#fic: quantum entanglement

[smallblueandloud]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars Original Trilogy Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bail Organa/Breha Organa, Breha Organa & Leia Organa, Bail Organa & Leia Organa, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Bail Organa & Breha Organa & Luke Skywalker Characters: Breha Organa, Bail Organa Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Alderaan is Latino, Force Dyad (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Leia Organa, Good Parents Bail Organa and Breha Organa Summary:

Breha frowns. “Leia is... sharing?”

“Yes,” says Bail. “She’s sharing her water. And her socks, and her hair ties, and-- the blanket she lost overnight, last year.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know the Force could do that.

(or, Bail and Breha's daughter keeps losing things -- especially, most strangely, glasses of water. it takes them several years to figure out how)

[qe-podfic]

Calling Good Omens Fan Artists!

Our podfic needs YOU. We would like art to go in the background/thumbnails of the Quantum Entangled podfic reading.

(on YT and in the AO3 post)

Your reblogs help make the QE podific a reality! Even if you're not an artist, engaging with this post can help push it towards the artists on your dash. What have we got so far? Chapter 1:

Art by: @lexarturo

Chapter 2:

Art by: @commentdismal

Chapter 3:

Art by: @yetrop

Chapter 4:

No Art Yet. (This spot could be YOURS!)

Chapter 5:

No Art Yet. (This spot could be YOURS!)

Chapter 6:

No Art Yet. (Spot taken by @lvndrlondonfog)

Chapter 7:

Art by @pb-and-jammothy

Chapter 8:

No Art Yet. (This spot could be YOURS!)

Chapter 9:

No Art Yet. (This spot could be YOURS!)

Ideally, we'd have one illustration per scene, but one per episode is what we're aiming for (in the interest of realistic expectations). There will be one "main" illustration per chapter. Read through whichever chapter you want to illustrate and pick a scene to draw. We want you to have full artistic control. So long as it's relevant to the fic, go ahead!

Curious? Read the fic here:

Want to help out? The best place to find us is on discord:

[fumblefanarts]

In honor of chapter 1 of the quantum entangled podfic being posted, iv drawn one of the scenes from chapter 1!! Their first meeting in fact..👀 Enjoy!

Go listen to @qe-podfic, Darcy and all the lovely voice actors worked very hard on it ❤️❤️❤️

[brightlotusmoon]

[awanderingmuse-fandom]

Off The Marshamallow Stick and Into the Campfire

Chapter 32

Fandom: Outer Wilds

Summary: The light of the exploding singularity is brighter than anything Obsidian has ever imagined. Breathtaking as a spark of hope when they thought everything was lost. Obsidian would know, they’d worn that feeling like a  second skin, loop, after loop, after loop. The feeling still holds them even as pure light, pure possibility, consumes them. Then, nothing. 

Obsidian wakes up…

Rating: Teen

Warnings:  Major Character Death, severe injury, trauma, Existentialism, aftermath of trauma, alcohol use, references to suicide, mentions of substance abuse

Characters: Player Character (Obsidian), Gabbro, Hal, Gossan, Marl, Gneiss, Chert, Hornfels, Riebeck, Slate, Esker, Feldspar, Porphy, Rutile, Micha

Tags: Aftermath of the End of The Universe, Cannon Continuation, Gabbro didn’t just sit on Giant’s Deep the whole time, Player Character and Gabbro are friends, Science Compels Us to Explore the Multiverse, everyone lives kinda, things I wish the game let happen, liberties taken with in game timeliness and mechanics for easier write-a-bility, physics, metaphysics, fluff, hurt comfort, slice of life, Multiple POV, Tragedy, Character Death, Echoes of Eye Spoilers, Suicide Attempt, Adventure, Substance Abuse, No Beta We Die Like the Universe, A Bit of Prose for Flavor, All the writers and artists in this Fandom are amazing and y'all gave me brain rot

Chapter Preview

They follow the familiar path through the caves, past the Angler Fish Fossil Overlook, and into the city itself. The city is what it has always been, a giant cavern with buildings hidden in the alcoves, all revealed to them when they turn on the lights.  The sand isn’t quite low enough for them to follow the path to the High Energy Lab. So, they make themselves comfortable by the trees. Obsidian takes some time to read and document the text that is there for Hornfels.  “Still the same.” They inform Gabbro after making their notes. “At first glance it all kind of looks the same.” Gabbro says, sipping their tea.

[nostalgia-tblr]

If anyone remembers a recent However-Many Sentence Weekday post that introduced the MYSTERY of why Loki was smacking himself in the face and how chicken mcnuggets were involved in that violence, then HERE AT LAST is the answer to your wonderings.

Title: Towards a New Theory of Variant Entanglement [Chapter 2/4] Fandom: Loki (TV 2021) Rating: Explicit Pairing: Loki/Sylvie, Loki & OB Wordcount: this part's about 2700 words Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Loki (TV 2021) Season 2 Compliant, No Loom; No Time-slipping; No Depressing Ending!, Fake/Bad Physics, Accidental Mental Link, Self-cest, Sexual Content, Banter, Happy Ending, Idiots In Love, (it’s him he’s idiots), Quantum Entanglement But Make It Sexy Chapter Summary: “Chicken McNuggets,” says Loki, and then he slaps himself, hard.

[hornsofash]

for those of you who don't know, about a week and a half ago, i posted convergence, my first fanfiction. i did a poll a while back in which the prompt "quantum entanglement" won, but the fic seemed to take a mind of its own and i felt that name was no longer fitting; thus, convergence was born. it's my take on how ii and vessel might have met. i hope everyone enjoys 🩶

[kohakhearts]

entanglement

Goh is determined to prove his worth as a researcher once and for all.

As usual, things don't quite go his way.

fandom: pokemon (anime) rating: t relationship(s): goh/gary chapters: 2/16 word count: 8 278 written for: @whumptober (prompt: troubled past resurfacing) read it here

“Here late again, I see.”

Goh glances up only briefly enough to match Horace’s voice to his face. When his eyes fall back to the papers scattered around his desk, he asks, “Don’t you have something better to be doing than judging me?”

“I’m not judging you. Just making an observation. You’ve been here later than the rest of us every day this week…”

“Observation… Judgement… What difference is there, really?” He narrows his eyes at a particular line of writing. It must have been late when he wrote it, because it’s nearly illegible, even by his own standards. “I think you’d be better off observing something a little more meaningful, but suit yourself.”

“You’re part of our team. Isn’t that meaningful enough?”

He deftly picks up the piece of paper and drops it in the bin under his desk. Just another bit of sleep-deprived nonsense.

“You know what I meant,” he says. “Go home, Horace. I’m not interested.”

“The professor thinks you’re working too hard.”

Goh grits his teeth. “Since when is that a bad thing?”

“When you don’t know your limits,” Horace says quietly. “Anyway…I guess you’re right. It’s not my business. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Sure, whatever.”

He doesn’t turn around to see the hurt expression he’s sure Horace is sporting. They used to be friends, a long time ago. But Horace is the one who made it all fall apart, not Goh; and even if he swears it was a mistake, or that he’s changed, Goh knows better.

People make false promises all the time. He can save himself the effort of hoping this one will be different by never giving himself a chance to hope in the first place.

Besides, Horace can’t possibly understand why Goh needs to work so hard at this. Their research team revolves around Mythical Pokémon, particularly Mew, but they’ve recently hit some walls in recent attempts at tracking it down. So, Goh has elected to take a different route—one many of their colleagues have scoffed at, have written off as impossible. Even more so for the likes of Goh.

Well…not colleagues, so much as colleague. Gary Oak is the apple of Professor Amaranth’s eye, and he doesn’t waste any time, ever, in making sure Goh remembers it. When Goh first brought up the idea, Amaranth had been interested, but Gary’s vehement disagreement regarding its place in their research quickly swayed him to doubt.

“It seems too dangerous,” is what he said. “Perhaps we ought to explore other avenues first.”

But Goh knows placating when he hears it, and the words beneath that sentiment were all too clear to him even then: You don’t have the talent to solve this mystery yourself.

keep reading

[smallblueandloud]

people are being really, really nice on my new fic already :')

[qe-podfic]

QUANTUM ENTANGLED MEME CONTEST:

To celebrate our podfic artists, actors, and helpers, QE is hosting a meme contest under the tag #QEME CONTEST

Rules:

Anyone can enter (you can submit an unlimited number of individual entries)

Tag us on tumblr so we can reblog your post! @qe-podfic

No hateful/disturbing content

Memes must be relevant to QE specifically, not just Good Omens in general

Winners will be awarded a medal of boop!

There are two categories.

Mod Favourites: Chosen by (@darcydoesfuckall and @pb-and-jammothy)

and Community Favourites: Chosen by a community vote.

Submissions close 5:00pm 20th May (AEST) Fic Link:

Discord Link:

[brightlotusmoon]

Blackout.

[brightlotusmoon]

Get out of my head.

looking for fics about your favorite character on ao3 be like:

dont care

dont care

dont care

what the actual fuck

dont care

ooh that sounds- what the fuck

unfinished

don't care

the best fic ive ever read in my life. this absolutely ruined me and ill never be the same ever again

dont care

[ao3feed-larry]

An Introduction to Quantum Entanglement

by JohnnyMignotta (zeroschiuma)

Vampire!AU | Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | WIP | Trigger warnings: Sucidal thoughts, "anorexia"

They haven’t lived in the same continent, let alone the same house, in almost four centuries. They don’t talk much these days, even though technology would allow it quite easily. Still, they think about each other all the time, and they love each other exactly the way they loved each other back then, the night old Simon took their hands and joined their souls in holy matrimony for the rest of eternity.

Words: 2298, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampires, Suicidal Thoughts, Anorexia, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Top Harry Styles

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/4xRpvM7

[raytoebiter]

Tunes of your heartbeat ‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹

sypnosis; In which your fate somehow gets entangled into a jumble of mess between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. Or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. The question is; did the curse work?

a scaramouche x f!reader SMAU

• Genre; hate at first sight, slowburn, intense rivalry, also intense rivalry in?? who gets to?? pamper each other more?? yeah, rivals to lovers, scara doesn't know how to love, punk music, yakult and swiss miss, senior highschool love, bonding through music, confessions through music, hanging out in ugly places vibes, senior-high typa thing?, late highschool, about-to-be graduatees, and etcetera:)

• Warnings; mommy issues, a fuck ton of curses (be warned), mentions of alcohol and probably a few panic attacks here and there, sewersidal mentions, kys jokes, vulgar jokes, like very vulgar. 18+ not for wattpad purposes but bc it's too inappropriate and vulgar😭

• Taglist is open! ask to be added or removed!

• Status; ongoing. no update schedule, and irregular hiatuses.

inspiration; from the sidelines bkdk fic ao3, sleeping sirens' songs omg and this one fic that i made over a year ago which is the root of this SMAU

— notes..

- let me know if you want to be added as a twt user in this SMAU too!

- feel free to picture yourself however you want:)

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

╰┈➤ playlists; curse these feelings (scara's playlist) || fuck these feelings (name's playlist)

╰┈➤ profiles; the five horsemen of stupidity (name's group) || yacult (scara's group)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ PLAYING... FIRST BEAT ✰ .ᐟ

Prologue

I. Shut me up (by a punch)

II. Get it up

III. Situations

IV. Don't you dare forget the sun

V. Fake it

VI. I don't care

VII. Knives and Pens

VIII. Pretty Handsome Awkward

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ PLAYING... SECOND BEAT ✰ .ᐟ

tba.

AND... PAUSE!

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

authors notes - i've been literally thinking of making this since uhhhhhhh idk last week ago? this fic was actually inspired by a bkdk ao3 fanfic. and what drove me to really do this smau is that—i really like the idea of applying real life things to fiction. like please tell me everytime u see yakult, it reminds u of this fic. or cafés. i want this fic to exude that vibe and by that, ill try my best to do exactly that.

(ask to be added in comments)

[brightlotusmoon]

Wait, we can talk about our AUs? Ohohohoho, they're going to regret it.

My psionic TMNT Mikey AU has lived in my head since 1998.

the spn drama could take a whole year to explain in the least so i’m good

[qe-podfic]

Check out the cover illustration for Chapter 2 of Quantum Entangled. Made by the wonderfully talented @commentdismal

So impressive. The rendering took my knees. /pos

Excerpt below cut:

Crowley uneasily drifted into wakefulness with a crick in his neck, a mild hangover making itself apparent via an insistent thumping at the back of his skull. The lingering stench of a headache was drumming inside his head like he was the unfortunate desk assigned to a kid with ADHD. All things considered, it wasn’t the worst way Crowley had ever woken up. It didn’t even make the top ten. That’s why, despite not knowing exactly what reason he had for falling asleep on his own damn couch, he wasn’t all that concerned. Slowly, like a ping-pong ball through molasses, memories of the previous night trickled into his awareness.

Aziraphale was here. Aziraphale was here and in his bed. Aziraphale was here and in his bed and wearing his clothes. At once, Crowley realised he had made a grave tactical error.

Drunk Crowley and sober Crowley were only the same person by virtue of the fact that they unfortunately shared a body. Currently, sober Crowley was cursing—quite creatively, mind you—the very notion of that unavoidable fact. Always trying to make the best out of a bad situation, he decided to approach the morning with an impudent unfuckedness. As the saying went: ‘Not fucked over was the one who was unfucked.’ (-Confucius, probably.)

Crowley checked his watch, surprised to find that it was no later than eleven am. He wanted breakfast, or brunch, or just a nice package for the calories he depended on to… Y’know… Live. And it would be rude, if he was cooking for himself, to not at least offer something to his—rather reluctant, he remembered, mortified—guest.

Each stride rendered as unfucked as he could manage, he made his way to the kitchen. First, he used his hideously expensive coffee machine (a ROCKET MOZZAFIATO—imported from Italy) to make one flash bastard of a latte, with the ultimate goal of kicking his A1 adenosine receptors into a more coherent semblance of order. E.g. not receiving adenosine.

Then, he took a wok from his large and impressive array of pots and pans, like a gallery of hung men above the island bench top, and placed it on his induction stove. The stove itself was seamlessly blended into the counter in such a way that it made people helpless to envision burnt hands and accidental emergency-room phone calls. The sleek black design (because Crowley could be sold on almost anything if you made it sleek and black enough) was self-aggrandising in the same way that many circumspect judges on certain cooking shows were. The kitchen as a whole, really, was a lustrous example of the kind of high-tech cookhouse you’d find in the back of a Michelin star restaurant. 

Grabbing a few eggs from the fridge, Crowley scoured for omelette ingredients that were both generally palatable as to, hopefully, not be offensive to Aziraphale’s tastes—whatever they were—and impressive enough to make Crowley seem like he, at the very least,  knew what he was doing on a culinary level. Sticking to his mantra of unfuckedness, Crowley picked out some bacon, cheese, and spinach, along with various herbs and spices from the pantry. Crowley liked omelettes as a general rule. The ratio of effort to edible nutrition was highly favourable—having spent most of his life as a university student with no spare energy to waste on frivolous flambés, brûlées, or any other such fancy French dish.

Making an omelette wasn’t a difficult process. There were two steps; step one was to put all of your ingredients (chopped or unchopped depending on how groggy you were when preparing it) into the pan. Step two was to wait. Heat and time. They were the universal duo that laid claim to the title of ‘instigator’ in most molecular reactions.

Obedient to this philosophy of unfuckedness, heat and time, Crowley chopped bacon, cracked eggs, tore spinach, and altogether cooked a damn good meal. With the two omelettes cooling on their respective plates (the plates were square shaped and black because Crowley refused to be acquainted with the typical agreement of things) he ventured through his cupboards on a mission for tea. Aziraphale seemed like the tea-drinking kind. Finding an abandoned box of loose-leaf French Earl Grey, the label slightly sun faded, he put the kettle on.

Proud of his domestic accomplishments, he set off to wake Aziraphale. He hoped the comestible peace offering would be a balm for any of the awkwardness left over, lingering, from last night.

“Knock, knock,” he greeted onomatopoeically, tapping on the bedroom door.

“Urmf—Crowley?” came the quiet reply, obvious in how freshly awake it sounded. Crowley opened the door, just a crack—not enough to see into the room but enough to let some light in—before chuckling mildly.

“Morning, Angel. I made breakfast. Tea is available too, if you want some.” There was a muffled sound of agreement, and then the distinct shuffling of someone getting out of bed. Crowley padded his way to the kitchen to give the man some privacy.

He was halfway through his own omelette, near-afternoon sun shining down on him from large windows on the east side of the kitchen, when Aziraphale made his presence known. With a curt clearing of the throat, he stood, unsure of himself, at the edge of the kitchen’s connecting hall.

Crowley was fucked. Oh, he was so utterly fucked. Aziraphale made an innocuous image, in Crowley's home, in Crowley's clothes; but that did not stop the racing ambitions of Crowley's mind. Aziraphale wasn't to know this, though. The Queen shirt hung loose on him, gently draping over one shoulder but leaving the other exposed. Crowley felt like a Victorian—or the man responsible for the dress codes of high school girls—scandalised at the revelation of flesh. He reprimanded himself for his undignified train of thought. Aziraphale deserved more than to be ogled like a piece of meat at the snout of a hungry, hungry hound. He couldn't possibly help that his hair was bed-messy, nor the fact that it did terrible things to Crowley's sense of composure. Nonetheless, Crowley would survive. He wasn't a wanton beast. Humanity afforded him—in theory—some amount of dignity.

“Your plate’s over there. I tried to guess how you take your tea; is ‘two sugars and a splash of milk’ anywhere at all close?” he asked Aziraphale, swallowing a bite to hide the raspy quality of his own voice. The astonishment on Aziraphale's face answered a simple ‘yes’. Although, maybe it was astonishment at the breakfast laid out in front of him. It wasn't really a normal move, Crowley reflected sheepishly, to cook a meal for the guy who had just come over for a drunken movie marathon. But Crowley wasn't normal in most things, so he resolutely didn't think about it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured, gaping a little.

“That's exactly how I take it.” The whisper was draped in the kind of mid-morning confusion that only ever occurred after a late night of considerable drinking. He gently cupped the mug, tendrils of steam rising from it in fragrant arches. Sipping the beverage softly, his eyes fluttered shut, simple pleasure oozing from the drop in his shoulders.

“Thank you, Crowley.” His voice was etched in all-too-raw sincerity. He opened his eyes, gazing at him with the kind of look that forced Crowley to turn away.

“Don't thank me. It's the least I could do,” Crowley mumbled weakly. Undeterred, but still feigning propriety, Aziraphale hummed in absent acquiescence. He took the plate with his omelette, looking suddenly affected.

The gentle graze of porcelain plate against the bench top seemed almost reverent, as Aziraphale sat himself on the barstool next to Crowley’s. One thing that Crowley had learnt about Aziraphale—in the heated revelry of their late evening—was that he liked food. No, he didn't just like food. He loved food. Adored food. Damn near worshipped food. As he slowly raised the fork to his lips, Crowley hoped that the sacrifice was fit for the tabernacle of his idolatry.

Aziraphale’s eyes popped open in wide, slightly hedonism-glazed, surprise. 

“Oh—” He almost keened. And, if Crowley wasn't already red in the face, this would have been the inelegant signal that drove blood to the apple of his cheeks.

“Oh! This is simply scrumptious!” Aziraphale praised, made guileless by the distraction of—rather excellent, in his opinion—cuisine. Crowley ducked his head as if trying to bob under the blow of his words.

Untrusting of his vocal cords, Crowley didn't reply, content to revel in silence while Aziraphale finished his meal. The relative quiet gave him the chance to recalibrate after the unexpected misalignment of his neurological circuitry. It was peaceful. Cosy.

Discord:

AO3: