#hey turnip facts

[spoonmoment119]

Turnip Fact: Turnips were introduced into Britain from France by the Romans

Bread Fact: The longest bread was 400ft long (122m if youre a loser)

#all thanks to one quick google search #omigosh haii #hey turnip facts #🥺🥺 havent seen u in a while #or maybe i have #maybe i just dont know how long its been #but hellooooo :3 #welcome back #glad to see you here again!! #:D #turnip facts

[flannelepicurean]

Karate's Bad Boy Mike Barnes

Okay, I FINALLY, LITERALLY, ACTUALLY got around to watching The Karate Kid Part III, and first off, this film is an absolute GIFT. I have...so many. Just so many. But I really needed to take the time to address a big point that was brought up by the excellent friendo who made sure I could see TKK3. Here you go:

I don’t think Mike Barnes is actually that bad of a karate boy.

I know what the article said. I saw the picture. It does indeed beg the question, “What did he do to get an entire article written about him, with the headline, Karate’s Bad Boy, Mike Barnes, emblazoned over THAT PHOTO? What deeds did he do that made him exactly the right candy to tickle the fancy of a towering toxic waste billionaire in a single-serving hot tub?”

Here are some FACTS, my sweet Cadbury snake eggs.

Mike Barnes is not karate’s bad boy, and he never was. Terry Silver is. You know it. I know it. Everyone in LA knows it. Mike Barnes knows it. And the minute he laid eyes on that shoujo-manga villain from afar, he was like, “I’m gonna sweep the leg on that man’s heart and get swept off my feet into a billionaire romance novel. [Dramatic turn] But HOW…”

Next thing you know, he’s storming into the HQ of The Karate Times to rock them like a hurricane, demanding they write an article about how he’s Karate’s Bad Boy. They scoff at him because, no, TERRY SILVER is karate’s bad boy. What, did you just get off the bus from turnip town?

And Mike is like, I dunno, “Actually, Kalamazoo, and I’ve been here for a couple years, but THAT’S NOT THE POINT, MAN! YOU GOTTA WRITE THAT ARTICLE!!!”

And the editor, whose name is Paulie, is like, “Why? You already knocked over Denise’s typewriter and a filing cabinet. Why would we do anything for you?”

And Mike’s like, “BECAUSE…[breathing with maximum nostrils] BECAUSE… [eyes becoming shiny] ...because…” And then he breaks down anime-style about how he needs senpai to notice him so he can do an elaborate scheme to win the heart of a billionaire villain.

Paulie and the entire staff lean forward like, “Wait…you’re saying that…you…and Terry Silver…”

Mike looks up. Fingers snap a jaunty rhythm in the background, and his eyes glow like prom-night lights as he begins to explain, “He…he…” A basso voice drops a jelly-bouncing, “JITTERBUG,” into the soundtrack. Mike’s grin twinkles. “Just…awakened something, I guess…”

JITTERBUG.

Paulie slams his palms on his desk and rockets to his feet, hollers, “Why didn’t ya say so?! If you say you can break boards…let’s go see if you can break hearts.”

Mike looks around as the staff mobilize with gusto, hardly believing his luck. “Really? You’ll help me?!”

Paulie spreads his arms wide. “This is KARATE TOWN, kid! We do wacky shit like this all the time! Come on, let’s get you a PHOTO SHOOT!” Mike follows the staff to a warehouse area off the side of the office, where the lights are bright and the possibilities are endless, breathes with amazement, “Wow, so many punching bags…”

He hits that high with all the kicks. So many beats per minute on those punching bags. Puts the boom boom into everyone’s hearts and goes bang-bang-bang until Paulie shouts, “THAT’S IT! THAT’S THE ONE! START THE PRESSES!!!”

The building’s doors WHAM open a few hours later, and Mike steps out, a big stack of newsprint headshots clutched to his chest, his smile as dazzling as the California afternoon as he twirls like Mary Tyler Moore and releases them like doves or parade confetti into the air, then goes skipping down the sidewalk toward his destiny.

A cop snatches one from the air and calls, “Hey! That’s littering!”

Paulie sidles up next to him and warns, “Careful, Arnie—that’s karate’s bad boy, Mike Barnes.”

Arnie rolls his eyes. Scoffs, “C’mon. Terry Silver’s karate’s bad boy.”

Paulie gazes off at the trail of litter in Mike’s wake, a twinkle in his eye, and a gnomish smile on his face. “Not anymore.”

Arnie looks down at the picture in his hand: A sharp face, and fists poised, a mean mug like a mad mongoose, ready to take on a snake ten times his size. Raises a brow. Remarks, “Wow.” Turns to Paulie. “You’re gonna be busy.”

Paulie shrugs. “Denise is already workin’ on a wedding feature and a couple obituaries.”

Arnie shakes his head. “You picked the right town to do business.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Paulie chuckles. “It’s freakin’ bonkers here.”

#karate kid 3 #tkk3 #mike barnes #fic idea #fanfic idea #karate's bad boy #or is he? #no he's not #terry silver #is karate's bad boy #we all know it #but that's why mike had to hatch an elaborate scheme #tricks and kicks #sweep the leg on his heart #saw that slicked back ponytail #it awakened something in him #like #make some room in that china tea cup of a hot tub baybeeeeee #notice me senpai #this is karate town #we do this shit all the time #breaking boards #breaking hearts #it's fucking bonkers here #denise writes karate rpf all day #some of it just comes true #what a gift #absolute treasure

[octo-not]

Episode 1

The Undersea Storm

“Only in emergencies” wonder if that’s going to come back

It’s heading straight for us, but the thing goes straight up and It's already in the storm

Vegamalese???... No

Why is the polar bear British?

 outside! 

Is Kwazii a pirate? we’ll never know

Pirate with a heart of gold

 he cannot in fact hear you

“Big storm? What big storm?” *Points up “that one”

Oh, they saved the sea urchin. That’s good

 girl I think you mean seconds not minutes

 hey two hands on the wheel

Gup-b. Like guppy. Haha

The gup-c! There’s a third one!

Are there gups a-z?

What the fuck did that tow line hook on to?

Those poor radishes are trying so hard While doing nothing 

Why is the gup-c so much bigger than the gup-b? Because it’s gup-c.0

I think several of these animals would die if they had chocolate

The turnip is credited as tunip, but they call it turnip

#reaction #octonauts

[sydmarch]

Suggestion

evrart/oc fic is done at last...

summary from AO3:

Browsing fayde and came across: Easy Leo - "Oh hey, Mr. Harry!" The little fellow looks happy to see you. "It sure is nice of you to help out Mr. Evrart like you've been doing. He's so awfully busy most days -- he doesn't even eat the turnip porridge me missus sends him every day. She makes it with lots of butter and sliced sausage, she does... It's delicious." and have had my brain damaged beyond repair by it.

Second person from the POV of my OC, Sid, who owns a bakery in the Doomed Commercial Area. After hearing the above from Leo, they decide to stop by Evrart's office with everything they weren't able to sell before closing up shop for the day.

WC: 3637

AO3 link here or you can read below the cut

the tags on AO3 are a bit scattered so instead of copying them directly i'll warn you this contains a blow job, vaginal sex, references to feedism (there's surprisingly no actual feeding in this but it's a fairly central theme), body worship, size contrast, belly kink, mind games/power dynamics, & some sexualization of reduced mobility. if you don't like any of that just keep scrolling!!

Waving to Mañana as you make your way into the harbor, you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. You’re hoping that this visit will be interpreted as a simple display of generosity, but as soon as this thought crosses your mind you know that you’re kidding yourself. This is Evrart after all - if anyone’s going to realize you’re making up an excuse to drop by, it’s him. Although you’ve only met a handful of times, you’re certain that someone so perceptive has no doubt taken note of your wandering eyes

Despite this, you hold out some hope that maybe you won’t be quite so easy to read. It’s not like you’ll be lying about having baked more than you were able to sell for the day. Most days you did exactly that - to the point where giving out leftovers to whatever friends happen to be hanging around the DCA when you close up shop is something you’ve become known for. Something that is sincerely an innocent display of hospitality - you are naturally generous - so why would this be any different? 

Because it’s Evrart, of course. During your relatively short time spent Martinaise, you've quickly come to realize this man seems to know everything. More than that, whatever he doesn’t know, he intuits. Almost effortlessly so. The more you ponder this, walking along the winding pathway atop the containers, the more you start to suspect it’s part of the reason Evrart appeals to you. He’s a master of a game that you clearly enjoy playing as well, considering how much thought you’ve put into this. Maybe some part of you wants to be bested. You’re definitely aware of the fact that whenever you’re around him, two parts of your mind start vying for control; Salesmanship, admiring his technique - and Electrochemistry, admiring his body. 

As usual, you make small talk with Leo before entering Evrart’s office, although today your mind is racing so much that you barely manage to half-listen. Leo, friendly as ever, doesn’t seem to mind your inattentiveness. More likely he doesn’t even notice. Once free from the exchange, you steel yourself before stepping into the container and carefully ascending the makeshift staircase. 

On more than one occasion you’ve wondered if this staircase - no more than a pile of stacked wooden crates - is yet another tactic intended to throw visitors off balance. Just like that godawful folding chair. Although the chair doesn’t inconvenience Evrart directly in the same way as this staircase would, when he has his own, much more comfortable one, behind that massive desk. How the hell does he possibly manage these stairs? 

Of course, you’ve heard the rumors that he never actually leaves this container. You’ve never never put much stock into it - like most things when it comes to Evrart, you suspect there’s more to it than meets the eye. Although not buying into the theory doesn’t mean that you hadn’t given it plenty of thought. Far more thought than you probably should, in fact.

You couldn’t help it, really, with the way that Electrochemistry had reared its ugly head the moment you overheard part of that conversation in the Whirling: “No, I'm telling you, he doesn’t leave the container because he can’t. You think he or his brother can still walk? Ha!” 

Approaching the top of the stairs, you shake off the thoughts before entering the upper container. Now’s not the time to allow your mind to wander. Especially not in that direction. 

Looking towards Evrart’s desk, you see he’s already watching you. Of course - he knew you were coming. 

"Good evening, my friend! To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

Evrart straightens from his typewriter as he greets you, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. You’re familiar enough with his mannerisms to know he often assumed this position, but you can’t help but notice that this time there seems to be something more exaggerated in the motion. He stretches more slowly than usual, maybe - with more intent behind it. 

Against your better judgment, you look him up and down. It’s like your eyes have developed a mind of their own, seeing him with his arms back as if putting his body on display for you. You suppress a shiver. 

Before Electrochemistry can lead you any further down this incredibly distracting line of thinking, you reply.  

“Well, I was chatting with Leo the other day and he mentioned you’ve been so busy with the strike that you haven’t really been eating… so when I realized I’d baked more than I was able to sell today I figured I'd drop by with what’s left over, since I’d be passing by the harbor either way.” 

Flashing a smile that you hope doesn’t come off as anxious, you gesture with your free hand to the bag held in the other. The name of your bakery, “Delicacies, Confections, and Abandon”, is scrawled across the front. 

The smile Evrart flashes back to you falls somewhere between affable and predatory. 

“Well, isn’t that generous of you!” He leans further back into the leather chair. “Especially generous, for someone who has no direct ties to the union.” 

His good eye is trained on you - unwavering. You can’t help but swallow heavily before responding. 

“Not being employed by the union doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything that you do for Martinaise.” 

Almost imperceptibly, Evrart raises an eyebrow.

“‘You’ meaning the union, of course.” While you manage not to stutter out the correction, you’re painfully aware that your response was too rushed to feel natural. 

“Of course!” he replies. His grin widens. 

You feel as if he can see through you completely. 

“While I do truly appreciate your generosity, Sid, why don’t we cut to the chase and discuss why you’re really here, hm?”

He’s thrown you off balance there; you weren’t expecting so much forwardness so soon. Intuition sets your mind racing with possibilities. It’s clear that your best bet is to buy yourself a bit of time. Rein your thoughts back in. 

“Sorry, Mr. Claire?” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you can’t keep yourself from looking at me. And trust me, my friend, I can always tell if someone’s looking out of disgust or because they like what they see - I’ve had plenty of experience with both.” 

Your heart skips a beat. Some small part of you manages to be glad that at least he didn’t misinterpret you and take offense to your wandering eyes. You know it’s pointless to protest, but your Salesmanship fails you and your mouth gets ahead of your brain. 

“I, uh, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh come now, no need to play dumb.” He shakes his head at you chastisingly while wagging a finger. “We both know you’re smarter than that - I  truly do admire your little cover story today.” Leaning forward, Evrart braces his forearms on the desk before continuing.

“Not to mention going into baking in the first place. An excellent front for what you’re really interested in. Very clever” 

Fighting Intuition to silence the stream of “ohgodhefiguredmeoutdidn’theIshouldhaveknownhewouldknow” flooding through your mind, you regain your Composure and reply much more confidently now. 

“I enjoy the work.”

“I’m sure you do - no doubt you also enjoy the effect it has on people.” He looks up at you with a knowing gleam in his eye. 

Despite Evrart’s insistence that there’s no need to play dumb, you aren’t ready to give up on one of your most tried and true methods quite so easily. 

“...Making them happy?” You tilt your head to the side in a well-rehearsed display of confusion. 

While you may be skirting around the truth, it’s not a lie. You enjoy the simple, innocent pleasure of bringing people joy through your baking just as much as you enjoy the things that you’re certain Evrart’s hinting at. While employing half-truths got you far in your old life, you doubt it will be as impactful here. Evrart is bound to recognize the taste of his own medicine. 

“Sure,” He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s all about making people happy. And watching them fatten up in the process is just an added perk, is it?”

Head spinning, you’re almost glad when Evrart keeps going - it saves you from having to come up with a reply. 

“Sid, don’t look so surprised, now! I know how often you visit the Whirling in Rags to drop off leftovers for that cafeteria boy. And I’ve certainly noticed the effect those visits have had on his waistline. Honestly, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to approach me. Hurt, even!” He places a hand to his chest dramatically, but his expression looks anything but. 

He continues. “Tell me, was I simply too intimidating for you? Too big a fish to fry?”

His emphasis is careful. Deliberate. 

Blushing, you realize this is one of the rare occasions where words fail you completely. Salesmanship has checked out. Electrochemistry dominates your mental landscape, pooling hot in your gut. 

Although you had always refused to so much as entertain the idea of broaching this topic with Evrart (the consequences of such a conversation going badly with someone so powerful… offering up that kind of information about yourself to someone who wasn’t interested… your Intuition wouldn’t let you consider it.) this was exactly the kind of thing you’d fantasized about, wasn’t it? If only Evrart knew, then maybe you could find yourself on the other side of the desk, straddling him in that leather chair.  

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He leans back in his chair again, eyeing you smugly over his glasses. 

“You could try saying exactly what it is you want.”

He already knows what you want. More than that, he knows that you know that he knows. Evrart’s got you right where he wants you. You can tell from his shit eating grin  - godwhyisthatshiteatinggrinsohot - that this is all part of the game to him. He’s getting a kick out of watching you squirm. 

Now that you’ve actually found yourself in this position, it’s time to ask yourself - what do you want? 

You’ve always seen yourself as the dominant one. You certainly are with Garte, not to mention all of the others before him. But you had always felt differently when thinking about Evrart. There was just something about a man who oozed power and control to such an extent - someone who was so physically imposing… you couldn’t imagine yourself wanting to do anything besides whatever he asked of you. 

Be that as it may, you don’t intend to submit so easily. It’s not in your nature. Plus, you know Salesmanship intimately enough to be familiar with the thrill of a challenge. A thrill you’re certain Evrart has to be familiar with as well. He wants to see you squirm? Draw on all of your Composure and don’t give him the satisfaction. 

You sigh in exaggerated defeat.

“What can I say? You’ve read me like a book. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you. And I’m sure you’ve known the whole time, haven’t you?” 

For just a fraction of a second, he appears caught off guard. You suppress a smile - proven right that he hadn’t been expecting such directness after your earlier stumbling. 

“Yes, well, as I mentioned, your looks were far from subtle. Speaking of which,” He laughs, and his hands move to his collar as he slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. “No need to keep up the act. You can look all you’d like.” 

You shouldn’t look. If you look, your brain will short circuit, Electrochemistry will run wild, and you’ll lose all hope of playing it cool. Knowing this, you still can’t resist for longer than a moment. Not after how many times you’ve undressed him with your eyes. 

You look. 

Your heart pounds as if it’s trying to break free of your chest. 

Everything you take in - the obvious softness of his exposed skin, the sparse patch of dark hair across his chest, the sheer size of him - sends a rush of heat through you. It fills you with a desperate need to be over there, hands exploring every inch of his body, right now. 

As if reading your mind, Evrart pushes his chair back from the desk and beckons you to approach.  

“I do hope you don't mind doing most of the work here. Unfortunately my health prevents me from getting up. You understand.” 

The implication is obvious. He’s figured you out so well that he doesn’t even have to say it and yet here you are - biting your lip to keep yourself from reacting. Salesmanship tells you he’s only trying to get a rise out of you; Acumen tells you in all likelihood this doesn’t actually mean anything; but Electrochemistry tells you ohgodhereallyisjustthatbig. 

You place your bag down, realizing that yes - you have indeed been holding your bag this entire time, with the canvas strap you’d wound around your palm clenched in your fist like a stress ball - before making your way around the desk. 

It takes all the willpower you’ve got left to keep your hands off of him. You’re painfully aware that would be the obvious move, and despite your longing, you aren’t willing to let him win just yet. 

Instead of reaching out, you grab the bottom hem of your sweater and pull it over your head in one fluid motion before dropping it onto the desk behind you. You aren’t wearing a bra - you never are. Smoothing your hair back into place with much more drama than necessary puts your breasts on full display. 

Lowering your arms after completing the motion, you hazard a glance down at Evrart. While his expression remains composed, you can tell from the bulge in his pants that you’ve gotten to him. 

He doesn’t say anything. At this point fully aware that he no longer needs words to counter your movies. Instead, he shrugs off both his shirt and blazer at once. 

He’s got you good. 

The two of you haven’t even touched yet, and somehow you’re more turned on than ever before. He makes a show of undressing, drawing out every movement so you can fully appreciate how each motion sends ripples through his flesh.

Giving into temptation, you move so quickly that you’re on your knees before your mind even realizes that your body has made this decision. Hands nearly shaking from arousal, you unbuckle Evrart’s belt and unzip his pants. His lower belly spills out, exposed mere inches from your face. The sight of it, doughy and warm and just begging to be grabbed, forces you to bite your tongue to hold back a whimper. 

Even so, your obvious arousal doesn’t go unnoticed by Evrart, who smirks down at you and repositions himself slightly. He’s unbearably close now. 

You reach out - however you retain enough Composure to subvert Evrart’s expectations, pulling down his underwear rather than feeling him up the way you so desperately want to. 

Instantly your mouth is on him, with not a moment spared to admire his cock first. You don’t like cock much, really - but what you do like are the moans you’re rewarded with when your tongue presses flat against his shaft. 

If your mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, you’d grin. You feel as if you have the upper hand for the first time in this exchange - at least for the time being. Only now that you’ve managed this small victory do you allow your hands to roam. 

Cognizance and Electrochemistry work in tandem to take in every detail. The dimpled skin of plush thighs brushing against your palms, followed by the subtle indentations of long faded stretch marks beneath your fingertips as your hands make their way up Evrart’s belly - it sends a thrill up your spine and down between your legs. 

Fuck. You can’t believe how good he feels. 

Usually you wouldn’t be ready to escalate so quickly. But something about the combination of Evrart’s soft body beneath your hands and hard cock inside your mouth has you desperate for more. So you pull back, leaving a line of spit stretching from your bottom lip to the tip of Evrart’s dick like spider silk. 

Looking up at Evrart, you can see that he’s about to ask you something - what you’re doing, why you stopped - whatever it is doesn’t matter. If you want to maintain the fragile control (or maybe just the illusion of control - who’s to say this isn’t playing out exactly as he wanted it to?) you’ve managed to gain, you cannot allow him to get a word in. 

As quickly as you can manage with the way your head spinning from arousal, you get your feet underneath you. Using one hand to steady yourself against the desk, you use the other to peel off both your shorts and panties in one go. 

Before Evrart can say anything, you’ve climbed onto his lap and have buried him inside you. He gasps. You barely manage to keep yourself from doing the same. It takes a few moments of adjusting your position before you can really start working your hips. Realizing just how wide you have to spread your legs to accommodate him makes you even more wet. 

Once you’ve gotten into a good rhythm, you look down to admire your bodies juxtaposed against each other. The contrast drives you wild - compared to you, he looks even bigger. His hands are all over you; such large hands that completely envelop your ribcage, the small of your back… 

Emboldened, you move your hands from where you’ve had them braced against the backing of the chair and place them on his sides. You thought he felt good before, but that was nothing compared to how he feels now that you’re gripping his lovehandles while riding him. 

Still, you need more. You lean in even closer, pressing your front completely against his. 

Moving your hands to his shoulders to facilitate the change in position puts your face just inches right up against his neck, which you kiss with wild abandon before it occurs to you; wait, am I going to leave Evrart Claire with a hickey? The thought may scandalize you, but Evrart either doesn’t consider the idea or doesn’t care - he just pulls you in even closer. 

Held so tightly against him, your entire body can feel the jiggling that accompanies each thrust. It’s so overwhelming that after just minutes in this new position, you’re on the edge. Despite being on the verge of orgasm some small part of your mind - Salesmanship, most likely - still manages to chime in, unable to believe that you’re really going to finish first. It doesn’t matter - with his cock filling you up and belly pressed against your clit, you can’t stop yourself from cumming. 

As the orgasm overtakes you, you bury your face into Evrart’s neck to muffle the cry that escapes your lips. Only to find out there was no need, as he reaches climax in tandem with you while making no attempts to silence himself. 

He must have really been keeping it together, to have been so close without you having any idea. Although, you were very preoccupied. 

Rather than climbing off of Evrart’s lap once you’ve both finished, you hold your position. Enjoying the feeling of his body against yours is certainly a motivation for you not to get up, but you stay in place mostly because you’re not sure how to face him after this. What do you do next? What do you say? It’s much easier to remain where you are; face buried in Evrart’s neck, your bodies glued together with sweat. 

You can’t say how much time passes like that - not a sound in the room aside from your breathing and the ticking of the novelty swordfish clock on the wall nearby - before Evrart clears his throat. 

“While there’s truly nothing I’d enjoy more than to spend the rest of the evening with you naked on my lap, I do unfortunately have other matters I must attend to.”

Your face goes red, and you’re grateful he can’t see your blush. After scrambling off his lap,you turn around quickly and gather your clothing. Dressing slowly, you draw out the time spent with your back to him in order to get your expression under control once more. 

Fully clothed, you smooth out your sweater and turn back to Evrart; fully dressed as well, albeit with his shirt still halfway unbuttoned. 

“I do expect you to drop by again, Sid. Next time you’ve ‘baked too much.’” He pauses from buttoning his shirt to punctuate his remark with exaggerated air quotes. 

“Oh?” You tilt your head, curious. You hadn’t been expecting this to come back up once he saw through you. 

“Yes, of course! It’s just like you said before, after all. I really have been too preoccupied with the strike to be eating properly.” He gestures down at himself with a dramatic wave of the hand. “I’m practically wasting away! You wouldn’t want to have a hand in that, now, would you?”

“Of course not, Mr. Claire.” You suppress a smile and try to respond as demurely as possible. 

“Oh come now. I think we’re well past this “Mr. Claire”, aren’t we, my friend? Call me Evrart, I insist.” He flashes you the same shit eating grin as before. 

No way. You can’t say you know what his angle is - Is this a test? A genuine request? A power play too complex for you to work out on the fly? What you do know is that refusing to merely play along has gotten you this far, at least.  

You mirror his grin before responding. 

“I’ll see again you very soon, Mr. Claire.”

#oughhh oh man i can't believe i'm actually sharing this lmao. be niceys to me i'm vulnerable! i'm a cat showing you its tummy! #de #disco elysium #evrart claire #my writing #texticles

[princeofmints]

hey i wanna know more about you because i think youre cool beans

whats the one media that you think is so underrated that you would recommend anyone and everyone to consume

i had to take forever to sit and think abt what the most Niche Thing i like is LKJSLSJG

honestly it is probably Rune Factory but i wouldn't necessarily recommend it to everyone but like

for me it's perfect bc i like farming sims but Harvest Moon and Stardew Valley don't quite cut it for me . i like that Rune Factory is not only more actively a fantasy game w more dungeons in it but has a major active plot (Stardew is very relaxing but the story of it is not nearly dramatic enough to keep me drawn in for long periods of time augh) and i like that if you want animals in ur barn you have to Go Out and tame them urself and not just. buy them. and they do so much... i love the way the monsters function in Frontier i like that you pet them to tame them and that they have specific jobs they each do (i like being forced to tame a variety of monsters if i want to automate my farm the fact you can just assign any monster to do anything in the later games makes me u_u i like having monsters that specifically water or weed, and then having my product monsters and fighter monsters be others/specific ones )

i think in terms of which game in the series i would tell people to play probably 4. i love Frontier and 5 to death but i think 4 takes the crown. sldkgj. i think the bachelors in 5 are my favourites a as group they're all just character types that tickle my brain a lot but 4 is just a more ironed out experience and i much prefer the story in it, and the fact the characters actually interact outside of events makes it so much more charming. and the environment is believable (listen 5 has a lot of shortcomings but it's the one that got me Back Into the series recently so it's special to me

i am very glad that in 5 you can be gay but there is a mod(s) for 4 that allows same sex marriage (it's not flawless but at least i get to be gay with Leon and Dylas and Vishnal. especially Leon)

i like that there is A Lot Of Plot in them but it's still very self guided like there is a sense of peril/impending doom but i can still play at my own pace like Yeah i gotta go restore magic n shit but. i am broke i need to grow some turnips for a sec. or i'm tired let's go fishin'. Not in the mood to adventure today i'm gonna go on a few dates. you don't need to be rushing thru plot to be able to experience things bc the town/farming life is just separate enough from the main story you can choose what ur gonna do with ur time and still be making progress

but like again i wouldn't be like EVERYONE PLAY THESE NOW it's more like. hey do you like farming sims but just wish they had a bit more ?? you like fantasy games but want a self paced experience that doesn't feel like ur completely putting the world on pause when you don't actively run thru it ?? try these <3

also the older games are kind of. dated. lmao like even in 4 there are some moments where i am like "yes this is definitely a 10 year old game" and by god sometimes i'll pick up the games with Raguna in them just like ah yes. 2000's attempts at 'humour' and it's just misogyny that i didn't recognize when i was younger

everything else i'm into tends to have a pretty big fanbase or at least one that i think is like the Right Size. like Obey Me! and Genshin Impact and Kingdom Hearts are incredibly popular and things like Hotline Miami i think have the right size fanbase. idk if there's anything i'd recommend to EVERYONE i tend to be like "hey if you want A and B try this" with whatever it is.

idk if any of this makes Sense but i am happy to ramble abt my silly little farming game bc it's one of the few things i have like. never Accidentally run into content for it's the One Series i find that i have to actively hunt for content for and i think it deserves more

[br4influids]

How the Obey Me brothers would react to me.

So I'm going to go ahead and put y'all in my shoes. I'm a chronically ill 16 year old, I've been diagnosed with Autism ADHD and generalized anxiety disorder. I tend to trust the wrong people like with my life. I struggle with bone marrow failure resulting in a lot of fainting but like while i'm still conscious I just can't see... or stand. Alright.

You arrived in the Devildom and you're absolutely terrified, like scared shitless. You're shaking and they can 1000% smell your fear. But you power through it and speak to these odd demons.

Lucifer:

Man thinks he got the wrong human.

This human is going to get killed. They just asked no questions and followed a demon home.

After a while he gets to know your personality and loves your dark humor.

He WILL let you follow him around like a lost puppy, you follow directions way better than any of his brothers.

He loves that he only has to scold you once and you'll never do it again. (He doesn't realize thats only because you're terrified)

This man is always watching you. These awful demons would love to take advantage of your blind trust.

Lucifer learns what situations you're okay in and when he needs to step in and help.

He would make sure you got all your meds on time.

Mammon:

He's probably laughing at this stupid, weak human at first.

He starts talking to you and realizes you're kinda cool... I mean no you're not. (Little tsunedere boy)

He would not leave you alone

Yes, you can follow me again. BUT it's only because I was trusted to watch you.

He'd randomly burst into your room only to find the countless pill bottles on your bedframe. He'd freak out and ask you about them so you explained your "wonderful" disease to him.

Man is watching you even closer now.

Bitch if you pass out in front of him and say your normal "I'm alright" line to him he'd be like WTF YOU'RE NOT "ALRIGHT"

The man loves you.

Levi:

Hey, you're not a normie? You watch anime and stream on Twitch.tv???????

Y'all are binging anime 24/7 and playing fucking Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion while streaming together.

His room is an actual sensory heaven

(I cant think of much more for Levi)

Asmodeus:

OMG YOU'RE SO CUTE AND QUIET LIKE A MOUSE

he loves the fact that you do absolutely nothing to stop him when he hugs you, you just kinda stand there and accept it.

He'll pamper you

He'll brush your curly short hair and style it.

Days you're in pain or too fatuiged to move you're getting special treatment. Hes giving you a warm melatonin bath, hes taking care of your hair and skin. he's giving you his most comfortable silk pyjamas.

Throwing pill bottles at you when you need them, he keeps them in his purse for you.

Hes dragging you around everywhere with him because he knows you have separation anxiety. And when you're out with him hes not letting go of your hand.

Satan:

He's done research on all your diagnosis' and medications.

He's ready to be the one to remind you about your meds.

Satan is the one to get called when you fucking fall over and basically pass out.

Oh, you like reading? Whats your favorite book?

He'll read you to sleep on the nights you can't sleep.

You're struggling to write an essay because its all about emotions which you can't explain? He's got your back.

He's ready to have a debate with the teacher to get you out of a presentation.

If you like cats just as much as he does you're going to get an emotional support cat for the house.

Oh, someone tried to take advantage of you? I'll be right back :)

Beel:

Why does this human keep forgetting to eat?

You're tired? I can carry you the rest of the way.

Excercise raises Dopamine levels, come work out with me!

You pass out he'll probably offer you food.

You're scared of the other demons? He'll keep them away from you :)

He's going to protect you from any anxiety triggers

Belphie:

Humans don't normally sleep this much right?

You explain your illness and he's helping you sleep on nights that you can't.

Belphie will set reminders on your D.D.D. to remind you to take your meds.

He'll hold your hand when out in public and try to shield you from any unwanted attention.

He is a little worried about how quickly your trust built with him even after he killed you. So he's sticking by your side at all times.

#obey me #obey me brothers

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 1,662

so hey

so hey since its your bday i had to get you back for the sick memorabilia you got me so i got you this godawful thing and now i just know youre standing there flipping your shit over it so youre welcome. its the actual gross bunny in the movie so that means nick cage actually grubbed it up with his clownish no talent fingers. i would suggest you put it somewhere and display it ironically but i know youre dead serious about this ridiculous shit so youll probably sleep with the damn thing and nibble its ear and stuff. but the weird thing is thats whats cool about you. youre this naive guy like pinocchio tumbled ass backwards off the turnip truck and started liking ghostbusters. then the fairy godmother kissed your nose or some shit and you turned out to be not made of wood and also pretty cool to talk to. one day your gooberish ways are gonna land you in a jam and i know im going to have to get you off the hook but its cool i got your back bro. then we'll meet and hug bump and get each others filthy wife beaters that much filthier so yeah peace dawg tg

Author commentary: Here's a fact about me you may not know. I actually own the original Con Air bunny. I bought it in 2013, I think, for around $1,000. It was a lavish expenditure I guess, but it seemed worth it, just so I could be sure the bunny would be protected forever, stuffed somewhere carelessly in my closet. It also came with a certificate of authenticity, just like John's did. I had to buy it for myself, because I don't have any friends good enough to buy something like that for me. None of us do. Well, except for John.

#homestuck

[raybyanothername]

Sloan's Rosary: Chapter Nine

The vibrations of the road increased as Hask turned off the highway onto the county road. Killian always drove through Houston – some crap about being quicker with the 45 and the 10. The county roads were far superior. Slower, maybe, but they were for sure prettier.

Houston was all grey and beige – tall buildings of glass and suburbs of stucco’d houses with green lawns the size of basketball courts. Ha. Lame.

Hask had grown up in Rose Meadow. Few buildings went over two stories. City Hall and the Baptist’s Steeple were it. And flowers covered every inch – blues, pinks, purples, yellows, and every shade of green one could imagine and then a few more.

“Take the highway, Hask,” Hask grumbled out in a poor imitation of his older brother’s voice, “It’s half the time! Listen to your elders.” He chuckled, grinning to himself as he passed by a newly planted field of cabbage.

Colors. That’s what made a trip worthwhile. Anything less than watercolor inspiring was worth less than a nap.

He passed another field a few miles later – mustard. The yellow flowers sprung up, blooming, coating the horizon in a feverish glow. There was a turnip crop just past that, extending the halo even further with a softer tone.

“Yellow’s definitely my favorite color,” Hask thumbed the dash of his truck. His yellow steering wheel cover clashed horrendously with the Dallas Cowboy seat covers according to Killian’s last girlfriend. But Hask didn’t care, “It’s a happy color.”

The yellow flowers gave way to a few abandoned fields, overrun by weeds and in need of a tilling. Then came the lettuce fields. Miles and miles of ‘em.

It was another hour before Hask’s spine straightened in anticipation for his first look at the Meadow. The entire northern limits of town were dominated by the vast field of wildflowers.

But the splashes of multi-colored flowers never came.

The green grass browned as Hask drove closer to the town line. It was completely gone when he turned onto Rose Way – the street that led into the center of town. It dead ended at City Hall with a roundabout that branched out into Freesia Street, Cherry Street, and Carnation Place.

The street lights on Rose Way were all circled with small flower beds year round. They were empty. The normally green lawns of the historic homes were brown – just a bunch of dirt without even weeds for color.  

Hask drove further along the two-lane road into the heart of town - the roundabout that was usually slathered in roses and green from March to November was circled with only brick and wooden buildings.  The flowerboxes in the business windows, the trellises that climbed the official buildings – all the roses were gone, just dying stems without any leaves. Thorny sticks.

He took Cherry Street and headed west. In the western most neighborhood, Hask furrowed his brow. His parents’ lawn didn’t look any better than the fancy ones on the east side – a few patches of brown grass were the only evidence that green had ever graced the space with its presence.

The same could be said for his mother’s herb box on the patio. It was just a box of dirt.

“Hey, sweetie,” Marlene Michaels was smiling in the doorway when Hask got out of the truck, “Good drive?”

“It was till I got here,” Hask gestured to the lawn, face pinched, “What’s with all the dead stuff?”

His mother’s smile twitched, “Unusually cold – plants couldn’t take it.” Hask raised an eyebrow. Rose Meadow was green all year round. Obnoxiously so. It calmed down a bit in the winter, but it was only September.

“I was here last month and things were fine,” Hask didn’t mention that fact that in the near thirty winters he’d seen in Rose Meadow, not a single one had come close to this…brown.

The smile dropped completely. Marlene sighed and waved Hask inside. Where freshly baked chocolate chip cookies enticed Hask into the kitchen.

“So?” Hask asked around a mouthful of cookies, “What’s up?”

“Record lows is the actual reason,” Marlene huffed as she opened the fridge. She pulled out the pitcher of lemonade, “But most everyone is blaming a curse or a ghost.”

Hask took the glass his mother offered him with his mouth wide open, “Curse?”

“Sarah caused it,” Marlene rolled her eyes, “at least according to Mack.”

Hask kept his mouth shut at mention of the Mayor’s drama. Greta MacDonald he’d grumble over, but Rose Meadow’s own fearless leader? That was asking for trouble.

Marlene bent down to check on the last batch of cookies in the oven, “Her leaving apparently upset the town’s spiritual energy.” She pulled open the oven, “Or cosmic balance.” Cookie sheet dropped on the stove, “Or some other crap.”

“Sarah cursed Rose Meadow?” Hask pursed his lips to keep from laughing. “She lived in Houston for almost eight years, I don’t remember plants dying.”

Marlene banged the oven door closed, as she whirled around, “I know!” She crossed her arms, “Apparently leaving Texas is what did it. As if that’s any kind of big deal!”

“Oh, really?” Hask blinked and then his whole face broke into a grin, “That’s a statement right there, coming from you.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, “Can you repeat that for the camera?”

She swiped the plate of cookies off the island, frowning at Hask, “Don’t be an ass.”

Hask held up his hands in surrender, dropping his phone to the counter, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy,” Marlene placed the plate back in front of him, “The whole town has gone nuts over this.” She leaned on the counter, eyes on her lemonade as she swirled the glass around, “I don’t understand it at all.”

“I do,” Hask put a whole cookie in his mouth. His mother’s eyes darted to him, eyebrows raised, “It’s that whole myth about the girl in the meadow.” Eyebrows went higher.

Sometimes Hask forgot his mother had had the exact same social circle for over fifty years. Sometimes it hit him in the face like a floundering fish.

“The girl in the meadow. She plays with all the little girls in the meadow. They sing, they dance,” Hask moved his head from side to side as he talked, “They bring her joy. In exchange, the town would prosper.”

Marlene’s eyes narrowed, “And Sarah upset her?” Hask nodded. She scoffed, “Well, that explain Monty’s ravings about the ghost.”

“You never heard of her?” Hask tilted his head, watched his mother blush, “The town’s suppose to be named after her. Rosie the Ghost.”

“Where in the hell did you hear that?” Marlene’s hands went to her hips. Hask grinned. Saddie had said the exact same thing when Adrian had told them the story as kids. Sarah had nodded along, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hask shrugged, “Adrian told it to all of us.” Marlene rolled her shoulders back, “Lily told him I think.” He pointed at her with a cookie, “Sarah already knew about it though, when she was a kid.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Marlene’s voice pitched higher, “My children all believe some ghost controls the whole destiny of a town!” The cookie plate was taken across to the stove now.

New cookies were deposited onto the plate, but it didn’t return to the island. Hask immediately regretted bringing up Adrian. Sure fire way to lose cookie privileges. He sighed.

“Sarah!” Ginny knocked on the door loudly with a closed fist until the blonde peaked at her through the window. It only took fifteen minutes. Sarah opened the door and Ginny almost took a step back.

The lively, passionate, and driven woman Ginny knew had wrapped her arms around herself as if to keep her body from falling to pieces. There was no glow to her skin, any remnants of her perpetual tan were gone, and her eyes were listless. Almost glossy.

“What are you doing here, Ginny?” Sarah narrowed her eyes on her friend suspiciously as Ginny walked inside. No invitation necessary. Grey eyes analyzed every detail of the apartment visible from the entryway.

“I came to check on you,” Ginny gave Sarah a once over, noting the way her shirt slid from her shoulder. Janey would have gone ballistic if she’d come along to see Sarah in such an obvious state of unhealth.

Sarah’s shrug was practically a micro-expression given the amount of movement it took, “I’m fine.” Ginny rolled her eyes, a convincing liar Sarah was not.

Ginny smiled at her, cheeks tight, “I just needed to see for myself.” She pushed her long hair behind her ears, trying to appear placating. It was not a skill she was naturally blessed with, “I’m only here for today. I have to fly back in the morning.”

“Oh,” Sarah’s gaze dropped to the floor. Her glasses were practically falling off her nose her face was so gaunt now. If Ginny thought it would work she would have asked Sarah to come home with her.

Sarah pushed her glasses up her nose and then closed the door. A small smile pulled at her lips as she led Ginny down the hall to the office. That’s where they spent the afternoon and most of the night, sitting on the floor with a bunch of pillows. Netflix playing on Ginny’s laptop as it sat propped up on Sarah’s office chair.

Ginny felt Sarah oscillate from curling into her side to tensing like a mouse trap before the spring let go to back. Again and again. Ginny didn’t say anything, merely wrapped an arm around Sarah when she curled back in again.

“You can’t replace her,” Sarah said out of the blue. Ginny sat up, reaching forward to pause the movie. She looked back at Sarah, “You’re not her. You can’t be.”

Sarah’s eyes were unfocused, pupils little dots in a sea of faded brown. Ginny placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder, “What are you talking about?” Sarah jumped away from her, falling sideways out of their cocoon of pillows and blankets.  Ginny stood up.

Sarah’s face contorted in rage. Her eyebrows drawing closer and her upper lip curling, “You can’t replace me! Sarah needs me!”

“You are Sarah,” Ginny reached for Sarah again, walking closer.

“Stop it!” Sarah slapped her hand away, her face calming slightly. There was more fear than anger there, “I won’t let you replace her. You can’t replace her!”

Ginny raised her hands up, “Sloan?” She spoke softly, almost a whisper as Sarah started to cry, “You’re talking about Sloan, right?”

Ginny didn’t move closer. Sarah started heaving, her breaths coming quick and shallow. 

“I don’t want to replace her,” Ginny said, moving her hands lower in a calming gesture, “I never would. No one would.”

“She says you are,” Sarah’s eyes were wide, staring off to the side. Ginny followed her eye line to the familiar rosary hanging on the wall. It had been in Sloan’s car.

“Sloan’s gone,” Ginny reminded Sarah gently, “She’s dead. She can’t talk to you or anyone else.”

Sarah’s head swiveled back to look at Ginny, scowling, “Sloan would never leave me.” Ginny’ brow threaded together in concern. Sarah crawled backwards towards the wall.

“Sloan didn’t leave, she’s just gone,” Ginny took a step closer, shuffling her feet, “She didn’t leave. Things just happen sometimes.”

“No!” Sarah yelled. It echoed off the walls. Ginny took several steps back, “She’s here. She’s always here.” Tears were streaming down Sarah’s face. Her hands had come up to her head. Her fingers threaded into her hair, “I hear her. I see her. She’s here!”

“No, Sarah,” Ginny cut through her rambling, forcing her voice deeper, “She’s not!” Sarah screamed.

Ginny watched her face – watched her calmest and sweetest friend’s face twist around in pain. Sarah’s eyes scrunched up, wrinkling her cheeks and forehead. Her jaw was locked, teeth grinding together with her lips curled back.

Sarah sprung up, pushing at Ginny until she was out of the room. Sarah slammed the door in her face and locked it. Ginny tried at the knob, she could hear Sarah on the other side, crying. Her sobbing was hitching, hiccupping.

“Don’t even think it.” A drawl growled out as Ginny raised her arm to pound on the office door. She jumped slightly, unsure if she had truly heard the familiar voice. Spinning around Ginny found no one. Of course.

Swallowing hard the pragmatic girl walked down the hall to the kitchen. A glass of water to calm her nerves and then she’d try again. The encounter with Sarah, that was why she was hearing things. Obviously.

Ginny flipped the switch and the light came on in the kitchen. And there was Sloan. In the middle of the kitchen. Looking as real as the plate in the drying rack. Ginny clamped a hand over her mouth to keep in her scream.

There was blood dripping down her face, red hair sticking to her skin. Her clothes were matted with blood. It oozed out from her eyes, her nose, her mouth. It drippled down her skin. Blood streaked down her neck.

Sloan’s eyes were slits, narrowed on Ginny, and her mouth was opened, snarling.

A shuddering breath escaped her throat as Ginny stared at the…woman? Ghost? Spirit?  Ginny didn’t believe in such things. Sloan was dead. She could not be in this kitchen.

But she was. And apparently, she was angry.

“Don’t speak,” Sloan’s voice was gruff, deep. “Just listen.” The words echoed off the vinyl floor and the tile backsplash. “I want you to leave Sarah alone.”

Ginny tried to step back as Sloan moved forward, but her feet were glued to the floor. She could feel something wet seeping up from the floor. It curled up her bare feet, oozed between her toes.

“She’s suffering,” Sloan pressed into Ginny’s personal space. Her teeth bared as she spoke, “And we both know you and your silly little friendship can’t be here for her now.” She snapped her teeth once, right beside Ginny’s ear. She flinched.

The bloodied-up red head moved around Ginny. Her hand gliding just over Ginny’s shoulder. A cold shiver ran up Ginny’s spine. The hair on her arms was standing on end.

Sloan moved back to her spot in the center of the kitchen. Her mouth twisted up into a smirk that Ginny had never seen in the years she’d known her. The knives in the block on the counter began to shake.

“Sarah is my best friend,” Sloan raised her hand up, “Always has been.” Ginny felt a push against her chest. “Always will be.” Sloan flicked her wrist and Ginny stumbled back.

Ginny was face to face with the floor. The cold, wet, and very, very red floor. It was like a mud pit. Her hands were sucked deeper into blood. It crashed up against her wrists, painting her forearms with splashes of red as she struggled to yank herself free.

“You’re going to leave, Ginny,” Sloan sneered in her ear. Ginny’s head whipped around to find her standing above her, “Leave Nevada. Leave Sarah.” The knives were hovering around her, creating a circle around Ginny.

Breathing was difficult – her chest was rising quickly and there was a pressure pushing down on her throat. Ginny could do nothing but stare into Sloan’s wild eyes – pupils pushed out against the brown, shaking as she glared at Ginny.

“If you don’t?” Sloan’s mouth opened with a manic grin, “I am a ghost. I got a reputation to uphold.” The knives pushed closer, one only millimeters from Ginny’s skin.

The lights flickered. The knives clattered to the floor. Sloan was gone.

Ginny let out a breath, taking in air with big gulps. She couldn’t hear anything but the pounding in her heart as she collapsed onto the blessedly hard floor.

“Ok…” Ginny pushed the knives away, “Maybe ghosts are real.” She pulled herself up to sit back against the cabinets. She pulled her feet in against her as her eyes darted around the room.

The knives were still. The floor was clean. There would be no sleeping that night.

When her departure time loomed closer and her heart had stopped thumping like a jack rabbit, Ginny picked herself up. She gathered up the knives and placed them in the sink.

Her hand trembled as she knocked on Sarah’s office door.

“Sarah?” Ginny called quietly through the wood. It opened. Sarah was standing there, eyes glazed over as she stared at the floor. Ginny’s laptop was in her hand.

“Thank you for coming, “Sarah said as she shoved Ginny’s laptop into her arms, “It was nice to see you.” Sarah’s voice sounded robotic, monotone.

Ginny took the computer and then pulled Sarah forcefully into a hug. She’d leave Nevada, but she wasn’t going to abandon Sarah. Ghost or no ghost.

“I’m here, Sarah,” Ginny whispered into her ear, “I’m not Sloan, but I’m here.” Sarah’s arms moved around her in stiff, slow movements. Ginny kissed the top of her head, “You call, text, smoke signal. I’m on the next plane.”

Sarah nodded as she watched Ginny leave. Ginny turned to give her one last smile before heading out the door. It slid from her face quickly as the visage of Sloan appeared behind Sarah – hazy, but there.

“It was nice to see you,” Sarah repeated with a smile. Her teeth gritted and her jaw tight. It was identical to the one on Sloan’s face.

-.-.-

The next chapter is up on my patreon and will be public Feb 3rd. You can also support me over on ko-fi.

#ray writes #original fiction #horror #ghost story #sloan's rosary #horror stories #ghost stories

[javaburnbenefits]

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[thepotentialof2007]

In the early 1970s Lucille Treganowan opened her own automotive shop

Born in Iola, Kan., Mrs. Treganowan didn't grow up yearning to repair cars. In fact, she didn't know a transmission from a turnip when she and her husband divorced in 1960, leaving her in Pittsburgh to care for three young children. She was doing part-time clerical work at an auto repair shop, and customers would often ask her questions about their cars. Her reply, she says, was always, "I don't know, I don't know." Finally, she decided she had to know, and she began asking the mechanics questions, reading, and working on cars. She went into business for herself in 1973.

Transmissions are more than a business for her. They are a passion. Brakes and mufflers are nothing to get excited about. But ah, the mystery, the challenge of a hopelessly broken-down, greasy transmission!

"With many car repairs, you can take a look and say, This is worn out and we'll fix it," Mrs. Treganowan says. "But with an automatic transmission, you can have a problem that can't be seen. It becomes like the most complicated of all Nintendo games. You have to trace every circuit, every pressure and electrical impulse to find the problem. The diagnostic part is what intrigued me in the beginning. That's where the fun is."

Mrs. Treganowan credits her father, who ran a plumbing and heating business in Iola, for much of her success. "He treated me just like my two brothers," she says. "I was taught to believe that I could do anything. It never occurred to me that I shouldn't be in the transmission business because I'm a woman. That's not how I was raised."

That is the message she delivers when she speaks to groups of women who are entering the job market. "It is so ingrained in women that 'I can't do this, can't do that,' " Mrs. Treganowan says. "I tell them, 'Hey, you can do it."

Her one lingering regret is the sale years ago of her souped-up Pontiac GTO. "It was my favorite car," she says wistfully. "A muscle car." There is mischief in her smile as she recalls the one with the "ungodly power."

"It's used for drag-racing," she explains. "It was what they called a 'sleeper.' A hot car would come up alongside me, and I looked like a normal driver. They couldn't tell I was going to race. Then, zoom, I would leave them in the dust." [New York Times, June 6, 1996 x]

The industry lost a pioneer and Transmission Digest lost a friend on May 19, [2022] when Lucille Treganowan passed away in Pittsburgh at the age of 92.

With three children to support, Lucille took an office job in an automotive shop in 1960. She eventually learned the ins and outs of transmissions and opened Transmissions By Lucille in 1973.

She began providing vehicle maintenance tips aimed at women with a series of TV spots called Powder Puff Mechanics. She later hosted a Home & Garden Network show called “Lucille’s Car Care Clinic” and made a guest appearance for an episode of Tim Allen’s “Home Improvement” TV show.

In the early 1990s Lucille was a shop management seminar speaker at Trans Expo. She authored “Car Care: Everything You Need to Know from Under the Hood,” in 1996, embarking on a nationwide tour of promotional appearances.

Her Pittsburgh shop, Transmissions By Lucille, was sold to new owners in 2007 and continues to operate under its original name.

[Transmission Digest, May 26, 2022 x]  

#lucille treganowan #women in auto mechanics and engineering #transmissions #automotive mechanics #pittsburgh

[cryptoidantagonist]

evey week i have to update the weirdest thing ive ever done it seems.

anyways harvesting turnips and green onion for dinner while the field burns around me has to be near the top

#in context: my parents are doing a controlled burn and i was like 'hey are thise turnips?' and my parents were like 'idk go find out' #and i did and they are in fact turnips #fire

[anemoarchonhoe]

(A/N: No. While I was writing this, I already ate them all.)

WARNING: Long brainrot. Literally 1.8 pages on a Google Doc

Ready for adventure!

God!Reader as Captain Toad(ette)!

NOTE: They don’t have to literally be Captain Toad(ette), but what if they were similar?

I have multiple ideas that would be better for Impostor AU. However, I’ll only be writing for Soft AU, lest this brainrot be five pages long. Trust me, I’m on a Google Doc as we speak.

Anyways, because a massive part if not all of Teyvat’s essence is within reader, they’ll have a sense of what reader is like. Teyvat’s spirit will start to transport “enemies” from the Treasure Tracker game, although they wouldn’t be enemies anymore now that they’re a part of Teyvat. It also incorporates puzzles and contraptions similar to the original game design.

Reader is all about adventures and logical thinking, hence why they’re unsurprisingly a lot more monotonous once the “enemies” aren’t a threat anymore. Teyvat panics at the lack of life from it’s creator, and does it’s best to begrudgingly rectify the situation. Reader’s headlight now acts as a forcefield for the “enemies,” who are now encouraged to basically whack, stomp, and/or nom nom on the reader with all their efforts. Of course, it’ll never be a real safety threat thanks to the reader's free shield, and everyone wins! …Well everyone except for the future acolytes that will be horrified at the “betrayal” of Teyvat.

Speaking of, said acolytes are already hysterical before they meet God!Reader. The golden stars were a former source of comfort; something to reassure the masses of their beloved creator’s presence. Not anymore, though. The stars have been reduced to a lifeless, transparent gray. Every last one of them. Strangely enough, as soon as one vanishes, another appears with the same divine light as the previous. They must protect these sacred artifacts at all costs, so why is Teyvat battling them tooth and nail against securing the new ones? Do they have no respect for the creator!?

Well, intelligent people would know that the reader just reclaimed them all. No need to worry. In fact, it should cause celebration and rejoice all around the world! God!Reader has descended, after all!

Never fear, everyone. The following events are sure to contain lavish balls and expensive parades once they find God!Reader. Who… stubbornly refuses to ride a carriage the way Teyvat vigorously defended the remaining stars? Huh? What’s Teyvat doing-

Oh.

Without warning, the sturdy roots of ancient trees begin to intertwine with each other, twisting and spinning together down the streets of (insert nation). A small cart lined with a patch of tree leaves materializes at the end, which is thankfully short enough for the reader to step into because they still can’t jump. While the acolytes are gaping at this violation and miracle of nature’s physics, the reader’s lower half is being drowned with countless amounts of white turnips. One unforeseen force of anemo later and the cart is being paraded (pun intended) down the tracks.

Citizens scramble to light the fireworks, flowers are being gently tossed near the reader's unconventional vehicle, and the “enemies” from before are happily offering themselves POW blocks for the reader to explode. Jean is high on migraines and Klee is having a field day.

The most hilarious part of God!Reader’s entrance is when they softly fling turnips towards the poorer inhabitants of the nation. Zhongli received twenty.

…

Hey, don’t forget the Toad Brigade! They’re screeching their lungs off in the background, cruising on tiny carts of their own.

Because of God!Reader’s interaction with the Toad Brigade, they (and by extension the people of Teyvat) have now associated hair colors with certain traits. Remember the blue toad who always provided the reader with goodies and collectibles? Well, the reader is a whole lot more appreciative of tasks completed by blue haired people. What about the green toad who’s doomed to study maps for all eternity? The reader is instinctively motivated to concentrate on their own work, occasionally clapping for the green haired folk when they demonstrate their skills. As for the yellow toad… let’s just say that they’ve become the impromptu definition of divine melatonin.

All is well! Until a giant bird swoops by and snatches the reader straight from their hands…

Me reading the last part:

I literally can't add anything more to this. It's perfect on its own!!

...That, and I'm unfamiliar with the game. ;w; I did watch a video to familiarize myself with it a little and I like it!! The game is so cute.

#ventus.answers #sagau #genshin sagau #cult au #genshin!cult #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact cult au

[jazokoushi]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐧 𝐰/𝐀𝐨𝐭

Characters: Eren, Armin, and Jean

Warnings: None

Gender-neutral head cannon <3

(Fun fact: I did a research paper over Animal Crossing my senior year of high school LMFAO. Also, very first head cannon post so YAAY)

Armin

Got really excited when you mentioned the idea of giving each other island tours

"Wait really? Not yet I have to do somethings to my island!" He gets up and grabs his switch holding it close to him so you couldn't see what he was doing. Armin really wanted his island to impress you so he started to pick any overgrown weeds and dropped material.

When you arrived on his island he greeted you at the airport and gave you a red rose and a present

"wait don't open the present yet! It's for later" he says and you look at his face starting to turn a light shade of pink as he focuses back on the game

Beautiful. Island. (Armin definitely has a better island than Eren and Jean).

"Your island is really good 'Min! Can you help me make a waterfall like this on my island?" you say really gawking over his island. "Yeah! It wasn't that hard to make really" he says really happy that you are enjoying his island.

Made a date spot by the ocean (he is so cute)

When you arrived at the beachside of Armin's island you saw a table surrounded by lanterns with a heart drawn in the sand with you and Armin's initials. "I know you said you wanted to stay inside, but I still wanted to take you out on a date even if it's in a video game," he says and looks over to you to see that your eyes are getting glossy. "This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me," you say sniffling as Armin rushes over to your side to comfort you.

After you calm down he allows you to open the gift and it was a matching scuba outfit and you spent the rest of your night just swimming in the ocean :,).

Eren:

Doesn't play the game at all (only got it cause you forced him to)

"Eren let's play Animal Crossing" "Huh? No, it's boring besides I only played it one time," he says as he plays Smash Bros on his switch. "Fine, I'll go ask Zeke I heard his island was amazing," you say standing up to go to the bedroom but you are pulled back to the couch by Eren. "Like hell, you will....fine we can play," He says and you smile grabbing your switch.

His island is a MESS

"Babe.. are those rotten turnips," you say as you run across his island. He furries his eyebrows at the screen, "huh? They weren't like that when I bought them" "You were supposed to sell them before the next Sunday Eren".

Decide to take Eren to your island and it only results in your decorations destroyed

"Are those money trees?!" he says and before you can answer Eren proceeds to shake the tree stealing the bags of Bells. "Hey! Give them back!" you yell then proceed to hit him with a bug net but it ends up with you chasing him around your island "please spare a few bells I don't have any! Don't be greedy baby" he whines back.

Talks to all your villagers and tries to get them to move to his island

Tries to fish but ends up pulling the fishing rod either too late or too early

"Babe you're supposed to pull up the fishing rod when you hear the sound" "I KNOW"

When he finally catches something it ends up being a tire (he almost raged when you tried next and you caught an Arapaima)

Jean:

His island is not as themed oriented as Armins but looks a lot better than Erens

Paid off all his debt from Tom Nook (we love a responsible man)

Gets mad when you talk to his favorite villagers

"Get away from Zucker y/n."

"what? I was just saying hello"

"He is very happy on this island you are not taking him away."

Remind you to sell your Turnips and checks the prices they are being sold for on his island

Doesn't really like animal crossing but it makes you happy so it makes him happy <3

BONUS: Playing Animal Crossing with All of them

After long hours of convincing (mainly Eren), you rearranged a night where you all played animal crossing

"Let's go to Armin's Island" Eren suggests "absolutely not," Armin says and you didn't blame him at all. "Hey we- Eren promises to not destroy anything," Jean says you can hear him smirking through the discord call "You wanna say that again horse face?" They proceed to argue for 10 minutes and you decide they can come to your island.

Eren and Jean start comparing each other to the villagers

"Oh, shit y/n I didn't know you had Jean here!" Eren says as Colton, a horse villager, walks by. "Oh shut up asshat- oh shit you're here too!" Jean says as Apollo walks by "TAKE THAT BACK HORSE FACE".

You and Armin left the other two so you could show him the rest of your island

Constantly losing each other on the island

"Huh? y/n where did you go?" "Oh sorry Armin, I thought you were behind me!"

"I'm lost too! Wait I think I see Jean" "What? Dumbass that's the actual horse- damn it this island is too big!"

Eren meant to hit Apollo in the head with an Axe (going back to his roots) but ends up hitting you in the head instead resulting in you chasing him around the island.

The night ended with you taking pictures of everyone watching the shooting stars

Enjoy the rest of your day/night luv <3

#aot #aot fluff #eren yeager #eren x y/n #jean x reader #jean kirstein #armin x y/n #armin arlert #snk #attack on titan #aot headcanons #jazokoushi #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #aot season 4 #animal crosing new horizons

[realcube]

secretly dating the haikyuu!! boys 🤫

summary: you’ve been dating your partner in secret up until now, when their team finds out 

characters: hinata, oikawa & bokuto 

thanks to anon for the request 💗

tw// fem! reader, sexual references, swearing

Shōyō Hinata 

he kept the relationship a secret bc of noya IEFBEVAGLEB

ok ok lemme explain

you said jokingly once that you were into shorter guys in response to hinata asking something lovey-dovey along the lines of ‘what did i do to deserve you? 😍’

and hinata has been on edge ever since pfft

i mean, he just thins noya is such a cool guy and an awesome upperclassmen- why wouldn’t you want him?

but he couldn’t afford losing you to this teammate so he did everything in his power to make sure that you never crossed paths with nishinoya- which included not telling his team about you 

it was so hard for him as well bc he wanted to show you off to his teammates so bad especially stinkyshima 🥺

but he couldn’t :((

you never really inquired about it though, even when he’d get all weird when you’d come pick him up from practise

then the faithful day arrived, when kageyama watched you stroll into the class, hand hinata something, place a kind kiss on his cheek before taking your leave

he didn’t question it though- he couldn’t be bothered lol

the only time he ever brought it up was 2 weeks later in the changing room when tsukishima was making fun of him for being unable to ask out a girl for an upcoming dance

so kageyama retorted with ‘it’s not like you get any girls either, shittyshima! even hinata gets more action than you!’

hinata’s blood ran cold and he froze

tsukishima hummed in response, prodding kageyama to elaborate, ‘i saw him kissing a girl in class the other day-- have you ever kissed someone before?’

although that last part was meant to be a dig, it sounded more like a genuine question

yamaguchi peered over his shoulder to join the conversation, ‘is that true, hinata?’

hinata stood frozen for a little while longer before releasing a heavy sigh, ‘yes. but please don’t tell anyone else.’

‘why not?’ tsukishima pried.

‘none of your business, stinkyshima!’

that nickname was what prompted tsukishima to stroll out of the changing the room and disguise ‘hinata has a girlfriend’ behind a cough in front of the whole team

‘you said you weren’t going to tell anyone!’ hinata yelled, slightly red from the fact everyone was now staring at him - including coach ukai, takeda, kiyoko & yachi

‘what? it was just a cough.’ tsukishima snickered but promptly received an elbow to the stomach from yamaguchi

daichi rubbed hinata’s back while reassuring him that he didn’t have to tell them anything he didn’t want to but meanwhile, hinata’s eyes were fixated on nishinoya 

‘i- i do have a girlfriend.’ he stuttered, figuring that he wasn’t going to be able to hide it forever  — plus, he felt foolish for not trusting you to begin with. ‘her name is (l/n).’

yachi choked on her water, ‘she sits next to me in class!’

ngl yachi probably had a lil’ crush on you at some point but these are just headcanons, not a full blown fic so i cba to write a love triangle

‘cool’ hinata murmured in response before continuing, ‘she said that she will come see me after practise today so i guess you’ll see her then.’

by now, most people were shooting hinata comforting smiles and muttering their congratulations but those were all drowned out by nishinoya and tanaka’s loud offers

‘wow, hinata. you really got a chick before your senpais. i’m not sure whether to be proud or jealous!’ tanaka said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye

‘proud, ryū! we clearly did a good job in teaching him how to make advances on the ladies.’ nishinoya cheered before turning to grab hinata’s shoulders and pull him close, ‘now, hinata, if you ever need advice remember that you can come to us! we’re kinda professionals when it comes to relationships and stuff!’

hinata nodded rapidly, his lips slowly curling into a smile as he wondered; what was i so worried about? of course (y/n) would never cheat on me and noya would never make moves on my girlfriend

when you arrived, you were rather confused when hinata greeted you with his usual vigour rather than his hasty, rushed greetings for when you met him after practise

also, you were perplexed as to why many peeping eyes were staring at the pair of you from the gym door as he peppered your face with kisses - and why was one of them Yachi?

‘uuh, shō, are those your teammates?’ you inquired, gesturing to the peepers behind y’all

hinata peered over his shoulder and chuckled at how ‘discreet’ they were being,’uh- yeah.’

suddenly, yachi and sugawara popped out from behind the walls, ‘hello, (l/n)!’ they both yelled in unison

you smiled, looking at them and realising this was probably the first time you’ve ever been acknowledged by his teammates

‘hi, yachi and--’

hinata hastily whispered in your ear, ‘sugawara.’

‘sugawara!’

hinata finally got to introduce you to all his teammates and he was so hyped 

he had a foolishly wide grin on his face the whole time 

he’s just so happy that the person he loves can finally meet the people who help him do what he loves 

Tōru Oikawa

y’all kept the relationship secret bc you didn’t want to get nasty glares from oikawa’s fangirls and he didn’t want to get teased by iwa so it was a win/win

although you had to be cautious when showing PDA, it didn’t mean y’all didn’t do it at all

there was just something about knowing that what you were doing was risky, which made you want to do it even more

so sometimes y’all would do that thing where you arrange certain times to ask for the bathroom during class so you could see each other in the corridor

and since it was during class, there was virtually nobody else in the hallway 

so y’all would literally just go for it

kissing as if you had never experienced human affection before

but since you both were so into it, you’d never notice kyōtani walk by, on his way back from the principal’s office

he’d even let out a low scoff every time

but you were both just so in the moment that you’d never even notice 

word spreads fast in the seijoh boys’ volleyball club, though

but slightly slower when it starts with kyōtani

like what reason does he have to tell anybody about what he saw? he doesn’t want to relive those events

but during a bitching session with yahaba, he spilled about oikawa and you since the captain had been working them extra hard lately, as if he was the coach tsk

so ofc the gossip spread across multiple bitching session from yahaba, to kunimi, to kindaichi, to watari, to hanamaki then finally to matsukawa

(iwaizumi didn’t get to know bc firstly he didn’t join in with bitching sessions and secondly, everyone knew that iwa would just immediately tell oikawa and that would ruin all the fun)

it got to the point where almost everyone on the team knew about you and oikawa so whenever he would walk into practise, a chorus of low giggles and whispers would spread across the gym

this had been going on for about a month now and at first, oikawa was too self-indulged to notice

but after a bit longer, he kinda noticed and brought it up to iwaizumi

‘hey, why does everyone start acting weird whenever i walk into the room?’

iwaizumi rolled his eyes, shoving a ball against oikawa’s chest, ‘what? no, they don’t; stop being so paranoid. now, throw me some sets.’

that was enough reassurance for oikawa to ignore it for a while but then hanamaki accidentally made one of the jokes a bit too loud

oikawa fell face first into the gym floor after tripping over his lace and the whole gym seemed to erupt into laughter

‘hah!’ matsukawa wheezed, ‘stop kissin’ the ground, tōru!’ 

‘mwah, mwah!’ yahaba teased

hanamaki suddenly chimed in, ‘yeah, save that shit for (y/n)!--’

silence spread like a plague across the whole gym room

it was only broken when iwaizumi let out a clueless, ‘huh?’

oikawa quickly scurried onto his feet, ‘how do you know about (y/n)?’

hanamaki chuckled awkwardly as he looked left to right for help but was just met by blank stares, ‘uh- she’s- erm, in my homeroom class.’

obviously, oikawa didn’t buy it

‘who told you about me and (y/n)?’ he inquired in a sinister tone of voice, his glare seeming anything but kind 

‘watari!’ he yelled accusingly, pointing his index finger at the poor libero 

after all eyes shifted onto him, watari wasted no time in redirecting everyone’s attention onto kindaichi, ‘it was turnip-head who told me!’

‘well, it was kunimi that told me!’ kindaichi shouted with no hesitation

kumini crossed his arms over his chest, ‘yahaba told me.’

yahaba’s eyes widened at the sudden accusation before turning to oikawa and defending himself, ‘mad dog was the one that saw you and (y/n) kissing in the hallway!’

mad dog glared at the pinch server, then turned to oikawa and shrugged 

oikawa was livid DIUVBEVILS

‘YOU ALL KNEW ABOUT ME AND (Y/N) BUT DIDN’T TELL ME?! HOW LONG HAVE YOU GUYS BEEN GOSSIPING ABOUT US FOR?!’

yahaba took it upon himself to reply, ‘mad dog only told me about a month ago-’

‘THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR A WHOLE MONTH?!’

faint hums of ‘yeah’ and ‘uhuh’ were heard across the gym hall

‘wait-’ iwaizumi cocked his head to the side, ‘are you dating (y/n)?’

this inquiry was only met by blank stares as oikawa pinched his temple, wondering what he should do now

‘why did you try to hide your relationship for so long?’ kindaichi asked before kunimi added, ‘yeah, can we finally meet her?’ 

matsukawa rolled his eyes, ‘she literally goes to our school; meet her in the hallway or something.’

oikawa shook his head, quickly shutting down matsukawa’s idea, ‘i’ll ask her to come over after practise today but be on your best behaviour.’ he sung, quickly grabbing a ball and going back to practising receives

everyone was rather shocked at how fast the captains’ demeanour changed

while you were at your own club, you got a message from oikawa asking if you wanted to meet his team

you had already met most of them outside of volleyball but you figured now was perhaps a good time to introduce yourself as oikawa’s gf to rub it in /j

before you arrived, oikawa made it explicitly clear that they weren’t to tell anybody about the relationship or else oikawa’s fangirls would come for you

they all agreed and patiently waited for you to arrive

honestly, iwaizumi was probably the only one with pure intentions when it came to finally meeting you — as he simply wanted to see the girl who has oikawa’s heart

the rest of them of the other hand 🙄

matsukawa and hanamaki planned to have a competition to see who could seduce you first 

watari, kindaichi and kunimi wanted to just tease oikawa in front you 

and yahaba was going to try get you to tell him all the gossip about oikawa 😈

(kyōtani left early)

so needless to say you were hardly charmed when you formally met the bunch of boys oikawa spends his time with 

‘so are you free tonight orrr?’ hanamaki questioned, promptly getting a slap to the back of the head from both oikawa and matsukawa

‘makki, a lady like her shouldn’t be spoken to like that,’  matsukawa pushed his friend aside, ‘watch this: hey, sweetie. what is a gal--’

matsukawa got the same treatment as makki except this time it was kindaichi pushing him away, ‘so how much is oikawa paying you to play his girlfriend?’

you couldn’t help but giggle, especially as you could see oikawa from over his shoulder, shooting him the deadliest glare

kunimi poked his head around kindaichi arm to look at you, ‘i’m guessing ¥3000 an hour.’

‘(y/n) is worth way more than ¥3000 an hour!’ oikawa yelled from behind the crowd of boys surrounding you 

yahaba hurried forward, slipped his arm around your waist and escorting you a few paces away from the others to whisper in your ear, ‘does oikawa have any embarrassing childhood pictures?’

you snickered, leaning in and whispering back, ‘yeah, i’ll send them to you on instagram.’

ok. although they weren’t the most charming- they were definitely a fun bunch lol

Kōtarō Bokuto

a secret relationship w/ bokuto has hardly a secret lol

plus, the ‘secret’ part is only gonna last MAX a month ✋

he tries to ‘act natural’ around his teammates but it’s a bit- too natural 

he’ll come back from a make-out session with you, lipstick smeared across his face and just be like ‘hey y’all! ✌ good vibes today’

or when he’d take off his shirt to reveal the scratch marks on his back, that he wasn’t even aware of 

or the hickeys that he wouldn’t even bother try to hide 

so the whole team were aware that bokuto had a partner- they just weren’t sure who it was

but they didn’t really mention anything to bokuto bc they srsly didn’t care which left bokuto under the impression that he was sneaky as hell

akaashi was kinda upset that bokuto didn’t tell him about you tho but he kept that to himself

everyone was silently curious as to who bokuto was dating but none of them actually spoke up about it

until one day, konoha was chatting to komi, thinking they weren’t being listened to since bokuto seemed preoccupied with practising spikes, ‘psst, komi. i saw bokuto walk home with (y/n) the other day, i think she might be the one he’s da--’

but bokuto develops super-hearing when you’re involved

he was now looming over komi and konoha in what felt like a blink of an eye, ‘what did you say about (y/n)?’ he asked in a rather gruff voice

both boys were taken back by their captain’s sudden change in mood but komi managaed to stutter out, ‘oh- konoha just saw you walking home with her the other day; you both make a very cute couple.’

all sense of menace or threat was washed out of bokuto’s tone as his lips formed a bright smile, ‘awww, thanks! we do-- wait!’ 

bokuto cut himself off and the boys started snickering, ‘so it’s (y/n) that you’re dating.’ komi stated the obvious, this time loud enough for the whole gym to hear.

bokuto couldn’t help but face-palm, his sweaty hands making a loud, wet slapping noise against his skin. ‘ugh! i wasn’t supposed to tell you that.’ he grumbled, eyeing everyone in the gym that was sending him astonished looks

after a while of sulking in his emo-mode..with help from akaashi, bokuto finally tried to see the positives in the situation

‘well, maybe today she can finally meet you all.’ bokuto murmured, eyes full of hope which could hardly be seen passed the strands of his deflated hair that hung in front of his face

‘sure.’ akaashi shrugged, seeing nothing wrong with this idea 

there was a lot of things wrong, though

firstly, you were at your own club which finished ten minutes after practise ended, which means bokuto had to use his puppy-eyes on everyone on the team to convince them into staying for ten minutes extra

secondly, bokuto was so hyped that you were finally meeting his teammates, an introduction for each person took like 5 minutes 

bokuto inhaled sharply to catch his breath from the last introduction he just did, ‘ok next, this is washio, he’s one of our middle blockers bc he is so damn tall - say hi, washio. his eyebrows might make you think that he is a meanie or something  — that’s what i thought at first — but he’s really not. he offered me some of his lunch after i forgot to bring money that day so he’s definitely a good egg. he’s also a really good blocker and he has similar hair to me so i think that’s why he’s so good. also, he’s really good at making tea.’

ok now imagine that but for every. single. member.

he also gives you an extra ass intro too lol

‘(y/n), this is onaga. onaga this is my beautiful, stunning, flawless girlfriend (y/n)  — she’s the sweetest person ever and she give the sweetest kisses on the face of this earth.’

please don’t be embarrassed he just loves you so much 

#haikyu x reader #hinata x reader #oikawa toru x reader #bokuto x reader #hinata x you #hinata fluff #hinata x y/n #oikawa imagine #oikawa scenarios #bokuto fluff #bokuto x y/n #bokuto x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa x y/n #haikyuu!! #haikyū!! #hinata hcs #oikawa hcs #bokuto hcs

[iheartbookbran]

Hey, asoiaf fandom, quick question here but am I the only one who gets deeply uncomfortable by the tone of the discussions surrounding Arya and her relationship with traditional gender roles/feminity? Not only because of the wrong assumptions a lot of people have about Arya looking down on traditional feminine activities like sewing, which she most definitely doesn’t, but also because there’s very glaring inherent classism in those claims.

Not only has Arya (that is, book Arya) never looked down on other women or the work that historically has been associated with them, but she has also partaked in said work herself.

Several times, in fact, and across numerous of her POV chapters:

Whatever names Harren the Black had meant to give his towers were long forgotten. (...) Arya slept in a shallow niche in the cavernous vaults beneath the Wailing Tower, on a bed of straw. She had water to wash in whenever she liked, a chunk of soap. The work was hard, but no harder than walking miles every day. Weasel did not need to find worms and bugs to eat, as Arry had; there was bread every day, and barley stews with bits of carrot and turnip, and once a fortnight even a bite of meat.—aCoK, Arya VII.

Weese used Arya to run messages, draw water, and fetch food, and sometimes to serve at table in the Barracks Hall above the armory, where the men-at-arms took their meals. But most of her work was cleaning. The ground floor of the Wailing Tower was given over to storerooms and granaries, and two floors above housed part of the garrison, but the upper stories had not been occupied for eighty years. Now Lord Tywin had commanded that they be made fit for habitation again. There were floors to be scrubbed, grime to be washed off windows, broken chairs and rotted beds to be carried off. The topmost story was infested with nests of the huge black bats that House Whent had used for its sigil, and there were rats in the cellars as well . . . and ghosts, some said, the spirits of Harren the Black and his sons.—aCoK, Arya VII.

"I saw you looking at me." Weese wiped his fingers on the front of her shift. Then he grabbed her throat with one hand and slapped her with the other. "What did I tell you?" He slapped her again, backhand. "Keep those eyes to yourself, or next time I'll spoon one out and feed it to my bitch." A shove sent her stumbling to the floor. Her hem caught on a loose nail in the splintered wooden bench and ripped as she fell. "You'll mend that before you sleep," Weese announced as he pulled the last bit of meat off the capon. When he was finished he sucked his fingers noisily, and threw the bones to his ugly spotted dog.

"Weese," Arya whispered that night as she bent over the tear in her shift. "Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling," she said, calling a name every time she pushed the bone needle through the undyed wool. "The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei."—aCoK, Arya VII.

This last quote is interesting, because given Arya’s circumstances in which she has to hide her own identity, she’s not warranted the protection a high-born lady would usually receive, and her punishments are often not only related to physical abuse, but through forced labor as well.

She spent the next few hours tending to the lord's chambers. She swept out the old rushes and scattered fresh sweet-smelling ones, laid a fresh fire in the hearth, changed the linens and fluffed the featherbed, emptied the chamber pots down the privy shaft and scrubbed them out, carried an armload of soiled clothing to the washerwomen, and brought up a bowl of crisp autumn pears from the kitchen. When she was done with the bedchamber, she went down half a flight of stairs to do the same in the great solar, a spare drafty room as large as the halls of many a smaller castle. The candles were down to stubs, so Arya changed them out.

(...)

The afternoon was still young by the time she was done, so Arya took herself off to the godswood.—aCoK, Arya VX.

She got along well enough with the cook. Umma would slap a knife into her hand and point at an onion, and Arya would chop it. Umma would shove her toward a mound of dough, and Arya would knead it until the cook said stop (stop was the first Braavosi word she learned). Umma would hand her a fish, and Arya would bone it and fillet it and roll it in the nuts the cook was crushing. (..) Some nights Umma spiced the fish with sea salt and cracked peppercorns, or cooked the eels with chopped garlic. Once in a great while the cook would even use some saffron. Hot Pie would have liked it here, Arya thought.—aFoC, Arya II.

She had other tasks besides helping Umma. She swept the temple floors; she served and poured at meals; she sorted piles of dead men's clothing, emptied their purses, and counted out stacks of queer coins.—aFoC, Arya II.

And the reason this—hugely important, imo—part of her narrative is so often ignored by fandom discourse is very obvious to me. It is because unlike the activities traditionally performed by upper-class, rich women, which are very frequently glorified by fans (alongside other aspects of the feudalist system that honestly would take way too much time and effort to unpack, but I digress), lower class feminity is simply not as pretty, the hard labor these women would be subjected to is not aesthetically pleasing. Don’t get me wrong, they were abused by the patriarchy the same way upper-class women were, but their suffering was never romanticized or immortalized in a song, their victimhood wouldn’t be cause for outrage, and more often than not, their work and existence would be completely erased.

Arya’s feminity doesn’t cease to exist just because she has to do hard work associated with lower-class women, or because she expresses interests that differ from what is usually expected of rich women. Her experiences as a girl, being exposed to all kinds of abuse perpetrated by men can’t be simply swept under the rug. A great deal of her journey is related to how much the plight of the lower classes matters, that children like Mycah, like Layna, like Gendry and Lommy and Hot Pie and Jeyne Poole, they all matter. And yes, sometimes Arya’s Stark name has given her protection, but other times, the majority of the time, she’s not been in a position in which she can use it as shield, and she’s had to work with her hands and fight for her life and has seen and done horrible things, or else the only other option for her was to end dead on a ditch, like countless other women and children the world has deemed too unimportant to mourn.

#this fandom is classist af that’s what i’m trying to say here #but tell me i’m wrong #arya stark #wolf queen #arya meta #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #a song of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls #meta #my meta

[salchat]

Someone Furry

Rodney missed his cat.  He missed the way she’d jump up onto his lap and drape herself over his legs, her soft, heavy weight warming him from inside and out.  He missed the feel of her fur between his fingers, the way he could run his hand the whole length of her body from her nose, over her flattened ears, down her soft sides and then, his hand closed to surround it, all the way to the tip of her tail.  He missed her deep, thrumming purr, the chirps and brips she made in response to his voice, so that they often had far more sensible conversations than he ever did with his colleagues.

But most of all he missed her simple presence, her neutral acceptance of everything he did, everything he was; her wide golden eyes that regarded him, not with contempt as some people interpreted the penetrating gaze of a cat, but with all-seeing, all-knowing recognition of him as belonging absolutely and completely to her.

He’d left her.  Of course he’d left her on Earth.  He’d had to.  And he’d known he’d probably never see her again and it had torn a hole in his heart that he didn’t think was ever likely to heal.  Had her feline heart suffered similar damage?  Or did she regard her new owner with that wide-eyed gaze and then jump up onto their lap and present herself for their attention in the way he missed so much?  Probably.  Cats were pragmatists.  It was a fact of life.

Rodney eased out his back and spun around on his stool, unsurprised to find the lab empty.  He stretched up to peer over the top of Radek’s screen, but there were no tufts of wild hair or glinting rims of glasses or exhausted, propped-open eyes.  And no wonder - it was nearly three in the morning.

He yawned, scratched his head, scratched his stomach and then, because there was no one about, he reached up under his shirt and had a general scratch around, chasing an itch that ran from his questing fingers.  He ran it to ground on his right shoulder blade, his left shoulder cracking as he reached behind himself to wipe the itch out of existence with sweeps of his thumb.  Then he stretched himself out again and adjusted his shirt into some kind of order.

Was Sheppard back yet?  No,  He couldn’t be.  It was more than the Gate techs’ lives were worth not to inform him immediately of any updates in John’s status, when he’d given them such very firm, explicit instructions.  Anyway, there was no need to worry, he told himself - again.  John was out doing good works, overseeing both Lorne’s team and Stackhouse’s team while they helped out a village hit by a mudslide.  And what the inhabitants of the Pegasus Galaxy had done before Intergalactic Rescue had shown up Rodney had no idea, but he thought just occasionally they should go back to doing whatever it was they had done before and leave Atlantis out of it, and especially an over-tired, mission-weary, easily-guilt-tripped-into-doing-whatever-you-want John Sheppard.

“They’re our allies, Rodney - they help us, we help them.”

Huh.  Rodney spent a satisfying ten minutes grumbling aloud to himself about a bunch of rustics who’d never have anything useful to contribute apart from a few inferior, knobbly vegetables that tasted of mouldy turnip, so why should John have to bother helping them?  Of course, Rodney had found the problem in their Ancient aqueduct system.  And there’d been that kid who kept hanging around him and calling him Dr Rodanee-sir and bringing him cups of the local drink which tasted remarkably like chocolate milkshake.  But those things were beside the point.  And John had flat-out denied Rodney’s request to go on the rescue mission.

Anyway, he was tired and he missed his cat.  Because sometimes you just needed someone furry, and that was all there was to it.

He went to bed.

In the morning Sheppard still wasn’t back and everyone in the lab was being more than usually stupid and noisy and so wrong that he had to make them all stop what they were doing so that he could enumerate and elaborate on all the ways in which they were wrong, providing each member of his staff with a detailed verbal list that they should damn well take notes on for future reference.  And yes, he would be testing them on their knowledge of their own wrongness at an unspecified future date.

Then Stackhouse’s team came back, exhausted and covered in mud.  Then Lorne’s team, ditto.  Then (and Rodney thought there might be dents in the Gateroom railing from his clenched hands), finally, Sheppard staggered through the Gate, more exhausted and more covered in mud than any of them.

John looked up at Rodney and Rodney looked down at John.  His muddy right hand twitched in what was probably an attempt at a wave conveying his general fineness and that nobody should worry or fuss or do anything that expressed the remotest kind of concern.  It was a pathetic attempt and merely underlined his not fineness and that everyone and most particularly Rodney, should definitely be concerned.

Rodney found himself at John’s side, unsure how he’d transported himself down from the control level - a giant leap over the crushed railing?  Levitation?

Medical staff harried the muddy men and women away, and Rodney followed, at John’s side, not touching him, because… ew.  There wasn’t a square inch of unmuddied skin.  Even John’s eyes were red, as if they’d got mud in too.  And his hair was just unnatural - plastered to his head, showing the actual shape of his skull, which you just never saw, even when he was straight out of the shower because mere water was nothing against the springiness of John Sheppard’s hair.  A couple of times Rodney looked around in case he was shadowing the wrong mud-monster, but no, this brown figure was definitely the right shape and size and seemed to have that slouchy gait, even though its feet were dragging and its arms dangling in abject weariness.

They wouldn’t let Rodney in the infirmary.  And it was Rodney who’d helped install the roomful of showers for just such an occasion as this, when filthy, exhausted teams came back, probably contaminated with all kinds of viruses and parasites, germs and bacteria and no doubt hiding injuries beneath their assorted filth.

So he sat down and waited.  And no, it wasn’t the same as waiting for news when John had been carried to the infirmary, injured and unable to make it under his own steam.  It wasn’t as if Rodney was waiting, terrified, for life-or-death news, biting his nails and chewing the inside of his cheek until it bled.

But he really missed his cat.  And he’d had a bad day - a bad few days.  Which surely must be all John’s fault, because most things were, or at least they were his absence’s fault because you just needed someone like John around all the time for some reason.  Look, he wasn’t going to analyse it, alright?  It was a fact.  And Rodney missed his cat.

And probably Carson would want to keep John here - for observation.  Rodney snorted, spraying bits of chewed up nail onto the floor.  If John needed observing he’d do it - because who better to observe than a scientist?  Observing was what he did.  He’d watch John like a hawk, he’d take notes and draw diagrams, he’d gather data, both quantitative and qualitative, he’d hypothesise and extrapolate.  What more could any medical so-called professional do?

“Yes, you can go.”  The doctor’s long suffering voice followed a round-shouldered scrub-clad figure through the barely slid-open doors.

“Hey, Rodney.”

Rodney stood up, beginning his scrutiny right here and now.  “Your eyes are red.  You need antibiotic drops.”

“Had them.”

“Has that scrape on your face been disinfected?”

“Yeah.”

“The bandage on your wrist - what’s that hiding?”

“t’s just sprained.  Can we get out of here?”

Rodney folded his arms and conveyed through his most steely glare that John had better not try to hide even the most minor of injuries from him or he’d been in a whole shit-tonne of trouble which would make a mudslide look like that time some idiot had knocked over Rodney’s chocolate pudding.

“You’re coming with me.”

He took John’s arm, because there was no way he was allowing a rudderless John Sheppard to drift away from him.  The exhausted man didn’t wriggle away or even protest, which made Rodney grumble angrily under his breath about societies that couldn’t clear up after their own natural disasters and just had to go and impose themselves upon overworked Colonels.

They made it to his room and he let John slither onto the bed and stacked up the pillows around him until he was approximately upright with most of his limbs on the bed.

“This is your room, Rodney.”

“Yes.  It is.  And you’re in it.”

“’kay.”

“Humph.”  Rodney nodded, glad John had accepted his to-be-pushed-around status.  “First you’re going to eat.  And then you’re going to sleep.”

“Yessir,” slurred John.

Rodney boiled some water and made some instant mashed potato, which was one of his preferred food choices in cases of extreme exhaustion.  It was the cheesy mash type, which was his covetously-hoarded favourite, but John looked like a man in great need of a large bowl of cheesy mash.  With a blob of ketchup on top.  Maybe more than one blob.

John smiled a sleepy smile at the ketchup blobs, which may have formed a crude happy face, but that was, of course, a complete accident on Rodney’s part.  The mash was mechanically consumed.  Rodney took the bowl and then pushed a glass into John’s hand, making sure his scraped knuckles curled around it.  The glass contained chocolate milkshake, but only because he’d been thinking today about that stuff they made on the mudslide planet.  He hadn’t gone out of his way to get the powder or the milk.  And absolutely no begging had been involved at the entrance to the hallowed, jealously guarded territory of the kitchen staff.

He sat down next to John, glad that he hadn’t been stupid enough to take his friend back to his own room with its tiny bed.  This way he too could sit propped up by a bank of pillows, which were necessary to support his back while he carried out his purely clinical observations of his team leader.

John drained the glass and he was too tired and too oblivious to wipe away his milkshake moustache, so Rodney did it for him.

Then John smiled another lop-sided sleepy smile, his eyelids drooped and shut down completely and his slumped body slumped even more, slowly slithering down until his head rested in Rodney’s lap.

Rodney missed his cat.  He missed the way she’d jump up onto his lap and drape herself over his legs, her soft, heavy weight warming him from inside and out.  He missed the feel of her fur between his fingers, the way he could run his hand the whole length of her body from her nose, over her flattened ears, down her soft sides and then, his hand closed to surround it, all the way to the tip of her tail.  He missed her deep, thrumming purr, the chirps and brips she made in response to his voice, so that they often had far more sensible conversations than he ever did with his colleagues.

But Rodney had his friend.  He had John, who had fallen asleep on him, his head heavy on Rodney’s thighs, his newly-washed hair fluffy and thick and dark.  He touched the soft strands and they tickled his palm.  Then he ran his hand over and through the dense thicket, from John’s forehead, curving all the way around his head to the nape of his neck where the hairs were short and usually they looked scratchy, but at the moment they too felt soft and fine.  He lifted his hand and stroked again, the hair running through his fingers, dragging and flattening, then freeing itself to spring up into feathery plumes.  Then once again and again, slowly, gently, with a rhythm of love and peace.

And in Rodney’s chest a knot released and something warm and sweet and caramelly-rich blossomed and spread out until his body was as loose and relaxed as John’s.

He missed his cat.  But he had his friend, who he loved and who loved him in return.  And as Rodney stroked and stroked and watched John’s slow, happy rise and fall of deep-sleep breathing, the exhausted man began to snore, in a gentle, thrumming, rumble, which sounded remarkably like a purr.

#Rodney McKay #John Sheppard #Mcshep #Fluff #More fluff #On AO3 #I met a dog in the park today and I wanted to cuddle it but you don't do that with strange dogs so I wrote this instead