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corvianbard · 7 months

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#5714

Chubby tanuki, It is time to hibernate For the cold winter.

#my poem #poem #poetry #haiku #tanuki #winter #time #5714

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every-tome · 1 year

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#everytome #s3 #s3e8 #5714

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jualbibitpisangcavendishbandung · 11 months

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TLP/WA 0813–2038–1353, Pusat Grosir Bibit Pisang Cavendish Bekasi

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brigadeirogourmet · 2 years

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Resultado da Loteria Federal de Hoje Concurso 5714 – quarta-feira (09/11)

O Resultado da Loteria Federal concurso 5714 realiza nesta quarta-feira, dia 9 de novembro (09/11) no Espaço Loterias Caixa com prêmio de R$ 500.000,00. Os números sorteados você confere abaixo a partir das 19hs. Resultado da Loteria Federal concurso 5714 1º sorteio: —– – Prêmio de R$ 500.000,00 2º sorteio: —– – Prêmio de R$ 27.000,00 3º sorteio: —– – Prêmio de R$ 24.000,00 4º sorteio: —– –…

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#Resultado da Loteria Federal de Hoje Concurso 5714 – quarta-feira (09/11)

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srbachchan · 8 months

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DAY 5714

Jalsa, Mumbai Oct 9/10, 2023 Mon/Tue 3:54 AM

Birthday - EF Brijesh Mishra ... Kunal Kapoor Tuesday, 10 October .. all the love and wishes from the Ef family

🌹

see .. this is what defrosting means .. sit down with professionals and lean and learn ..

But its time for the morning Sun so I shall disappear and return before the next sunrise

Loading now ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year

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would you mind listing your favourite 14 numbers for me? i want to compare mine with the favourites of others

In no particular order I really like the following:

0, 3, 5, 6, 9, 18, 23, 36, 39, 48, 67, 78, 90, 120, 139, 148, 168, 193, 234, 264, 279, 324, 339, 382, 423, 484, 516, 540, 585, 620, 645, 690, 729, 772, 829, 954, 1010, 1128, 1227, 1273, 1314, 1345, 1390, 1419, 1453, 1488, 1530, 1562, 1600, 1632, 1655, 1710, 1735, 1750, 1792, 1815, 1840, 1886, 1893, 1916, 1929, 1932, 1955, 1964, 2021, 2121, 2176, 2221, 2236, 2301, 2324, 2279, 2357, 2404, 2440, 2525, 2554, 2579, 2603, 2619, 2636, 2661, 2684, 2707, 2718, 2733, 2749, 2772, 2813, 2833, 2857, 2887, 2920, 2941, 2996, 3002, 3021, 3037, 3081, 3106, 3133, 3158, 3191, 3227, 3252, 3271, 3313, 3338, 3362, 3391, 3414, 3444, 3467, 3528, 3547, 3593, 3623, 3642, 3675, 3700, 3716, 3732, 3774, 3784, 3807, 3819, 3837, 3862, 3882, 3903, 3924, 3938, 3959, 3993, 4014, 4036, 4057, 4082, 4103, 4114, 4142, 4167, 4189, 4211, 4234, 4257, 4290, 4315, 4339, 4392, 4416, 4432, 4454, 4473, 4499, 4508, 4526, 4557, 4580, 4605, 4615, 4643, 4660, 4684, 4730, 4755, 4772, 4806, 4826, 4845, 4867, 4901, 4914, 4928, 4955, 4973, 4987, 5008, 5019, 5032, 5054, 5065, 5088, 5112, 5157, 5182, 5205, 5226, 5238, 5255, 5260, 5282, 5300, 5315, 5336, 5364, 5400, 5427, 5440, 5459, 5475, 5498, 5522, 5530, 5541, 5560, 5580, 5598, 5627, 5640, 5659, 5666, 5671, 5675, 5700, 5714, 5730, 5745, 5756, 5863, 5868, 5875, 5888, 5915, 5938, 5957, 5971, 5997, 6010, 6011, 6034, 6064, 6089, 6116, 6133, 6150, 6163, 6173, 6200, 6218, 6236, 6243, 6250, 6262, 6274, 6284, 6297, 6301, 6310, 6319, 6336, 6348, 6354, 6378, 6397, 6408, 6432, 6450, 6461, 6482, 6496, 6514, 6530, 6540, 6547, 6550, 6565, 6570, 6590, 6597, 6608, 6620, 6632, 6655, 6682, 6704, 6708, 6714, 6726, 6740, 6749, 6754, 6759, 6764, 6785, 6790, 6805, 6810, 6815, 6830, 6841, 6853, 6858, 6867, 6877, 6896, 6912, 6999, 7016, 7023, 7030, 7047, 7062, 7072, 7063, 7076, 7082, 7085, 7100, 7105, 7130, 7150, 7168, 7173, 7184, 7187, 7196, 7202, 7209, 7216, 7224, 7234, 7244, 7254, 7266, 7267, 7273, 7279, 7281, 7281, 7289, 7289, 7299, 7305, 7313, 7317, 7324, 7335, 7336, 7348, 7360, 7368, 7387, 7410, 7430, 7442, 7452, 7479, 7485, 7491, 7505, 7516, 7594, 7611, 7623, 7628, 7630, 7641, 7653, 7676, 7718, 7734, 7742, 7749, 7766, 7777, 7788, 7819, 7838, 7849, 7856, 7867, 7871, 7881, 7890, 7893, 7902, 7922, 7939, 7952, 7973, 7986, 7998, 8018, 8033, 8047, 8063, 8070, 8096, 8107, 8144, 8155, 8173, 8182, 8188, 8207, 8209, 8218, 8238, 8248, 8260, 8286, 8304, 8308, 8314, 8324, 8340, 8364, 8390, 8401, 8416, 8432, 8467, 8497, 8507, 8518, 8553, 8568, 8591, 8612, 8642, 8655, 8657, 8667, 8684, 8689, 8709, 8730, 8743, 8745, 8768, 8797, 8809, 8884, 8888, 8900, 8912, 8994, 9019, 9027, 9057, 9061, 9063, 9088, 9103, 9109, 9116, 9125, 9130, 9142, 9143, 9169, 9179, 9183, 9203, 9226, 9234, 9253, 9277, 9284, 9299, 9334, 9356, 9370, 9379, 9413, 9432, 9444, 9463, 9467, 9473, 9482, 9498, 9513, 9562, 9573, 9596, 9609, 9618, 9624, 9648, 9660, 9668, 9673, 9685, 9699, 9711, 9755, 9787, 9793, 9811, 9815, 9830, 9841, 9854, 9886, 9897, 9913, 9929, 9943, 9968, 9972, 9978, 9992, 9994, 9999, 10008, 10025, 10039, 10065, 10070, 10075, 10087, 10100, 10115, 10130, 10134, 10161, 10175, 10180, 10191, 10208, 10214, 10224, 10242, 10253, 10261, 10269, 10287, 10301, 10305,

#petrichorvoices

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muzzlemouths · 2 years

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Returning the Favor

Moon has a habit of helping you to bed. It's only fair that you return the favor.

Moon centric // Wordcount: 5714 // AO3 Vers.

The first time you think about it is the day you catch him dozing.

It isn't unusual for Moon to be listless during a shift. Despite having a fair share of sporadic moments where his energy rivaled Sun's, it was more common to see him lazily milling about. Moseying along the ceiling beams, meandering through the vents, taking his sweet time to stroll or lounge about. Not that he had any reason to rush, it isn't like they paid him by the hour - or at all.

This was different. You passed him just outside the Daycare, sprawled carelessly across one of the unlit light fixtures and seemingly unaware (or indifferent to) the concept of you illuminating it just to be an ass.

And, well, you were an ass. You readied a smart remark at the tip of your tongue for his inevitable outburst and reach for the light switch—

But you hesitate.

On closer look, he isn’t just lounging for the sake of it. His chest rose and fell with a tempo slower than you were used to seeing, even at his laziest. No red glow met you — his arm draped idly over the eyes in a manner most akin to something very human.

He was sleeping.

At least, you can only assume that's what it was, because before you have a chance to investigate further he's shifting and pulling himself into a sit, eyes fixating on you without a word.

Your hand sheepishly retreats from the light switch. Had he been watching?

His arms lift above his head, angling into a stretch that cracks and pops the mechanic joints holding his spine together. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you it's rude to stare?"

"Were you sleeping?"

His eyes narrow, and he answers you with a heave, arms falling to his side, "Don't ignore my question," he says, "I asked first." His legs swing over the light fixture and hang casually there, where he seems content to stay.

"I asked second," you reply with a sneer, "and it's hard not to stare at someone taking a fat nap next to the ceiling."

He tsks, "Wasn't sleeping."

"No?" Your arms cross your chest, "What would you call it, then?"

"Resting the eyes."

"You don't need to do that — there's nothing about robots with sleepy eye syndrome in the mechanic’s handbook."

"Maybe you just missed it," says Moon, "don't need to, no. Doesn't mean I can't."

You roll your neck in an effort to relieve the pressure with how it's craned. Having a conversation like this isn't at all conducive to correct posture. "Well, don't let me stop you. I'll let you get back to 'resting your eyes'," then, with a smug look, "I know you need your beauty sleep more than anyone."

His eyes further squint, the red a thin line against his dark faceplate. Unlike his usual self, he says nothing to correct you, no clever retort or sass. Instead, he returns to the position on his back, arms tucking behind his head, and lets his 'breathing' even out again, evidently deciding the conversation is over.

Fine. You had work to do anyway.

The thought haunts you, still. Was he sleeping? And if so, what for, and how? You had certainly never watched Sun doze into slumber (and heaven knows he needed a nap the most out of everyone). That said, what was the point? Did they actually gain anything meaningful from it — or was it as Moon said, just a rest of the eyes?

You had to know more. -

The second time you bring it up is at the height of your shift, two weeks out from the last time you touched on the subject. An all-nighter the previous night meant that you were lagging on your duties a fair amount. Enough so that Moon took it upon himself to point it out.

“You should sleep,” he asserts, following at your heel as you do your routine on auto-pilot, “Nighty night. Beddy-Bye. Come on.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off dismissively and reach for the handle of the cart, “I’ll sleep once I’m home. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Won’t get anything done like this.” He cuts off your path, ducking beneath your arm and coming to stand between you and the cart, “Nap first. Then you can work.”

“It’s the middle of my shift, Moon,” you tell him - albeit with a long, obvious yawn, “I can’t afford to do something like that. Besides, weren’t you nagging at me about falling asleep on the job just last week?”s

“Changed my mind,” He says, ignoring the narrow-eyed expression you serve him, “You’re stumbling into things, ignoring steps, you’ll hurt yourself like this.”

You shove a hand between his arm and hip, successfully finding purchase on the cart’s handle, “Awe, are you worried about me?” you coo at him, “I’ll be fine.”

“Worried you’ll make my job harder, yes,” he shoots back, “take a nap.” He reaches for your wrist, intent on prying you away from the cart by force.

Your free hand catches his before he has a chance and suddenly you’re trapped in a game of twister. “It’s not happening, earthshine. Let me work.”

He softens at the name — if only a little. You face off in complete silence with neither of you willing to change your mind. Then, when he pulls back from the cart and it looks like he’s finally going to relent, you breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s too soon.

He bends at the waist, and your feet leave the ground.

“Wh—HEY!” You’re up and over his shoulder before you fully process what just happened. There’s little to grab at from this angle, so it’s all you can do to slam your fists into the sturdy shell of his backplate and kick at his front, both assaults resulting in awful throbs after tasting metal. Your bones aren’t meant to compete with that.

“Nap time,” he repeats with a coo of his own, already parading you across the Daycare to god-knows-where.

“It absolutely is not nap time, you annoying little—oof—” You’re tossed haphazardly into the small section of daycare taken up by plush mats and vinyl coated foam shapes. It isn’t the worst place to take a nap, granted, but you didn’t want one to begin with.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says to your pout, “Stay here. I’ll find a blanket.”

“And if I get up?”

His faceplate turns a full 180 to meet you, “Don’t.” He reiterates, then turns back around to head towards the storage bins where the spare blankets are kept.

Full credit, you give it a minute of thought — which is generous, given your usual choice of ignoring everything he says — but his threats still aren’t enough to persuade you. Right now, you’re more worried about losing this job than your life.

…Yeesh. You’ll take a look at your priorities at a later point.

You peek over a foam triangle before making a break for it on tip-toes, and for a minute, after ducking behind one of the jungle gym corners, it looks like you might be home free. Unfortunately, he’s the master of hide and seek.

Your streak of defiance is short lived. When he’s caught up to you it’s with a rolled blanket in one hand and a pillow in the other, and he spends no time berating you, rather, he simply pulls you under his arm and — quite literally — drags you back to the foam mats.

You’re carried like a lap dog, and you find it too humiliating to put up much of a fight this time, deciding instead to spend the time sulking.

When he drops you onto the mats again it’s with less chariness. Evidently, your escape attempt has only proved to further sour his mood. The blanket is tossed beside you. The pillow makes a direct hit to your face.

You crossly take the pillow as it falls into your lap and take a minute to blow the hair out of your eyes. You’re not any happier with him than he is with you, but this time, you do stay put. “Why are you so insistent about this?”

“It’s my job.” He answers like it’s obvious.

“I thought that was security?”

“Also my job.” He takes the pillow from you and tosses it a foot behind. One hand cradles the back of your neck, the other presses to your chest, and together he lowers you onto your back with only a hint of fight on your end. The rest of your energy is spent trying to keep the heat off your face.

Regretfully, the set-up is comfy. The pillow is soft, the blanket warm as he tucks it around you (making a point to ignore your fussing about doing it yourself). It’s impossible to deny how snug you are like this, and before you know it, your eyes are drooping.

“There,” Moon tuts, voice soft now in stark comparison to the impatient tune it carried earlier. He brushes the hair from your eyes with a touch so careful, so featherlight, it’s barely there at all. His neck bends, faceplate turning to meet you—

He stops just short of you. A breath away. And he pulls back, apparently changing his mind.

A whine stirs in your throat. You make no attempt to hide your disappointment, imagining that the only thing left for him to do in that position was a kiss. Any other day you might have been shy about outright asking for something like that but to be teased, and then denied, was just plain cruel.

So you get bold. You get daring. “What’s wrong, earthshine~?” You prop yourself onto your wrists, eating up the look he gives you, “No goodnight kiss?”

“Would you like one?” His answer is prompt. It knocks the courage from your words in one fell swoop, immediately serving as a reminder for why you don’t tempt fate like this. Moon is a professional at returning the favor ten fold.

As though looking to prove your point, he lowers himself again to a level you can reach and purrs the most dreaded sentence to hit your ears, “You’ll have to ask politely.”

Ohhh, you wanted to deck him. “Remind me to leave a screw missing next time I fix you up,” you roll your eyes, stubborn scowl hiding the otherwise blatant evidence that the blush this time is too broad to hide.

He picks up on this. He must have. There’s no other reason for him to edge ever closer, close enough to lower you down to your elbows, and sit himself right where you wanted him. “Is that a no?” He hums, “you can ask nicely, can’t you? Just a please—”

“Can I please have a goodnight kiss.”

It isn’t a question so much as an appeal spat out in flustered haste. A show of adamant desperation. If you didn’t get it out in one mouthful you weren’t going to say it at all.

Your blush reaches your ears and shoulders, dipping into your chest with a warmth that makes you want to dive under the blanket and hide there forever.

He’s quiet, eyes blown wide.

“Well?”

“I didn’t—” he shifts, visibly processing, then the grin returns, “I didn’t think you really would,” he admits, “I would have just given it to you,” his voice is half a pitch off from laughter, and you’ve never felt more exposed, “I just wanted to see the face you made.”

You can’t possibly get any redder. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment and fury, “That’s mean,” you whine, and you’re now contemplating getting under that blanket for real. It’s looking awfully inviting. “You can’t get someone riled up like that and then not even—”

His hand shifts, sliding against your chest and driving you back into the mats with a touch gentler than expected but still firm enough to cut you off. Your breath stills in your chest when his face connects with yours.

You feel the quietest tap to your forehead. Not quite a bonk, nothing clumsy like you might have expected, but a whisper of touch that felt akin to — if not exactly like — a kiss. Undeniably so.

His right arm props itself above your head so he isn't putting weight on you and, evidently, so he can take his sweet time. He remains pressed there until the sweetest of noises is drawn from you, and only then does he rise to the sight of you warm and dazed.

"Better?" He murmurs.

You nod — slowly at first, then with great ambition. You can’t bring yourself to words for fear that they’ll be a squeak or a whine or betray you in some other way. But he can tell, surely, by the blush crossing miles of your skin, just how easily he’d wooed you.

If you squint, looking past his stubborn, stoic exterior, you might even say the act had flustered him just as much. Not that he’d ever admit to it.

“Good. Time for that nap, now.”

Your voice is a good deal quieter when you find it again, a contented mumble, a pliant hum, “I guess that’s only fair.” It has him smiling down at you with an expression that makes you dizzy. “Will you stay?”

He was already on his way out. It’s here that he pauses, bent at the knees, halfway to his feet again, and contemplates. Then, nodding, he returns to a sit; criss-cross applesauce. “I’ll stay,” he agrees, “Keep the boogeyman away.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat. “Thanks, but I don’t think the boogeyman can get me here.”

“That’s because I’m keeping him away.” He bends forward enough that he can replace the blanket over you again, taking care to ensure it’s thoroughly tucked at your shoulders and sides.

“Right, right,” you wave your hand from beneath the blanket. “Are you really only going to sit there?”

His hand pauses where it’s at, “What had you been expecting?”

“Well…” you think back to a few weeks ago, when you’d caught him dozing on the lights, “I thought maybe you would want some sleep, too.”

“Don’t sleep,” Moon straightens his back, folding his hands into his lap, “remember?”

Another yawn escapes you, his eyes following it like a dog trained to hunt. “What about the other day, by the ceiling? Weren’t you sleeping then?”

“Just closing my eyes,” he repeats, “not actually sleeping.”

“What’s the difference?”

His hands bind together and casually flex over his head, resulting in another of those rigid pop-pop-pop sounds emitting from his spine — or where the spine ought to be. He releases the built tension with a low exhale. Only then does his gaze return, and still, he’s adamantly silent.

“Come on,” you ask ever so sweetly, “Humor me. Then I’ll sleep,” your pinky peaks out from under the blanket, “promise.”

He stares narrowly for a moment, thinking it over. You think maybe he’s deciding between playing along and just letting you tire yourself out so he doesn’t have to answer. But sure enough, he stretches a hand out and shakes your pinky in a gentle grip.

“Dozing off has nothing to do with the power supply,” he answers, “Don’t actually sleep. I can’t charge that way, and I don’t shut down. It’s more like…” he hesitates for a moment, fingers tapping together, grasping for the words to explain it in a way you can relate to, “...like daydreaming. Not asleep, not entirely alert, either.”

“Do you like it?” You’re not sure what possessed you to shoot for that as your first question. There were hundreds of others on your mind; did he do it just for kicks? Was it built in intentionally, or was the habit learned? How long had he been able to do it?

Did he dream?

“It’s comfortable,” he answers truthfully, “I didn’t use to do it, before…” pausing, his gaze slides to the left, evidently rethinking his wording, “I only sleep when Sun is out. When we charge. But I realized I could do this, and it’s kind of like sleeping. I like it enough.”

Your curiosity is the one thing keeping you from drifting to sleep yourself. You prop yourself onto one arm, only for him to reach out and promptly shove you back against the mat again. Fine. Point taken.

“What about real sleep, then?” You ask, “Can you only sleep when you aren’t ‘out’?”

“I don’t sleep any other way.”

“I know you don’t, but can you?”

He goes silent, head tilting to the side as if he’s trying to suss out what your intention is. “You’re awfully nosy tonight,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m not going to sleep until you answer me, so—”

“Yes. I can sleep here.” Oh, that was easy, “But I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Always with the questions,” he growls, “aren’t you tired?”

“Nope!”

“Liar.” He stares sideways at you, and you stare back, stubborn to a fault. He breaks with a heavy sigh. “I don’t like the way it feels,” he avoids your eye, still, and fiddles with the hem of his pant leg instead, “I get antsy. Restless. Haven’t been able to since…” his fingers still, “...well, it’s been a while.”

You don’t need him to go into detail. You can figure the rest out.

Slowly, your body betrays you. He looks up just in time to see you yawn. “Bed time,” he says, spoken soft and just under his breath as though saying it any louder will shatter the moment you’re having.

You’re on borrowed time; warm in the bed he’s made for you, your eyes are heavy with sleep, struggling to remain open, and your mind has you convinced that the soundless lull pulling you deeper into unconsciousness has the best intentions.

“Mh, would you like to try it again?” You mumble around another yawn, “Sleeping out here, I mean.”

He reaches for you, palm gently colliding with your temple, cold fingers combing through your hair, “Maybe one day,” he murmurs, “Now sleep.”

You lack the energy to fight him on it any longer, so you don’t, and instead allow the sweet tug to pull you under. -

Another week passes, and you’ve already all but forgotten about the interaction and the many, many questions attached up until something jogs your memory; Moon, caught in the act of a yawn.

Not that you can blame him. Sun worked overtime in the Daycare that day, managing his usual hours along with two birthday parties and a sleepover. It was no surprise when he didn’t fight the changing lights, allowing Moon to take over without a hitch.

Unfortunately, sharing a body came with many cons, one of which being that the soreness didn’t leave when Sun did. That day’s events remained in the crevices of their joints and the low whir of a fan that’s been hard at work all day. Moon looked about ready to succumb to sleep himself when you arrived on the scene for your shift.

This time, you were determined to do something about it.

You knew he could sleep, just that he didn’t — not out here, anyway — the hard part was figuring out how to convince him that he needed more than some daydreaming before his body would find itself in functioning order again.

How unlucky for both of you, then, that he’s just as stubborn as you are.

You find him, initially, face down in the ballpit. The toys support his massive weight well enough and provide you with the image of him partially submerged, arms spread out in T-Pose position, seemingly unconscious among them.

He’s not, though. You know that by the steady rise and fall of his torso which moves faster than when he’s dozing. Which meant he was simply…laying there, fully conscious, taking in the sweet smell of plastic, children’s feet, and cleaner.

“You alive in there?” You make your way over and settle down on the edge, dipping your feet into the pit. He doesn’t answer. “Are there no better places around here to wipe out? I imagine that ballpit doesn’t smell the best.”

“It’s comfy here.” You can hardly understand him with his face pushed into the pit like that, “Go away.”

And that’s when you see it; the slight lift of his head as his fan whirs louder for a spare moment; a yawn - or something similar.

You hum, kick your feet a little, and reach beside you for the can of fizzyfaz. It opens with an audible click-shhh that has Moon’s head snapping upward, a number of balls scattering in the process.

“No open drinks in the Daycare,” he says without missing a beat, “you’ll get it everywhere. Or worse, get Sun’s attention.”

Another hum, this one more of a jeer, “Come and take it from me then.”

He squints, clearly not having the energy today to deal with your shenanigans. That is, until you outstretch your arm to hold the can above the ball pit and prop it in a way like you’re going to start pouring. He’s wading through the pit with haste, then, and you manage to just barely get up and out of said pit before he’s climbing after you.

This was simultaneously the best (and worst) part; the chase. Something about prompting a massive hunk of metal with a predator complex into pursuing you was, admittedly, a little thrilling, but only until the point where he caught you. Then came the collision, the bruises.

Luckily, your destination isn’t far. You manage to outrun him if only by a couple of steps and when you land, it’s into the plush, welcoming arms of foam mats. The same mats he’d tucked you into but a short time ago.

He’s practically on top of you and reaching for the can in your hand before you fully hit the mats — but he stops, freezing in place, arm outstretched and hand wrapped around aluminum — to the sight of a readied blanket and pillow set-up.

And he scowls at you with nothing short of exasperation.

“Look, I know you aren’t interested in getting some rest, but—”

He snatches the can from you and stands, turning immediately to leave.

“Wait!” You grab his wrist and hold him near, “I just think it’s a little uncanny that the bedtime robot won’t take a little nap every once in a while. Sun’s been running overtime this whole week which has obviously left you equally bent out of shape. Aren’t you tired?” He doesn’t answer, “You sure look tired. You look exhausted, actually, and that’s saying something coming from me.”

“Not interested,” he mumbles, “Let me go.”

“No.” You insist, attempting to make yourself sound firm this time, “Come on, is it really so bad?” Again, he responds with nothing. You decide to switch tactics. “You don’t actually have to sleep. You can just relax with me, lie down for a bit. That’s all.”

He glowers at you, full well knowing what you were doing, “Taking a page out of my own book, hm?” He muses, “That won’t work on me, starshine. I know those tactics by the back of my hand.”

“C’mon, Moon,” Your bottom lip sticks out, eyes pleading, “Ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking. You don’t have to sleep — I mean it, I won’t force you to — but I need you to try…please.”

“Can’t,” he repeats, looking strained about it, “I told you already. Too restless.”

You smile to yourself, having already thought this part through. “Well, let’s fix that, then! We’re going to make you un-restless.”

He finally sags with resignation, apparently tired of arguing, and allows you to drag him into the depths of foam blocks without any more of a fight — save for some grumbling under his breath.

The area isn’t as lavish as before. You found a couple of blankets, no pillows (where does he hide those?) and no plushies for him to snuggle with. But that’s okay. You were a plush enough replacement, if need be.

Retrieving your phone from its pocket, you spend a brief moment running through several playlists before selecting one made as recent as the night before. Moon watches over your shoulder, curious but silent.

That is, until the song begins to play.

It’s a music box — several of them making up an hour’s worth — and his reaction is immediate. First a glare, like he thinks you’re making fun of him. Then the expression softens into something…different. Something kinder.

You settle against one of the foam blocks and gently pat the spot beside you.

He stares it down like it’s enemy number one, refusing to budge.

“Come on, Moon,” you try again, “Isn’t this music relaxing? Doesn’t it make you want to snuggle under the covers and doze off?” You lift one side of the blanket pile temptingly, “I brought them all the way from the laundry room just for you.”

You’ve piqued his interest with that. There’s no reason to be anywhere near the laundry room when he had a perfectly good pile of blankets on-hand right here. Which could only mean…

Slowly, tentatively, he comes to your side. The adjustment is awkward at best; he shimmies into the spot beside you and tucks gangly legs up to his chest, hunching like an animal trying to go bipedal for the first time.

Pointedly, you stifle your laughter in your throat. As funny as it looked you knew he was making an effort here, and you weren’t about to sabotage that by making fun of him.

You try not to think about the before; how easy it was for him to settle down. How effortlessly he went about rest and relaxation, with the kids and himself alike. How naturally the calm came to him. Actually, now that you think about it, the lazy meandering you complained about so often was probably the closest thing to his natural state. He was clinging to it in the only way he knew how to anymore.

The thought makes your chest heavy, providing fuel to your fiery determination.

As soon as he’s within reach you pull the blankets over his lap and tuck them around his hips. It’d be more efficient were he laying down, but that’s a battle for later.

Moon’s body sags as he’s enveloped, going limp at the waist, “They’re…warm,” he murmurs, and you catch him burrowing further into the cloth, eyes drooping ever so faintly. Success.

“Mhm!” You try not to look so proud of yourself, “You’re always complaining about being cold. I don’t know if you were only joking, but you always feel cold, so I thought you might enjoy this. I left them in the dryer for a while before bringing them over here. They aren’t as warm as they were right out of the dryer, but—”

“They’re perfect.” His voice is a whisper. He brings the blanket to his cheek and nestles into it, eyes falling shut. For the very first time, before your eyes, he looks entirely comfortable. Not a restless bone — ahem, gear — in his body.

You wonder, briefly, if this is how he looked before. Content. Serene. At ease.

“How does that nap sound now?”

His gaze draws to you. The blanket moves through his fingers, then falls back to his lap with a soundless thump. “Why are you doing this?” He asks, and there isn’t a hint of his normal attitude remaining. No cheek behind his words.

You reach for him — hesitate — then your hand touches his arm and ambles down to his hand, “Well, this may come as a surprise, but I happen to care about you,” your smile is quiet, “and I hate seeing you stressed out like this,” his fingers curl around yours without a word. You squeeze them gently. “So…let me try to help. Please?”

He’s reluctant. That much is obvious. “I have security to do,” he states.

“Already took care of it. Called in a favor, security is doubled tonight.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay here, with you,” your voice soothes, “to keep the boogeyman away.”

He gives it some thought. But you’ve worn him down (or warmed him up, technically) and to your surprise, eventually he reciprocates with a nod, slow and shy. “I’ll try,” he croaks, “that’s all I can promise.”

“It’s enough,” you reassure him.

Another nod, and he goes to lie down where he’s at beside you, but you stop him halfway - an idea occurring. “Wait, not there,” you say.

He watches you with a quiet crooked eyebrow as you readjust your position against the blocks, then spread your arms wide, welcoming him right into your lap. You don’t have the courage to look him directly in the eye and choose to stare at his chest, instead, the invitation alone already taking all of your courage, so you can only hope he isn’t looking at you with disgust.

The lack of an immediate response makes you worry. He says nothing, does nothing for the longest time, and you do your best not to let your disappointment show.

Then it happens. From the corner of your eye you watch him shift into view and clamber with careful movements into the space before you, reclining clumsily into your lap. The only way he’ll fit is against your chest, his head positioned just below your chin. The fabric of his hat tickles your nose.

Your heartbeat quickens, and you feel no need to hide it. You know if his sensors don’t pick up on it, he feels it personally, back to your ribs. And mutually, you feel him.

The most vulnerable you’ve ever been.

The most vulnerable he’s ever been.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, something guttural and odd, and it takes you a minute to realize he’s pretending to snore. You playfully bat at the top of his head. He grins, eyes remaining shut. “Just trying to be helpful,” he supplies.

“No pretending,” you tuck your arms around him, peering down, “you’re supposed to be giving this whole sleeping thing a real chance, remember?”

“I am, I am.”

Silence fills the room. It’s welcomed. It’s comfortable. You work under its embrace to wrap the blankets around him fully, up to his shoulders. Then, moving slow, you reach for his hat.

Only then does he remember his voice.

“Don’t,” he mumbles, and your fingers still around the fabric, “I look silly without it.”

“Don’t worry, I think you look perfectly silly with it on, too,” you say, delighting in the halfhearted glare he sends your way, “just for today? I promise you can have it back when you wake up.”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” he reminds you, sighing, “but fine.”

You offer him another gentle squeeze in thanks and ease the hat from its place, carefully moving it off to the side for now. His faceplate beneath isn’t as shiny as you’d been expecting; not the sight of a bald man’s head, but rather, it was somewhat dented and scuffed — a result of never allowing the hat to be removed, even during maintenance, if you had to guess. You make a mental note to give it some extra love next time you manage you persuade him down to parts and services.

“What’s wrong?” He startles you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the present just on time to hear your own words cast back at you, “No goodnight kiss?”

Your cheeks flush completely. This time, you take pride in their warmth. You don’t keep him waiting.

“All you had to do was ask.”

Your hand fits beneath his chin and tilts it to face you, meeting your lips, pressed warmly, tenderly, against his forehead. His fan begins to whine. You feel him stiffen, then relax, going pliant in your arms.

Your hands begin to move. You gently encircle the joints and push carefully against the places where his lines met and pieces came together. His body, unlike yours, had no give to it, and there was no way of knowing whether this soothed him in the way it would a human, but you proceeded regardless, hopeful that it did. That this felt nice. That it felt good.

The breathy noises coming from him told you it did. If you listened close, you could hear the faint exhale of another fan somewhere deep within his inner system’s workings, exhaling stress with each deliberate touch of your fingers. You rubbed delicately, working him until the last of the tension finally gave way, and his shoulders slumped, and his body dipped heavier against you. He exhaled — a genuine, breathy sigh — only then did your hands fall again into a hug around him.

“Nighty night,” you whisper against his temple.

He smiles fondly, not bothering to hide it behind seven layers of gall, “Funny,” he murmurs, “Goodnight, starlight.”

You return his endearment, tucking him even closer, and resist the urge to rock from side to side. That might be overstepping. Instead you find yourself humming, adjacent to the music box that plays a foot away, and you spend some time staring up at the daycare ceiling where a thousand plastic stars illuminate the room.

At the ten minute mark you bow your head, and plant another small kiss to his, “Alright, Moon, a deal’s a deal. I’ve kept you long enough,” you mumble, “you’re relieved of naptime duties.”

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, his weight shifts atop you, legs tucking further into his chest, as if he’s tuned out your voice entirely. The fan in his chest moves in quiet, soothed rhythm, and it dawns on you.

He’s asleep.

Not dozing. Not daydreaming. Really, truly, asleep. His chest rises and falls with the barest motion, his body heavy against yours.

You don’t wake him. You would be crazy to, a waste of your efforts having actually paid off. Instead you relish in the breathy noises that stir in his chest — the occasional jolt in his frame which reveals he does, in fact, dream — and find a comfortable position to settle in for the next few hours.

“Sleep well, earthshine,” you whisper, forehead braced against his own, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#drabbles #fnaf moon #moondrop #moon x reader #I had to run this through my allo beta to make sure it was as gushy as intended #so it's allo approved 👍

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toritelling · 7 months

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Winter update of Heim ☃️

+ redecorated villagers' houses and additional Pokemon references. Will you find them all? Maybe you'll even see a shiny one, who knows...

DA - 3465 - 5714 - 1547

#heim island #acnh #animal crossing #animal crossing community #animal crossing screenshots #acnh community #acnh screenshots

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necarion · 1 year

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The number of Jewish actors playing Nazis in Hogan’s Heroes is perpetually a delight. These men must have had so much fun making the Nazis as pathetic and ridiculous as possible. The three Nazis here are all Jewish actors.

youtube

(Klemperer’s condition for remaining as Klink was that if Klink were every to be allowed to win, he would quit and never look back.)

And then I remember why they portrayed these characters with such viciousness:

The actors who played the four major German roles—Werner Klemperer (Klink),[16] John Banner (Schultz), Leon Askin (General Burkhalter), and Howard Caine (Major Hochstetter)—were all Jewish. In fact, Klemperer, Banner, and Askin had all fled the Nazis during World War II (Caine, whose birth name was Cohen, was an American). Robert Clary, a French Jew who played LeBeau, spent three years in a concentration camp (with an identity tattoo from the camp on his arm, "A-5714"); his parents and other family members were killed there. Likewise, Banner had been held in a (pre-war) concentration camp and his family was killed during the war. Askin was also in a pre-war French internment camp and his parents were killed at Treblinka. Other Jewish actors, including Harold Gould and Harold J. Stone, made multiple appearances playing German generals.

As a teenager, Klemperer, the son of conductor Otto Klemperer, fled Hitler's Germany with his family in 1933. During the show's production, he insisted that Hogan always win against his Nazi captors, or else he would not take the part of Klink. He defended his role by claiming, "I am an actor. If I can play Richard III, I can play a Nazi." Banner attempted to sum up the paradox of his role by saying, "Who can play Nazis better than us Jews?" Klemperer, Banner, Caine, Gould, and Askin had all spent the real Second World War serving in the U.S. Armed Forces—Banner[17] and Askin in the U.S. Army Air Corps, Caine in the U.S. Navy, Gould with the U.S. Army, and Klemperer in a U.S. Army Entertainment Unit. Klemperer had previously played a Nazi: in 1961 he played captured Nazi Emil Hahn in Judgment at Nuremberg, and also in 1961 starred as the title character in the serious drama Operation Eichmann, which also featured Banner in a supporting role.

#hogan's heroes #jewish

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sexylonestar · 5 months

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Nylon # 5714

#nylonfetish

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jualbibitpisangcavendishbandung · 11 months

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TLP/WA 0813-2038-1353, Pusat Grosir Bibit Pisang Cavendish Sumedang

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the-meat-machine · 1 year

Note

On page 5714 of Homestuck, when Jane is bopping a bunch of enemies with the lollipop juju, the cherub-looking dudes turn into Lil Cal looking guys, with the red blood ones looking just like him and the green blood ones having green lipstick and cheeks + white bowtie, instead of red and black respectively. And, Jake's Caliborn-esque symbol turns into a Lil Cal-esque symbol.

I feel like this means SOMETHING about Lil Cal, but I have no idea what. Sending this to you because I consider you the Lil Cal Expert. This is absolutely haunting me.

For those who don't remember, anon is referring to this:

Okay, so, before you sent this ask, I hadn't thought too much about this. I figured this was just reinforcing the conceptual link between cherubs and Lil Cal by implying that Trickster Mode cherubs look like Lil Cal.

But I think we can go deeper. Specifically, I'd like to think about what it would mean for Lil Cal to be a juju that's patterned after a trickster-mode cherub.

Bear with me - I'm not sure how much of this is obvious and how much isn't, so I'm just going to go through everything.

Cherubs are connected with Lil Cal

This one is fairly obvious. From a Doylist perspective, Lord English's design deliberately draws elements from Lil Cal's design, and therefore cherubs in general resemble Lil Cal. And of course, Caliborn's soul becomes entangled with Lil Cal's. Even the name Lil Cal is a clear connection.

Cherubs are connected with Trickster Mode

Again, fairly obvious. It's Calliope and Caliborn's combined jujus that cause Trickster mode. All of the Zillyweapons the tricksters create are tied with ridiculous cherub lore. Et cetera.

In addition… I'm going to quote from Hussie explaining Trickster Mode to Caliborn:

Furthermore, [Trickster Mode] could only be seen as a boon from an asocial species. You never have to deal with other people. So if you lick a magic lollipop that flips a switch in your brain that says "all my problems are solved," I guess maybe that's fine for cherubs, but if you're a human you haven't actually solved anything. By the same logic it's not much of a boon to a human's physical journey either. Using an item that lets them start maniacally powering from point A to point B isn't doing them any favors.

This seems to imply that Trickster Mode would be a better power-up for cherubs, who generally don't have to worry about petty things like "fucking up all your interpersonal relationships in a drug-induced mania". It also implies that cherubs may be physically more able to handle Trickster Mode than humans, who seem to be exhausted once it wears off. Like maybe this is a cherub power-up that isn't really meant to be used on humans.

There's also the matter of the energy that tricksters draw on to fuel their antics… but I'll get to that in a bit.

Lil Cal, specifically, is connected with Trickster Mode

As noted in the ask, Lil Cal motifs show up in several places during the Trickster Mode arc. The cherubs in that one flash turn into Lil Cal lookalikes, Jake's skull symbol turns into Lil Cal's head - plus Dirk's Trickster Mode outfit is based on Lil Cal's outfit.

The implication here is that Trickster Mode cherubs look like Lil Cal. Or to put it another way: Lil Cal looks like a Trickster Mode cherub.

And maybe we could stop there. Cherubs, Trickster Mode, and Lil Cal are all connected, so making the trickster cherubs look like Lil Cal could just be a fun visual way to reinforce those ties in the reader's head.

But on the other hand… Lil Cal could, in a way, be an embodiment of cherub Trickster Mode.

Here's where we get more speculative.

Lil Cal has trickster-like traits

What little we know about Lil Cal's "personality" reinforces the impression of him as somehow trickstery. As Calsprite, he literally does nothing but laugh, all the time, always. As a puppet, he shows up throughout the comic, appearing and disappearing in a way that's almost playful and yet also deeply unsettling. And "unsettling playfulness" is pretty much the essence of Trickster Mode.

So far, so good. This all feels like even more reason why Lil Cal makes sense as a representation of a trickster cherub.

Let's go deeper.

the enigmatic forces presiding over all that is eternal (or, what if ALL the rainbow glowy shit is connected)

Here we're going to take a bit of a detour. Ok, maybe it's more of a full-on dialectical road trip. It starts, as all the best things do, with cherub sex.

Here's a quote from Aranea's explanation of cherub reproduction (typing quirk removed for readability):

While dueling in such a monstrous form, their energy is inexhaustible. The transformation taps into the cherubs' latent connection with the enigmatic forces presiding over all that is eternal, and permeating all those endowed with immortality. Normally this power is only accessible to them during mating. In this form, they are only able to be injured by one another, and are otherwise indestructible.

The important part here is that cherubs have an innate connection to a power that imbues immortality, and this power is visually represented as a flashing rainbow energy.

This force is also almost certainly the power underlying both Caliborn/Lord English's immortality and god tier resurrections.

I'll start with the god tier resurrections, because it ties directly in with where Caliborn gets his immortality.

Here's a comparison between the god tier clock and the stock image that it was based on:

Of note here are two changes that Hussie made: 1) The angels (or should I say cherubs) on top have much larger wings. 2) The animals flanking the clock face have been changed to have crocodile heads that resemble the heads of cherubs when they're in their mating form.

All of this is to say that the god tier clock has very deliberate connections to cherubs. This, combined with its apparent function (resurrecting god tiers who have died, conditional on their death being neither heroic nor just) suggests that god tier resurrections are fueled by the same "enigmatic forces presiding over all that is eternal" as mating cherubs. We also get to see that flashing rainbow energy again when it activates:

Caliborn's reward for defeating Yaldabaoth appears to be the god tier clock itself. When Caliborn destroys it, he absorbs the (rainbow, flashing) energy it emits, rendering him unconditionally immortal. As a cherub, Caliborn is the perfect recipient for this boon - he already has an inherent affinity for this sort of power thanks to his species.

Ok, so what does this all have to do with Trickster Mode?

You know what else is associated with flashing rainbow energy? That's right: Trickster Mode.

I know, this may seem like a stretch, but also bear in mind that the exact pastel rainbow flashing colors that the tricksters talk in (and that show up when Jake, Roxy, and Dirk transform) are also seen both when one of the cherubs transforms into its mating form and when a cherub hatches from its egg (compare the text colors to the colors around the red cherub below). So, we've got more connections to cherub energy here.

My theory is that Trickster Mode taps into the same well of energy that powers cherubs' transformations during mating. In this case, the point is less the immortality and more the "inexhaustible energy" that mating cherubs have.

This would track with Trickster Mode being a power-up that's much better suited to cherubs than humans - cherubs are inherently connected to this energy and are built to withstand it. It also would give an added dimension to the tricksters' obsession with sex and babies - they're imbued with mating energy!

Under this view, Trickster Mode would be "intended" as a power-up that would grant a cherub all the power and energy they normally can only tap into while mating, presumably without needing to transform into a giant snake or waste all that energy on a years-long sex battle.

If this theory was correct, it might imply that someone in Trickster Mode would be unkillable for the duration of the transformation. There's no proof of this, which is the main reason I consider this theory to just be speculation rather than something I think was definitely intended in canon. Still, there's also no proof that tricksters aren't immortal, and would anyone really be surprised if you tried to kill a trickster and they just grinned at you and kept on going? It seems like it would be in keeping with the trickster power set, is all I'm saying.

Lord English as a perma-Trickster?

Now, as I mentioned above, as of the end of Homestuck Caliborn already has forged a permanent connection to "the enigmatic forces presiding over all that is eternal", making him unconditionally immortal and also giving him some really annoying-to-look-at eyeballs. But that in itself still doesn't grant him all the power Lord English has. He doesn't seem to, for example, have limitless energy or the ability to shoot rainbow laser beams out of his mouth.

So here's where my theorizing becomes even more improbable. I don't really think this next part is an "intended" reading, but I still think it's an interesting possibility to consider.

Lord English inherits traits from most of the souls inhabiting Lil Cal - Caliborn most obviously, but also Equius's muscles, Gamzee's honking, etc. But here's the thing: Lil Cal - as in, the juju itself - is also an ectobiological component of Lord English. It's not unthinkable that Lord English could inherit traits from Lil-Cal-the-juju - which, remember, is patterned off of a Trickster Mode cherub.

So my theory here is that Lord English is basically in a permanent Trickster Mode-like state, thanks to inheriting traits from Lil Cal. This state could be what grants him his absurdly massive amounts of power and the aforementioned rainbow-mouth-laser abilities.

After all, what does Trickster Mode do? It flips a switch in your brain that tells you that all your problems are solved and grants you huge amounts of energy to go do whatever your id desires most. And what would Caliborn do if he had unlimited energy and no obstacles left to stand in his way? I think the answer is obvious: Fuck. Shit. Up.

Lord English is basically Caliborn's id writ large and given limitless power to spend fucking shit up for all eternity. And really, what more could a cherub dream of?

#flashing images under the cut #homestuck meta #lil cal #trickster mode #meatmeta #flashing #REDOING THIS WHOLE DAMN POST BECAUSE FUCK TUMBLR

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