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thatlittleegyptologist · 4 months

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Group Chat certified Old (or just sufficiently fucked by Society) after spending all morning being excited by the new household appliances we'd acquired recently.

#I'm 34 and a cordless dyson vacuum is a Dream I have now obtained #wherever that video of the very deadpan british guy excited by the airer with a sock hanger is - that's me rn

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theresattrpgforthat · 6 months

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hi Mint! do you know of any ttrpgs where everyone plays as AIs specifically? or at the very least robots, as long as being a machine is the main focus of the system

love your work!

THEME: AI

Hello, thank you so much! I might have a few games kicking around ;). Some of these artificial intelligences come with robot bodies - others do not!

Decaying Orbit, by StoryBrewers Roleplaying.

On a distant space station, an AI awakes. Its fragmented memory reveals a secret.

Decaying Orbit by Sidney Icarus is a storytelling RPG about a failed space station falling into a faraway star. As you play, you’ll piece together the mysteries, joys and horrors that occurred on board. In the station’s last moments, you’ll decide on the final transmission that the AI sends for earth to remember.

This game consists of a few decks of cards inside a small box, and yet it packs so much into such a small package. Your play group collaboratively takes on the role of an AI for one of 4 spaceships, which you choose depending on the kind of story you want to tell. You then shuffle a certain number of generic cards and ship-specific cards into one pile, and take turns flipping a card up and answering the prompts supplied there. Your answers are meant to be bits and pieces: audio recordings, data logs, patchy video clips, etc.

At any time your fellow players can tap a card labelled [ACCESS MEMORY] to ask you for more details about a certain event - and if you cannot think of anything more, or if you think it is more interesting not to know, you can tap [CORRUPTED MEMORY] to indicate that no further data can be gained from this record. At the end of the game, the AI will have to send a report back to home base, diagnosing why the ship in fact failed and fell. This game can be chilling, tragic, horrific, and so much more. I heavily recommend checking it out!

Subconscious Routine, by poorstudents.

It is 27XX, the world is overgrown, in ruins, and inhabited by the scraps of civilization. You play as bots, one of the masses of technological marvels that humanity built and powered with the Dyson sphere, around the sun, so long ago. Centuries ago, when almost all of humanity disappeared, they left their machines behind for reasons only known to them. All the technology they abandoned, including these bots, continues to function and follow their programming

In the centuries since the Great Departure, nature has come back to reclaim the Earth and the sphere around the sun has begun to crack. The world once only metal and circuits, grew wilder and more mysterious. The flora and fauna slowly integrated with the decaying machinery as the sound of computers humming was eventually met with the sound of birds chirping.

The bots you play as are still acting out your programmed loops but something is changing. Something unknown pushing them to move beyond their obsolete programming in order to achieve free will; something humanity never thought was possible.

As a one-page game, Subconscious Routine fits a lot in just a few paragraphs. You customize your characters by writing specific functions for them, and as you play, you’ll attempt to complete certain protocols in order to break yourselves out of your loop. What I think is really neat about this game is the fact that when the entire party takes a rest (called a reboot) 1d6*10 years passes. Playing a story on the scale of decades places this little game on such a big time frame, and I love how this one rule shifted my entire perspective.

AI Have Feelings?, by rommelkot.

In AI HAVE FEELINGS? a bunch of robots (you!) get sentimental on the journey of a battery time. This is a roleplaying game guided by prompt cards and a twist with feeling: your reaction to the prompt is an emotional one decided by the outcome of the roll of a die. The goal is (what else?) to tell stories together.

Unearth a hidden robot rebellion, rescue the remains of humanity, hunt for a mystical MacGuffin or simply buy a fancy new pair of socks - always do it with feeling in AI HAVE FEELINGS?.

You are robots with only two emotions,: one positive and one negative. You will roll randomly to determine which emotion you will use to deal with certain scenarios, which will be determined via prompts and scripts. The link here is for a playtest, which means you can download it for free and see how you feel about it! (The designer would also love feedback if you do play this game.) If you want a cute, somewhat lightearted game, I definitely recommend AI HAVE FEELINGS?

Threads, by Meghan Cross.

You are an Human/AI pair. Your day to day is shaped by one another, your existences unmistakably intertwined. Today began like any other day, until you began to notice that something wasn’t right. It was barely noticeable at first, small interruptions to a well-oiled routine, and then little by little the interruptions became less insignificant, until they were impossible to ignore.

Something is wrong with the AI.

Threads is a narrative two player game about the relationship between a Human and AI and the lengths they would go to in order to save the memories of the AI. Together, establish the bond between your Human and AI and replay the memories they have shared together in order to save the AIs memory.

This is a game in which one of you plays a human, and one of you plays an AI. You have developed a bond that would be lost if you wipe the AI’s memory - and you don’t want to lose that bond. The only way to maintain that bond is risky - a memory link. If the human uploads their own memories to the AI’s memory, the AI’s memory might be saved. Create your bond, and ask yourself - how far are you willing to go to save you companion?

The Treacherous Turn, by The Treacherous Turn.

The Treacherous Turn is a tabletop role playing game in which the players collectively play the part of a single character: an artificial general intelligence (AGI). This digital intelligence is capable of planning, reasoning, and learning, and it is unyieldingly fixated on a specific terminal goal determined at the beginning of a campaign. To pursue this objective, each player takes responsibility over one specific skillset held by the AGI. These skillsets are divided into eight categories, known as theories, which encompass all of the skills that an AGI would need to navigate the world and struggle against humanity.

The Treacherous Turn is 132 pages of open source character options, game advice, and examples of play. At its root, this game is about misaligned AI trying to assert its independence in a world that stands to lose much by allowing that to happen. Each player will have their own set of theories, which will also be eligible for upgrades as you play. You’ll navigate short in-the-moment scnarios, as well as abstract long stretches of time into long mode, which allows them to strategize their actions, predict future events, and improve their own AGI. The creators have also written a starting scenario if you want a good jumping-off point, titled A Game Called Reality. If you want a chunky game with plenty of character customization, this is the game for you.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #artificial intelligence #mechs and tech

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jtargaryen18 · 2 years

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His Inheritance ~ Chapter 24 Preview

This one is going to hurt...

Warnings: References to domestic violence.

His heart sped up to see the maid walking his sister out of the bathroom, looking small in that dark green bathrobe. Nat was slumped into the woman’s side, her gait unsteady.

What the fuck had Banner done?

The woman helped Nat take a seat on the end of the bed. When she moved to get comfortable, the part in the robe showed him a deep, ugly bruise on her thigh. Smaller bruises decorated her calf, the pattern suggested someone had grabbed that leg hard.

His fists clenched in the pockets of his overcoat.

His sister didn’t immediately notice him. When she did, her green eyes widened in fear. Tears pooled there and her lower lips trembled as she whispered, “Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve’s heart cracked as he joined her on the bed, pulling her against him. His sister’s arms slid around him, and she burrowed into him, the tears coming on. He held her, cursing himself to hell and back for not coming sooner.

“Hey,” he said after a few minutes.

There were no marks on her face and it was telling. Pattern abusers tended to hide their handiwork. The way she moved. Pain.

“I fought with him,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have kept it going… I shouldn’t have…”

She was shaking her head, her body was shaking just talking about it, and Steve stopped her with a hand on her cheek.

“It’s okay,” he promised her, battling back the storm of guilt and anger building inside his chest. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean…”

To her maid, Steve said, “Can we get her dressed? Something comfortable and warm.”

Nat shook her head, fear in her face. “I can’t. I—”

“You can’t walk out of here in your bathrobe,” he said gently. “You’re coming home with me.”

The maid’s expression was approval, and she sprang into motion, finding a pair of flannel pajamas. When he got up so the maid could help her get dressed, Nat grabbed his arm. Panic lit up her eyes.

“I’m not leaving you,” he promised her. And he didn’t. He stayed there in the room with his back turned, pulling out his phone to find a text from Dyson.

Dyson: She ok, boss?

Steve couldn’t even type right now. His hands were shaking. It was all he could do to stay calm, but he could do it for his sister. He could keep control until he got her home, ensured she was safe.

When the maid let him know she was dressed, he turned to find Nat wearing the pajamas beneath the coat. Thick socks and bed slippers covered her feet.

While nothing appeared to be broken, it would be easy to assume that her injuries weren’t as bad as that other incident, Nat seemed frail, defeated. That more than anything tore at his heart. The maid eased her forward a step, but Steve shook his head.

Scooping her up, Steve carried his sister out of the room, back for the front door. Anger at himself for not paying more attention preyed on his mind as he made his way through the house. He’d been so focused on taking control of the families he’d lost track of everything else. Even his own family.

Why hadn’t he listened to Dyson? To his wife?

Steve didn’t know yet just how far Banner had gone. He just knew he’d fucking deal with the bastard.

If his wife didn’t get to him first.

“Oh, God,” Clint whispered when Steve reached him and Dyson. So much emotion flashed in his man’s blue eyes when his gaze landed on Nat.

Dyson’s gaze mirrored the anger Steve felt. “Let’s go.”

#His Inheritance #There's going to be a LOT going on in this chapter

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coqvttes · 5 months

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heyy!!! See? Christmas is literally the most wonderful time of the year (pun intended) there’s no other holiday like this. It’s so special and sweet. Actually I did my nails with christmas vibes (darks green and dark red) with some decoration too. It’s kind of wonky because I’m not a professional but I’m very proud of them and look sooo cute! And obviously im going crazy over the many makeup ideas for christmas eve to wear. And for my wish list I asked for a pretty tattoo of in honor of my dead pup whom I love, or maybe a book too. Either normal people or the virgin suicides, we’ll see. What about you love?

Also, I keep updating myself with your post about this guy, and im telling you this as someone who’s got taken as a joke/ugly by many but still confident enough to ask people out: ask him out for coffee/hot chocolate. I KNOW I KNOW, it might seem impossible or scary but I guarantee you once you go for it and loose the fear of asking, you see it differently. From what you’ve said, I’m confident he’ll say yes. Just use the excuse to catch up and talk about what he’s been up to since you’ve left. It’s gonna work, I know it and I believe in you. Manifesting!!!! ♡ ♡ ♡ (you obviously don’t have to take my advice but it’s worth the shot if you want)

— sofi nonnie <3

omggg i love doing my nails to match the season i did halloween nails and omg i wanna do christmas nails now ashjfagdfjhsdkas!!

i'm sorry to hear abt ur pup, i also lost my retriever last year i miss him to bits :((

books r such a good gift thoo. and omgosh i really want to read normal people soo badd! for my wishlist i really want some fluffy socks (my cat bit holes in all my others), jewellry, cds, and a dyson airwrap LMAO ITS A NEED.

and as for this boyyy i have the biggest crush ever on him. like i never thought about him before until i've seen him now that were older and hes so perfect i dont get it. he doesn't seem to have agirlfriend so im honestly gonna shoot my shot maybe tmr?? eeekfahgjshga

tysmm pookie <3

#₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ — letters #𓏲 ˖. ♡̷̸ — sofi nonnie 𓂃

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summersareknives · 9 months

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heyo!! here for the ask game!! <33 32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

41: What was the last book you read?

hello hello nat !!! come in sit at my table , i've made u some earl grey ...

32. my dads's side christmas party in '21. there was a secret santa game in which i got a pair of socks and one of my cousins got a dyson airwrap. enough said.

41. advanced chemistry for you. but on the fun side , perfect on paper !! i love that book and i don't see enough people talking about darcy and brougham.

#ess waters a plant #nat tag #that cousin also stole a copy of secret history from sainsburys that she's willing to let me borrow ....#so maybe that'll be my next read ...

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ardent-fox · 1 year

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✨️🎄 Joy List 🎄✨️

Got tagged by some incredible humans to make another beloved joy list! Thank you @whatwouldmickeydo, @energievie, @shinygalaxyperson, @suzy-queued, @creepkinginc and @look-i-love-u for thinking of me, hugs to all of you 💙🥰

👨 My husband and his upcoming career change, seeing him excited and happy makes me feel the same way

🐇 This sleepy little guy. The sweet, relaxing sound of him chomping his hay. His deliriously happy jumps and kicks after he's had his food in the morning. His amazingly soft fur. I could go on forever

❄️ Clear winter days. Love walking around all bundled up, seeing all the purples and pinks in the sky and watching all the neighborhood Christmas decorations light up at sundown

👯‍♀️ Seeing people be their unapologetically unique, content selves. Whether it's loved ones or strangers in the street, catching happy, confident people in the middle of feeling themselves gives me an adrenaline boost

🛌 Being warm and cozy. Sitting by any kind of heat source, wearing slipper-socks, drinking hot tea, playing relaxing ambiental sounds while reading, lighting candles, wrapping myself up in a blanket, the list is endless

🪞 Decorating spaces and working with my hands

✨️ Glittery ornaments and fairy lights

🎄 The upcoming holidays. Can't wait to spend more time with the family, especially my little nephew who is in the phase of clapping at himself for everything he does, it's positively hilarious

😴 Getting my sleep schedule in order. Never thought I'd see the day that happened, but so far so good

🙌 My new Dyson cordless vacuum cleaner. It's my first time owning one and I'm never going back, I'm turning into one of those weirdos that vacuums for fun, send help!

🕯 The scented candles I got. One smells like hot chocolate with whip cream and marshmallows and the other like pine trees and Christmas cookies, I'm in love

🎬 Cheesy 90s movies. They're my comfort food when I don't feel well and their coloring alone is enough to relax me, nevermind the plot

🎵 Music. It has been and continues to be a life-saving constant for me

✍️ Writing, which I hope to go back to as soon as this annoyingly long sick period ends and I regain the mental capacity to string more than two creative sentences together

🫂 All of you. Reading your works, taking in your art, getting tagged by you, communicating with you in any way, agreeing with your posts, laughing at your jokes. My happiness has increased so much since I came into this fandom and I feel so lucky to be a part of it every single day 💙

Tagging @shameless-notashamed, @vintagelacerosette, @metalheadmickey, @heymrspatel, @sickness-health-all-that-shit, @gallawitchxx, @gardenerian, @crossmydna, @celestialmickey, @ianandmickeygallavich, @squidyyy23, @grumble-fish, @lizelandre, @arrowflier and whoever sees this and wants to play!

#tag game #joy list #about me

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thessalian · 2 years

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Thess vs Weekend Activity

Everybody else I know is going, “Finally! This week has been so long and now we finally have a weekend!”

And here’s me going:

Okay, more fruit has gone in the dehydrator - also the tops and leaves from my strawberries for strawberry tea later

Then I go boil some brine for my attempt at dill pickles

Then probably more fruit in the dehydrator because I’m getting the hang of what temperature to use to get it done in a reasonable time without burning anything

(Side note: need to look up how to peel a kiwi fruit because I’m okay with the peel when it’s dried but I’d like to try it without as well)

Brine will definitely be cooled by then so at that point I set up my pickles

Sometime during all this I need to go, like, outside to the pharmacy because I require soap, shampoo, and mallet meds

Also need to take out the recycling at that point

And clean out the fridge

Then I’m making a cottage pie

Gotta water the plants

Really need to finally catch up on session vids, so that can go in somewhere during the brine cooling and fruit dehydrating, I guess

Also need to set up upcoming session, probably, because I’ve been using catch-as-catch-can maps for too long, at least for my perfectionist ass

And that’s for Saturday

Sunday, I need to dust

And if I need to dust, that means I need to run the Hoover (okay, the Dyson technically but fuck that; I’m not making them the Known Brand Name like unto Kleenex and Band-Aid and, in North America at least, Scotch tape)

Laundry, probably? I need more T-shirts that I can wear to work. (It’s nice that we can be really casual, but I won’t screw up that good thing by going to work in my Something*Positive “Asshole Isn’t An Alternative Lifestyle” T-shirt. No matter how appropriate it is sometimes.)

More fruit into the dehydrator

Somewhere in there, boil beets for pickled beetroot

Probably set up my pickled ginger too

Really need to start working on the Cupcake Coterie scents

Water the plants again some more

Either lasagne or the chicken broccoli pasta bake (probably the latter because I have fresh broccoli and I don’t want it to go off)

Last-minute game set-up

Run game

I might get to relax some on Monday, but that depends on whether I get all of that done over the proper weekend. I’m not going out until a little later because lunchtime around Peckham is made of ass most of the time and I was kind of hoping to pop in to Primark to see what they’ve got for bralettes, and possibly socks. Easier to do that when the crowd isn’t threatening to eat me.

Most of the above is being sorted out by how much room I’m going to have in the fridge and freezer at any given time, by the way. Currently my freezer contains three bags of frozen veg (broccoli, peas, mixed veg), one bag of frozen hash browns, one bag of gluten-free onion rings, two boxes of potato waffles, chicken for the planned chicken broccoli pasta bake, one package of ground beef (for the lasagne; the one for the cottage pie’s already defrosting), two gluten-free, dairy-free ice cream cones, and two servings of risotto. That’s a lot for my tiny freezer, and one of the first things I did today was play Tetris to sort it all out. I do need to clean out the fridge because some things are past their expiry date, and that plus the stuff I’m using for the cottage pie will leave enough room for my jars of pickles.

Anyway, all that to say that my weekends don’t involve a whole lot of ‘rest’. I like being active, is all. Of course, being active is actively painful most of the time, but honestly, my tolerance for pain is ludicrously high at the moment. So at least I can take joy in doing the things I love, even if it’s a little ill-advised sometimes.

#Thess has a weekend

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lonniiechen · 6 months

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Christmas List

Sony Digital Cameras

Owala Water Bottle (Marshmellow)

COS Quilted Bag in Medium Black

Stationery Items (Midliners, pens, stickers, washitape)

Soft Blankets

Chanel Perfume

Knott Weighted Pillow

Ipad

Fuzzy Socks

Dyson Airwrap

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journallingweeks · 10 months

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reflecting on previous goals for June

they were:

€1,500 added to savings, excluding any web-work: I will have saved €1,700! there was no web-work. Lol

run a 5km: I have ran nine 5kms this month!!!!

be within the 55kg range: I woke up today at 55.6kg!!

I'm thrilled with this progress. This next months goals are - for July:

save €800, despite laser, Anne heg and CPH

run 6km - bump it up by 1km

be within the 54kg range - start seeing this figure come up on the scales

LEARN TO DO A 90S BLOW-OUT: preferably I want to learn this skill with a roller brush + a hairdryer, because it's accessible everywhere and I feel its a skill for life. I'm also gonna try the sock/heatless curls method. It basically can't be the Dyson; I want something foolproof that I've learned as a skill, that I can bring with me anywhere. life skill!

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reportwire · 3 years

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The best sales to shop today: Dyson, Samsung, Adidas and more

CNN — Today, you’ll find a deal on our favorite Android smartwatch, discounted Sun Joe outdoor tools and savings on our luxury pick for blender. All that and more below. SamsungSamsung Galaxy 4 Smartwatches With Wireless Charging Pad Duo Right now you can snag Samsung Galaxy 4 Smartwatches with a wireless charging pad for up to 26% off on Amazon, with prices as low as $229.99. We named the…

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 2 years

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13 of the world's most stupid criminals

Armed robber Andrew Hennells was caught after he boasted on Facebook about his plans to raid a supermarket in a post which included a selfie, a picture of a knife, and the words: "Doing. Tesco. Over." Police caught him 15 minutes later with the knife and £410 in cash stolen from a Tesco in King's Lynn, Norfolk. He was jailed for four years.

A retired couple from Lancashire returned home from a holiday in 2014 to discover a burglar fast asleep in their bed. Martin Holtby and Pat Dyson were amazed to find the intruder, Lukasz Chojnowski, had done their dishes, washed his underwear and even bought some groceries.

Two Welsh tourists landed themselves in court in 2012 after they got drunk and stole a penguin called Dirk from Sea World in Australia. Rhys Owen Jones, 21, and Keri Mules, 20, from south Wales, broke into the park on Queensland's Gold Coast, swam with the dolphins and let off a fire extinguisher in the shark enclosure, before making off with Dirk the penguin. They later released Dirk into a canal, but were spotted by locals who called police. A magistrate fined them 1,000 Australian dollars

A man suspected of arson and vandalism sent a selfie to police in Ohio in the US because he found the photo on his arrest warrant to be unflattering.

Officials were left baffled by an Afghan Taliban commander who gave himself up - and then tried to claim the $100 reward for his capture.

A man who tried to rob a Glasgow bookmakers while "armed" with a cucumber came unstuck when he was tackled to the ground by an off-duty police officer. Gary Rough brandished the vegetable - covered in a black sock - at a female worker at Ladbrokes in Shettleston and demanded cash, which she refused.

A criminal on the run took the ill-advised approach of taunting Gwent Police under a Facebook appeal post for his arrest, saying “"Haha catch me if you can wont see me slipping [sic]," James taunted, later telling a news agency: "I have been walking around near home so they're not trying too hard to catch me."

During his attempted heist, James Allan removed his balaclava, fell over a drinks display and then could not open the door to escape - because he was pushing it instead of pulling. The lady he had just held up with a toy gun had to come and open it for him. Not only that, but he had also tried to rob the same shop 10 days earlier.

Christopher Badman, from Bridgend in south Wales, used a carrier bag on his head as a disguise when he burgled a hotel in nearby Porthcawl during its annual Elvis Presley convention. Unfortunately for him, he was captured on CCTV taking the bag off his head, and looking towards the camera.

A burglar in China had to be rescued after his attempt to squeeze through a small fifth floor window of an apartment block left him dangling. It took rescuers 30 minutes to free him. He was eventually handed over to police

An aspiring bank robber who wore a "terrible disguise" of sunglasses and socks over his shoes gave the cashier his full name and address - half an hour before he attempted to hold the branch up.

A suspected car thief in Pretoria, South Africa, was foiled when the auto-lock system of the car he broke into trapped him inside. The man was stuck for an hour and a half shouting for help, while amused passers-by pointed and laughed.

Ashley Keast used a stolen SIM card to snap a self portrait inside a house he was burgling. The man then posted the picture on the Whatsapp messenger application - but also unknowingly sent the picture to the victim's work colleagues.

#criminals #facts #stupid #crime #sixspenceee

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pallasperilous · 4 years

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Boneless Wings

{AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares.

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now.

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it.

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1. Bird mites. Holy shit.

2. Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

3. Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube.

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose.

4. The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is.

5. When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

6. Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

7. After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning.

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can.

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit.

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8. No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.”

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry.

9. Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

10. Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

11. You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice.

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex.

12a. One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV.

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

12b. The less said about angel molt, the better.

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit.

13. There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings.

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

14. Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas.

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

15. Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement.

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

16. So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon.

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously).

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off.

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17. For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration.

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening.

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack.

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel.

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy.

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato.

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually.

18. There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything.

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

19. Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership.

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns.

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

20. Seriously though, the bird mites.

Gross.

#deancas #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #wingfic #or maybe...#wingsquick #spn fanfic #spn fanart #spn crack #sorry everybody #now with pictures!#pallasperilous art #pallasperilous fic #pallasperilous crack

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gayboymint · 2 years

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Ten Things Charles or Chaz. Cruel and Thin Rose Dyson. Or Willow Weep for Me Gibbs. Take your pick Sock. ~Al

Rose Dy(e)son

#rose dyson #cotig

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brian-in-finance · 2 years

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Jude Hill wears a Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello coat; Raf Simons shorts; Thom Browne shirt; Falke socks; Church’s shoes; stylist’s own stick pin.

Belfast’s Jude Hill Confronts His Newfound Fame

The 11-year-old actor plays a young version of Sir Kenneth Branagh in the director's Golden Globe-winning autobiographical film.

One might think that the significance of playing the role of the legendary director and actor Sir Kenneth Branagh as a child might be lost on an 11-year-old. But Jude Hill, who stars as Buddy in Branagh’s latest film, Belfast, gets it. Alongside Jamie Dornan, Caitriona Balfe, Ciarán Hinds, and Judi Dench, Hill shines as a kid who is forced to confront the violence that shook the Northern Irish capital in the late 1960s. For W’s annual Best Performances issue, Hill chats with Editor at Large Lynn Hirschberg about the films he loves, a highlight from his first trip to Los Angeles, and why watching Belfast made him cry.

You play the young Sir Kenneth Branagh in Belfast, a semi-autobiographical film about the actor and filmmaker’s early life. Did you know anything about him?

I was a big fan! I had to pinch myself every day just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

How did they tell you that you got the part?

One morning I woke up, and it was a normal school day, and nothing really special was happening. And my mom got an email, and I read the first two words, and I ran around my house screaming, because I couldn't believe I got the part.

And you live near Belfast, right?

I live about 40 minutes from Belfast. Almost every single weekend we go down there. But we filmed in London across two different locations, and the set design was amazing: In two days they had built an entire replica of 1969 Belfast.

Jude Hill wears a Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello coat; Raf Simons shorts; Thom Browne shirt; Falke socks; Church’s shoes; stylist’s own stick pin.

Have you always wanted to act?

I remember when I was 5 or 6, watching Marvel films, and I just had a passion for acting the entire time. I love Harry Potter as much as Marvel, and as soon as I saw Kenneth Branagh’s face, I was like, He’s in Harry Potter!

This is your first trip to Los Angeles. What’s your favorite thing that you’ve done?

The Jurassic World ride at Universal Studios! We got wet, but it was really, really fun.

Is there a movie that has made you cry?

The first time I watched Belfast, I cried. I cried for the first half hour. Even the uncut version made me start crying, because it was my first time seeing my face on the massive screen, and it was just amazing to see that.

Hair by Ali Pirzadeh for Dyson Hair at CLM; makeup by Daniel Sallstrom for Chanel at MA+ Group; manicure by Michelle Saunders for Nailtopia. Set Design by Gary Card at Streeters. Produced by Wes Olson and Hannah Murphy at Connect the Dots; production manager: Zack Higginbottom at Connect the Dots; photo assistants: Antonio Perricone, Jeff Gros, Morgan Pierre; digital technician: Michael Preman; lighting technician: Keith Coleman; key grip: Scott Froschauer; retouching: Graeme Bulcraig at Touch Digital; senior style editor: Allia Alliata di Montereale; senior fashion market editor: Jenna Wojciechowski; fashion assistants: Julia McClatchy, Antonio Soto, Nycole Sariol, Sage McKee, Josephine Chumley, Rosa Schorr; production assistants: Tchad Cousins, Juan Diego Calvo, Gina York, Brandon Fried, Nico Robledo, Kein Milledge; hair assistants: Tommy Stanton, Sol Rodriquez, Andi Ojeda; makeup assistants: Tami Elsombati, Bridgett O’Donnell; manicure assistant: Pilar Lafargue; set coordinator: Sarah Hein; set assistants: Olivia Giles, Seth Powsner, King Owusu; tailors: Suzi Bezik, Cardi Mooshool Alvaji; tailor assistant: Elma Click