generation had passed, and Pariah’s brood had made war on us again, and that they had even roused the Normans to do the same. A whole…” She paused, looking away. “While we were gone, a whole branch of the family had been wiped out. Only the youngest, one too young to go to war, survived. And though King Ydmynd completed the trials, and as an adult, with a child just born, he decreed restrictions, and that no one should go into Andyr or to the pools except for the Trials.”
Gwensyvyr stared at the table. “I did not intervene. I thought it would be enough, as people had children, and those children wanted to take up the family task. I thought the pool healed enough, and the gates strong enough. It was not Ydmynd’s fault, mind. He was young, and he’d had a harrowing time of the trials, with so many of us gone to fight Pariah in the beyond, and all his family dead.”
She paused again, giving Danny time to catch up and think about what that must have felt like, for Edmund. To think about how every day they seemed to be getting closer to that point themselves.
“There were some benefits to the developments as well. The decrees were not because of fear, only,” said Gwensyvyr, softly. “Athlyng Elysyvyt was kidnapped young and educated by the Danes, who wanted to put her on the throne, but without the Trials, she had no claim to it. We avoided long periods of regency, and the crises that come with child monarchs. A few times, Pariah’s living fanatics were caught trying to get into Andyr.
“Then, too, not everyone followed King Ydmynd’s decrees, especially after he, in turn, died. There were strong syvyrys in those years, too. Even so… even so, we thought it might be best to let the living find their own way, in most cases. There is a reason I did not stay queen after my death, though I was, clearly, still there and still visible, as magic had suffused Avlynys through the sacred pool far more in those days than it does now.
“There were things to do, regardless. Even in death, even with the pool behind the Great Gates, we still had to protect the island and the pool from enemies. And…” She sighed. “When there were no more enemies, and we found ourselves growing weary, many of us chose to rest. Even I cannot be everywhere at once. I often chose to shadow my family, rather than any greater purpose and as time passed, and the pool wasn’t tended to, its power faded. I thought that a good thing, that it was finally returning to how it used to be before my first death, but lately we find we cannot even go there, and… Now we are here. A thousand years of attrition and inattention later, we are here.”
“And… that’s it?” asked Danny.
Gwensyvyr spread her hands out. “I am not going to attempt to recount the entire millennia, much less the portions of it that are in living memory. Although maybe I should. I always thought the nationalist movement had a little too much in common with some of the things Pariah’s fanatics got up to.” She tapped her lips. “And the Germans sent us a remarkable number of curses during the second of the Great Wars, despite how terrible they were at it, and despite hardly anyone being able to do that at all in the twentieth century.”
“We expelled the nationalist movement. Their whole organization was outlawed, after the Brygytyn attacks.”
“Matthew, you know as well as I that you never entirely get rid of people like that.”
Iris raised a hand. “So, our consensus here is that our premier pharmaceutical institution is run by deranged cultists who specifically hate our family for killing their, what, their god? And they might be Nazis on top of that?”
“Not Nazis,” said George. “Those were specifically German nationalists.”
“There are American Nazis, too,” pointed out Iris.
“I wouldn’t call it a consensus,” said Gwensyvyr. “But they must, at least, be involved, and I find the timing suspicious, if he was out of that sarcophagus for any length of time. I would say that the spirit who attacked just now was one of them, likely being punished for failing to kill you earlier, Matthew.”
“So, what do we do?” asked Danny. He was, personally, all for going out and beating up whoever was behind all this, but he didn’t know who was behind all this.
“The Trials,” said Matthew. “If we did them, if we got rid of whatever was blocking you, could you… How many of our ancestors are here, awake? Could you help?”
Gwensyvyr smiled, teeth sharp, ghostly fangs. “We would like nothing better.”
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Goncharov (1973): “Why an apple?”
I know Goncharov is drowning in so MANY themes. We have the Running Out of Time theme, the Cycle of Violence and Repression theme, the Can’t Fight Nature theme with all its animal motifs, we even have Ice Pick Joe’s criminally underappreciated arc about Humanity Doing Violence to Anything/Anyone Outside the Mold of the Cycle/What the Majority Says is Natural theme. Themes on themes on themes!
But the one that still keeps needling me in the heart is, of all things, the Fruit theme. Yes, really.
Sure, right, the whole ‘Forbidden Fruit’ thing is extremely old hat to cinema now, especially within media dealing with gay romances (rather, gay romances that Almost Were and Ended Tragically). But the way it’s played with in Goncharov seems to hit just to the left of the cliché and lets something new grow.
Or, in the case of our various doomed characters, lets it get mowed down.
It starts with the fruit stand. Katya and Sofia, two wives shopping for two husbands. They come to the apples. Sofia, with her serpent bracelet twinkling, stoops to help Katya pick up the fallen fruit that escaped her basket. Is the meeting orchestrated? Accident? Neither woman would ever tell, considering where both stand--where they recognize each other from. The worlds of men and murder they stand so precariously within.
Still. It is so hard to make friends in their worlds. And they are in public. And just for a while, just here, in the sun, they can pretend they are just two women who know each other from somewhere. Just making friends.
Apples segues to temptation, you know the drill--they even bring it up in conversation!
...A conversation that the cut to the far end of afternoon reveals has stretched all the way out of the market and into a bistro. Just two women, just two friends, just talking (in public). They bring up Adam and Eve and the Forbidden Fruit and--
Sofia: I never got why it had to be an apple.
Katya: What do you mean?
Sofia: I mean I don’t get it. Why an apple?
Katya: I don’t know. Because it’s always been an apple, I guess. It’s easier to pull off in art. All the painters and sculptors and everyone else who makes those kind of calls, they all just got together and decided, ‘An apple looks pretty simple. Nice, smooth, round. Easy enough to draw in a tree.’ And boom, everyone sees nothing but apples in the Tree of Knowledge ever after. So it’s always apples.
Sofia: The dullest possible produce. The Forbidden Fruit is supposed to be something off limits, something special. All the knowledge of the world and of each other and of the realization that these two fools are running around the Garden with their asses bare in front of the Almighty. Apples don’t seem right for that. It’s dull. It’s a thing for pastry and postcards.
Katya: ...What would you pick instead?
Sofia: Pomegranates. No question.
Katya: Why pomegranates?
Sofia: It’s the fruit that the God of the Dead uses to trick the Goddess of Spring into staying with him in the Underworld. She tastes the seeds and she’s forced to stay down there for half a year, every year, forever. A fruit so powerful it can trap a goddess seems like the kind of fruit that could banish humanity from Paradise.
(Cue that Very Telling pause. The unbroken eye contact. Then...)
Sofia: Tastes better than apples too. And it looks like a jewel when you split it open.
(Of course, when it’s time to order dessert, they split a pomegranate panna cotta. The scene closes with Katya licking her lips.)
Katya: I do like apples. But this? This is amazing. I’d go to Hell for this.*
(*There’s a whole other essay in describing Katya’s bisexuality, her partaking of apples and pomegranates in equal measure, the genuine hurt she feels in knowing that Goncharov cares for her, but not beyond the presentation they put on for his peers. Arm candy with benefits (and constant threat to her life). And it wouldn’t be so bad, she knows, if they were at least still friends like they were at the start--but all of that has gone to Andrey. The friendship, the love, the care; at least as much as Goncharov is capable of beyond his own issues. But I digress.)
We see this whole undercurrent play out through the film, in parallel to the hammered-in fear and resignation that comes with the characters being crushed by the mantra of You Can’t Go On Forever, Can’t Fight the Cycle, Can’t Fight Nature, Can’t Step Outside the Norm/the Nuclear Family (of the Mafia/the Mob Or Else).
Because it doesn’t have to be an apple.
They never had to worry about the time burning away their lives one miserable day at a time, unhappy and cramped with violence and expectations that are a wholly self-perpetuating horror show that humanity inflicts on itself. The characters compare themselves to animals more than once in the film, all unable to fight the inevitable. But as Andrey and Katya point out to their respective paramours, it does not have to be that way. It never did--it doesn’t need to be now. Please. Please.
They can have the Forbidden Fruit and it can be whatever they want! Let it be a pomegranate! Let them glut themselves on it! And, hell, why do they have to buy into everyone else’s rules about what is and isn’t forbidden anyway? They’re none of them living within the law in the first place. Blood’s on everyone’s hands. Can’t they sin a little sweeter? Can’t they admit the sin they want most isn’t a sin at all, no matter what lies to the contrary they’ve swallowed in the caustic hell they’ve found themselves in?
“We can grow our own garden somewhere,” Katya pleads with Sofia, smiling through tears trying so hard not to fall--the first tears she’s allowed herself in years.
“We can grow our own tobacco,” Andrey tries to joke with Goncharov, not joking at all. He still has that cheap scuffed lighter Goncharov gifted him years ago when they were both nobodies, and he grips it in his visible hand like a talisman.
Of course, we know the endings there.
Katya lives to leave, without husband or lover or friend, and mourn the fact that her beloved Temptation cannot be tempted in turn. Not with where Sofia stands. Rooted by cold blood as much as fear. This is what she knows. This is her world, her Tree, her Devil she knows, her Underworld to rule as much as any queen can rule there, unhappy but resigned. Go, Eve. Grow your garden alone.
Andrey pulls the trigger, and feels more pain in that instant than even Goncharov does with the hole in his heart. He walks away, mourning the man who is as much a victim of himself as the bullet; a stubborn Adam who spat out his fruit and insisted upon fighting the Serpent, who dies reliving a memory of two cigars, sharing a flame against a cold night--the light fading, fading, fading...
It never had to be this way. Not for any of them. Not really. But even with the Forbidden Fruits of their choice hanging in reach, free to take and run, it was not eating them that resulted in their respective tragedies.
The Forbidden Fruit is there to be eaten. To be learned from. To force you to grow and go. To step outside the boundaries made to keep you in.
But you just can’t make everyone eat.
#taking a break from ghouls to get in my two cents about Goncharov and the Themes#still holding out for my extremely late KatyaxSofia sequel Mr. Scorsese#goncharov#katya#sofia#andrey#ice pick joe#unreality
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