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chickenfics · 1 year

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the way I love the ocean

Relationship: Robin Buckley x Female!Reader

Summary: It was the summer of ‘87. Nothing in your life had prepared you for Robin, but somehow everything had begun falling into place. It all started with a movie and a pair of ocean-blue eyes, and suddenly you were dancing to a Jukebox in a long-closed diner, or racing down the length of a pier, swimming in the moon-dipped lake and walking her home down yellow-lit streets, talking about the way The Smiths sound like indigo and the best time of the summer is when the fireflies start to come out.

It was the summer of ‘87, and you were falling in love.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Red Alert: we've reached adorable nickname territory, this is not a drill. Also, I highly recommend listening to 'Brown Eyed Girl' after reading this. For some reason, in my head, it's Robin's Song and it always makes me feel so warm and fuzzy listening to it and imagining this story. Anyway, happy reading.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters!

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Chapter 4: Brown Eyed Girl

"So, do you ever think you'll leave Hawkins?"

You and Robin were walking under the yellow pooling glow of streetlamps, their little cylindrical spaces like checkpoints you passed by, one after the next. You were pushing your bike, and the tape Robin had given you felt warm in your pocket. Robin was still wearing the flower crown; the flowers looked pale -- the white ones, at least, and the others looked dark, almost inky in the rich blue-gray light of the summer night. Like The Smiths, you thought, and you smiled silently to yourself before remembering that she'd asked you a question.

"I don't know," your voice sounded impossibly loud in the empty street. You were almost afraid that the houses would hear you and turn on their porch lights, sullying the perfect balance of light, dark, light, dark that the street was providing. "Maybe. I feel like I'll have to," you looked at her. "Can't stay here forever, right?"

"I dunno… sometimes I just feel like I'm never gonna get out of here," she kicked a stone beneath her feet. "Like I'm -- cursed, or something. I think we all kind of feel that way, my friends and I. We've… we've seen some shit, gone through just as much, and it's all so connected to Hawkins that… I don't know," she shrugged. "Eddie says that Hawkins, like, knows our blood now, or something, so it won't let go of us. But he's also, like, kind of a weirdo, so…"

Your laughter rang softly into the night and Robin smiled, her skin wrinkling, painting lines into that delicate skin around her eyes. She looked like an unfinished painting, beautiful in its imperfections -- in its potential beyond its existing beauty.

"I get that, feeling like you'll never get away. Sometimes I have to remind myself that there's life outside of Hawkins. Like, this isn't the only place in the world," you snorted.

Robin grinned. "Yeah. For being so small, this town really feels big sometimes."

"Have you ever thought about college?" you hesitantly asked. That was how most kids your age got out of a place like this.

"Nah. I mean, I have, but… I’ve come to the conclusion that it's not really my thing. Steve's the same way. We kind of just plan on hopping from one job to the next and hoping we survive somehow."

She watched her feet for a moment, then suddenly glanced up.

"Oh, turn here," she said, and you followed. "What about you?"

"Same -- not really my thing. Like you said," you smiled. “Just hoping I survive somehow. Which makes my parents real happy…"

Robin laughed at your sarcasm, then raised her eyebrows.

"Yup, I know the feeling. Which, it’s like… both my parents work, like, minimum wage jobs, and my dad went to college but my mom didn't, so you'd think that would prove it doesn't really matter either way, but no, I just have to further my education or I'll be a disgrace to my family lineage.”

"Right?! Then again, maybe our parents want us to get out of Hawkins as much as we do. I guess college seems like the most realistic ride out of here."

"Who's going to tell them you can just, like, take a Greyhound?"

You laughed, nearly tripping over your bike -- and then definitely tripping over a jutted corner of the sidewalk. You gasped, and Robin's hand reached out to grab your bicep.

"Woah there--"

"Sorry!"

"Oh, please," she waved. She was still holding onto you, but her grip had loosened now that you weren't actively falling over. "I'm, like, the clumsiest person I know."

"Thanks for…" you nodded towards your arm. As if she’d just realized her hand was still there, she pulled it back into her own space. You couldn't be sure, in the dim light, but you thought she might be blushing.

"You're welcome. Yeah, of course. No problem-o…"

Your arm burned warm from where her fingers had been just moments ago, and the tape in your pocket seemed to have only gotten hotter. You wondered if you were going to spontaneously combust or something. Wouldn't that make the news… ‘Local girl bursts into flame, more at five.’

"Oh, uhm. This is me," Robin stopped in front of a small house, grey beneath the cloudy moonlight. "Thanks again for walking me home."

"Of course. Thanks again for the tape."

"I'm just glad you liked it," she replied in that softly eager way, the way that made you think maybe she was holding back a little for fear of coming across as 'too much.' She kicked at the pavement, then glanced up at you.

"Are you gonna be okay getting home? It's pretty dark…"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," you tried to sound reassuring. "My place isn't that far, anyway. Swear I won't get axe murdered, or kidnapped, or abducted by aliens or anything."

"Promise?" she asked with the ghost of a smirk, and she held out her pinky. Your breath failed you in the moment that it took to register what she was doing.

Then you reached forward and hooked your pinky around hers. She grinned.

"Promise," you murmured. "I could… call you tomorrow after my shift?"

"Sure. That way I'll know the aliens haven't gotten you."

"But," you tilted your head. "What if they, like, take over my mind and then put me back on Earth as their spy, or something?"

"Then… I'll ask you how you liked the fireflies and the crickets, and if you talk about The Smiths I'll know it's really you."

"Okay," you replied, eyes going starry at everything that Robin was. You weren't even sure how she was real.

When she released your pinky, you missed the warmth of her skin in an instant.

"Talk to you tomorrow," you whispered.

"Night, Earthling," she replied with a little two-finger salute. You watched until she made it through her front door, waving when she turned around one final time.

Then you were swinging onto your bike and pedaling home, keeping on the lookout for any flying saucers.

You set The Smiths album next to Tango in the Night, which had found a home on your nightstand. Two was technically a collection, and although Robin hadn’t technically given you ‘Tango in the Night,’ both of them still felt connected to her. Whenever you looked at the tapes, you thought of movie nights and quiet evenings in the woods, and Robin with her rosy smile and her bright eyes. You couldn’t have known that, when her parents went to sleep that night, Robin folded the flower crown you’d given her into wax paper, hiding it between the pages of the heaviest book she owned -- one corner peeking out so she wouldn’t forget it was there.

It seemed that you had both started keeping pieces of each other, along with your indigo skies and your crickets, your dreams and pet peeves, and a pinky promise with a secret code just in case either of you got abducted by aliens.

_______________________________________________________________

You and Robin talked as often as you could over the next few weeks. You were both busy with work, and besides that, it seemed like, at any given point, Robin’s life was more chaotic than your average person's. She and Steve hung out with a group of kids quite often. Steve called it ‘babysitting,’ Robin insisted that the 'babies' were almost adults by now, so it technically wasn’t. Steve had argued that they were the only actual adults in the group, which meant that they were responsible for whatever shit went down, which meant that technically they were babysitting. Robin had ignored him and insisted that one of these days she’d introduce you to them. Your anxiety at the idea must have been clear on your face because she quickly assured you that they were really good kids. Well, most of them.

“Mike is kind of going through a phase right now, but he knows to be polite to strangers or Steve will get started on one of his rants about good manners.”

Steve had interrupted her assurances with a very loud, very dramatic scoff, which Robin also ignored.

“Anyway, besides that, they’re good kids. Dustin’s a little twerp, but he’s the best. Lucas is, like, the sweetest boy I’ve ever met, and his sister Erica’s awesome -- when she likes you, that is. That girl is tiny but mighty.”

“Very scary,” Steve confirmed.

“But she’ll probably be glad to have another girl to hang around. I think she sometimes gets tired of being surrounded by a bunch of immature teenage boys.”

“And immature Robins,” Steve butted back in. They were like two halves of the same court jester.

“How dare you? I am not nearly as bad as those little dinguses -- and besides, Erica does like me. I think.”

“‘You think,’” he mocked, and she launched a VHS at his head; an action she’d never hear the end of because “You can’t break the fucking merchandise, Robin. Keith will have our asses.”

And so your days went, visiting the two at Family Video whenever you could, bringing them leftover pastries, fries, or coffee from the diner. That was how you learned Robin was not a coffee drinker.

“I had one sip of caffeine by accident and my heart nearly exploded right out of my chest. Never again, thank you very much. I think if I drank a whole cup I’d actually go into cardiac arrest.”

“More for me,” Steve had said with a shrug, accepting the cups gratefully.

Robin and Steve sometimes visited you at the diner, too. You’d told them, somewhat regretfully, that you wouldn’t be able to give them any free food -- even if they were friends of an employee -- but they’d just waved away your concerns and planted themselves in a booth. They ordered food, then sat and waited for your shift to be over. They even helped you close up a couple of times.

One night, Steve must have been in a particularly good mood. He and Robin had just finished splitting a basket of fries and you had just ushered the last customer out the door -- a woman everyone knew as old lady Daniels, who was a recurring offender when it came to staying long past closing time. She also had a running tab that you suspected wasn’t going to be paid before she kicked the bucket, but Tiffany was lenient on account of them being old friends. Or so the lore went.

When the three of you were finally alone, Steve hopped up and carried their tray right back to the kitchen, insisting that he clean it himself. You’d tried to tell him -- many times -- that he absolutely did not have to, that you didn’t mind taking care of it, and that it was probably against the rules for him to be back there cleaning stuff off anyway, but he wouldn’t listen. You trusted him, so you let him do his thing.

By the time he returned, announcing that he’d “just gone ahead and washed the rest of the dishes” because there were “only a few,” you and Robin were wiping off tables. Again, you’d tried to tell her that she didn’t need to help you, you were more than happy just to have her company while you worked, but like her friend she was relentless. Their kindness made you feel unbearably warm.

“Hey… now would you look at that,” Steve muttered to himself, and you and Robin had barely dragged your eyes away from one another in enough time to see him drop some change into the old jukebox in the corner. With one hip jutted out and his arms folded against his body in a contemplative pose, he pursued the song options. You knew they were all oldies, and guessed he was probably trying to figure out which one would be the least insufferable. You didn’t much care what he picked -- you’d heard them all and you liked most of them. Still, it had been a long time since anyone had touched that jukebox; it had probably only been played a dozen times since you'd been employed at the diner. You wondered if it still even worked.

You got your answer as the machine let out a whirr, dropping the record of choice into place with a scratch of the needle. A warble filled the air as the vinyl began to spin, and then an upbeat, strumming tune began, joined by a rhythmic tambourine. Steve turned around to grin at you and Robin and, as the lyrics began, both your eyes widened gleefully at the same time.

‘Hey where did we go?

Days when the rains came

Down in the hollow

Playing a new game’

‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison filled the diner like a ray of warm sunshine. You and Robin grinned at each other, eagerly glancing back over at Steve, who grabbed a broom from where it was leaning against the counter and began to dance with it, shaking his hips. You burst out laughing and Robin looked like she was ready to explode with joy -- her smile big and her face scrunched in fond amusement.

Steve did a little flourish, pretending the broomstick was a guitar for a moment before dropping it and grabbing Robin’s hands, shimmying them as he pulled her into the aisle. He sang along as Robin laughed brightly, too happy to grumble at him -- and eventually, he got her singing, too. Then suddenly he gave her a spin that sent her straight into you.

Your hands shot out, catching her as she laughed breathlessly and grinned.

“Oof, sorry,” she giggled, grabbing onto your forearms. Then, leaning back and throwing her head almost upside down, “Steeeeeve!”

“Sorry Robs,” he replied, dancing between the chairs with the broom again. “This fine lady here’s my partner now. You gotta find your own. I think there’s a nice lookin’ mop in the back…”

Robin was rolling her eyes before he even got the sentence out, and then they landed on you. They were shining, somehow a brighter shade of blue than usual.

“Dance with me?”

“Oh, I-I don’t know,” you held up your hands, but Robin used your protest as an opportunity to place her curled fingers under yours, waving them gently through the air as she began to sing, her expression opening into eager pleading, grinning like she already knew you’d say yes.

‘Standin’ in the sunlight laughin’

Hidin’ behind a rainbows wall

Slippin’ and a-slidin’

All along the waterfall with you

My brown eyed girl’

Her smile was so charming, her face flushed with excitement and her nest of her hair sticking up in a beautiful messy spray. She was like a siren and there wasn't a chance on Earth you’d say no. Or any other planet, for that matter.

You grabbed her hands. Her smile grew wider and she closed her eyes blissfully as she stepped back and began dancing you towards her, her low, raspy voice joining the crackle of the record.

‘You my brown eyed girl

Do you remember when

We used to sing

Sha la la, la la, la la, la la l-la te da

Just like that’

She gave you a wink and you just about died. You thought maybe you had when she laid a hand on your waist in a mock-ballroom dance. Soon you found yourself holding onto her, too, and it felt so good. She hopped around, leading you in a messy but charming dance as the cheery music played loudly -- the liveliness of it juxtaposing with the dark and still atmosphere just outside the windows. But inside the diner, everything was warm and breathing and beautifully alive. You followed Robin’s lead, catching her whenever she tripped over her own feet, laughing when she shook her hair out in front of her face, her own laughter sounding like a melody singing along with the jukebox.

Steve danced back into view, hooking his arms around your necks and leaning between you, blowing a puff of air into Robin’s ear. He ducked away as she tried to ruffle his hair, arms flying up defensively to guard his perfect hairdo. You giggled, and Robin turned her smile back onto you, her wrists finding your waist again to rest there casually. You both swayed as the chorus began to fade and the song scratched to an end.

“God. 'M feeling pretty lonely over here,” Steve drawled, hopping onto a barstool and leaning an elbow on the broom handle. “‘S just me and this strange lady I’ve only just met. Maybe I need better standards or something.”

Robin scoffed loudly, stepping beside you to rest an arm on your shoulder -- much like Steve was doing with the broom. You laid a hand on the small of her back, knowing that the flutter in your heart and the breathlessness in your chest wasn’t just because of all the dancing you’d done.

“Hold on,” you alluringly began, an idea coming to mind. “I think I might have just the thing to cheer you up.”

Pulling out of Robin’s grasp, you headed around the counter and into the kitchen. You heard the clunk of another coin, the first chords of another song. You smiled.

“Here we go,” you announced, reappearing with an armful -- three bottles of beer.

“Oh shit,” Steve's face lit up adorably, lips curling into an excited smirk. “Nothing like drowning the sorrow of being single and alone in booze.”

“You’re not alone,” Robin chipperly replied. “You have us.”

She accepted a bottle from you with thanks, and you gave Steve a grin to match the one Robin was wearing. He glanced between the two of you like you’d actually lost your minds.

“Okay, but that’s, like, not the same thing.”

“You mean you want a hot babe to dote on you,” Robin replied, lips peeling back into a devilish grin as she took a swig of beer.

“Wow, Robin. Way to shit on Y/N. And after she just bought us drinks, too.”

“Wha -- I didn’t,” she dropped the bottle from her mouth and glanced over at you. “I didn’t mean that you’re not hot -- I mean, you’re hot, for sure -- like, super hot… I… I mean…” She was nearly as red as the L.E.D. lights advertising Tiffany’s Diner just outside.

You waved your hands in reassurance, trying not to completely freak out yourself.

“I mean… thanks," you managed, your words half-lost beneath her hasty explanations.

She'd just called you hot. ‘Super hot.’

Holy shit.

“Y-Yeah. You're… welcome.”

The combined heat between the two of you must have been enough to start a fire. Steve stared past you with a smug grin, then drank half his bottle in one go.

“Woah, slow down there Harrington, you still have to drive us home.”

“‘Us?’” Steve demanded. “I swear to God, Buckley, I’m gonna open a goddamn shuttling service and make you pay me for all the shit you make me do.”

“Oh my god, you are actually so dramatic. Remind me why I’m friends with you?”

“Must be my car, because that’s all you use me for.”

Robin coughed up an indignant scoff.

“So what is it this time, huh?” he continued, glancing between the two of you. You sipped at your beer, more than used to their bantering by now. “Don’t tell me it’s the ax murderers again.”

“Aliens,” Robin replied, eyebrows raised. Steve stared at her, then turned his stare to you.

“Aliens,” he repeated, and you both nodded. “Yeah, definitely gonna start charging you…”

You and Robin burst into giggles, which had Steve looking like more of a disappointed parent than he already did. He couldn’t keep up the act for long, though, and soon enough the three of you were sprawled out in various seats throughout the diner talking about Steve’s love life -- or lack thereof -- and why Robin wished Steve would stop talking about his love life -- or lack thereof.

“I swear, she was, like, super nice, but…” he groaned, leaning back against the countertop. “And then she’s planning on going to college in the fall -- like literally everyone else my age, of course -- and so I’m like, what’s the point, you know? Long-distance relationships never work. I literally have one with my parents and they don’t know even half the shit that’s gone on in my life. I’d be surprised if they even know I’ve graduated.”

“Uh, which one is this again?” Robin asked, raising a hand. “J… Jessica?”

“Jenna!” Steve insisted. “Her name is Jenna, Robin.

“Sorry!” Robin insisted right back, raising her hands defensively before throwing an arm onto the table. The two of you were lounging back in a booth, your empty bottles discarded on the table. “It’s not my fault the girl of your dreams changes every week like phases of the moon.”

Steve scrunched his face up at her and she stuck her tongue out at him, which he ignored by taking a final swig of his beer. He clanked it back onto the table and sighed.

“So, what about you?” he asked, jerking his chin towards where you were leaning against the windowpane, your legs propped up on the booth seat. “You got a special someone?”

“M-Me?” you pointed at your chest.

“Steve,” Robin hissed, one of the few times you’d heard her sound genuinely upset with him.

“What? I’m just asking! We’re friends -- friends can ask other friends that sort of stuff, right?”

“I’m… not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean,” you hesitantly offered, glancing over at Robin. She was looking at you.

What could you say that wouldn’t have been an outright lie? You couldn’t tell him the truth, that was for sure; couldn’t just come out and say that you had a massive crush on his best friend who very possibly didn’t like you like that and might want to end your friendship, which was one of the best things that had ever happened to you, if she knew how you felt about her. How you really felt. And you were pretty sure there was no way you could survive Robin hating you, or her and Steve suddenly disappearing from your life.

It wasn’t that you thought Robin would care -- she didn’t seem like the kind of person who would -- you were just scared. Because you liked Robin, and she seemed to like you; the problem was you liked her more than just a friend, and if you pushed that boundary but she didn’t like you back…

You weren’t sure she’d still want to be friends with you. And being friends with Robin felt like something you couldn’t live without.

“Cool,” Steve casually replied, and you only then noticed that he’d been watching you carefully. Despite what you feared, there was a lack of judgment in his eyes, and he seemed almost… curious; like he could tell there was something more going on but he wasn't going to push.

You took a deep breath.

“It’s all good,” Robin suddenly spoke up, glancing hesitantly over at you. “I’m not dating anyone, either. Steve makes single life sound like it’s the end of the world, but that’s just because he’s actually the most dramatic person I’ve ever met, and also a hopeless romantic so everything he experiences is, like, ten times more painful than it actually needs to be,” she shrugged.

And then, before you had a chance to wonder if there was an ulterior motive to her telling you that she was single besides just making you feel better, the moment was over and the conversation had moved on -- mostly on Steve’s part, who did nearly all of the talking. That was fine. You were too busy trying to ward off the overwhelming weight of just how fucking difficult it was to not know if Robin somehow felt the same way about you that you probably couldn’t have followed the conversation even if it was interesting -- no offense to Steve.

“And that’s when I said… are you two even listening?” he demanded, and both you and Robin jumped.

“A…Apparently not,” she weakly offered, sending you a quiet look.

“Sorry, Steve,” you offered. “Was it… something about Jessica? Jemma…” you furrowed your brow. “J--”

“Jenna! Christ on a fucking bike, why does no one listen to me?”

“Probably because all you do is talk,” Robin shot back. “Like, it is literally constant. You’re probably contributing a vast majority of the sound pollution across the entire state of Indiana.”

“Oh my god,” he said, looking to you for help. All you could do was shrug and do a piss-poor job of hiding your laughter behind your hand.

“You guys are awful friends,” he snobbily insisted. Robin rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, then got up with a smirk and planted herself on Steve’s lap, grabbing his shoulders and giving him an obnoxious kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, dingus,” she sang. “Please don’t be mad.”

He made a dramatic show of wincing and wiping his cheek before he gave a little scoff and hugged her around the waist. You were lost trying to come up with a reason to be mad at Robin so she’d do that to you. But your mind came up blank. She was just too perfect, too sweet and kind and wonderful; you couldn’t fault her for a single thing. All you could do was try not to stare as she hopped off of Steve's lap and plopped back into the booth as if nothing had happened; as casually as if she hadn’t just made your lungs drop straight through your chest. You were pretty sure you’d have to scrape them up off the floor during your next shift.

“Hey,” Robin suddenly said, nudging you with her elbow, and it wasn’t a kiss on the cheek but it was something. You’d take anything. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you quickly shook your head, smiling in a way that you hoped looked relatively normal. “I’m good. Just tired.”

Robin’s brow furrowed sympathetically, and she let her forearm brush against yours on the table as she tapped her fingers. Why? You felt like you were wailing it to the sky. Why did she do things like that -- the lingering touches and hidden smiles and longing glances? She had to know she was driving you crazy. You would have died to know what all of it meant.

If you were braver, you would have asked.

“Are we all good here? Like, for closing and stuff?” Steve asked as if all three of you worked at Tiffany’s instead of just you. Some of your internal turmoil was momentarily set aside as fondness replaced it. Even if you were confused, you were still pretty lucky.

“Yeah, all good.”

“Great,” Steve announced, jumping up to collect the empty bottles. “Let’s get you ladies home, then.”

Robin didn’t say anything this time about Steve calling you ‘ladies,’ but she did bump her side into yours as you headed for the door, smirking like you shared a secret. You felt like maybe you did -- if only you knew what that secret was. You smiled up at her anyway and let the touch of your hips linger, wishing that it could have turned into more; wishing that it could have gone on longer and never stopped.

As had become a habit, Steve carried your bike to his car -- and not long after, Robin helped you get it out. You could tell, though, that something was different tonight. You could almost feel the energy in the air, the unbroken potential hovering around Robin like a cloud.

“Hey, so,” she finally broke the silence, lowering your bike onto the pavement as the atmosphere cleared. “I hope Steve didn’t put you on the spot or anything while he was prying into your love life. You don’t have to, like… tell us personal things, even if we are friends. Which… I mean, we are… right?”

“Yes. Of course,” you insisted. Then, a bit more shyly, “I mean -- I’d like to be.”

“Me too!” she replied, waving her hands before clasping them in front of her, nervously playing with her fingers. “I just… I want you to be comfortable, you know? And, I mean, sometimes I kind of talk without a filter -- a-and Steve’s filter is a little unconventional when you compare it to everyone else's, haha…”

“Robin,” you waited for her to look at you, and when she did, it was like she was trying to hide through her eyelashes. “It’s okay -- really. I really like you guys. But… if it makes you feel better, I swear I’ll tell you if you ever make me uncomfortable or cross a line or anything.” You raised your eyebrows imploringly, and Robin visibly relaxed before beaming at you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for sure.” In a moment of confidence, you stuck out your pinky. Robin’s grin softened, giving you a look of eager surprise. She hooked her pinky around yours.

“But hey, you too, alright?”

“Yeah -- of course. Me too,” she nodded, giving your pinky a firm shake. “Alright, well,” she smiled sadly. “I guess I’d better go. My parents are probably gonna freak at me for getting home so late. They’ve gotten kind of uber-sensitive about my curfew since last summer when I… well… it’s a long story with way too many moving parts. Anyway… night.” she ducked her head, rosy cheeks shining warm beneath the streetlights and the crescent moon.

“Night,” you replied, finally letting go of her hand. “Keep an eye out for aliens.”

Robin’s lips curled into a grin as she walked back towards the passenger side door.

“Sure thing, Earthling,” she winked.

Your feet were stuck to the pavement even as Steve pulled away with a wave that you physically couldn’t return.

From inside Steve’s BMW, the two best friends were having a similar issue.

“Holy shit.”

“Steve,” Robin groaned, hands planted over her face, covering her eyes and hoping that maybe Steve wouldn’t notice how red she was.

“You just winked at her. Robs, you just winked at her.”

“Steven, I swear to God--”

“Ha! Haha!” Steve reached over to grab her shoulder, shaking it so hard that her teeth knocked together. “Jesus, Robin! I mean damn, you pulled out the moves and everything. Did you see her, by the way? I think we should circle back to make sure she actually got inside ‘cause it looked like she was about to fall over.”

“Would you stop--”

“I’m being completely serious, Robin. Holy shit,” he glanced away, blowing a raspberry and raking a hand through his hair. “So what kinds of flowers do you think you guys’ll want for the wedding? Also, what’s her favorite color because we’ll have to pick, like, napkins and tablecloths and all that stuff.”

“Why do you know so much about wedding planning?” she furrowed her brow, and Steve glanced over at her before shrugging.

“So?” he persisted, eyes widening as he waited. Robin leaned against the window and smirked.

“Indigo. Something, like… dark indigo.”

Steve fell quiet for a moment, taking in Robin’s starry-eyed expression. It was like she was looking somewhere else, far away from his little car or the street in front of them, or even all of Hawkins. He smiled.

“That’s… poetic,” he couldn’t help but comment.

“Shut up, dingus,” Robin fondly replied.

______________________________________________________________

You and Robin didn’t see each other for a little while after that night. You talked on the phone as frequently as you could, but between working evening rush hour shifts at the diner and Keith cracking down on how often employees could use the phone -- he must have figured out they were using it for non-work-related purposes -- yours and Robin’s paths didn’t get the opportunity to cross.

It felt like forever since you’d seen her even though it had likely only been a few weeks. Even so, it seemed that you weren’t the only dramatic one.

“Steve’s been asking about you, like, constantly,” Robin said over the phone one evening. “No offense, but I think he just misses all the snacks you usually bring us.”

You snorted, smiling fondly at the thought.

“I know -- work’s just been so busy lately. But tell him I’ll be around with more soggy fries and half-melted milkshakes soon.”

You wished you could see Robin’s smile as her laughter came through the receiver, the crackling and long distance doing nothing to change the way it sounded like spring. The way it sounded perfect. You wished you could see that dimple in the corner of her mouth, a little wrinkle that always appeared when she smiled wide enough, the crease swallowing up a few of her freckles. You just wished you could see her.

“No worries, we totally understand,” Robin was saying. “But, uh… Steve’s not the only one who misses you…”

Your end of the line was silent.

“I mean, it’s been, like, weeks since I’ve had a strawberry milkshake--”

You laughed, leaning your head onto your hand, scratching lightly at your temple as you felt your face grow hot. “The next chance I get, I’m taking you out for one.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. We can go back to that spot in the woods again. I’ll bring The Smiths.”

“Sounds like a pretty good way to spend an evening,” she said, voice a raspy purr. It made you crazy.

“Hopefully soon.”

“Yeah… hey, my mom’s calling. Actually, she has been for, like, five minutes now but I’ve kind of been ignoring her. I’m surprised you haven’t heard her on the other end,” she scoffed. You laughed into your hand.

“Alright. Talk to you soon, yeah?”

“I’d offer you my pinky, but I’m afraid technology hasn’t reached those capabilities yet.”

God, she was unreal. And here she was, talking to you over the phone. You felt like the luckiest person on planet earth.

“Night Earthling,” she said, as if on cue.

“Night Robin. Say ‘hi’ to Steve for me.”

“Will do.”

You heard the lingering echoes of her smile and then it was cut off with the click of the receiver. Your head was spinning somewhere out in the woods near Lover’s Lake -- somewhere where the crickets were loud and couldn't be silenced by the hanging up of a phone. As much as you would have liked living there forever, real life had a tendency of moving on, even when your daydreams were so much better.

It wasn’t until a few days later that you spoke to Robin again. She called you Friday at the diner two hours before your shift ended.

“Honey,” Tiffany waved you down as you were bringing an order back to the kitchen, phone in her hand and the chord stretched around the corner. “You’ve got a call,” she held up the phone.

You’d been expecting one of your parents. Who else would have called you at work? You really should have known.

“Hey there, Earth girl,” Robin grinned.

“Oh, it’s ‘Earth girl’ now?” you arched an eyebrow despite the heat that instantly spread down your neck, you tucked yourself back into the small hallway of employee lockers and leaned onto the wall next to the phone hook.

“Trying new things. Anyway -- are you free tonight? Please say you’re free tonight.”

You’d planned on going home, taking the longest shower of your life, then dropping into bed to watch reruns on TV, but technically…

“Yeah. I don’t have anything going on.”

Robin let out something between a groan and a sigh.

“Ahgh, yes! Okay, so Steve and I got invited to this party--”

“I got invited to this party,” Steve interjected, his voice distant but clear enough. “Robin’s just my plus one.”

“Oh my god, whatever,” she grumbled, clearly exasperated. They’d obviously had this argument beforehand, and of course they hadn’t come to a resolution and neither of them had caved. You wouldn’t have expected less. “But, uh, I was wondering if you’d be my plus one. Or… plus two, technically speaking. Plus one squared?”

You heard Steve muttering “You’re such a nerd,” seconds before the sound of her elbow connecting with his ribs.

“So… will you come? It’s at Mandy’s house -- do you know Mandy? She was in Mr. Richard’s Calculus class. Kind of a priss, but whatever. Steve insists that I go along with him for emotional support, and I could really use your emotional support.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed before you had enough time to regret the decision, let alone even think about it. The cheer Robin let out was a million times worth it. “What’s the address?”

Robin told you and you wrote it onto your order pad.

“That’s actually not too far from my house. I can bike, meet you guys there.”

It took Robin some convincing from both you and Steve for her to agree, but finally, you settled on leaving your house around eight, which would get you to Mandy’s around eight-fifteen. Robin assured you that they’d already be there by then and would find you.

“Thanks for this, you’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem. It’ll be fun!” At least, you hoped it would.

Parties definitely were not your thing, but… Robin had asked you. And, if it meant getting to spend the evening with your two best friends, then maybe it would be fun. The promise of alcohol definitely didn’t hurt.

Robin and you agreed to use each other as alibis, telling your parents you’d be spending the night at your friend’s house. Steve’s parents were away on business, so he didn’t have to worry about it, and said that you could all three crash at his place for the night. You felt a bit of excitement flutter around the pit of anticipation in your stomach.

“And remember, don’t get abducted. We have a deal, Earthling. ‘M not ready to give you to the aliens quite yet.”

Yeah… maybe it would be a fun night after all.

_______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @alonezz, @gaysludge, @gray-cheese, @rare-breed-of-human, @vea-vea-vea, @lady-silkwing, @im-a-milf, @yourmanifestingbigsister

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin x reader #robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley #st #st fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #steve and robin #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #fanfictions

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oswinpond · 6 months

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My Clara Rewatch, Episode 1: Asylum of the Daleks

I'm going to ignore the silliness in this episode in favour of focusing on Oswin. Fabulous Oswin.

(But for one second, can I just say about how truly silly it is that the Daleks have a parliament? They're Daleks, they have nothing resembling a democracy. Are we supposed to believe they held a Dalek election? And why do they have an asylum when they exterminate anyone, including other Daleks, who show the slightest sign of imperfection by their standards?)

Anyway...

(Also I hate that Amy and Rory have this divorce plot offscreen, and the minisodes don't count. Springing this on us and then resolving it in one single episode was unnecessary. I love getting to watch Amy prove her love for Rory, but we've had plenty of that in s6 and s7a to come.)

Okay now to the good stuff: Oswin.

"Day 363. The terror continues."

Oswin has been on a Dalek planet for nearly a year and is still holding strong. It really speaks to the strength of her character. (Especially when you know...)

I love that Oswin is boarding up her little hiding hole with planks of wood, as if those will keep out Daleks. Bless.

We're first introduced to Oswin with the song "Habanera" from Carmen, the opera. Now I'm no opera connoisseur so I'm pulling from wikipedia here, like a proper English major: "It is set in southern Spain and tells the story of the downfall of Don José, a naïve soldier who is seduced by the wiles of the fiery gypsy Carmen. José abandons his childhood sweetheart and deserts from his military duties, yet loses Carmen's love to the glamorous torero Escamillo, after which José kills her in a jealous rage. The depictions of proletarian life, immorality, and lawlessness, and the tragic death of the main character on stage, broke new ground in French opera and were highly controversial."

I don't want to stretch too hard, but I think there are some obvious parallels to Clara's story in there, intentional or not. But I do think there's something to be said about how Oswin is dressed in that bright red and at one point has a red rose in her hair (oh hey the inspiration for my username!) in that classic spanish tango style. Maybe that was intentional. I mean, Eleven does call her Carmen at one point.

If Clara were on GBBO, she'd lose in the first round.

But is it not absolutely precious that she finds a way to spin everything in a positive light? "Made another soufflé... very nearly." That wasn't even close, my dear. "They came again last night. Still always at night. Maybe they're vampires." She finds a way to turn the trauma of her life, barricading herself from the universe's most deadly killing machines, into a little fantasy (a fantasy within a fantasy, you might say). "Happy birthday, mum. I did make you a soufflé, but it was too beautiful to live." Does it need saying?

The connection to her mom is already being established. Is Oswin's mother still alive, and this version of Clara got to have more time with her? Or did she lose her mother young, too, and is celebrating her birthday as one other way to stay connected to her humanity, her home?

Anyway, she sleeps in a hammock like a pirate. Hot. (And Oswin, like Prime Clara, likes to wear rings. Details.)

Carmen. Oswin. Roses.

I think this is the first time we hear the start of Clara's theme.

"I know a Dalek when I hear one, yeah." So Oswin Oswald, junior entertainment officer of the starship Alaska, has encountered Daleks before. She's seen things, she's done things. Even if this is her first trip out on this starship, somehow she's encountered Daleks. That's pretty cool. Why has Big Finish never done a story about Oswin? Get on that, BF. Phone Jenna.

There's a flavour of Everything Everywhere All at Once with this intro to Clara, this idea of what other versions of yourself would have done in different lives, with different choices and opportunities. Prime Clara was an unofficial nanny who always dreamed of travelling, and then became an English teacher while getting to travel the universe with the Doctor. Oswin became an entertainment officer on a starship, in order to travel the universe. Victorian Clara was both a barmaid and a governess, and immediately jumped at the chance to travel with the Doctor. Common threads between our Claras are very obvious: she's a people-pleaser, she likes to take care of others and make them happy, and she wants to see the world, the universe.

(Tangent: Is "Oswin Oswald" her full name from birth? Or was she also a Clara Oswin Oswald who ditched the "Clara" and started going by her middle name?)

DOCTOR: How can you hack into everything? It should be impossible. You're in a crashed ship! OSWIN: Long story. Is there a word for total screaming genius that sounds modest and a tiny bit sexy? DOCTOR: Doctor. You can call me the Doctor. OSWIN: I see what you did there.

The shameless Doctor/Clara flirting has officially started.

Side note, I love how Oswin's hacking genius is explained in The Bells of Saint John soon after this. It's not just Oswin being an entertainment officer who also just happens to be a tech genius. There's a specific plot reason for it, and now I wonder if Victorian Clara ever demonstrated any uncanny abilities with early technology...

Oswin saving Rory and interacting with the Ponds is very important to me, seeing as they're my three favourite companions of the show. (Plus, the fact that she flirts with Rory shows she has good taste. That said, if she had flirted with Amy I think the fandom would have combusted on the spot. Speaking for myself, at least.)

Now I totally hate the "I was going through a phase" line because come on we're past the point of describing bisexuality as a phase but thankfully they later fixed this, to some extent, by making it hard canon that Clara is bisexual and identifies as such.

Unrelated to Clara, but I adore how when Amy is hallucinating the people-Daleks, she hears a jazzy version of "Together or Not at All". Murray Gold strikes again with the genius.

OSWIN: Do you know how you make someone into a Dalek? Subtract love, add anger. Doesn't she seem a bit too angry to you? AMY: Well, somebody's never been to Scotland.

Aside from how funny I find this exchange, I just love how the one emotion we definitely haven't seen Oswin express the entire time is anger. She's shown us plenty of other regular emotions (and in fact, love–when talking about her mother) but we haven't seen a shred of anger from her.

Which is really important for what comes next... the big reveal that Oswin has been fully converted–at least physically–into a Dalek.

Part of me wishes she hadn't been converted. Imagine if we'd gotten Oswin escaping with Amy, Rory, and the Doctor? I would've had my three favourite companions (at least, a version of Clara) interacting as a trio. She could've stuck around for a few episodes before dying in time for the exit of the Ponds and the intro of Victorian Clara. I would've loved to see Jenna play off Karen and Arthur face to face.

But I have to come back to the fact that it's so perfectly set up. Right off the bat, Oswin's situation doesn't make sense. The lone survivor of the Daleks, alone for a whole year, baricading herself from them with planks of wood and surviving off soufflés that aren't edible and we never see her eating them, with ingredients she doesn't have. Every time we see her interact with the Doctor, it's through a very Dalek-like lens:

And of course, we can write that off the whole episode as this just being Dalek technology so of course it looks Dalek-like. But after the reveal, you realize that of course, this is her actual POV.

And most importantly, we need the Doctor to never know what Oswin looks like so that Victorian Clara's death, her repeating the iconic line, and the Doctor finding out her middle name all create that big gut punch moment for him. We as the audience know both characters are played by Jenna Coleman, but the Doctor isn't supposed to know. And when I do the next Clara episode I have a whole thing about why this is so important.

This just about breaks my heart. She finally sees the Doctor has arrived and she immediately runs to pack her suitcase. She's so committed to her self-imposed delusion that she still, to this moment, believes she's about to escape.

"Rescue me chin boy and show me the stars."

It's absolutely heartbreaking hearing her say "I'm hu–" and hearing the Dalek voice finish "–man". Genius, though. And then you hear a Dalek cry for the first time ever and it's so incredibly unsettling because they're the embodiment of evil, of hate, and crying is not Dalek. Sadness and heartbreak are not Dalek.

Oswin has been depicted as the exact opposite of Dalek. When she starts crying, it's the one time she says "exterminate", when she lets it in for the first time, and it's because she's angry about what they did to her. She spent a whole year hiding from the truth of the unbelievable trauma she's been put through, partly because it's too much to deal with, but also because if she lets herself face it she will feel that anger, and they'll start to win over her mind. Oswin lives in delusion to protect herself and her humanity.

"Eggs... stir... minate..." isn't just a fun twist. She turned "exterminate" into something as harmless as a soufflé recipe. Oswin took the one word Daleks use the most, the one that, on Doctor Who, is the epitome of evil, and turned it into something human, something positive, something creative (even if she sucked at it) and that she associated with the love for her mother.

Oswin spent a whole year fighting a full Dalek conversion, while the rest of her crew couldn't fight off a partial one, and she refused to let them turn her into a killer. The pure strength of her will is incredible.

I just adore these shots of Oswin crying, finally accepting the truth of what happened to her. Jenna knocked this out of the park.

As I said, crying is not Dalek.

And then she decides that no, she won't let in the anger, she won't let them win, ever. She'll save the Doctor, the biggest enemy of the Daleks, and die as Oswin, a human.

Then she says her iconic line, "Run you clever boy, and remember." She breaks the fourth wall which, correct me if I'm wrong, is the first time it's happened on the show, until Twelve comes in to make that one of his rare quirks.

That's my girl.

#clara oswald #elevenclara #doctor x clara #dw meta #sort of meta??? it's mostly rambling but I dunno #asylum of the daleks #allywatchesclarawho

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touyaspeach · 2 years

Text

Pretty

Enforcer! Ginoza x afab! Reader

Summary ; you and nobuchika find some time alone to yourselves and sweet, passionate lovemaking ensues. WC ; 1.5k Warnings ; fem-bodied reader, unprotected, slight body worship, praise, love confession, minor injury Thanks ; @kitsu-writes for attempting to beta but getting too into the story to find any errors hahaha.

Funny how you ended up with matching stab wounds.

It happened months apart and from very different suspects, but still. He had a bright pink line right on his side, almost exactly where yours had scarred over months ago. Funny.

"Can you help?"

Not funny.

Not when he's sitting shirtless in front of you, all lithe muscle and pretty skin on display for you. Not when he's holding a small tube of ointment and some gauze, looking up at you with a perfect schooled expression.

"Yes," you said softly, sitting beside him. The bed dipped under your weight, sliding him towards you just a hair so that his arm pressed into yours. Neither of you shied away from the contact, even though it made your skin burn.

He didn’t say thank you, not with his words. But the expression on his face, full of appreciative reverence, made you swoon just a little. Although he didn’t need to know that.

And, then, he said something unexpected.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this. I know I’m not the prettiest to look at.”

To say that his words took you aback is an understatement. He was beautiful in your eyes, from the elegance of his well-structured face to the well defined and yet lithe form of his body. A few scars here and there didn’t detract from his attractiveness, it simply added to it. A simple reminder that beauty lies in imperfection.

So, you scoffed, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Nobuchika fell silent, chewing on your words and attempting to process them.

“You disagree.”

“Whole heartedly.”

“I’d like to hear your reasoning.”

You were just putting the finishing touches on the bandage, applying the last piece of medical tape to keep the gauze covering the stitched wound when your eyes flickered up to his. He looked down at you quizzically, as if he genuinely couldn’t understand what you’d see in him.

You straightened, putting the supplies away before giving him the answer. It never hurt to have him stew for a moment.

“You’re pretty,” you said simply, “a few scars doesn’t change that.”

His gaze fell to his side, then to the gnarled stump where his arm once was before finally meeting yours once more.

You nodded at his silent question, “Yes, Nobuchika, you’re still pretty even without an arm.”

He chuckled softly, a sound you could listen to on repeat and never tire of. Even that was lovely.

“You flatter me too much.”

“It isn’t flattery.”

“Then what is it?” “The truth.” “Your truth is bizarre.”

You shook your head, “No, your opinion of yourself is just poor.”

He sighed softly, “and you think too highly of me.”

You took his metal hand between yours, clasping it gently, “I think just enough of you. And I think you’re pretty. All of you.”

He wished he could feel how soft your lips were on his skin, but instead you’d opted to grace his unfeeling hand with that kiss. His fingers twitched.

And then you kissed higher, and higher, and Nobuchika watched with rapt attention as you continued giving him sweet little kisses on the only part of his body that couldn’t feel it. Perhaps you were far crueler than he’d imagined.

Emotions lodged in his throat alongside his breath when you kissed the very alive, very feeling flesh of his shoulder. Your lips were soft, just like he’d imagined, and allowed his eyes to flutter shut as you continued your honeyed assault.

“What are you doing…?” he said, voice nearly a whisper and quivering.

“Kissing you.”

“Why?” “Hmm…” was the only answer you gave him, and he was grateful, because by then you were kissing over his collarbones and he could focus on nothing else. Just your soft, sweet affection, and the blood that insisted on rushing south because of it.

When you pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat he swallowed hard, breathed your name in a whispered warning. “Careful.”

“Why?” you parroted.

“You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I know perfectly well what I do to you, that’s why I’m doing it.”

He hissed, letting his head fall back as you situated yourself in his lap. His grip found your hips on instinct, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing. It wasn’t your fault, his wound was tender despite how careful you were being.

Your lips on his jaw, the sting of a forgotten stab wound, skin on skin and shared breath were the only things occupying his mind. Getting to feel you on top of him, getting to touch you and kiss you, regardless of the reason, was everything he wanted.

Even though you’d been intimate many times before, each time felt new in ways neither of you could have anticipated, and this time was no exception.

You gently pushed on his chest, signaling for him to fall back - to lay flat on his bed as you shimmied your top up and over your chest, tossing it aside.

A few moments later, and you were both bare; nothing more than two people sharing an intimate moment. The outside world didn’t matter. Hue didn’t matter. Sybil didn’t matter. What did matter was the way he shuddered under your touch, the way his muscles twitched as you trickled your fingers along each and every scar. Cooing at how beautiful he was.

What mattered was how he looked even prettier, flushed with embarrassment at your praise.

His cock was hot and throbbing as you slowly sank down on it. The feeling of you stretching to fit making you both groan in pleasure. His hands were on your hips again, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat building in your belly; to the fire of his body beneath your touch.

And the way he looked at you, not an ounce of anything but love and adoration spilling from his gaze. It filled your heart and you could do nothing more than to kiss him and roll your hips, feeling him shudder once again.

You parted in favor of moving slowly, less bouncing and more rocking so that the head of his dick massaged against your sweet spot.

“Fuck,” he hummed, “You’re the pretty one, you know that, right? You’re so…mmm so lovely.”

Nobuchika helped you move as he rolled his hips up. It was slow, and intimate, and you were glad for this because his cock reached depths within you that even you didn’t know existed. The sound of your breathing filled the air, and you could spell the clean scent of his shampoo with every motion. He moaned, stoking the fire that raged deep in your belly, and you brought his hand - the feeling one - to your lips to kiss.

His eyes were glued to where your lips pressed to his skin, and he unfurled his fingers to splay them along your cheek, caressing you softly. His thumb pressed onto your tongue, and you eagerly swirled around it and suckled, drawing even more pretty sounds from him.

Once it was covered in your saliva, he ghosted his touch down your body to roll his thumb over your clit slowly.

You mewled, feeling your release approaching much faster with the added stimulation.

Words danced between labored breaths as Nobuchika picked up his pace, there was so much to say. So much he needed to convey clearly, despite how foggy his thoughts were. Your tits bounced so perfectly with every cant of his hips, your pussy squeezing him so tightly, your arousal gushing out and around him…

“I-” he started, but what followed was cut by a deep, low groan as he felt you twitch and then spasm around him. “C-coming…!” you gasped, falling back onto your arms with his cock still buried inside of you, his finger still working over your sensitive pearl.

In that moment, he wondered how you could ever think he was pretty, when the most exquisite sight was before him. Your head thrown back in ecstasy that he gave you, your body on perfect display, himself buried to the hilt inside your tight heat. You were worthy of every poem and song and painting. Every depiction of beauty paled in comparison to you in that moment.

And it was this image of you that caused him to follow, a low groan and then he was pumping you full of his hot, sticky seed. You stayed like this for a long moment, locked in pure bliss, panting, sweaty, and -

“I love you.”

His voice, nearly a whisper, broke the spell.

You let yourself raise slightly, let yourself look down at him as you blinked wildly in surprise.

“You-”

“I love you.”

You kissed him, slowly, deeply, carefully. Drawing his face to yours with both hands on his cheeks, working your lips into his before brushing your fingers through his thick, lovely hair. No other words needed to be spoken, because you both knew that your feelings were mutual.

#ginoza nobuchika #ginoza x reader #ginoza smut #psycho pass smut #ginoza fluff #psycho pass fluff #bro idek what to tag anymore someone help

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hearthouses · 24 days

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🙊 unsolicited constructive criticism on fanworks

I think we should normalize being able to tell someone, "hey, you made a typo here, or the tense is messed up here, or did you mean this word?" style constructive criticism because that is genuinely helpful and we're all human and make errors. I'm always so grateful when someone points that stuff out so I can go and fix it.

But I think bigger criticisms based on character choices or writing style can be a minefield of is this in good faith, or do you just disagree with someone? Which disagreement is fine, but fanworks are often highly personal little pieces produced by people in their spare time, often simply for fun, so I think treating it like mainstream art isn't fair because it doesn't have the same reach or even the same motivations for its production. For me, it's like complaining about a hand-crocheted blanket from a hobbyist being imperfect vs. something you bought for hundreds of dollars. You just simply don't do it out of tact and politeness.

send me a 🙊 along with any topic of your choice and i'll tell you my honest opinion on it

#replies!#wastemanjohn #misschinablue

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nautilusopus · 1 year

Text

the link in that post i think leaves out most of what makes something kosher or not kosher actually so i’m just gonna add it here:

edit: hey what the fuck tumblr collapsed my bullet indentation

stuff that was in the link: certain animals are off limits, though it did not specify the criteria SO:

all mammals must have split hooves and chew their cud

birds must NOT be predators or scavengers

all fish must have fins and scales (also no scavengers)

all plants are inherently kosher

all dairy is inherently kosher, as long as it comes from a kosher mammal (and isn’t consumed with meat)

blood, even from a kosher animal, is absolutely verboten. more on this later.

the sciatic nerve is off limits. sirloin, unless great pains are gone to to remove the sciatic nerve, is often not kosher, even though it comes from a kosher animal. (there are other nerves that are and are not kosher but i’m not gonna get into that here and usually the only relevant one is the sciatic nerve)

some jews unilaterally just avoid hindquarter meat, since most butchers don’t bother to remove certain nerves/certain portions of fat. when taking this into account, a great deal of modern jews don’t actually keep kosher

some species from the genus orthoptera are kosher but all other arthropods are not

if you found it already dead, it’s not kosher

you may not cut off and eat a part of an animal without first slaughtering the animal. this one in particular isn’t really a problem these days, but back when there was no refrigeration and you couldn’t afford to butcher the whole animal at once lest it go to waste, it was a thing people sometimes did. less likely to go bad if it’s still alive and in horrible pain

you may not mix meat and dairy. the justification for this is that you are not supposed to boil the calf in its mothers milk (which was an actual dish at the time this was written), but you can have chicken with eggs ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

you must have separate sets of dishes for both meat and dairy. the two must never come into contact with one another, even indirectly by putting meat on a milchig plate, or stirring milk with a fleishig spoon

SLAUGHTER PROCEDURES:

this part is a lot of what rabbis get brought in for. the animal in question must die as painlessly as possible, so the knife must be EXTREMELY sharp. like, extremely sharp, to the point where if you cut yourself with it you don’t even notice it. you have to run your fingernail down it and if you feel even the slightest bump it has to be sent back for further sharpening, because the blade is required to be free of any imperfection.

you say a little prayer. this is less “blessing” and has been mentioned and more just a brief animal funeral rite

the animal in question must not be injured in any way prior to slaughter. this also includes the standard electric shock to incapacitate most animals for slaughter.

the throat is slit, and must be slit cleanly and in a highly specific way, and all the blood must be allowed to run out. following this, the meat is salted to remove any blood this procedure might have missed. this is the key difference between kosher and halal, as halal slaughter does include the painless death part but does not have any specific prohibition on blood, and depending on who you are will either do in a pinch or is still just as unacceptable as christian meat.

and this is just the brief overview. there are more regulations than this about the type of knife used, how it is oiled and sharpened, how certain cuts of meat need to be made, what does and doesn’t count as “incapacitated”, whether or not the cow’s offspring was killed too closely in terms of date to the cow, et cetera.

all this and more is why 1. kosher meat tends to be more expensive and 2. why you have a rabbi on-site to make sure everything is up to code. and there is a lot of code

UGH FINE I REWROTE IT WITHOUT INDENTATION. RUIN MY FORMATTING WHY DON’T YOU i hate this website

#source: i'm a shrimp-eating heathen now but i promise you i stuck to this stuff pretty stringently at one point in my life #i still don't drink milk if i'm having a meal with meat in it #even if the meat in question is in a cheeseburger #old habits die hard #jew stuff

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somediyprojects · 6 months

Text

DIY Wool Felt Pot Holders

Project by Brett Bara:

Add a little fall flair to your kitchen with these quick and easy wool potholders. They’re super simple to make — just cut out the leaf shapes, add the decorative stitching and you’re done! You can finish one in an hour or less, and they’re a great beginner project for those of you still afraid of your sewing machines. (You know who you are!) Keep these cuties for yourself or pass them along with a homemade pie or a jar of apple butter as a sweet hostess gift. — Brett Bara

CLICK HERE for the full how-to after the jump!

Materials

about 1/2 yard each of three colors wool felt (Note: be aware that felt made of synthetic fibers can melt when it comes in contact with high heat, so wool felt is recommended here. A good source for a wide range of wool felt colors is www.purlsoho.com.)

sketch paper to draw a leaf template, or a picture of a leaf to use as a guide

sharp scissors

pencil

contrasting thread

sewing machine

Instructions

1. Create a leaf shape.

To begin, draw or trace a simple leaf shape about 8″ wide and 8″ tall. Don’t worry about making it perfect — an imperfect shape adds to the charm! You can use a real leaf as a guide, or look for a leaf shape in a free clip art collection. You can also print out my photo above and trace it (enlarge it on a copy machine, if necessary).

2. Cut all three layers from felt.

Cut one piece of felt from your leaf shape, then lay it on top of another color of felt. Cut out the second piece just slightly larger than the first, then repeat with a third color of felt. You’ll have three layers of leaves, each slightly larger than the previous layer. Again, don’t worry about making them perfect!

3. Make the hanging tabs.

Cut a strip of felt about 1″ wide and 4″ long.

Fold it in half lengthwise, then stitch down its center using a zig-zag stitch.

Fold the strip in half and pin it to the bottom edge of the largest leaf piece.

Stitch it in place about 1/2″ from the raw edge of the leaf, using a straight stitch.

4. Add the veins.

Layer all three leaf pieces and pin them together. (Be sure that the raw edges of the hanging loop are sandwiched inside the layers so that they’re not visible on the finished pot holder.) Set your machine to a slightly longer than average stitch length. Beginning at the base of the leaf, sew a line all the way to the tip of the leaf.

When you reach the tip, raise the presser foot, pivot and sew back to the base. Repeat this to make several lines of stitching along the same path.

Repeat to sew another vein up each section of the leaf, always returning to the same beginning point at the leaf base. You can add all of this stitching in one continuous line, constantly sewing back and forth and always returning to the same beginning point.

Continuing in the same manner, add smaller branches off of each main line.

And you’re done! That’s all there is to these simple pot holders. Now go cook up a big batch of something warm, and put them to use! (I highly recommend apple pie.)

#diy #crafts #home decor #x

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lemonthepotato · 5 months

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Muffins: Enneagram Analysis

[Art by Reitanna Seishin, DA]

The Enneagram of Personality, or simply the Enneagram, is a model of the human psyche which is principally understood and taught as a typology of nine interconnected personality types. There are nine types, each with their own adjacent wings and tritypes. The enneagram relates back to your childhood, and our wounds inflicted onto us. Where will seven highly traumatised ill ponies land? Well, that’s what we’re here to discuss.

I’d like to say, the irony that I so confidently type these characters, when they’re so obscure (in this context) and the fact the only other typology analysis I’m working on is for Daigaku Gurashi is very telling. I did guess the Yandere Simulator enneagrams. But like, that’s a can of worms I’m not getting into now. Point is: there’s a reason I stick to obscure characters.

I am not confident in my analysis. I’m getting better at typing characters, but ultimately, I have a hard time reading others. Character analysis isn’t my forte. Luckily for me, I had a hyper fixation with muffins on and off for a very long time, on and off. While the hyperfixation has passed, and I no longer care for this fic, you know I had to do it to them.

LET’S GET IT CRACKING.

Pinkie Pie - Muffins Pinkie Pie is a butchering- I mean re-imagination of canon Pinkie Pie, who is commonly seen as a sp2 or so7, but analysing Muffins Pinkie Pie paints an entirely different idea. First of all, let’s go through the Muffins quiz, which I have all the results to saved on my phone. The answers indicate a cognitive dissonance, or perhaps faux-affably evil persona. Reitanna paints a complex image of Pinkie. Pinkie is manipulative, lacks any care, and truly evil. (“High acts of cruelty require empathy.” - she knows what she’s doing.) She’s prone to anger outbursts when her friends are disrespected, and has a god complex. She uses others as a means to an end, only showing genuine love to the other 6. She hates when things don’t go her way (“You ruined everything!” To Twilight) and On Trial gives us the most characterisation of Pinkie Pie. She pushes the blame onto others for her actions, truly not caring about anyone but herself and her bakers. Pinkie says she “controls” others, showing a desire for control. Pinkie is a SP7. with a 6 wing? “Ichazo called SP7 "Defenders", people who have a need to band with others who have similar interests, having a passion for inclusion that leads to relationships of mutual protection…”

“The conservation E7 has become an expert at getting what he wants without asking for it. His basic conception is that things are not achieved by asking for them: either they take them, or they cheat or speculate to obtain them.” “He questions everything and has a certain degree of anger with life, little manifested. Basically, it underlies the difficulty of character for devotional love and recognizing the other. Similar to the E1, in the feeling that others are not trustworthy, that people are imperfect, but without taking the trouble to try to correct others, conservation E7 isolates itself from the world in its particular garden: that of the “family” or the feeling of involvement with a network to link, as a defense against a life that it understands as chaos and that reinforces its idea that pleasure and non-stop are the only possible escape routes.”

“They tend to sweet-talk those they are close to, and are very persuasive; anyone will be welcome as long as they get what they want. In their conversations, there can often be hidden motives and if they can sell you something on the way, they will. Making business is one of their passions. In addition, they are capable of even tricking and cheating themselves while maintaining the charming facade that allows them to get what they want when they want it. You could say if the occasion requires it, they can become quite manipulative and clever.”

I think this summarises Pinkie pretty well, but I’m not 100% sure of this typing.

Inkie Pie

Inkie is self-confident and doesn’t care what others think about her. She uses others and doesn’t view them as humans. (“I see... a toy. A plaything put on this world for my amusement. These toys are sentient, they have thoughts and feelings, they make decisions that impact how they live, they have desires and fears... but I find I just don't care. There are only a few people in this world that I would never harm. Everybody else is worthless, their lives mean nothing to me.”)

She resents peace ("I just can't stand peace. I find the beauty in the dissonance.")

She bottles up her emotions to avoid getting hurt. (" guess bottling everything up wasn't very healthy..." just wanted to keep from getting hurt, but it hurt me more emotionally than a smack from mama ever could." She met the yellow eyes of her sister. "I'm sorry. I know that must've been a pretty ugly sight.")

Textbook Eight. I just don’t know what subtype. “Eights are self-confident, strong, and assertive. Protective, resourceful, straight-talking, and decisive, but can also be ego-centric and domineering. Eights feel they must control their environment, especially people, sometimes becoming confrontational and intimidating. Eights typically have problems with their tempers and with allowing themselves to be vulnerable. At their Best: self- mastering, they use their strength to improve others' lives, becoming heroic, magnanimous, and inspiring.”

I’m gonna guess SX8w7, but I’m honestly not sure. The way she treats Stella, like an object to own over a person, is really telling. The thing is, despite being a SX8 stereotype, her writing is sorta inconsistent in this regard. So I have no clue really.

Blinkie Pie

Blinkie is a hard character to type. Her only personality trait is “angry,” though I suppose there is some complexity beneath the surface. She’s still very barren and doesn’t have a single chapter outside of All That Glitters. Reitanna heard “hey, you should write more Inkie and Blinkie stories” and wrote 3 Inkie stories.

Blinkie is vain, materialistic and judgmental. She despises those that has what she doesn’t, and has an extremely low self esteem. She views herself as an average mare, because she was told being a pretty mare was something to be ashamed of. Ironically, we learn the most about Blinkie in Inkie’s Stellar Obsession. Blinkie is shown right off the bat trying to start a fight and mocking Minkie. She spends the whole chapter in resentment of Inkie for choosing a pretty mare to kill.

Blinkie shows an interest in being special and unique. "Why are you so pretty and perfect? Why are you so special?… I hate pretty mares because I want to be pretty like them! We average mares have to work hard to look good, but it just comes so naturally for you, doesn't it?"

She’s also very self critical. ("Your theory is good, but what if we mess up?" asked Blinkie Pie. "If I do this wrong, I'll hate myself for weeks, you know how I am!")

From this information, and outer context “She thinks that everypony is below her, all except her sisters, apple bloom, and Derpy.” “Blinkie pie is easy to tick off, and very prone to jealousy and spite. she barks orders, seeming to not know the meaning of "please" or "thank you," and specializes in jeering and taunting at those she considers lower than herself. she likes things to go HER way, which isn't usually a problem with her sisters or rest of the team because they coordinate so well. if one of them does something wrong, she will groan and play captain hindsight, stating that they shouldn't have done that.” So, from this, we can determine she is a SX4. That might be suspicious sounding, but let me explain.

“They then make others suffer as an unconscious way of trying to rid themselves of painful feelings of deficiency. They are the kind of people who’d rather be hated for who they are than be loved for someone who they are not. They stick out from other 4s due to their harsh and aggressive attitude, often described as shameless and feeling a strong rejection by the world as their inferiority gets replaced by aggression. Often they have a underlying hatred for their rivals and their rivals are the ones they personally feel is worth striving for…” “someone who believes that if someone is popular they must be worth striving for[1], resulting in hate, competitiveness and an aggressive outlook caused by suffering in childhood.”

“E4s are not afraid of originality and often enjoy feeling different. He loves to be special, unique, and original. And he succeeds. You can speak very explicitly without conforming to good manners, as well as dress flashily and against the grain. His desire to be peculiar makes him also brave and adventurous, minimizing risks and dangers.” She wants to be pretty and not average.

I wouldn’t say she’s an 8, as there’s more vanity and self-image issues beneath her.

Minkie Pie

Minkie Pie is also a 4, so4. She is spiteful, angry and unforgiving. She takes her anger out on anyone she sees, and looks down on those less hurt than her, while seeing those who endure pain as stronger. She is convinced her destiny is to remain locked up, and wants to be accepted for who she is, which is only her trauma. She feels dead, only feeling accepted by her sisters. She is no one without her trauma. She judges the world for her own pain, and wants her “play dates” to know her story.

Minkie isn’t a very well written character. But this is how she comes off. She’s been hurt, so she wants to hurt others. She views herself as damaged, and that she can’t be fixed.

“The Social Four appears emotionally sensitive (or oversensitive), feels thing deeply, and suffers more than most people. For this Four, there is a desire to be witnessed and seen in their suffering. They hope that if their suffering is sufficiently recognized and understood, they might be forgiven for their failures and deficiencies and loved unconditionally.”

“Naranjo explains that Social Fours are people who lament too much and who often put themselves in the victim role. They can appear self-sabotaging when they broadcast their suffering and their victimhood as a way of engendering sympathy in others, but they also undermine themselves by being too attached to the causes of their suffering.” “In public, social fours repress “frowned upon” emotions like anger or hatred and may appear sweet, friendly, and soft- (like in ‘meet the team’) but in private, they may express their emotions they store up in social situations and become aggressive. Generally, they prefer to swallow their own poison rather than externalize it to the people around them (this is the only exception for Minkie-) , and they typically have difficulty finding their place in a group and in society. These fours may experience themselves as misfits, and yet they also tend to generate social situations of rejection to confirm their shame. They see themselves as victims and may view others as “perpetrators,” and they don't always take responsibility for their own actions or aggressiveness.”

Someone on Reddit wrote it like this, *Social 4 is the softest and most tender. They have a shy sadness, and a deep sense of poignancy. They wear their sorrow like a cloak, and they hope that their pain and despair will be accepted. If someone is willing to accept them despite their flaws, they feel as if they can finally take their cloak off. In this person there is an abiding awareness of rejection and of being an outsider or an outcast. This person possesses great sensitivity to any slights or signs of being different than others, as they often feel unworthy to be in their presence anyway. They feel out of place, with inherent flaws, and they fear they will be rejected for them. This can be surprising to other people, as they often have unique gifts and a keen intuition.*

*Social 4 can be drawn to outsider / counter-cultural movements, where one is accepted for being “different” or “against the norm”. They make a virtue of these differences, and often display them openly once they feel comfortable, as an expression of their identity. Sometimes they even take pride in them and become a little elitist. However, there is a secret wish that one was born ordinary (like everyone else) so they did not have suffer their differences so deeply. “Why didn’t God make me normal?”*

*Personal identity is all important to this subtype, and often they undertake a mission of self-discovery and actualization. They seek to make their differences matter, and even avenge themselves for their oddities that were once mocked or exploited. They daydream about accomplishment, but unlike the 3, they are prone to self-sabotage and emotional inhibition in the name of authenticity, and may back out when others begin to value them solely for their public image. They dream of the day when none of their flaws will be mocked, but appreciated for what they are.*

“In this Four, envy fuels a focus on shame and suffering by providing a constant source of pain: a feeling that others have what the Four wants. However, they believe that their suffering is also what makes them unique and special- there is a kind of … of others through suffering.”

Apple Bloom

Apple Bloom is a walking contradiction. A hypocrite, fake and optimistic. She doesn’t take responsibility for her actions, and can easily manipulate anyone around her. Blinded by rage, she becomes a horrible person over time. She re-iterates this in Apple Bloom Gets Her Cutie Mark and Silence Is Silver. ("Who cares if yer a good pony after all? Who cares if ya'd be a good friend? I sure don't! Yeah, after I cutcha open, I could totally fix ya right! But I ain't gonna. If everythin that happens happens, then ya can never really do the wrong thing, can ya? Yer just doin what yer s'posed to.")

IT GOT ERASED AGAIN. APPLE BLOOM SO3. DERPY SX7/IDK FUCKING SP6 IDC. BABS IDFK SP5?? SO5?? FUCKING SP8 dawg I’m too angry to care.

Not only did I get toothpaste on my phone, but I also found an mbti for Muffins. And I disagreed hard. Here’s the original post if anyone’s curious. Don’t hate though, I just want to credit them cuz taking an interest in the first place in MBTI AND analysing the silly horse creepypasta ponies is admirable. We are one in the same. Gotta say though, INFJ Minkie, ISTJ Apple Bloom- OUTTA THE POCKET.

Anyway this was my analysis. Muffins moment. Blinkie best girl. I’ve always loved her the most of all the bakers. I used to value Inkie as my 2nd favourite but idk if I agree anymore. Minkie is my least favourite, absolutely unbearable. I just like Blinkie cuz she’s just like me. I mean I’m a SX3… or am I?… fuck.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this analysis. Do you guys want an MBTI Muffins analysis? Attitudinal psyche? Oh, and put your own thoughts down below! If you also like this silly horse fic, and don’t identify as a “1w5” (AKA you understand the enneagram and THE FACT THAT WINGS MEAN WINGS) feel free to comment your thoughts. It’s ok if you think you don’t understand it well. :) I’m happy to provide you resources. be careful of mistyping!

#enneagram #muffins #my little pony #minkie pie #inkie pie #blinkie pie #apple bloom #derpy hooves #babs seed #pinkie pie #enneagram analysis #typology #lemons random rants #enneagram 1

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docholligay · 7 months

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Buy my Fine Wares So I Can Be a Ship's Barnacle on My Mom's Trip!

Hello! Are you looking to enhance your October? Boy, do I have a deal for you, or maybe two! here with what you'll be helping me get for my trip so that I can hopefully have a lovely time with my mother and maybe even pay for something myself! (The Patreon will be paused in December)

This is where you come in! I have nice things below that you may want to buy, things that come up in limited quantities when available and that I have moved my schedule around to accommodate.

For everything:

First come, first served! First in my inbox, first to claim. If you’re second, I will keep you on hold in case person one does not pay. (I’ll tell you of course)

I do NOT have to like the item. If we want me to read something and do a positive only review…I mean I guess it’s not OFF the table, but the price would be highly variable and that would be something we’d want to discuss privately before any money changed hands. Not relevant to this moment.

Talk to me before you pay! Terms are different depending on our long-term working relationship.

Book review, delivered in October: $85 SOLD, includes full reading of any book up to 500 pages (longer than that isn’t off limits, just come talk to me) and a 2,000 word at least review of the book. You are absolutely allowed and encouraged to send me questions you’d like me address in the review, or themes you’d like me to touch on. Not a requirement though!

I have the right to veto a book and refund you, but, I’m actually not sure what that would be, in fairness. I just want to put out there I have the right to do it.

Must be available in physical form.

What will I be getting with this? A Davek mini umbrella, because it's going to rain, cold rain, for 80% of the time I'm there and I want to drink my mulled wine dry as possible. (the extra $20 is going to my "buying wool socks" fund)

Book review, delivered in November: $85, and also everything I said above, just scroll up. I could copy/paste, but why make the post longer?

What will I be getting with this?

A letter sweater to replace the one I lost last time I was in fucking England.

Y'all, I loved this early 60s sweater. It was my first vintage piece. I am so angry at myself, I hate myself so much every time I think about leaving it on that fucking train, because I was trying to make the changeover in Peterborough and I'd never done a train change. I am so sad about it. i am sad right now

But there comes a time when we have to move on with it, with or not we're getting over it, and continuing to punish myself by not letting myself buy a nice women's letter sweater to replace it is not, I regret to say, actually accomplishing anything. I'm going to buy it, I'm going to take it the UK, and I'm NOT going to lose it. (Watch, I find it for sale in the vintage clothing section of Portobello road and damn near cause an international incident ahahah) (Jesus christ Doc do they really cost that much?? Babygirl this is the price of me buying an imperfect one and doing some cleaning and mending on it. You see why I hate myself over this)

A weekend of liveblog SOLD: $230, This is exactly what it sounds like, two days in a row of four hours of liveblog! A great idea if you want to do a whole opening episode of an anime or continue something that I’ve done in the past!

I am open to doing almost anything, but as with everything, I have the right to veto the show you would like to do. If you have something you think might be a little odd, you can always talk to me! I don’t get mad about saying no, as long as you’re fine with knowing it’s a possibility. I MAY LIVE TO REGRET THIS, BUT HOLLIGAY HATES CAN BE PURCHASED FOR A $40 ADD ON, AND NOTED ENGLISH SCHOLAR DOC FOR $60*

What is this buying?

I wish this were more fun, but this is my drinks wallet! I mean, i think that's very fun, but I know it lacks the excitement of a new dress or something. If it sweetens the pot at all, I'm giving my mother a tour of at least two of the pubs that I think of as being Lena/her family's style on the East End, and definitely am not hiding it under the guise of my mother's desire to find a pub she liked as much as the old Angel and Crown, which is now sadly defunct.

*Those of you who signed up on the interest poll to receive notifications receive $20 off the add-on, because that's the price I quoted you!

#help me out and get cool things in the process!

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vonpharma · 9 months

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w[h]ip wednesday

day 5 sicktember! if you can believe it franziska's not the sickie in this one. hehehehehe

“Hey,” Maya says, finally finding the will to stride forward, one hand balanced on her hip. “When was the last time you actually got some rest?”

Franziska doesn’t acknowledge her. Which is likely an answer in itself.

Holy shit.

“Franziska!” She raises her voice. “Hey, earth to the prosecution, do you read me?”

She punctuates the statement with a few hurried snaps of her fingers. This sound, for whatever reason, is what jolts Franziska back into her body—she blinks herself awake, pulling her eyes away from her screen and back up to Maya. Only when her face is angled upward does Maya see just how bruiselike the bags under her eyes are—it’d looked like a trick of the lighting, but…

“Babe, you haven’t left this room in…” she eyes the analog clock on the far wall, “twelve hours?! Are you coming to bed, or should I just take my little bindle and walk away all sadly with my big wet baby animal eyes?”

“I…” Franziska’s eyes dart back to the screen, “I won’t be much longer. Please, don’t wait up on my account, dear.”

“Franzzzyyyyy,” Maya whines, drawing closer and resisting the urge to drape herself like a needy cat over her girlfriend’s desk. “It’s not just that. I’m worried about you.”

Franziska blinks. “Hm? Why on earth is that?”

“Do you not see how insanely hard you’re working?” Her face twists in concern. “Like, it’s super cool how dedicated you are, but…. This can’t be good for you.”

“I assure you, it’s par for the course.” Maya watches as she smooths out her hair a bit, clearly growing aware of how frazzled she must look. “I suppose it would seem a bit shocking when you’re used to the likes of Phoenix Wright…”

“Hey! Nick works hard too. You know your youthful stride can’t compare with his old man energy, though.”

Brightening despite her obvious exhaustion, Franziska stifles one of her adorable little laughs into a cupped hand. For a moment, Maya forgets she’s supposed to be frustrated with the girl—that sound is divine, she’ll never tire of hearing it. The feeling of it there in her heart spills over, and then Maya’s drawing close, leaning over to meet Franziska there in her desk chair. Gingerly, then, she holds Franziska’s beautiful, chiseled jaw in the palm of her hand, rubbing soft circles into her beloved’s cheek.

“Please come to bed?” Maya croons. “If you don’t I’m gonna miss you so much, and then I’ll die of a broken heart, and who’s gonna prosecute you when you’re charged for my murder? Edgeworth? Are you gonna let Edgeworth do that?”

“I highly doubt it will come to that, Schatzi,” Franziska says. “Do get some rest. I’ll join you as soon as I’m able.”

Franziska speaks it with such a tenderness to her, Maya almost can’t find it in her heart to be upset. That low, whispery sort of rasp she always talked in, on these late nights when no one could peer into the room and see her, walls down—Maya loved her like this, imperfect and soft. She loved even more that she was one of the few allowed to see it.

Still, there’s something heavy that wells in her chest in the finality of the statement. That was that, then—Franziska was committed to running herself ragged, late nights and early mornings and little time for Maya at all. The selfish aspect of it truly wasn’t what guided Maya into that office—more than anything, she was just really concerned—but it didn’t feel great, either. Steeling herself, she tries to remind herself of the circumstances of why she’s here, but before she can lose herself in the thought there’s a hand on her face and a very, very beautiful girl kissing her lips.

The blow, if it can even be called that, is softened. Maya leans into the embrace, feeling utterly breathless.

Franziska, similarly, seems to hesitate in pulling away. Maya knows she must, though—she’s a legend, after all, and crime does not sleep. She wishes it did, though—if only so that one single, heart-stopping fox of a prosecutor had more time to spend on kissing her silly.

“You spilled coffee in your lap,” Maya says, romantically, “bee tee dubs.”

Still holding Maya’s face, Franziska dumbly angles her eyes down, cheeks pink. “...so it seems.”

“Night, babe. I love you.”

“And I you, my dear.”

#sicktember #sicktember 2023 #wip wednesday #my writing #franmaya

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cousticks · 6 months

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what do you think of oda's last words to dazai?

was it good or nah?

Oda's last words to Dazai are a lot to unpack. Calling them good or bad is kind of a reduction, especially when so much of BSD is based around those shades of grey between.

Also anon I am so sorry, this answer ended up almost 1500 words. Buckle up I guess.

Before I answer this, lets put Oda into context a bit.

At 14, he was a highly regarded private assassin. One of the most skilled in Yokohama. He's got that vacant hopeless look to him that the tweens involved in death get in the BSD universe, and really only holds to retribution for betrayal and not much else other than just doing his job. I'm not sure off the top of my head when he met Natsume and decided he wanted to become an author, but somewhere in there he had a moral shift and was given a goal. I'm not sure when he really started collecting orphans, but I know he got... Sakura, I believe, during the Dragon's Head Conflict when he was about 21. This would also be not long after he met Dazai.

Oda... isn't perfect at all. I went on about it a bit in my last Oda post, but he really didn't make it to the light like he wanted to. He went from acclaimed assassin to mafia grunt that refuses to kill. Which... is a more lateral shift than he'd probably like. He's still supporting an undoubtedly corrupt and murderous organization, even if he himself isn't the one pulling the trigger, so to speak, anymore. Imperfect. He's a little better than some in the mafia, but is he, really? He's still, y'know, in the mafia. I could say something poetic about flowers blooming at night but I really don't even want to go that far. He's caring for some orphans, he's humoring Dazai, he's running some errands for the Mafia, point set. You could say he spends his time trying to keep some of the kids in the mafia alive and show them some kindness so they don't end up jaded in the way he did. We see this with Dazai, we kind of see it in the Dragon's Head Rush scene when he runs off with Akutagawa slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He's doing something, but he's not getting them out. I think he knows that's a decision the kids have to make on their own.

To reference Oda in Beast for a second, he sends Beast!Akutagawa to discourage one of the kids from joining a gang by being realistic with the kid. Akutagawa never directly tells him not to join, but he does tell the kid how fruitless it would be. The kid ultimately made the choice for himself to not go through with joining. Oda orchestrated that, too.

So... I said Oda isn't perfect. He isn't. But he knows that decisions mean more when its not somebody telling you to do it, but a conclusion you come to on your own once the reality of the situation is laid out. And in a way, that's what he does with Dazai. He understands Dazai's hopelessness. He was there, too, we saw it in Untold Stories with a 14 year old Oda.

So... Oda. Dying at 23. He's young. 23 is young. That's like, first real job out of Uni young. But he's been through the ringer and started trying to claw his way to the light. His death is tragic because he never quite made it.

Dazai. 18. Even younger, can barely be considered an adult. He's in the despair trenches now. He's already miserable. He hasn't started really clawing towards the light yet, not really. He's still convinced here that getting further into the "dark side" is what's going to help him find a reason to live. At this point, Oda knows that isn't quite true, he's a little further along in the journey, he found his light in the orphan kids, in spicy curry, he already figured out the light is pretty mundane.

But again. Oda never made it out of the dark. Here's an exchange from before his last words, when Dazai first runs into the hall.

"You're such an idiot, Odasaku. The biggest idiot I know." "Yeah." "You didn't have to do this. You didn't have to die." "I know."

Oda knows there could have been another way out, for this. He chose his death. He saw his lights were gone and he decided that he should go with them. Dazai and Oda are more similar than Oda is given credit for. In a way, in the final battle with Gide... he gave up.

So. His last words to Dazai.

"Listen." Odasaku wrapped his blood-soaked hand around Dazai's. "You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be able to find a reason to live..." "Yeah, I said that. I did. But what difference does that--?" "You won't find it," Odasaku said in almost a whisper. Dazai stared at him. "You should know that. Whether you're on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity."

This is Oda setting up the reality for Dazai to make his own choice. Oda never really found the light. He's speaking more from his own point of view than what he really believes for Dazai. Dazai, especially during Dark Era, he doesn't really function off of hope. He has it, sure, though he'd never admit it, but that's not a guiding principle for him. But he is pretty feelings-driven for a "logical" character. He felt a little more alive back during that fight with Rimbaud, and decided yeah, he'll join the mafia, to try to recreate that. He doesn't recreate it, as we see in Stormbringer. So he starts messing around again. Whatever. Point being, Dazai is pretty emotion-seeking. He found a lot of those feelings around Oda, because Oda could understand his situation very well. There was an easy comradery in understanding. Oda is appealing to both Dazai's logic and his feelings here.

Also, sidenote, throwback to Dead Apple, and all of Shibusawa's ramblings about nobody ever defying <i>his</i> expectations, and Dazai responding with "you wouldn't be saying all this if you actually had friends." So Oda's words ended up false, later on, when Dazai made actual connections. But Oda didn't know that, he never made it that far.

"Be on the side that saves people," Odasaku replied. "If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but… saving others is something just a bit more wonderful." "How do you know?" "I know. Better than anyone else."

So, the last quote, Oda set up the reality. Here's where he lets Dazai make his own choice once he has all the information. Here's where he kind of contradicts himself. He never really says that it will fix Dazai, personally, to join the side of the light. But what Oda is saying is that the world itself would be a little better, possibly a world more suited to helping Dazai find his own light. A different world than the one Oda is leaving.

I've kind of said a lot, but I haven't really answered the original question. So my answer is Oda's words follow his pattern of offering a reality and letting someone make a choice based off it for themselves. He was giving Dazai the tools he needed to make his own decision. Oda was flawed, jaded, and dying at this moment. His words aren't perfect. But Dazai didn't want hope in that moment. That would have been too much for him, I think. There are people in this world that listen to happy songs when they're sad to cheer them up, and there are people that listen to sad songs when they're sad as its a form of catharsis to feel your own emotions resonated with. It helps make sense of them. Dazai is the second type, here. Despite being emotion-driven, he's not super emotionally aware. I think mixing those signals would have done more harm at this point. He didn't need hope, he didn't need told that the world is a magical fairytale place. He needed the catharsis of someone else seeing him, <i>understanding</i> him, and telling him to go be better anyway.

Yes, Oda's last words were kinda cruel, telling Dazai that nothing will ever help. The words of a dying man in grief can't be expected to be cheery. But I do think that if joining the light were presented in any other way it wouldn't have had the impact on Dazai that it did. I'm not saying his last words were great, but I'm saying they were right.

#bsd oda #bsd dazai #bsd dark era #placeholder oda tag #white hill road #asks? answered. hotel? trivago.

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the-lady-general · 9 months

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Ok, here's how I'd do the Under the Cloak of War arc if SNW got DS9 amounts of screentime:

(Spoilers. Also, horrendous formatting.)

TLDR: For once I want more time for the ethics dilemma and less time for the Andorian with a knife. I know. I don't know what's wrong with me either.

Part 1: Bob, calling Chris about where the fuck is his Klingon. Chris ends the call, drinks, Una takes his glass away because she's had it with his bullshit, he needs to stop stalling. We interrogate our suspects and get different versions of the preceding events. The episode ends on "well, he's likely dead and likely one of the crew killed him, oh no, the ethical dilemma of revenge and self-control". Chris gets to want to believe the best in people, Una gets to point out that nonetheless they're still short a Klingon, and everybody sure wishes that they had killed him. End with a close-up of the transporter buffer with the ambassador in it.

Ep 2:

The action one. The ambassador tells his version of J'gal, Joseph calls him out. We get Joseph and Christine's and Erica's versions, but also Chris' and Una's. They swooped in just when everything was already decided, yet they're the golden kids. So if we're doing history parallels they can be (imperfect) USA stand ins. Everyone's telling a single part of the bigger story of J'gal. The ensign and spec ops commander should be rolled into one and replaced with Erica, and she should be the one to hand over the knife. She gets saved, but many others don't, and she finds joy in flying, or she flew out the ship that evacuated a bunch of people, or *something* to make "I'm Erica Ortegas, I fly the ship" have some emotional punch. Can the Klingons be forgiven? The Federation? The individuals? Joseph and Chris should have their heart to heart here.

Ep 3: Joseph and the ambassador do their song and dance. The kids get to share their perspective on how the war affected them too, and their overcoming prejudices and peaceful future stuff. Pelia gets to add the immortal perspective, giving her some development, because I need her to be a highly decorated hero who keeps getting sent to wars she wants no part in, but she's just so damn GOOD, so she's going anyway because more people will die if she doesn't fight. Hemmer is there too, dammit, and he gets to have a go at both the ambassador and Nyota because ~uwu Aenar existentialism~ isn't a gimmick, it's hard work committing to pacifism and finding a solution for when violence seems inevitable. The stabbing happens, but in a Clue kind of way where somehow, everyone just happens to be a plausible suspect. Joseph puts the ambassador in the transporter buffer and after much In the Pale Moonlight style deliberation he FINALLY lets Hemmer purge the damn thing. Hemmer & Pelia know what's up and send the whole buffer to Starfleet HQ with a little bow on top. Una congratulates Chris on solving the crisis with Bob. Chris remains clueless. Or maybe he says something about trusting individuals and trusting the crew he got together, because he really needs some competence points in my book.

#snw #snw spoilers #under the cloak of war #i'm on my bullshit again rewriting perfectly good episodes #spoilers

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rocklover719 · 10 months

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Zora Dating Headcanons: Ledo 🐟💚⚒️

Big thanks to @thezoraprince / @hey-llison for inspiring me to write this! I don’t make much content but if you’re looking for more Zora content, please check out their blog!! (I’m literally constantly sending them asks lmao)

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Ledo is definitely outspoken and has ambition. I mean, who else calls out to a stranger from a river?

He is also a very disciplined Individual, as we can see from how highly he speaks about Fronk and Dento. Ledo is someone who takes respect seriously, and is a hard worker by nature.

He has a humorous side to him! He has so many running jokes he likes to involve you in. Anytime he counts something around you he raises his voice and goes “AND A OOOOONEE, AND A TWOOOO… THREEEE..” and so on. He does this just to make you giggle or roll your eyes, because he finds it cute when you give him even the slightest reaction.

Ledo is a craftsman by nature, and as such he would enjoy giving you things he makes.

As he hones his skills taught by Dento, he would practice making different intricate things such as jewelry or small luminous stone carvings when he isn’t working on any big projects for the domain. He would gift these items to you, hoping you’d like them. He might be a bit embarrassed over the slight flaws, maybe even going as far as to apologize and point them out to you. Of course, you’d hardly notice them and you don’t care if there are little flaws here and there because…well, he made this for you! Why wouldn’t you love it?

He would definitely be shy over those little imperfections but hearing your praise would make him 10x more motivated to keep harnessing his craft. In fact, you can bet your tail fins that this Zora is already sketching out each and every anniversary and holiday gift he has in mind just be BE SURE it will be perfect when the time comes!

He would definitely appreciate your company while he works. Some stonework is very tedious, but just having you sitting by him and watching him makes him enjoy the process even more. You two would share light conversation and maybe hum a song together. Bring him some lunch on the job and this Zora would be head over fins for you in a heartbeat!

As every Zora does, he loves to swim. Especially with you. I feel he would casually laze around the rivers with you, floating. Maybe some small splash wars, or observing local rock formations. I could also see him hiding in any river weed or foliage just to mess with you, as his green scales camouflage him. His favorite game is to hide against foliage and see if you can spot him. His golden eyes watching as you look around yourself and calling out to him, as he tries not to laugh.

Ledo is definitely a geology guy. Don’t even look at me and say he isn’t! He would gift you rocks he finds interesting, especially smooth river stones. Perhaps he would try to find one that matches your outfit or hair color, even eye color if he can find it! It’s definitely his way of trying to woo you subtly.

I feel Ledo is an affectionate Zora, and wouldn’t mind some appropriate PDA. Maybe not around Dento, as Ledo would try his best to be as respectful as possible… but this guy would love holding your hand whenever he can.

Chances are, unless you are Zora, Gerudo, or Goron (or maybe a tall Rito), you are shorter than him. And he will definitely tease you about that now and then. He just thinks its cute, even if you are a tall person. Zora appear to be at least 7 feet to me, so even if you are a tall human or hylian…. You’re short bro. He wouldn’t take it too far though, just enough to get a cute pout out of you.

Ledo seems like the type of person who handles arguments very well. He would do his best to communicate calmly, but if things escalate he is quick to back away and put a pin in it. He doesn’t want to yell or get angry, especially at you. He would want his space, maybe seeking out Dento or Fronk for some relationship advice. I could see him giving you the silent treatment in extreme cases, but only because he doesn’t know how to speak to you without the argument getting worse and he doesn’t want to snap and say something he doesn’t mean. Eventually, he’d come around and ask to talk to you privately. With most Zora, communication and honesty is important. He knows every sea has its storms, and he makes the best effort he can to work with you to solve any problems.

I feel like the main thing that would really be a deal breaker for him is if you disrespected his craft or his mentors. He had so much respect for his Master Dento, and his senior apprentice Fronk. If you were to talk badly about them, he would not let that slide.

Overall, dating Ledo would be fun, respectful, and peaceful. But it would definitely have its moments of mirth and adventure!

#botw zora #botw Ledo #Ledo botw #breath of the wild #tears of the kingdom #Ledo The Zora #totk Zora #Zora headcanons #botw headcanons #totk headcanons #zoras domain #loz zora

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pebblysand · 11 months

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Hi Pebbly! I just spend my last two days reading Castles in its entirety, and I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it (if you define enjoy in the most liberal sense that includes feeling immense sadness and crying 5 times while also liking the little sprinkles of hope and humour throughout). My favourite parts were actually the politics, and I feel like the way you write Kingsley does not get enough credit at all. Actually the way you write all the politics deserves a lot more credit 1/2

two days? omg anon are you okay? 😆

jokes aside, thank you so so much for your kind words, this means the world - truly. i love it that people are still discovering this fic, it brings me so much joy! i'll answer your question on politics first, then address the "sex" under the cut to be safe.

how do you think the muggle English government justified the loan to the Ministry of Magic?

oh, i like your headcanon. i think in my head it was more, like, MI5/MI6 funding. the kind of funding where no one can really ask questions because #nationalsecurity, you know? also, probably "miscellaneous" expenses. there's a scene in peaky blinders where tommy talks to arthur about all the "olives" they're buying (where the olives are actually posing for the cocaine expenses for the club in the books), and i kind of think there's a lot of that as well. like: oh, the ministry of foreign affairs bought for £50,000 pounds of olives this quarter, you know? lots of canapés for cocktail parties lol.

[under the cut for your other question]

As a bi woman, the scene in chapter 16 where Ginny describes WLW lovemaking for Harry's sexual gratification felt a bit uncomfortable. It was not that big a deal, and did not take away from my overall readership experience. In general, I could understand that they are a straight couple in the 90s, but since you encourage discussion with your readership I thought I would bring it up. Still loved the chapter!

okay so first, thank you so, so much for saying this and for raising your concern, i truly appreciate it.

full disclosure, it is something that i thought about before publishing, actually. this scene sort of wrote itself (as in, it wasn't planned, i was just writing and it came up) and when i was going through it again when editing, i was like "ugh, idk," you know? like, not outright negative about it, but a bit icky. so, i (think i) get what you mean.

despite this, i landed on keeping it in for a bunch of reasons. i acknowledge the fact that these reasons may be "problematic" or imperfect, but here they are, regardless:

first, what you said: they're a straight couple and ✨it was the 90s✨. but, also people just have... fantasies. i think we need to acknowledge the fact that this (be it WLW or threesomes) is a pretty common one, not only amongst straight men. is this the result of the media often portraying WLW as a gimmick or a hot "phase" and sexualising a genuine sexual orientation for the enjoyment of the masses? sure, that's highly likely (😅).

but unfortunately, we don't all exist in a vacuum and the media does influence us, whether we like it or not. for all intents and purposes, harry grew up "muggle" so he would have been subjected to this in his broader environment. also, when you consider that ron literally has a book about "failsafe ways to charm witches," (so patronising and patriarchal - UGH), i would hazard that the wizarding world isn't that much more evolved, when it comes to these things.

i think we just live in an imperfect society where certain traits, sexual orientations, etc. are sexualised by the wider public. this feeds into our own fantasies which we generally believe are of our own making, but actually, more often than not, are very much influenced by the outside world. asking if those are "genuine" fantasies rather than just stuff we fantasise about because of the media, is pretty much the equivalent of asking if the choices that women make are ever genuine, because we're clearly all influenced by patriarchal structures in some respect. it's a headfuck and i think we just all need to accept that none of us exists in a vacuum, and we just do our best with the cards we've been dealt. so, does harry fantasise about this because society at large is generally exploitative towards WLW sex and that his brain sort of latched onto that because of that wider reality? probably. it's unfortunate, but it doesn't make that fantasy any less common, you know?

and, the thing is: fantasies can be imperfect. that's why they are just that - fantasies. there's a scene in one of the earlier chapters where ginny's like: "i'd have liked to do it under the cloak in a public place" (something along those lines) - and when you think about it, that's mildly problematic too if you consider, well, the innocent people around lol. and, given the whole range of problematic shit that people fantasise about, this is, well, not the worst, let's say. i don't think harry getting hard at the thought of ginny with another girl makes him a bad person. i just think it makes him - well, as you said, a bloke in the 90s, you know? he doesn't judge her for having tried it, doesn't think it's "gross" or whatever. he just gets pretty turned on by the thought of it and on an individual level, i think that's sort of okay.

this being said, i do appreciate the point (although re-reading this, i realise you didn't actually make that point, so perhaps this is just me talking to myself lol, in which case i apologise) of a wider, more systemic bi/WLW exploitation for male gratification. that is a very real problem in our society (unfortunately), as is bi erasure. so yes, that was a point that i made to myself when i was editing, which sort of fed into the aforementioned "icky" feeling. i think what made me ultimately decide to keep the scene in, here, is that no one is being exploited and no one's consent is being undermined. ginny is using a personal experience, sure, but that experience was genuine. i don't think she went into that experience thinking: "oh, this will be a good story to tell harry," you know? i think she was genuinely curious, wanting to try something out.

(as a side note, i've always sort of pictured ginny as "curious" in terms of her sexual orientation. i don't think she'd necessarily label herself as bi or queer or whatever, but i do think she'd be the type to think that no one is ever entirely one thing, that sexuality is a spectrum and that she falls somewhere on that spectrum. but i digress).

so, anyway, i don't think that WLW experience, for her, happened for the purpose of the male gaze. i think she was just genuinely into it in the moment. i kind of like that she got to question her sexuality a little bit as well, and although she decided she didn't want that again (which is totally fair), i think it was a good question for her to ask herself. i don't think the WLW experience itself was "for" harry's sake at all.

i also think that clearly, she modifies a lot of details (creative license, am i right?) so that in the end, what she tells harry is more of a story she made up on the basis of her own feelings, rather than about anyone else involved. it's also her own decision - harry doesn't really ask her to tell the "story" for the purposes of his own sexual gratification, she does it of her own accord because she wants to. so at the end of the day, this is just a girl playing with her boyfriend's fantasies in bed, which i don't think is fundamentally corrupt or exploitative. people may choose to dress up in a schoolgirl uniform to surprise their partner if they have a teacher/pupil fantasy, and while that is in itself a bit icky, it's also a safe way to explore that, you know?

so, is there a wider exploitation of the WLW theme in the media? sure. is it icky? sure. but then, i feel like we fall back onto my first point of: many fantasies are icky and no one is perfect and when you think about this one in particular, this is probably the best, least-exploitative way for harry to explore it. he's not watching hardcore, exploitative, WLW porn on pornhub, you know?

i also think that one of the factors i considered is that: straight men aren't my target audience, lol. i mean, maybe some straight men are reading castles (i hope they are, you never know) but... let's be real for a second, lol. so, i think, if my goal had been for this fic to turn men on with WLW sex, that would have been a different decision. here, i'm not trying to turn men on (i'm not even trying to turn women on, tbh), i'm just trying to show a couple exploring a fantasy together. so, while this cannot "excuse" everything, i do think it matters a little bit.

lastly, i ... like the scene. not for the WLW sex, but for what it shows of harry and ginny at that point in time. they're young. they're turning each other on. they're getting more comfortable around each other and being a bit vulnerable. harry's slightly embarrassed, which i think is a good thing for him. that scene goes to plot (it's sex, but it's also sex that doesn't involve actual sex, which becomes relevant later, as you know) and to character development. it would have been very difficult for me to achieve that with another scene. and, again, i feel like all fantasies i could have gone for have a degree of "problematic" built into them, because of the society we live in. the only one which truly wouldn't have been, would have been ginny talking about masturbating to the thought of harry in a closed environment which frankly i've already done a bunch of times (including one other time in this chapter). and, even then - did he ever consent to being masturbated about? as soon as you start talking fantasies, bring the wider world into the mix, shit is bound to happen, you know?

obviously, my goal isn't to make anyone feel uncomfortable/exploited. since you said it was not a big deal and didn't alter your overall experience reading the fic, i think i'm still leaning towards keeping this in, for the reasons exposed above. i think the goal of castles is also to show that life isn't perfect, and that people aren't perfect. i think this is... perfectly imperfect, you know?

but anyway, thank you so so much for reading, and taking the time to give me this feedback. i know this can sometimes be taxing. i hope you understand my reasoning and that this doesn't feel like i'm dismissing your concerns. trust me i'm not (again, i had very similar ones). it's just narrative choices being made.

#castles #asked and answered

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