#fever's just sorta. there in comparison

[puppys-rhythm-heaven]

tbh i actually like how repetitive tengoku n ds' remixes are. i think it's neat. :3

[ayoyoungg]

dream show 2 was amazing…i cried

[bougiebutchbinch]

God, Ouizzy is just so fucking DELICIOUS.

Frenchie is the captain, Izzy his loyal second. The two of them, over the year that follows S2, develop a far, far healthier relationship than Ed and Izzy ever managed.

Frenchie isn't the Best Captain Ever - he's still soft about the gills, and though he's... intimately familiar with the horrors of the world, with a past he likes to keep locked up in that box in his mind where all the Bad Things go, he never particularly wanted to be a pirate. He cares more about his crew than obtaining massive wealth or leaving a fearsome legacy.

Izzy is so fucking okay with that, after everything.

Sure, Frenchie is a soft touch (in comparison to Ed 'kill all pets' Teach in the pre-Bonnet era). But he also respects Izzy's opinion and is learning that sometimes, it is important to enforce orders when you live aboard a vessel whose upkeep is all that stands between you and a watery grave. He uses Izzy as an enforcer and Bad Cop when necessary (as Izzy very much likes to be used), and is intelligent enough to figure out that Izzy is a major fucking asset so long as you don't make him be literally the only one aboard doing everyone else's job, or constantly make him fear for his crew's life.

As for how he feels about him... Well, Frenchie's still shaky on that.

Like. There was that time in the Kraken era, when Izzy was feverish and dying of leg-rot and smelled really fucking gross. One day Frenchie came down to bring him water and Izzy was... crying.

He tried to cover it up, putting on his usual tough act, telling Frenchie to fuck off. But after everything he did for the crew, Frenchie couldn't not comfort him. So he crawled onto the bed behind him and just... hugged him. For ages. Until Izzy's stiff body slowly melted into pliancy, conforming to the curve of Frenchie's arms.

They lay like that half the night, one of them sweating and rotting from the inside, the other spooned up behind him like he could suck the fever-heat out of his broken, shaky little body.

Izzy was out of it, by the end of the night. Totally out of it. Frenchie can't think why else he'd rolled in his embrace and given him a sleepy, sour kiss, that felt far too much like a goodbye.

Only... Izzy lived. He's Frenchie's trusted subordinate now, the two of them running their own ship, hunting down Ricky as part of Zheng's new fleet. And that kiss stretches between them, every hour of every day, an invisible, unspoken thread.

it meant nothing. Frenchie's sure it meant nothing. Izzy was dying! Practically hallucinating! Hell, it was probably intended for Ed.

But Frenchie can't stop thinking about it. Izzy doesn't particularly like physical contact, but Frenchie is THE person on the crew who he's most comfortable with, tactilely speaking. He lets Frenchie grab his hand or sling an arm around his shoulders or rest his head on his lap whenever he wants. And he's kinda cute in a grumpy old-man sorta way. And Frenchie maybe wants to kiss him again -

But he fucking knows Izzy's still reeling from everything that happened with The Kraken, even if, like Frenchie, Izzy refuses to confront half of it. He's uncomfortably aware of their power dynamic, and Izzy's rather disturbing (i.e., kinky but entirely unexplored) relationship with authority. The last thing he wants is to push in where he's not wanted - or, worse, become a bandage slapped over a poorly healed wound.

#

Though Izzy was slightly sceptical of Frenchie's abilities at first, he threw himself wholeheartedly behind his captaincy for multiple reasons. Firstly... Izzy had his stint at captain. Izzy knows he doesn't particularly, uh, suit that role. He got mutinied on faster than even Jack's record (fucking embarrassing; Izzy's glad he's dead, if only because he'd never live that down).

Secondly... Well, this lackadaisical, supersititious musician kid seemed like just another of Bonnet's frails at first - but during the Kraken Era, he came into his own. He was fucked up by Ed, badly, like all of them were. But though it left him with a big fucking locked box that he refuses to talk about with anyone, it showed Frenchie that he could step up to the task, and use his skillset of trickery and guile to protect those he cares about (like, pretending he killed Izzy to keep him safe from Ed).

Now, Izzy's pretty damn sure Frenchie can walk the necessary line between Bonnet's softness and the hardship required of pirates. And, better yet, he thinks Frenchie might know it too. And he wants to be right there at Frenchie's side, protecting him, every step of the way.

Plus, y'know. There's that whole thing where Frenchie (who, for as long as Izzy knew him, looked out for number one) carried him into the hidden space within the ships' walls and tended to him against Blackbeard's orders. Risking his life for Izzy's worthless one, which was (so they all presumed at the time) pretty much over anyway.

And suuuuuure, Izzy was delirious. But, uh. He was also really fucking impressed. In that moment, Frenchie went in his mind from being another 'crewmate Izzy had to protect' to a 'crewmate who is protecting him; who thinks of Izzy as an equal, worthy of kindness and compassion'. Hell, Izzy may have had emotions about it, as they lay tangled on Izzy's damp sickbed, awaiting his death. He has distinct memories of a kiss.

But that's all in the past. They left Stede and Ed in their inn and sailed away to start a better life with the rest of the crew - a fresh break, a clean start. Izzy doesn't want to know if The Kiss actually happened, or if it was just a fever dream (HAHAHAHAA IT'S EATING HIM UP INSIDE). But he's sure as hell NOT gonna ask.

Look what happened the last time he fell in love with his Captain, after all.

Anyway: they are THEE recipe for traumatised mutual pining <3

[insert-the-4thwall-entity]

Ever since I became aware of Undertale i knew/know that some people here are simps for the lazybones that is sans thy skeleton. But ever since yesterday( or at least when i was checking a blog who's pretty prominent in the 'Bitty Bones' au stuff ) i now know a certain trend some people tend to use for their boney fantasies - 'Bara' sans. And then I had an idea. After a night and a morning passed with me brainstorming in the seams, i now have made a semi-sh1tpost, semi-genuine response AU to that trend :

The 'When Skeletons eat Bonemeal' au.

[The pic features a height comparison of post and pre growth spurt sans with other characters + me. Also yes, I am that short ( I'm 5'4-ish?)]

The basic idea is the following :

In another post-true pacifist world, Flowey tries to to a lil' trollin' by poisoning sans with a poison lasted ketchup bottle with a poison that Flowey made himself, but sans knew before hand, so he decided to swap an ingredient with magic liquid(-ish) bonemeal. On top of that he knew what would come out of it, which is a fcking growth serum AND he was secretly getting tiered of being the second to shortest person of the cast, he just didn't expect the side effects. Those side effects being the end result of 22 ft, clothes being effected, energy, power and magic multiplication, sudden medium burst of productivity, constant fever and slight mutation. Now the rest of the UT cast, along with a newly free [from thy void] Gaster, Dess from Deltarune and lil' ol' me, has to deal with a big ass skeleton.

Oh, the multiverse, omniverse( multiverse of fandoms w/multiverses ) and the webscape( the internet if it was a world of it's own and where 4th wall entities like me( viewers, content creators, gamers, players, ect. ) usually reside in ) are also sorta involved, which explains why core!Frisk, @ranboolivesaysstuff and fcking Charlie slimesicle have a cameo here -

[context of the cameo doodle - it's a protentional bit were i was unexpectedly visited by some MC-youtubers and i had to explain what the fck is up. During said explanation i accidently made a size pun, which made Charlie amused, in an annoying way. What did our gloopy glunkus guy do next - he bothered me for more size puns while trying to make his own. I also hid in a tree at some point and pretty much claimed it as a resting spot.]

So yeah, an undertale au with a giant/tiny sorta theme, which is also a response to the 'Bara sans' concept.

[frenchfrywrites]

Contagious 

MINORS DNI

Warnings: sickie afab sub top trans masc reader, caretaker bottom dom Rook Hunt, emetophilia, mommy kink, lil dacryphilia, lactation kink (kinda sorta), blowjob, google translate french

terms used for reader: cunt, clit

Thank you @pomefiore-visitor for the commission!! I was so so delighted to get this request you have no idea!!!!!! it felt wickedly self indulgent sgshgdk ^^ <3

It has been one week since you’ve seen your boyfriend Rook, and on top of having a stomach bug, you think you’ve started to experience withdrawal symptoms. Curled up in your bed, a mountain of blankets atop of you, all you can think of is his bright green eyes and how much you miss him.

Vil is the reason Rook’s not here with you now, caring and comforting you as you know he would be. After finding out you were sick, the Housewarden exiled you from Pomefiore, and banned you from seeing Rook, for the fear of your sickness passing through the dorm was too much for him to handle. 

Rook had been there the day you’d gotten sick though. You had left class early, not feeling well enough to focus or deal with the general daily bullshit that finds you at NRC. He had insisted on walking you back, arguing that you may faint or hurt yourself if you were to return alone. It wasn’t long after you settled down in Ramshackle that you found yourself hunched over a bucket, emptying the contents of your lunch. The ghosts and Grim had made themselves scarce when they saw you snatch the bucket from the floor and gag. Rook, however, had stayed by your side, cooing and tracing comforting shapes on your back.

He’d stayed with you through the worst of it, that was of course before he was pulled away from you. Instead, the ghosts and Grim returned to your side and did their best (which paled in comparison) to care for you. You’re mildly surprised you’re still alive. 

You’re on the edge of sleep and consciousness when you hear your window rattle. Hauling yourself awake slowly, you come face to face with Rook. 

“Wuh?” you groan blearily, wondering if he’s really there or if your fever came back. The feeling of his gloved hand cupping your cheek makes you realize he really is here with you. “Bonne soirée, mon bien-aimé,” he greets you softly, “I missed you.” You whine softly at his confession,

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, scooching over so he can join you on your bed. Rook plops himself down next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you close. 

“It’s been such agony without you! And it pained me to know you’re wasting away, in such misery, all on your lonesome. Darling I just had to come see you,” you smile at his dramatics, giving him a loving kiss. 

“I missed you too,” you tell him after you pull away. There’s not much light in your room, but you’re close enough to him that you can see the way he flushes. Rook leans in, kissing you again. 

A wave of nausea ripples through your stomach, but you push it down in favor of licking your tongue along his lips. Rook lets out a soft whine, letting you into his mouth. 

“Mommy,” you breathe softly when you part for air, tugging at his shirt. 

“Aw mon amour,” he touches your bottom lip gently, “do you want to suck on mommy’s chest?” he asks hopefully. You let out a soft sigh, 

“Yes please,” and with those magic words, Rook tugs off his shirt for you, peeling off his gloves as well, tossing them all in a pile on your floor. With his upper body bare, you lean in and take one of his nipples into your mouth. You suck, then lick your tongue over it until it’s hard in your mouth. 

“Oh bébé,” he coos, bringing his hand to your head, watching you intently as you suck at his nipples. “You make mommy feel so good, you know that?” he mumbles softly. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you bask in his attention. It’s nights like these that you wish Rook could give you milk. He’s made it clear that he wants that, and has even looked into potions and spells that’d help him along. You rub your thighs together, attempting to quell the heat that grows as you think about his tits leaking milk as you fuck him.

“Ooh,” he gasps, gently moving you to his other nipple, “good boy,” he praises when you take it happily into your mouth. 

You know that neither of you will be satisfied with you sucking at his chest. His half hard cock pressing against your stomach is proof enough. After giving his other nipple equal attention, you pull back and fumble at his pants,

“Mama please let me suck you off?” you ask softly, giving him your best puppy eyes. 

“Oh bébé how could I possibly say no to you,” he says as he helps you get him out of his pants, looking excited and eager. You settle yourself comfortably between his legs, stroking him to full hardness and trying not to drool as you think about his cock in your mouth. 

Rook has not given you permission to touch yourself, so you place your hands on his strong thighs, and lean in to give the head of his cock a loving kiss. He lets out a bemused hum, letting you kiss along his length, until his patience runs thin and he places a hand on your head to guide you back to his tip.

You open your mouth and give him a lick, before sucking him into your mouth. With a moan, you swallow your way down his cock, slow and steady until you’ve got him lodged down your throat and your nose buried in his pubes.

“There we go darling,” he moans softly, letting you adjust to his length, before he guides your head back up. Slowly you work up a rhythm, bobbing your head while sucking, licking, swallowing, and occasionally moaning along his cock.

Sucking Rook’s dick is not an easy feat. You feel every inch of him press against your throat, consuming all of your senses so all you think of is him. Every so often a wave of nausea hits you, and rather than make you want to stop, it makes your head fuzzy and thick with lust. You know there’s a wet spot steadily growing in your underwear just from giving him head.

“Ah, you’re so sick,” he mumbles suddenly. You look up, curious as to what he’ll start rambling about, swirling your tongue around his tip before descending down again. “But mon bébé, it seems like you don’t truly hate it, do you?” And at that, you nearly choke on his cock, giving him a wild look as you try to pull off.

Rook only smiles in return, using just a fraction of his strength to hold you where you are. “I think” his cock twitches in your mouth, “you like being sick,” he continues, saying it like it’s fact. There’s no disgust nor disdain evident in his voice, and that’s a relief for you.

Nevertheless, you still feel blood rush to your cheeks at his words. You’d hoped your disheveled state, and the small, infrequent moans you’d let out as you vomited in front of him days ago could have been excused away by your sickness. Of course, Rook would be the one to pick up on your arousal.

“Tell me, little pet, do you want to puke on mommy’s cock?” he asks– as if he were inquiring about the weather– easing his cock out of your mouth.

Your answer falls out of your mouth like drool before you can even think it through, “yes, please mommy,” you whine, your voice hoarse. Part of you feels dizzy, thinking this can’t really be happening. Again you worry if your fever is come back. You’re stunned that when he’d figured out about your perverse interest, that Rook hadn’t shamed or ridiculed you. He seems to sense this, and offers you the most tender look as he guides his cock back into your mouth.

“Mommy would like that a lot, sweet thing,” he coos, thrusting his hips, and fucking your mouth slowly. Pre begins to flow from his cock onto your tongue, and you groan as another, more violent wave of nausea rushes through you. “You’re close, non? God I’m so excited to see it,” he mutters, picking up the pace of his thrusts, and you gag. “Fuh- forgive me mon cher, I can’t wait to see you empty your guts, puking from mama’s cock, ungh,” looking up you can faintly see his bright green eyes staring you down. You gag again, and this time it’s not due to the force nor weight of his cock.

“Fuck,” his grip on you tightens at the feeling of you gagging around his cock, “just like that mon cheri. Ah I know sucking mama’s cock is hard, but you’re doing su–uh–ch a good job,” he praises, slamming his dick into your mouth, and abusing your gag reflex.

On another day, you may have been able to take more, but your pharyngeal reflex has grown so sensitive with all the work it’s done during your stomach bug. Your eyes water as you dry heave around his cock, and Rook pulls you off in time for you to lean over and vomit on the floor. Your cunt clenches around nothing at the sensation, your erect clit throbbing between your legs.

You sway at the force of it, clinging onto any part of him you can grab to stop yourself from falling off the bed as you retch once or twice more, drool dropping from your messy mouth and onto the floor. Blinking away tears you look to your boyfriend. He stares at you with wide eyes, his lips parted, and his hand wrapped around the base of his cock.

“Ah,” he breathes after a moment, leaning over to cup your face sweetly, “did that hurt, chéri?”

You nod, fat tears welling up in the corners of your eye. He coos, “oh my sweet baby, you did such a good job,” he reassures you. “Mommy promises he’ll make you feel all better, okay?” you nod dumbly, feeling dazed, horny, and eager.

“Go get your cock for me,” he directs, murmuring a cleaning spell to rid your rug of the vomit. You do as you’re told, stumbling your way to the box under your bed, where you keep your toys.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Rook moving around, preoccupying himself as you strip yourself of your clothes and slip on your harness. The dildo attached to it is Rook’s favorite, a five inch, realistic vibrator. Once it’s attached to you comfortably, you look up to find Rook with his head down and ass up, shoving three fingers into his hole. 

“Mommy,” you moan, joining him on your bed, settling yourself on your knees behind him. 

“Ngh, I figured this position would be best,” Rook explains breathlessly, looking back as he continues to fuck himself with his fingers, “I’ll- hah- miss being able to see you, but since you’re so weak and ill- ah- it’ll be good for you to lean your weight on me, non?” You nod, because it’s good reasoning, but also you’re mostly just grateful for the view at the moment. 

You breathe heavily, watching Rook stretch himself for you, and trying your best not to think about your ever present symptoms. It’s not too long before he deems himself ready, and pulls his fingers out from his hole slowly. 

Wrapping your arms around his waist, you cage his body with yours, resting your upper body on his back, and mounting him. Your tip presses against his hole, and you’re seconds away from thrusting inside before Rooks stops you. 

“Wait, wait,” he gasps, fumbling around and passing you the lube. Your head is so foggy with lust and sickness that it takes you a moment to register what he wants you to do with it. It clicks, and you pull back enough to lather your cock with it, before tossing it elsewhere. 

This time, when your dick presses against his entrance Rook lets out a pleased hum, and rocks his hips back against you. “Come on now baby,” he moans, “want you to fuck mommy with your cock,” and you don’t need any more permission than that. 

You press your hips forward, pushing in the head of the dildo into him, and slowly sliding it deeper. You’re slow, but persistent, and soon enough your hips are pressed flush against his, the fullness of the dildo nestled perfectly inside of Rook. You breathe heavily against his neck, trying your best to keep still so he can adjust. 

“Okay darling,” he whispers after a moment, “you can move,” and with that you don’t hold back any more. You give it to him hard and fast, all the events of the night making you needier than you’d care to admit. 

“Mommy,” you whine pathetically, licking and kissing at his neck as you pound him into the mattress. 

“Ah, yes baby, merde, c'est si bon,” he keens, and you just know he’s clenching and squeezing around your length as you hit his g-spot repeatedly. “Allume ça-ah- turn on the vibrator bébé,” he begs, clutching at the pillow underneath him. 

It’s a wonder how you do it, but you manage it, and Rook lets out a gasping moan. “Ungh- yes-” his voice cracks, his legs shaking. The sudden vibrations pressing against your neglected clit makes your hips jolt. 

“Mommy- gonna cum,” you rush, your orgasm sneaking up on you and then hitting you out of no where. 

“Cum for mommy, baby- ah- I’m close too,” it’s rare for you both to be so close so fast, but the week of space between the two of you must have caused more damage than you’d thought. Blindly, you reach around his waist, and take his cock in your hand. Rook shudders under you, like he’s been electrocuted, humping into your palm as he chases his climax.

“Mommy, mommy, muh-ah- Rook-” you gasp as you cum, your pace growing hard and erratic as you fuck him through it. Rook follows quick after, groaning your name as his cum spills onto the sheets. 

As soon as you’re able to, you pull out, and flop down next to him, sweaty, shivering, and so sleepy you can barely keep your eyes open. 

Rook has always bounced back quicker than you’d believe, and he leans over happily to kiss and pet you, until you can only lie there like a corpse because exhaustion has taken a hold of every cell in your body. 

“Ugh-” you peak an eye open at the noise he makes to see Rook, wide eyed and stiff, with a hand covering his mouth. “I don’t feel so good,” he confesses after a moment. You groan, pushing him gently, 

“No don’t say that,” you plead, “Vil will kill me, totally actually literally kill me, if you get sick.” And he knows you're right, but all Rook does is laugh at your statement.

If he did get sick from being near you, you promise yourself that you’ll stick by his side and nurse him back to health. If that means you have to fight Vil to do so, then you won’t hold any punches. 

[accordingtopluto]

Random thoughts of the day.

Anyone ever have to abandon your accounts because of a hacker? This gal did! Oh well. Been meaning to switch over to my AccordingToPluto brand for a while now and go in a different direction for my social medias, mainly to focus on my original creative works and posting my kittens in as many places I feel comfortable posting to.

I guess another thing that has been on my mind is just how many indie games I have in my backlog. Like, I have two games from the creators of the Anodyne games in my backlog, still need to finish Here Comes Niko, and LOTS of RPGs, like Furquest and Jimmy and the Pulsating Mass, to get around to. And who coulda guessed that Everhood was gonna get a sequel!? That news caught me VERY off-guard, though I definitely am gonna play the shit out of it once it comes out if it lives up to the awesomeness of game one.

Speaking of games, did anyone feel caught off-guard when both Super Mario Wonder and Mario RPG Remake were slated to be released this year? Firstly, a 2D Mario was inevitable, though I could never have guessed the fever dream that we are getting in October! Like, who's first thought for a 2D Mario made by Nintendo in-house would include four playable Yoshis, a friggin' elephant form taken right out of the Shantae series, and the fact that we are in a brand new kingdom that exports friggin' flowers that alter reality itself into a drug trip version of itself. Talk about chaotic, but I like it. Second, how and why is Super Mario RPG getting remade for Switch? I mean, I am damn happy about it, since it is super overlooked by Nintendo themselves lately. However, it seems kinda random at the same time. I literally had to watch both trailers for the aforementioned games over a dozen times just to confirm that I wasn't hallucinating it. Oh yeah, did I mention Peach is getting her own game for the first time in forever and Dark Moon is getting what seems to be a ground-up remake that both release in 2024? As a Mario fan, ya girl is hecka hyped to say the least.

While we're on the topic of Mario games, is anyone so sick of people hating on Color Splash and Origami King for not being like games one and two of the Paper Mario series? Like, I can sorta understand Color Splash's hate due to how similar it is to Sticker Star, but I can see past its comparisons and enjoy it as its own thing. Origami King, on the other hand, I just can't understand the hate. Like, I understand the ring battle system can be irritating, but I can see what they were going for in making the strategy about puzzle-solving rather than basic RPG mechanics given that that is what the current trilogy does best at. Hell, even the Paper Machos kinda follow this sort of thing, as you have to figure out their locations and attack patterns in a sort of puzzle-y sort of way that Zelda does. If I had my way, though, I would reserve the puzzle system exclusively for the boss battles, as that's where the system shines brightest in my opinion. And can we talk about how gorgeous the overworld is!? Like, it is so pretty and well-thought out to be both accessible and rewarding for those that are completionist types. There is something satisfying about filling holes with confetti and finding those origami Toads every which way. A big criticism towards Origami King is the fact that they find the paper focus distracting and the whole origami plot hard to take seriously. My counterpoint is that one should focus on the characters only in the world they are in and take into consideration how and why they fear and do the things they do. Like, imagine if you were a papercraft character in a world of arts and crafts. You would definitely fear being forcibly folded into a shape you can't undo on your own and would DEFINITELY fear something that could damage your paper body easily, like a hole punch or scissors. Likewise, if you were brought to life by origami with full awareness of the art of the fold and the rules that come with it, I can imagine how pissed off I would be if someone seemingly and thoughtlessly scribbled on me. Hell, I'd be pissed off if someone wrote on my three dimensional meat sack of a body without permission. To further defend King Olly and Olivia, Olly was never made aware of his purpose and probably felt lost and confused as hell. Think like an AI left without a dedicated directive. Meanwhile, Olivia was created with very clear motive and such, so of course she would be much clearer headed and positive. Final thought on the game is its soundtrack. OMG, one of my favorite and most listened to OSTs since Everhood found me. Easily in my top three Mario OSTs, right next to the Galaxy duology and Super Paper Mario.

Last thought of the day. Who else thinks that a Venusian colony makes far more sense than a Martian one? Think about it, Mars has a third less gravity, is energy poor, has toxic soil that can leave a crew very ill, and lacks a strong atmosphere to protect herself from the solar wind and cosmic rays. Yeah, Venus has few of these problems, at least if you stay about 34 miles up. The temperatures are hot, but very survivable, the thick atmosphere levels out to 1 bar (one Earth atmosphere at sea level), and the gravity is the closest to Earth's at between 89 and 92% of our blue rock's. Aside from that, fixing Venus for a land colony just takes a series of mirrors to block most of the Sun's rays, which will freeze the atmosphere after a few centuries, and leave us with a pure nitrogen atmosphere about 3 bar thick. After that, we just find a few water rich asteroids and comets to send Venus' way and eventually fertilize it with cyanobacteria to make the air breathable. Any excess CO2 we don't want, we can cut it from the surface and let it accrete into a satellite around Venus for later use, such as fluffing up the Martian atmosphere. The tech needed for this to work is not even that far off. Even if we don't terraform Venus, we can still have large cloud cities with thick, acid resistant material filled with Earth air. I say Earth air, as Venus' atmosphere is so thick that air from our planet actually would allow something to be buoyant in the clouds, kinda like a boat in the ocean. The thick air also would make any repairs much easier to do, as it would make the hole leak at a far slower pace than helium on Earth does. Add in Venus' regular proximity to the Blue Marble being much more common than Mars and you have a recipe for a perfect colony among the Venusian clouds. Of course, having a lunar base already stable on our Moon would definitely speed things along in either case.

That's all I have for today. Take care and be safe.

Good ol' Avery C., September 3, 2023/

[allthewhumpygoodness]

My (kind of) entry for @sicktember prompts #1 and #11 sorta combined. Medieval fantasy-ish.

The wind bit through their layers of clothing, even where they sat huddled before the fire. The flames swayed enticingly, the hot coals below looking like a warm cave they longed to curl up in. Though at this point they figured not even that would warm their frozen bones.

"A?" They looked up and saw B watching them, concern in their eyes. "How long have you been out here?"

A shrugged, another shiver taking hold of them. "A few hours, I guess."

"Hours? A, you're clearly exhausted. Go back to your tent, I'll take watch for now."

They just shrugged again, turning back to the fire. There was an aching behind their eyes that had only worsened over the past while, as much as they longed to shut them they knew it would only be all the worse if they did. They longed to sleep, to flop over right where they sat and let their sore muscles rest for a while.

B sat down beside them with a huffing sigh. "So something's bothering you. Isn't that right?"

At this point, A was far too tired to deny it. "How can you tell?"

"You always stalk off on your own when something is wrong. You get all quiet. More quiet than usual, that is."

Normally A might have laughed. But now they were simply too exhausted for it. "I haven't been feeling my best, that's all. Nothing that important."

"How so?"

"It doesn't matter."

"A."

B was giving them a side eye. They knew it, even if they weren't looking at them. Another chill hit them, making them pull their cloak tighter around their shoulders. They coughed a little into their shoulder, not realizing until they did that there was a deep ache in their chest, spreading into their arms. "I've just been tired, chilled. I ache all over." They shot B a look. "Probably just from riding all day, I'm sure."

"Oh, to be sure." Even as A curled up tighter, resting their chin on their knees, they could feel their friend's eyes on them.

Exhaustion weighed down on their eyelids, forcing them shut. They buried their face in the folds of their cloak, allowing the darkness to soothe the aches in their head and eyes a little. Soon B would leave, they knew that. Everyone left eventually.

Sure enough, they heard the shuffle of boots, the sounds of somebody standing and walk away. Maybe it was their tiredness, but they felt tears closing up their throat. Stupid. They'd known B was going to leave. They'd known. They shouldn't have been surprised.

The wind blew harsher against them in their huddled bundle and they shivered worse than ever. Out of nowhere their face and neck felt uncomfortably hot in comparison to the icy block of the rest of their body. They pried it up from their knees and were hit with a wave of dizziness. Maybe B was right, and they should just go back to their tent.

Another repeated thud of footsteps came up behind them and they turned, wincing as the dizziness worsened.

"Here you go. How long has it been since you've eaten?" A blinked. It took them a moment to make sense of that they were seeing - B, standing over them with a bowl of steaming soup in their hands.

"You came back," they said blankly. They'd thought...

B shrugged. "Of course I did. What, did you expect me to leave you here by yourself?"

They didn't answer that. "I just didn't...thanks, B."

"Not a problem."

A's heart warmed a little just at the feeling of them sitting down beside them again. They hadn't been abandoned. Not yet.

The soup warmed them too. It was a good, strong broth with some herbs and bits of meat, but not much else. Which didn't bother them much - they hadn't been hungry in a while. But the warmth of it was nonetheless comforting. They sat and sipped, the soothing heat of the soup and the fire lulling them from the inside out. They almost could forget how sore their head and tired muscles were, and how the world spun when they turned their head too suddenly.

Halfway through the bowl they couldn't make themselves eat anymore. Their body felt weighted to the ground; if they didn't have to move for a hundred years they would have been happy. When the half empty bowl of soup almost slid from their grasp for a third time, they felt a firm but gentle hand on their arm. "Come on, you're dead on your feet. Let's get you back into your tent."

This time, A didn't bother to protest. They let B pull them to their feet, one arm around their still trembling shoulders. The ground swooped out from underneath them and they stumbled, swaying against their friend.

They heard B chuckle. "Watch yourself, A. You must really be exhausted."

Responding took too much effort. Instead they let their head flop against B's shoulder as another wave of dizziness tugged at them. The camp torches eventually faded from their sight as they approached the wooded area that held most of the tents. By the time they reached their own they were shivering worse than ever, their head pounding in time with their heart. If they didn't lie down soon they really would collapse.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur, but they could hear B's cheerful voice talking away as they helped A into bed, even helping them pull off their boots and tossing every blanket they possessed on top of them. It was a little better in there, warmer yet darker, and lying flat made their head stop spinning, even if there was only a light mat separating them from the hard ground beneath.

"Get some sleep," said their friend's voice from somewhere above them. "I'll take your watch."

It wasn't long before they slipped into an uneasy sleep, disturbed by dreams that flitted around half formed until they could no longer tell if they were dreams or not. They opened their eyes a crack, still half asleep, and saw a dark thread on the wall of their tent...the thread became a spider creeping slowly towards them, they jerked back but instead of waking up the spiders only bored into their dreams, speaking to them with evil voices. Then they were struck by lightning and frozen in place, all their muscles taut and rigid, unable to move, unable to breathe, everything aching...a dark shape rose up above them until it was too big to see, stretching all around the tent, it reached down and grabbed them...

This time they sprang awake with a cry, scrambling backward away from the terrible shadow fingers that reached out for them. They couldn't breathe, their head was pounding, surely they were going to die...

"A," said a half familiar voice. "Hey, A, it's just me. Breathe."

They tried. In an instant they started coughing, their chest sore and ragged. A pair of strong hands held their shoulders, rubbing gently. "You're all right. Deep breaths now, I just need you to breathe."

A slumped against B's shoulder, worn down completely, their breath shuddering in their chest. Their limbs burned and froze and shook all at once, the ground beneath them tilting horribly. They felt themselves being laid down again, grasping out for their pillow. B's voice remained in their ears, gentle and comforting.

A second voice joined theirs. "Are they all right?"

A hand brushed their forehead. "They've got a fever, trouble breathing..."

"The poor thing..."

"Please don't go," A said hoarsely, suddenly terrified. Their eyes cracked open a sliver, B and now C too blurred in their vision. "I - I don't want to be alone."

"Of course not." B brushed the hair out of their face. "You're going to be just fine, we'll take good care of you."

Their eyes burned, head aching terribly. They could hear shuffling, the hushed voices of B and C and others from the camp in the background - probably talking about them, their overtired brain finally caught up enough to realize.

"Don't help me." It took them a second to tell they'd spoken out loud, but once they began they found it hard to stop. "Don't, I'm just a burden to you...please leave me be."

C's gentle voice was close to them now. "I thought you just said you didn't want to be alone?"

"They're mostly delirious, C." That was B. "Don't pay attention, just wait with them while I try and get my hands on some medicine."

A slid into a half sleep, imagining shadowy fingers creeping up their shoulder and voices whispering in their ear. Their eyes snapped open once, heart racing, but all they saw was the dim light of a candle and C's anxious face above them. Whimpering a little, they curled over on their other side, fighting to ignore the spinning in their head and the sickening ache in their joints. Everything was too much.

For a while it remained too much; no matter how much they tossed and turned they could not get comfortable, sore muscles and chills beating them down the worst. B returned with a spoonful of some bitter herbs that they managed to coax down A's throat despite their protests, which did nothing but leave a sour feeling in their stomach. They could not tell whether it was day or night anymore, all they knew was that they longed to sleep and couldn't seem to no matter what, and could not escape the pain that encircled them.

Their friends' faces merged with each other, and other faces they'd known long ago and thought to have forgotten, sometimes they thought they cried out for people no longer alive but in the small part of their mind that was still lucid hoped very much against it.

Once they woke up with a cry of fear from a nightmare that was already fading away, but the terror still clung to them. They shivered violently in the dark, limbs and head burning, until they felt another blanket go around them and C's voice shushing them and telling them to go back to sleep.

It continued on like that for a while. There were times when they were fully awake, but those times only meant they could feel the full effects of their illness, and they found themselves craving sleep when they came. B or C sat with them most times, but sometimes others would poke their heads into the tent to see how they're doing, sitting with them and making jokes in an effort to cheer them up, or just bringing them a bowl of soup when they hadn't eaten in a while. They never realized so many people cared about them.

Finally, one day they woke up to find their head was no longer pounding, their limbs still horribly stiff but not quite as sore as they had been. With weary eyes they looked automatically to the side of their cot and once again saw B sitting there, one hand laid gently on the top of their head. "You're awake, I see. Feeling any better?"

The hand in their hair was soothing. "A little," they answered croakily. "Did - did C come in too, or was that a dream?"

B chuckled. "Half the camp visited you at some point. They were all very concerned, did you expect them not to be?"

A lump rose unexpectedly in their throat. "I - I guess I did expect that."

B sighed. "A, we care about you. All of us care about you. How many times can we say it? Or show it?"

A was too tired to halt the tears that slipped from their eyes. "I'm sorry," they muttered, "I'm just...not used to people caring very much."

"Well, get used to it. You don't have to do this all by yourself, A."

It was too hard to stop the tears now, so they let them fall and curled up tighter under their blankets. They still weren't sure how much control they'd have over what words came out of their mouth, so they kept it shut for the time being, and tried to think of nothing but B's careful hand running through their hair. They had friends. They had a family.

It was almost too much.

But in a good way.

[reinerispretty]

reminiscence. (? x f!reader) pt6

THANK U FOR BEING SO PATIENT i am so excited to get back to this story!!

pt1

pt5

pt7

“That’s not how you do it.”

Asami furrowed her brows at her. “Oh yeah? Then show me how you knead dough.” (Y/N) rolled up her sleeves and began pressing into the dough with the heel of her palm, at first gently, but then with some effort.

“It’s like raising a baby,” (Y/N) said. “You have to be soft, but firm.”

It took (Y/N) quite a few days to recover. She shivered in bed the first night, retching violently into the trash bin Jinora had kindly placed at her bedside. She had given her a worried smile, which (Y/N) weakly returned. Falling asleep was difficult because of how cold she felt. When sleep finally did grace her, it was littered with dreams of empty blackness and monsters licking at her heels. She woke up every few hours, sweat beading down her neck and a scream threatening to rip at her throat. She felt like her heart was beating too fast to be contained by her chest. Her first night of illness was undoubtedly the worst. 

Knowing this, Korra had moved a cot into her room the next night. She knew what it was like to be ill and how isolating it felt, so she thought (Y/N) could use the company. Especially when her fever had risen to a temperature near scalding. Korra bundled her in her warmest blankets from the Northern Water Tribe, tucking (Y/N) into the fabric. She looked so small and weak, nothing like the bright, curious girl that Korra had come to know over the past few days. Naga slept protectively at the girls’ feet. (Y/N) slept most of the night and well into the next day. 

But when she awoke, the rest of the household was surprised to find her walking into the dining room, one of Korra’s blankets still wrapped around her shoulders and the color returning to her skin. “Could I have something to eat?” Her voice was hoarse from lack of use. Pema insisted that she go back to bed and rest, that dinner would be brought to her, and although she hadn’t known her very long, (Y/N) knew better than to argue. 

Quickly, she made her way back to her room and crawled back into bed, her stomach eagerly awaiting the arrival of food. 

Korra entered a few minutes later, shocked to find (Y/N) looking so chipper. “Someone’s feeling better. Pema made your favorite.” (Y/N) cocked her head to the side. “Bolin told me. Soup dumplings.” (Y/N) held in her squeal of excitement as Korra handed her the hot bowl and chopsticks. 

“So,” Korra began as she scarfed down her dumplings. “I have a plan. We,” (Y/N) liked how Korra included her in the ‘we.’ “Will take a ship to the South Pole and enter the Spirit World through the portal. Then we’ll ask the spirits if they know anything about you.” 

(Y/N) finished her last dumpling, her mouth burning comfortably from the hot food. “Is that it?” Korra let out a surprised laughed at her boldness. 

“Did you want more action?” (Y/N’s) face flushed. 

“No, I just mean that it seems really easy.” 

“If all goes well, it will be.”

--

(Y/N) was bundled up so tightly for their trip that she could hardly move. Pema hadn’t like the idea of them leaving before she was feeling her best, but (Y/N) insisted that they left as soon as possible. The thought of getting her memories back made her heart race. 

She stood in the courtyard of the Air Temple, Tenzin and his family standing before her. “I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality,” She said. “I hope one day I can repay you for taking care of me.” 

“You have to come back and play with us!” Ikki begged, jumping up and down as she clapped her hands together. “Please, please, please!” 

“Yeah!” Meelo interjected. “You were too busy throwing up to play with us!” (Y/N) laughed as Tenzin blanched at his children. 

“I’m sorry, Meelo. I promise I’ll come back and play with you guys soon!” She glanced at Tenzin and Pema. “As long as I’m welcome, of course.” 

“You are always welcome here,” Tenzin reassured her, and (Y/N) smiled. Korra walked out of the house then, both her and (Y/N’s) bags slung across her shoulders. 

“Ready to go?” Korra questioned, and (Y/N) nodded. She waved goodbye to the family and walked down the stone steps to the dock, where their ship was pulling up. (Y/N’s) eyes widened at the sight of it. “Ship” was an understatement. It was huge, twice the size of any boat she had seen in her almost three weeks of memory. It was white, with thick blue stripes painted around the edges. 

“Is that yours?” She asked Korra. 

“It’s Varrick’s,” She called back to her. “He’s a super rich guy. Kinda sorta a friend of ours, a guess. I called in a favor.” 

“You’re sure he doesn’t mind?” 

Korra turned around and flashed her a smile. “Varrick tosses money around like it’s leaves. If anything happens to this boat, he’s got ten more.” (Y/N) smiled back at Korra and tried to ignore the statement, “If anything happens.” 

When they reached the dock, one of the most beautiful girls (Y/N) had ever seen stood at it’s edge. She waved at the two of them, her dark hair fluttering behind her in the breeze. Korra dropped their bags on the dock and enveloped the girl in a hug. “Asami!” She cheered. 

Asami squeezed Korra tightly and gave her a kind smile. “It’s good to see you again!” Her green eyes fluttered to (Y/N). “You must be (Y/N). Korra’s told me so much about you.” She extended her hand and (Y/N) shook it firmly. 

“I guess that’s not very much,” (Y/N) joked, eliciting a laugh from Asami. 

“Where are the guys?” Asami asked, and Korra shrugged. 

“Probably running late, as usual.” 

“I want to say thank you to you both,” (Y/N) said suddenly, wringing her fingers together nervously. “I’m sure you both have heard some pretty bad things about me, but I’m so thankful you’re willing to help.” 

“Mako has a bit of a flair for the dramatics,” Asami said as she waved a hand into the air. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re a completely different person.” Korra nodded in agreement, flashing her white teeth at (Y/N). 

Mako and Bolin joined them only a few moments later and the five of them boarded the massive ship. Varrick had sent along an entire crew to accompany them, which everyone was very thankful for. As much as Team Avatar trusted their abilities, none of them were very keen on the idea of steering a ship for a whole week. 

They departed from the bay outside of Republic City and (Y/N) watched from one of the enclosed decks as the skyscraper buildings faded into nothingness. A nervous pit fit itself in the bottom of her stomach. This was really happening. She would get her memories back. 

The majority of her was absolutely ecstatic. She hated not knowing anything about herself and couldn’t wait for her life to get back to normal--whatever that meant before she lost her memory. But a small, miniscule part of her enjoyed what was happening right now. If it hadn’t been for losing her memory, she would not have become friends with Korra. (Y/N) feared that once she got her memories back, there would be some things she didn’t want to remember. 

Asami appeared at her side, offering (Y/N) yet another kind smile. “How do you like the ship?” 

“It’s huge,” (Y/N) said. “I can barely feel the water underneath us. I was worried that since I was sick, I wouldn’t feel well, but I feel fine.” 

“Korra mentioned that you hadn’t been feeling well. I’m glad you’re okay now.” 

(Y/N’s) eyes trailed to the middle of the room, where Korra, Mako, and Bolin talked to each other. “Have you known them long?” 

“Only a few months,” Asami said. “But they’ve become my best friends.” (Y/N) felt a tug at her heart. She wondered if before everything, if she had had a group like this. “Are you feeling hungry?” 

“A little,” (Y/N) admitted. 

“How about we make something in the kitchens? Just you and me.” (Y/N) nodded excitedly and followed Asami down two flights of stairs, where the kitchen took up the entire floor. The staff was scarce, considering that dinner would not be happening for a long while, so they both rifled through the pantries trying to find ingredients. “We could make a pizza!” 

(Y/N) poked her head around the pantry door and stared quizzically at Asami. “Do you know how to make a pizza?” The dark haired girl shrugged, gathering ingredients into her arms. 

“It can’t be that hard.” 

It turned out it was that hard, but they had found a cookbook with their desired recipe and managed to at least get the dough started. Asami slapped it against the counter as (Y/N) giggled. “That’s not how you do it.” 

Asami furrowed her brows at her. “Oh yeah? Then show me how you knead dough.” (Y/N) rolled up her sleeves and began pressing into the dough with the heel of her palm, at first gently, but then with some effort. 

“It’s like raising a baby,” (Y/N) said. “You have to be soft, but firm.” Asami laughed at her comparison. 

“How do you know so much about making dough?” (Y/N) paused for a moment before turning back to her work, kneading into the dough harder. 

“I’m not sure,” She admitted. “I guess there are some things left in there.” 

Bolin stood in the entryway to the kitchens, not yet noticed by the two girls. He watched as (Y/N) taught Asami how to make pizza dough. It brought him back to a memory he reflected on often during the years of her absence. 

Years ago, after (Y/N) and Bolin had taken each other out on many dates, there was the night that he decided to ask her to be his girlfriend. He was incredibly nervous, his palms were a sweaty, clammy mess, but (Y/N) had stared at him kindly. 

“I want to show you something,” She said as they walked down the streets of Republic City, their hands intertwined. If she noticed how slippery his hands were, she didn’t acknowledge it. Like he did in all things, Bolin followed (Y/N) with no questions asked. 

She led him to Kwong’s Cuisine, which had closed for the night hours ago. She pulled a silver key from her pocket and led him to the backdoor. She unlocked the heavy metal door and pushed it open with her shoulder, her fingers still interlocked with Bolin’s. 

“Are you sure we should be in here?” He asked the darkness. (Y/N) flipped a switch and bright, white lights illuminated the silver fixtures of the kitchens. 

“I’m the owner’s daughter,” (Y/N) said with a teasing scoff. “What are they going to do, fire me?” She pulled open the fridges and began gathering her ingredients. Bolin had never seen her move like this before. (Y/N) always seemed so confident, but here, she seemed liked she owned the place. He guessed in a way, she did. “I’d like to make you brownies,” She said to him, pulling out a metal stool with her foot and gesturing toward it. “Sit.” 

Bolin obeyed and watched with fascinated eyes as she mixed the batter together from scratch. “Are you doing this all off the top of your head?” He asked. She nodded. 

“Mom always made me cook when I still lived with her,” She said, offering him the spoon so he could get a taste of the batter. He took his finger and swiped it into the chocolatey mixture before licking it. 

“These are going to be the best brownies I’ve ever had! You should be a chef!” (Y/N) laughed. 

“Maybe one day,” She said. She put the brownies in the oven and set the timer. As they waited, they talked about their days and the events of Bolin’s latest pro-bending match. When the timer buzzed, (Y/N) hopped up from her seat and pulled the brownies out. 

“I’m too excited to wait,” Bolin said, grabbing a knife and slicing into the gooey brownies. 

“Bo, be careful you’re gonna-” 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Bolin complained as he held the scorching hot brownie, but he tossed it into his mouth. He tried his best to chew. “It burns but it’s so yummy,” He mumbled as he tried to breathe hot air out of his mouth. 

“Your girlfriend makes pretty good brownies, huh?” She asked, and Bolin nearly choked on his hot piece of brownie. He doubled over as he coughed and tried to swallow it down. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?” 

“Girlfriend?” Bolin asked once he had righted himself. (Y/N’s) face flushed. Had she calculated everything wrong?

“Yeah, girlfriend. I thought that girlfriend is okay.” Bolin nodded, his hands wrapping around the small of her back to pull her close. 

“Girlfriend’s okay!” He said. “As long as boyfriend’s okay, too.” (Y/N) smiled brightly up at him. 

“Boyfriend’s okay,” She said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Bolin leaned down to kiss her and she could taste the hot brownies on his tongue. 

“Bolin!” Asami called to him, breaking his flashback. “You want a piece of pizza? I think (Y/N) should be a chef, because it’s amazing!” 

Bolin stepped into the room, giving (Y/N) a tight smile. She smiled back at him as she chewed on her piece of pizza. “What kind is it?” 

“Pineapple and pepperoni,” She said, and Bolin twisted his face in disgust. “No, no! You have to give it a chance first, please?” He conceded and took a bite of pizza. It did taste amazing. 

“Not bad,” He said with a teasing smile, and both Asami and (Y/N) rolled their eyes. 

Once the three had finished devouring the pizza, (Y/N) moved to leave the room with Asami, but Bolin called out her name. She turned to him, her eyes staring up at his quizzically. “I just wanted to say,” He cleared his throat. “That, even though I know that you know that things didn’t necessarily end well for us, I don’t, uh, have hard feelings.” He could feel his face redden. “It was a long time ago, and I know I can’t tell you anything yet, but I’m sure you had a reason for doing certain things, so I don’t blame you.” 

(Y/N’s) eyes shined so brightly in the kitchen light that Bolin was sure tears would spill over any moment. “Thank you,” She said quietly, an uncertain smile making its way across her features. “I, um, want to apologize for whatever it was I did. You seem very kind and great and whatever happened between us, I’m certain you didn’t deserve it.” Bolin nodded, his own eyes prickling at the backs. “Could we start over? Just be friends?” 

Bolin nodded perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

(Y/N) smiled up at Bolin and felt that maybe she had been wrong. Maybe things would be okay. 

When she left the kitchens, she wondered if everyone had been planning to gather down there, because she ran into Mako as she was walking away. “Sorry,” She said, refusing to meet his eyes. She would never admit it, but Mako intimidated her. His dislike for her was always apparent and (Y/N) hated it. 

“Bolin told me what he said to you,” Mako said as she began to walk past. She turned back to look at him. 

“So?” 

“He’s forgiving, but I’m not. What you did, it was cruel. You were cruel.” 

“As if you don’t spend every waking moment reminding me,” (Y/N) said with a sigh. Mako narrowed his eyes at her. 

“If you do anything--” 

“You’ll do what, Mako?” She snapped. She had enough of him thinking that he could talk to her whatever way he pleased. “Hurt me?” 

He blinked in surprise, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. “Just stay away from him, alright?” 

“How about you stay away from me? The ship’s big enough.” With that, she stormed up the stairs and joined the rest of her friends. (Y/N) hated Mako. Absolutely hated him. The flush of her cheeks and her racing heart proved that.

---

Tag List!

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[charlattehotte]

The Most Annoying Types Of Pain, In No Real Order:

1. When the tender point near your boob is triggered and your armpit HURTS

1a. When the same tender point is triggered but it results in full chest pain

2. When it feels like your knees and ankle bones are trying to stretch apart and your calves get caught up in it (the pain that you were always told was just growing pains but you stopped growing like 5 years ago)

3. Steel rod through joint pain

4. when every joint in your body feels inflamed and hot and it makes you cold sweat but youre not sure if your joints even ARE inflamed or if you actually have a fever

5. Knuckle/wrist pain that again feels inflammatory to you but doesnt look like it, not really that painful in comparison but like.....I need those hands for things, also do I now need to ask my doctor if I might have a form of arthritis, also will I get brushed off if I do

6. The dull pain that’s always sorta there so I’m Used To It but it’s still really fucking annoying

7. When that bit near your ankle cramps the fuck up when you’ve only been walking for 5 minutes

8. The back pain u get from vacuuming/sweeping 

9. Jaw pain from chewing

10. Headache that keeps getting worse and tightens the back of the neck and activates ur gag reflex

11. When you're lying on your front on ur laptop and your back just gives up on life without any warning and just decides to give u electric shocks

[whumpitywhumpwhump]

ok so i don’t know ur ocs very well but if there’s a relationship between two of them maybe they were supposed to go on a date and one of them(ur pick) comes down with a really really bad cold but tries to power thru it? if there isn’t a romantic relationship, maybe just two of them who were supposed to hang out as just friends

Hey there! So most of my OCs are sort of...not human... in the way that makes them sorta difficult to give colds to, but I chose the one I could, and just made up a person for him to go on a date with! I hope that’s ok! (This is also one of the first times I’ve written a piece centered on illness instead of injury, so I hope it’s alright!) Thanks for the prompt!

When he wakes up, his throat hurts. He cannot believe that this is happening today of all days. The first date he’s ever been asked on, and he wakes up with a sore throat. Clancy must have the worst luck in the world.

I’ve had worse, he tells himself as he gets dressed. There’s no way I’m cancelling on Jay.

--

At midday, while he’s texting Jay to confirm their plans for the evening, a cough picks up in his chest. It’s not a one-off either, no, this is a persistent cough. Every few minutes he hacks up some more air and a little phlegm. It’s beginning to look like he’s a little worse than just a sore throat.

I’m sure it’ll be fine by tonight.

--

When he notices that he’s shivering, his heart sinks. That can’t be good. He checks his temperature: 101.5 degrees. Great, he has a fever. That is exactly what he needs tonight.

Regardless of his developing cold, he’s still going tonight. When you’re a social recluse because you’re secretly a werewolf, and you’re a gay guy in a small town on top of it, dates with sweet cute boys are a precious commodity. There’s not a chance in Hell that Clancy will stay home.

--

By the time he gets to the quaint little diner on the edge of town, he feels like death warmed over.

Undeterred, he enters and asks the waitress if Jay is here yet. He is, apparently, and so Clancy slides into the booth opposite from him. Jay looks just as nice as he did the other day at the library when he asked Clancy to get dinner with him. His hair is carefully combed, polo shirt collar neatly pressed. Clancy looks trashy by comparison—hair sticking up in a few places and the sweater pulled over his shirt sitting askew.

They go through the customary greetings and browse the menu, occasionally commenting on this burger or that flavor of milkshake. They place their orders and get to talking about their hometowns.

Clancy has lived here all his life, so talking about this town is easy for him. It’s simple to tell Jay about the people, about the shops and eateries and sights that make this town nice. It’s even more simple for him to sit back and let Jay talk about the big city he grew up in.

Nothing in Clancy’s life is ever simple, though. He keeps interrupting Jay’s stories with harsh coughing fits, lungs struggling to push the air in and out properly. He begins to feel exhausted, flashing hot and cold as he sits there.

“Are you alright?” Jay pauses in his story, picking up on the fact that something is wrong with Clancy. Clancy, realizing this, panics. He doesn’t want to ruin the night by being ill.

“I’m fine, really. Throat’s just dry.” He takes a small sip of water, internally cringing at how much it stings going down. His stomach twists, and he feels very overwhelmed all of a sudden, just sitting at the table.

“Actually, I’m going to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” As Clancy slides out of the booth, a wave of fatigue washes over him, and he sits right back down. This initiates a fresh coughing fit, and by the time it’s over, Jay is on his feet, standing right in front of Clancy.

“You do not seem alright. Actually, you seem pretty sick. Why don’t we reschedule for next week sometime and I take you home?” Jay’s voice is soft and filled with concern. Clancy appreciates it, he does, but his face heats up in shame where it isn’t already hot with fever.

Clancy forces a smile onto his face. “Thanks. I’ll text you about next week? And don’t worry about taking me home, I live nearby, I’ll be fine.” He waves off protests—he does not want Jay to see the state of his yard, the way it looks like a wild animal has shredded the lawn and the siding and tree bark of all the nearby trees. He doesn’t want Jay to see anything at all that relates to the werewolf part of his life, so he will take himself home.

Jay, in all his gentlemanliness, pays for the sodas they drank and tips the waitress, apologizing about them not getting any food.

When they are outside, he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want a ride home?” He seems genuinely worried, but Clancy manages to convince him that it’s fine.

So, Clancy walks home, across town, alone. He’s shivering, and the world keeps lurching beneath his feet, and he hates himself for letting a stupid cold ruin the only real date he’s ever been asked on, and if there are tears on his cheeks, at least Jay isn’t there to see it.

[feverdreamsuggestion]

You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but do you have any advice on like,, giving your posts that feverdream™ feel? I'm kinda trying to write stuff rn but it just. doesn't really have a vibe to it? It feels kinda flat in comparison? Hhh sorry if this is lowkey incomprehensible, i have no idea how to word this properly

nah this is coherent im,,,, not 100% sure how to do it tho?? usually stuff kinda comes to me but a few key elements i include are vagueness and discontinuity i guess?

vagueness comes with constantly shifting colors, spaces seemingly moving around, a kind of dizziness and ambiguity of detail while still feeling vivid and almost overwhelming. there’s a lot but as to what it is i’m not always sure. that’s how a lot of my dreams tend to go too

discontinuity is also sorta the dreamier part of the feverdream™ feel i think, because dreams rarely make any sort of sense. sensations start and stop without warning, there’s no clear association from point A to point B, thought get cut off and never pick back up because there was never any point to it so there’s no real ending 

idk hopefully this makes sense?? also the physical sensations that come with fevers (cycling between hot and cold, dizziness, nausea) etc are thematically recurring in my Brand™

[shadows-of-almsivi]

8, 9, 14, 22, 32~

((8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals?

Moraelyn adores animals. As a child, Moraelyn was given a nix-hound named Aket, whom he absolutely adored. Aket followed him everywhere (or at least tried to, like this time here), carried notes and small items for him in a little pack-satchel, and could do a couple simple tricks, like hooting a basic rote melody (see here also). Aket slept beside Moraelyn’s bed, until it caught a fever from a cliffracer attack and had to be put down. That stayed with Moraelyn for quite a long time, as you’d imagine.

As an adult, he’s had several pets, most often a succession of dogs while in Cyrodiil. He’s very fond of dogs, being somewhat like nix-hounds in some ways as they are, and takes great pleasure in training them well. He’s always quite saddened by the short lifespan of dogs in comparison to nix-hounds, though, and it always comes as a tragic surprise for him when they grow old so quickly.

He also tends to think of his horses as pets, which sometimes they are; he’s been known to keep horses that he could not possibly hope to ride, simply for the companionship. For a while, when he was holed up in a shack in Skingrad, he made something of a hobby of rescuing and rehabilitating lost and feral horses he found in the woods (though I wouldn't call those horses necessarily retrained or broken in at all; that was never really his goal).

Lately, in Falkreath, he's spent rather a lot of time trying to gain the trust of the resident hawk that nests near his house. He has a curious relationship with his beehives, whose tenants oddly refuse to sting him (he doesn't think it strange, but he also has no frame of context and may think that all bees are as gentle to everyone.)

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals?

Answered here!

14. Do they have any specific memories of food/a restaurant/meal?

Several; many of his fondest memories of childhood centre around family and food, and flavor remains the sense most often tied to pleasant recollection. This goes partway to explaining his somewhat-disproportionate vitriol over terrible cooking in taverns and dining establishments. It feels almost like a personal affront to have a well-remembered dish served badly, as if it was tainting the very memory the food was previously associated with.

One memory in particular, selected at random: once when he was very small, probably three or four, his father brought him along to the outpost offices for the Order of the Inquisition while he took care of some urgent business with his superiors. Moraelyn was left with a colleague, an Ordinator of lower rank with flaming red hair; Moraelyn never saw her without her mask, but would remember her by her hair for many years, recalling with it the taste of the soursalt plums she’d given him, dusted in marshmerrow and yam sugar. Even when he did not consciously recollect the connection, the image of his father’s mask (so alike to any other of the Order of the Inquisiton) would bring with it the taste of sweet-sour candied plums well into adulthood.

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back?

It’s important to make sure that your insults are clear enough to cross multiple cultural and linguistic barriers, yet subtle enough to confuse the offended party just long enough to get away if you need to. To this end, Moraelyn’s favorite insults are elaborate and opaque iterations on the theme of “dogfucker”. Works just as well from High Rock to Black Marsh.

If nothing immediately presents itself as a good enough vehicle for his outrage (a rare occurrence), he will search for some detail he can make use of: their manners, possibly, or some glance he does not like, or their intelligence, or bad cooking, or an outstanding debt, or their background or worship in some way or another (he is a Dunmer, still, of an age especially prone to prejudices, and having been made to be on the wrong side of the races of men too often besides). He will aim unswervingly for the jugular. He also tends to use insults as in-joke pet names and expressions of affection with those he cares for, so that can make things confusing.

Moraelyn will bitch behind someone’s back, Moraelyn will bitch directly in front of someone, Moraelyn will bitch right to their busted face, Moraelyn will bitch to himself alone in a field, Moraelyn will bitch to trees, there is no opportunity to bitch that Moraelyn will not take. How he will bitch, specifically, and about what, is always a fun treat to witness.

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

Fuck, that’s so many bits… Okay, let’s see here:

Currently, Moraelyn dresses like a travelling tailor fell through a hedgewitch’s wardrobe on the way to a funeral. He mostly wears traditional Dunmeri mourning robes (black silken robes richly embroidered in golden designs, a kind of wearable ongoing art project to channel grief, constructed of spidercloth in place of the traditional moth-silk due to availability), layered with anything else he can wear to ward away the cold. He recently got himself some warm fur and woolen items, so that helps. Poor thing feels the cold so badly, especially when he’s underweight.

Most often, he makes all his own clothes, or at least heavily tailors clothing that he finds, receives in barter, or acquires from certain parties who won’t be needing them anymore. The closest thing to an answer shop-wise would be a furriers deep in the Grey Quarter, or a couple of the more familiar Khajiiti trading caravans who usually have something nice for him. He despises Nord fashions mostly, keeping mainly to items of elven make if possible, and keeping warm for a bargain price is worth any amount of aftermarket tailoring and mending.

Moraelyn makes do with what’s available, more concerned lately with survival than appearance (though only barely). The climate keeps him from his ideal wardrobe: flowing belt-lashed tunics and light kresh-linen skirts in summer, layered dress robes and long, nehru-collared jackets in the cooler months, adorned in a series of shawls and pauldron-draping scarves as he used to back in his 30s. He holds out hope that perhaps the summers in Skyrim’s southern holds will be moderately acceptable, but really, he knows he’ll likely need to move very far south indeed before he can be comfortable in those sorts of things.

Nothing. He likes feeling soft sheets or warm furs on his skin, he’s very tactile. Unless, of course, he’s sleeping in an inn he does not trust, or out in the wild, or simply too exhausted, in which case he just sleeps in whatever clothes he fell into bed wearing.

Moraelyn is a lifelong adherent to makeup regimens, and will basically never be seen without at least a little kohl on him. Times are hard, and have been for some time, so frequently kohl is as far as it goes, though he’s found ways to make do with wood-ash and other home remedies for other cosmetic needs, and every now and then he happens upon a little eyeshadow that works for him. A good lip tint is still eluding him, though; he’s a difficult person to find colours for.

Moraelyn’s hair has a rather particular texture to it, glossy and relatively fine yet somehow simultaneously thick, a little like heavily conditioned horsemane. It’s very soft and straight, just like his father’s, and he loves it dearly. He’s kept it in the exact style his father cut it into upon his induction into the novitiate ranks as an Ordinator, for some 200-odd years; it tends to make him stand out more often than he’d like, being such a markedly outdated style even to the Dunmer, but he’d never dream of changing it. It curls and waves when it’s damp or humid; he looks very, very much like his mother when it does so. It’s very slightly starting to grey, here and there; it’s hardly noticeable, but he sees it, and it utterly kills him. He dyes it back to an even blue-black as often as he’s able to find the right ingredients, or at the very least putting a little spare ink through his hair to cover the grey hairs a while.))

[klanced]

will you use your powers as mystical shitposting dreamworks infiltration to give lance and hunk the character development they Deserve

ANON, I GLADLY WILL.

*cracks my knuckles* first of all:

Lance totally knows what a fucking hypothesis is. What the hell. My eight-year-old little sister knows what that is. “In English” my ass.

Hunk is literally… an engineer… How can they not remember this, they only gave Hunk like Three Defining Character Details. MMMMMM.

I’m only halfway through episode 7 right now but let me just say: Lance and Hunk would totally explore the space mall together. Because you know what you do when you go to the mall? YOU FUCK AROUND WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND.

If any of the Paladins would have an invested interest in learning Altean it would probably be Hunk since he’s the… idk… team engineer and therefore in charge of maintaining the Lions (that’s of course assuming Dreamworks ever gives him the chance lol!!!!!!!!!!!!)

And uuuuuurgh okay sidenote: I’m so mad that Dreamworks kept!!!!! Boosting Pidge’s smartness!! By making my BOYS look like idiots in comparison!!!! Like. Oh my GOD. Yes, I’m so proud of Pidge, and I’m glad that Dreamworks is giving her the genius credit she deserves. But they don’t have to do it at the EXPENSE of their CHARACTERS OF COLOR.

Like here is an alternative to all of those scenes that I just came up with while my ass is flying out of my seat with a fever:

Pidge goes on one of her techy tangents. She uses those big ol’ words that are seven syllables long. There’s a moment of silence as everyone stares at her, sweat-dropping.

“Okay, so…” Lance says, staring up at the ceiling as he taps his chin in thought. “Are you saying that you’ve like, made a program that tries to predict how much Galra activity there’ll be in an area based on how many showed up to kick our butts?”

Pidge blinks, thinks about it for a second, and then nods. “Yeah, pretty much.”

It’s not. Hard! Do you see how easy it is to tweak a scene so a character ISN’T put down, but instead boosted alongside another? Think about all those Fucky scenes!! Pidge, or Coran, or someone starts going on a technological tangent. Instead of making a pointless quip about food, Hunk adds to the idea! He contributes his own knowledge to the conversation!! 

Maybe for a second, Pidge and Hunk get caught up techno babbling to each other!! They’re having fun!! Shiro steps in, almost a little sheepishly. “Uh, guys,” he says, “what exactly are you saying?” Pidge and Hunk turn to him and try to explain, but they’re so excited that they babble over each other, and their conversation becomes even harder to follow. Shiro and Keith stand there, a little intimidated.

And then Lance steps in to translate. Maybe he doesn’t understand the precise mechanics of what they’re saying, but he can still help. You’d think that, after spending MONTHS with Hunk and Pidge, Lance would pick up a little of SOMETHING. Maybe he can’t recite a Wikipedia page about dark matter, but Lance can translate what his friends are saying into Layman’s terms. 

Do you see how helpful that would be for an audience? They get a complex concept explained to them by a down-to-earth, fan-favorite character who won’t be condescending and who will probably turn that boring scientific idea into something funny and easy to understand!! Plus, you know Lance! He could turn some Big Ass Complicated Probably Fake Invention™ into something that can be summarized in five words or less. “It makes the bad guys go boom” or “Oh, so this’ll stall their engines long enough for us to escape?” or even “So you need us to distract them while you set up some sorta microwave that’ll override their sensors. Got it!”

But instead we get… this. Ugh.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Selling Sticks and a Slap in the Face: Artists Intervene in eBay

Megan Hildebrandt, “ANXIETY DISORDER FOR SALE,” #exstrange auction (all images courtesy #exstrange)

Editor’s note: This essay is excerpted from the book #exstrange: a curatorial intervention on eBay, in which seven writers consider critical artistic perspectives on and provocations within the online market. 

The sweet dream of a commercial marketplace doubling as a space for community and connection is an old one. We imagine the Ancient Agora of Athens, for instance, as a place where merchants peddled goods and citizens swapped political ideas. Perhaps this was even true.

By comparison, eBay seems more coldly mercantile. Its creation story, which involved the founder wanting to help his fiancée trade Pez dispensers with like-minded collectors, has only the flimsiest link to human connection — and is in any case a myth invented by publicists. The real goal of eBay’s inventors was to devise a “perfect market,” in the pure and uncluttered sense of matching buyers and sellers with zero friction. The Pez yarn may have contributed to somewhat condescending early assessments of eBay as little more than a digital flea market. Today, of course, it is a multinational ecommerce giant, facilitating all manner of transactions in dozens of countries.

But either way, why not take the flea market seriously? The fifth episode of Robert Hughes’s famous 1980 documentary series The Shock of the New memorably sees the critic striding through one in Paris, bellowing about the Surrealists, who had found inspiration in such settings and their “endless profusion of battling objects” in the early 20th century. “The flea market was like the unconscious mind of capitalism,” Hughes booms; artists prowled the sales stalls to mine connections from the seemingly impersonal goods on offer, revealing “secret affinities” within a world that their work “declassified.” And then the curators of #exstrange, Marialaura Ghidini and Rebekah Modrak, showed up in eBay’s infinite flea market with a different, but not unrelated, intent: to set up shop.

The selling of goods and services, in this context, would serve as a “pretense,” as Modrak put it, for facilitating exchanges among strangers — borrowing sociologist Georg Simmel’s take on the “stranger” as a “mobile figure who circulates goods.” And thus, through more than 100 auctions, involving dozens of artists (and non-artists), #exstrange joined and added to the commodity conversation, simultaneously cacophonous and silent, happening on one of our most familiar online agoras.

To take one example of what this looked like, consider “Stick—with history of affordance,” listed by Fieldfaring, the collaborative name used by artists Susanne Cockrell and Ted Purves. Like many #exstrange listings, it inspires a second look at the familiar eBay format, suddenly made noteworthy. For all its slick, global might, eBay’s aesthetic remains a bit of a mess. Pre-formatted text is cluttered by logos for payment-service options and social-media tools to promote whatever is for sale. The designated photo box is the main wild card: the sales image, whether seductively professional or alarmingly amateur, sets the visual tone. In this case, it’s a workaday picture of three sticks.

Fieldfaring, image from “Stick—With History of Affordance,” #exstrange auction

“When our son was in primary school,” the listing reads in part, “he would often have these sticks with him when we picked him up after school. He found them in the trees by the schoolyard and played with them at recess-time as make-believe firearms.” And yes, now that you say it, they do look sorta kinda like guns, particularly through the imagined eyes of an imaginative child. Bidders are invited to choose one stick, accompanied by “the memory of its original affordance,” as well as an acknowledgment that the buyer may add his or her own. The stick attracted 26 bids and sold for $71.

Possibly the winner was familiar with psychologist James J. Gibson’s “Theory of Affordances,” defining them as “action possibilities” in an object or environment; or Donald Norman’s subsequent adoption of that term in the context of human-object interaction in the book The Design of Everyday Things; or contemporary philosophical discussions of object-oriented ontology, where it’s not unheard of to encounter the affordance idea applied specifically to the action possibilities of a humble stick as an illustrative example.

But possibly not. Ebay sellers slot their auctions into eBay’s category schema, to make them easier for shoppers to discover, and in this case the artists listed their object under “Entertainment Memorabilia,” more typically represented by movie-prop replicas, concert T-shirts, and all manner of celebrity-autographed objects.

It’s a good example of the multiple ways that #exstrange aims to disrupt — to use a word popular among internet capitalists — assumptions about commercial exchange, virtual connection, and the contexts in which art can live, among other familiar paradigms. Characterizing their enterprise as a “curatorial project,” the organizers of #exstrange used eBay to obliterate the physical, geographic, and ideological norms that define, for instance, a gallery exhibition. Participants contributed listings/works from Austria, India, the United Arab Emirates, Mexico City, North Carolina, Brooklyn, Rome, Amsterdam, Ann Arbor, and so on. Some were recruited by Ghidini and Modrak, others by curators they brought into the project; still more joined in after the auctions got underway, building on an open call for engagement. (���Any artist, designer or eBay account holder may post an auction using the tag #exstrange and following the set of instructions posted here,” the project’s home site explained.) The volume of contributions demonstrated the appeal of sidestepping traditional gallery or art-world settings for a playful and possibility-filled alternative — but the works themselves demonstrated the value in acting on that appeal.

Lanfranco Aceti, images from “One Unit of a Slap (Slap in the Face, Medium to Strong, Colorful),” #exstrange auction

For all the freedom it offers from gallery strictures, eBay comes with its own constraints  — a conceptual (as opposed to material) piece still needs to be framed to function in, or respond to, a sales setting. Lanfranco Aceti listed “One Unit of Slap (Slap in the Face, Medium to Strong, Colorful),” for instance, as a $500 gift certificate that would entitle the buyer “to own a slap in the face,” dealt by Aceti to a collaborator; this would entail a numbered and signed receipt, as well as the opportunity to witness the slap via Skype or FaceTime. Ann Bartges sold “shadow, middle-aged,” listed under “Other Women’s Accessories,” for $2.25. Megan Hildebrandt offered “ANXIETY DISORDER FOR SALE” (listed under “Tickets & Experiences”) without any clear explanation of how this would be delivered. When a potential bidder raised a concern about whether whatever it was could shipped to India, Hildebrandt replied she would ship for free, “as I am really looking to get rid of it.” It sold for $1.99. Meanwhile, she solved the problem of providing potential buyers with a depiction of her wares by filling eBay’s image box with the familiar red slash-in-a-circle “no” or “do not” symbol.

Obviously this sort of listing reframes eBay itself, converting the potential transaction into something a lot more complicated than the neat, near-mindless fusion of supply and demand. So did #exstrange listings that involved material objects. Sreshta Rit Premnath offered “A Flimsy Alibi,” in the form of a hunk of cardboard, pictured on a subway-station floor, with a poem as the official item description; someone bought it for a penny.

Norie Neumark and Maria Miranda, operating as the collaborative practice Out-of-Sync, listed clear bags of paper shreds, positioned as the result of an “endurance performance” — a year spent shredding “every piece of text” associated with Neumark’s lost teaching position; listed as art, under “mixed media, collage,” “Shreds” sold for $5.50.

Out-of-Sync (Maria Miranda & Norie Neumark), image from “Shreds,” #exstrange auction

Some artists addressed internet or tech-defined culture directly. In an extension of her ongoing Archive Fever project, Elisa Giardina Papa offered one month of her browser history on a pink thumb drive for 99 cents, describing it as a de facto “unedited narrative” of her personal and professional life, as mediated by the traces of her web wandering. JODI’s “EBAY shopping bag,” a physical shopping bag decorated with the digital store’s logo, listed under “Equipment & Material Stores,” sold for €60. Given the variety suggested here, it’s worth pausing over how #exstrange contributors resolved the challenge, or exploited the opportunity, of eBay’s image box: a no-frills photo of a bag of paper shreds actually makes a perverse kind of sense among all the amateur photography on the site, while the shopping bag quietly mimics the slick, professional merch pic that’s really just as common. The visual quality of the sales image usually communicates something about the nature of the seller and his or her goods — and #exstrange artists seemed to both play to and with that expectation.

Others turned the eBay listing into a site for political provocation. Masimba Hwati, based in Harare, Zimbabwe, sold a “soil sample” taken from a hill in that city where “the First Colonialist settlers planted the British flag” in 1890. (Here the sales image is a tasteful vase, full of dirt.) Listed under “Land” on ebay.uk, then relisted on ebay.com, where the closest available category was “Real Estate,” it sold for $36. Speaking more bluntly to current events, UK-based artist collective IOCOSE offered “Instant Protest!,” described as “photos of people from all over the world demonstrating in the streets with your favourite slogan” and allegedly useful for news articles or social-media campaigns. The listing’s promo images showed anonymous demonstrators with signs marked “LOREM IPSUM.” Offered in an edition of 10 at the “Buy It Now” price of $10, it sold out.

Masimba Hwati, images from “(Kutengesa Nyika) Soil Sample from Harare Kopje,” #exstrange auction

While this sampling covers only a small fraction of #exstrange, it should hint at the border-hopping sweep of the project, the sheer variety and firepower of the provocations — and, it’s important to note, the entertainment — on offer. One can only speculate as to the time and effort it would take to match it with an exhibition in art-world-suitable physical space(s). But whatever this may say about the challenges the project offers to standard gallery practice, the way it engages with eBay and the intersections of capitalism and technology that we’ve slowly come to take for granted is even more significant.

Toward the end of its run, #exstrange explored these intersections through a batch of auctions devised in collaboration with consumer-culture researchers. Eight listings offered unusual “products” that commented on contemporary notions of “networked” society — and, to further complicate matters, offered duplicates that simply positioned the exact same items in different ways. For instance, an iPhone EarthX – 4.7” was described as brand new, unlocked, and biodegradable, among other features; with no battery or memory limits, an “analog” operating system, and compatible only with an “Earth to Earth” network, it “dramatically improves the most important aspects of the iPhone experience.” The body material: “cast clay (unfired) and earth.” It was listed for 1 cent. An essentially identical version of the object and its accompanying sales text, with different promotional images and auction titles, was listed for $10. Through a series of direct interactions with the public, the researchers borrowed #exstrange’s conversion of a shopping space into an art space, and further converted it into a laboratory space.

ConnX, images from “iPhone EarthX — 4.7” Smartphone, Compatible with LFR Networks,” #exstrange auction

Whatever the results, it’s the fact of the experiment that matters. At the time eBay first made its way into the public mind, optimistic self-styled experts on the coming web-connected world declared that a new utopian marketplace of ideas was upon us; tired and stultifying gatekeepers would be swept aside, previously marginal or idiosyncratic thought could compete fairly with the hidebound and the elite, and the people would form our own more perfect polis. One popular metaphor for describing this suddenly inevitable new world pitted the cathedral against the bazaar — one model suggesting that the many are forced to listen to and obey the few, the other reflecting the agora-like ideal of unlimited conversation and debate and exchange.

Perhaps this has even turned out to be true, although we have since learned that the unlimited marketplace of ideas offers peddlers of the ugly and the shoddy fresh opportunity to expand their audiences, too. But more to the point, this wild new world often turns out to feel surprisingly stultified and regimented and formatted and controlled, filtered through prefab structures like Facebook and Google and, yes, eBay. What replaced the cathedral often feels less like a bazaar than a mall.

#exstrange reveals that there are some cracks and corners in these virtual structures, hidden in plain sight and waiting to exploited. It takes just one encounter with a truly unexpected eBay listing to reframe what eBay is, and what (and who) the wider techno-culture it now represents is really for — to complicate, if only momentarily, whatever’s going through “the unconscious mind of capitalism.” This is the real transaction, and this is the real exchange. It doesn’t cost a penny, and you couldn’t own it if you wanted to. There is nothing more valuable.

Elisa Giardina Papa, image from “Archive Fever Vol.37: My browser history [Feb 2017],” #exstrange auction

JODI, image from “EBAY shopping bag (#exstrange edition),” #exstrange auction

The post Selling Sticks and a Slap in the Face: Artists Intervene in eBay appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[garynsmith]

The Notorious R.O.B.: Zillow fever strikes again

http://ift.tt/2ry4mV2

Reposted with permission from Rob Hahn. 

[Note: I have a business relationship with Zillow, but as I have mentioned many times before, they don’t know that I’m writing this. But, you make up your own mind, y’hear?]

One of the more amusing things about the real estate industry in the 21st century is the extent to which Zillow triggers some folks to heights of lunacy otherwise seen only in the more extreme social justice warrior types.

Rob Hahn

If Zillow bought Coca-Cola tomorrow, some people would immediately switch to Pepsi. The latest fracas involving Zillow’s Instant Offers test is a good example.

As Inman reported, the product allows prospective homesellers to receive all-cash offers from a hand-selected group of 15 large private investors along with a side-by-side comparative market analysis (CMA) from a local Zillow Premier Agent.

The way it works seems pretty straightforward. Some homeowner surfing Zillow fills out a form. That form is sent to well-heeled (institutional) investors. It is also sent to some agents who are asked to provide a valuation (CMA) and try to get the homeowner to list the home with them instead of selling to an investor.

The homeowner can choose to (a) sell to an investor, (b) sell to an investor, but pay an agent to help, or (c) list with an agent.

Doesn’t strike me as being all that different from all of those “What’s Your Home Worth?” type of things we have seen on the real estate web since… well… the start of the real estate web.

I distinctly remember Homegain doing that back in the day, and doesn’t anybody remember HouseValues.com? And yet, the response from some (though not all) people has been… ah… striking.

Y’all need to chill out. This isn’t anything more than Zillow trying to fend off real threats looming on the horizon in the form of Opendoor and its copycats. Yet some of the same people who were pooh-poohing Opendoor as a We Buy Ugly Houses with fancier office furniture are losing their ever-loving minds when Zillow does something similar but with a benefit for agents.

If that’s not a symptom of Zillow Fever, I don’t know what is. Let’s explore this like rational people.

The triggering

First of all, if you haven’t read the Inman coverage, go ahead and do that first. Start with this story, and then also read Brad Inman’s take on 11 burning questions. Finish up with this comparison of Opendoor and Zillow Instant Offers.

Note also that Zillow insists that this is but a test in two markets. They’ll learn from it, and then decide whether to go forward with it or not.

As a test, Zillow isn’t making any money from Instant Offer, but we all can rest assured that it will figure out a way to monetize it if it becomes a full-blown product offering. So in essence, we have some homeowner somewhere who’s thinking about selling.

Instead of calling his Realtor, he decides to go surf Zillow to look at Zestimates, look at what’s on the market, and maybe take a gander at what sold for how much, and so on. (We’ll get to why he didn’t call his Realtor below….)

He’s presented with some kind of a call to action that says “Get an instant offer!” He fills out some info, hits submit, and some time later (we don’t know just how quickly investors or agents will respond), he gets a binding offer that lasts five days and a CMA from some agent who would like to list the house instead. That’s it.

That’s the product. It generates leads — like everything else on Zillow. In fact, it generates seller leads, which are the most valuable of all.

The triggered

The response to this modest little experiment is a full-on Zaterade festival. Some examples from the comments of just one Inman article:

All of the people talking about pulling listings from Zillow seem to ignore that this particular product generates listings.

No Realtor’s listing was harmed in the production of said listing leads.

Then you have all of the people yelling that “Aha! Zillow IS becoming a brokerage! They’re matching buyers to sellers!!! ZOMG!”

I suppose that makes Google a brokerage, too, since most real estate searches start on Google, thereby playing a role in matching buyer to seller.

Of course, neither is actually true since the modern real estate brokerage isn’t in the real estate transaction business, but in the agent recruiting and retention business. “My agents are my customers,” said many a broker I have met over the years.

And they’re not wrong to say that now, are they? Finally, you have those who are screaming that Zillow is now competing with the agent, like Greg above. This one deserves a bit more discussion, so let’s do it.

Competing for listings?

The only possible WTF factor here is that Zillow, with its Instant Offers, may be competing for listings with the agent on the street.

After all, getting a listing is just about the hardest thing to do in real estate, once you’ve gotten past your mom, your uncle and your sister.

Getting strangers to invite you into their homes to list it for sale is the goal of every real estate agent in the world — “list to last” and so on.

From that standpoint, I can understand why some agents are livid that a billion-dollar tech company wants to insert itself between them and the homeowner.

What I wonder about, however, is why this is even remotely an issue for the competent Realtor. I said I’d talk about why Mr. Homeowner didn’t call his Realtor above. Let me do that by way of personal experience.

My Realtor

Blayne Vackar

I’d like y’all to meet Blayne Vackar, my Realtor.

Since 2011, when I first met him moving to Texas, Blayne has helped me buy a house, sell a house, buy two more houses, and is now working on selling a house for me. That’s five transactions in six years.

When I decided to put my house on the market, I didn’t go to Zillow — even though, as I said, I have a business relationship with them. I didn’t go to HAR.com, even though HAR is dominant here in Houston. I just texted Blayne. Now, Blayne sorta sucks at post-transaction relationship management — something we’ve talked about in the past.

But still, he’s not terrible, and we’ve become friends over the years. He takes care of me in a transaction. I just got a text last night telling me about landscaping costs to prep my house for sale. He’s handling everything from cleaning to repairs to staging (though I’m not staging this house, as it’s empty) so I don’t have to.

When I’ve got that, why would I bother with anything else? Technology is cool and all, but it doesn’t replace My Realtor.

So why are so many people freaked out? Because they know very few homeowners think of them as “My Realtor.”

Why not? Because they’ve done nothing to deserve to be thought of as My Realtor by anybody. If they had, why in the world would they be worried about some computer algorithm?

Teenage angst

The situation reminds me of some 15-year old getting jealous of an oblivious crush going out with someone else.

The homeowner opting into the Instant Offers situation clearly does not have someone he thinks of as My Realtor. If he did, why is he clicking around a website? Why isn’t he calling his Realtor and talking about it?

Should said homeowner choose to take an investor’s offer — listen, he wasn’t ever going to list with an agent for a variety of reasons. This came up in the Opendoor conversation, but someone who just wants to sell the house with as little hassle as possible understands that he’s leaving money on the table — just like the people who trade in their vehicles at the car dealership know they’re leaving money on the table, but do it anyhow for the sake of convenience.

Should said homeowner mess around on Zillow, get an Instant Offer from an investor, and call you, because you’re His Realtor, then what’s the problem?

Do your job and advise your client on how to best handle an offer from an investor.

Should said homeowner elect to call an agent to come in for a listing appointment because of Instant Offer… well, what’s the problem? “It’s not right that some agent who just pays Zillow gets that seller lead instead of me!”

Look, that crush ain’t your spouse. The homeowner isn’t your client. He doesn’t think of you as His Realtor; he barely knows you exist.

That’s not on Zillow, not on Opendoor, not on Offerpad or Blackstone Group or We Buy Ugly Houses or anybody other than you. Look at this revealing stat from NAR:

64 percent of sellers who used a real estate agent found their agents through a referral by friends or family, and 25 percent used the agent they previously worked with to buy or sell a home.

Sellers who definitely would use same agent again: 70 percent

Then add in the fact that only 17 percent of buyers use the agent who helped them buy the house, despite 73 percent saying they would.

The mismatch is because most agents are not good at staying in touch with past clients, despite numerous pleas from their managing broker, suggestions from their coaches and the like.

And if they’re bad at staying in touch with people who actually bought or sold a house with them, how are they at proving value to the strangers in their market areas so that some of those homeowners might start to think of them as “My Realtor?” The answer is not exactly a mystery.

The non-triggered

Let’s be fair here. Not all commenters were acting like teenagers.

A number of brokers and agents saw this as what it appears to be, and I have to agree with Pete Thorpe here. If a Realtor can’t prove value over an investor’s bid, well, that homeowner was in a rush and would have sold to Opendoor or We Buy Ugly Houses people anyhow.

Why would you care about that? I suspect that these Realtors have strong relationships with their clients, past-clients, sphere and neighborhood. They’re not worried about Instant Offer any more than they are about Opendoor.

They’re not complaining about Zestimates, because that just lets them showcase their local knowledge and expertise. They know their people do think of them as “My Realtor” and would behave accordingly.

You gots to chill

So, takeaways. If you’ve stayed all the way to this point, I think you deserve one or two — even if you disagree violently with them.

Zillow didn’t do Instant Offers to become a brokerage — Zillow Group is a publicly traded company, and it can’t get into low margin businesses like real estate brokerage with 2 to 3 percent profit margins. It did it because guys like Opendoor and Offerpad are potential threats, and besides, if Zillow Group could generate seller leads, agents would be shouting “Shut up and take my money!” at them.

Any homeowner who takes an Instant Offer from an investor was never going to sell with a listing agent anyhow. They know they’ll lose money. They don’t care, because something else is more important to them.

The brokers and agents who have done and do a good job with their clients, then stay in touch with them after the transaction and provide value to their sphere and community have nothing to worry about. There isn’t a human being in the world who prefers a computer algorithm to a warm, helpful Realtor who takes care of them.

So chill out, everybody. Go do what you do best: engaging people as human beings with a life, concerns, families, interests… and a house they might want to sell.

You can’t out-tech tech companies, but they can’t out-human you.

Robert Hahn is the Managing Partner of 7DS Associates, a marketing, technology and strategy consultancy focusing on the real estate industry. Check out his personal blog, The Notorious R.O.B. or find him on Twitter: @robhahn.

Email Robert Hahn.

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