#seems like gibberish to me (the author)

[duskwingmoth]

One of the key problems you can trace a lot of the United States' issues to is how the compulsory education system is so heavily geared to the industrialist's philosophy of teaching -- you are there to learn how to follow multiple different sets of rules simultaneously and to become proficient in doing monotonous busywork. "Book reports" are not expected to be any more than a plot summary; math worksheets don't just expect a specific answer, they expect you to follow one particular process and to self-report if you didn't; sciences are inviolable truths set in stone before you were born, history is over and only exists insofar as it glorifies the state, etc.

This is not a time or place in any way resembling the flowery image of junior scholars being patiently cultivated by kindly sages, this is a Workplace where children are LARPing as employees under their supervisor and pit boss, The Teacher. This is horrendous for building thoughtful, curious adults, but it's perfect for creating an unquestioning labor force that will bend over backwards to accrue capital for the capitalist class. I'm sure this comes as no surprise to anyone who has read any socialist theory. Humorously enough, it's Anticapitalism 101. But it's such a fundamental issue that it bears repeating.

This is why, when students do as is now expected and push themselves into material debt while hammering out any last lingering "flaws" as Workers, a.k.a., going to college, they run afoul of plagiarism policies basically immediately. Even accounting for industrialist infiltration into the concept, the expectation that you have gone to college before properly entering the workforce is quite recent, and the capitalist machine doesn't yet truly account for the fact that College As A Tradition does not gel with industrialist philosophy. If you simply port over your behavior from high school to college, it doesn't actually work; professors assign far too much work for a single class for you to have a full daily schedule like you used to, and what is expected of a student's essays is incongruously different from before. Colleges, universities, they are built on centuries -- millenniums even -- of people thinking way too much and way too hard about stuff all the time and disagreeing with each other incessantly. That is what collegiate tradition expects of students, and it is functionally impossible when you bring an industrial-trained mindset to the environment.

It's also how you get whole hordes of people willing to vote against their best interest and arguing with professors on Twitter about basic facts that they don't even seem to have a working grasp on. As far as the layman knows, as far as the layman is taught, if somebody has a different understanding of the world than the one you first encountered, then it is your moral imperative to become violently corrective. These pesky Certified Smart Boys are always getting in the way of the machine, you must throw them out of the way so production can resume.

It is not impossible to combat this, but it is frustratingly difficult if you're dealing with grown adults. I can, for example, cite material conditions and human rights until I'm blue in the face to my father and my grandparents, beg them to question why the news would frame one group of people as ontologically evil when their own experiences say otherwise, and I will get nowhere, at least in the moment. It is ingrained into the United States populace to hold one holistic American truth above all else, and to become instantly obstinate when presented with any segment of reality that even slightly contradicts it. To shout down all dissenters and continue emboldened and hardened as crusaders marching into the darkness, even if they must create that darkness themselves to maintain the illusion.

Sinister as it sounds, this is not a coordinated effort by a super secret all-powerful cabal at the heart of America; frankly if it were, it'd be a lot easier to resolve. Capital simply desires brainless labor, and it is convenient for the country's leaders, be they True Blue Capitalists or not, to let its individualist apostles run roughshod from sea to shining sea. And after 400 some-odd years, it's so heavily embedded into the systems that fighting against it feels insurmountable.

But education never stopped attracting teachers who want to truly teach, and this busted education system with stilted values never stopped spitting out skeptical adults. Capitalism certainly has been successful at self-propagating for a good long while, but so was the divine right of kings, and so has the flu. Today there are fewer functioning monarchies left in the world than there are fingers on both my hands, and as the last few years have shown, not even the flu is immortal; if we can kill off one strain, we can kill them all.

But what do I know? I'm a broke-ass tranny in a frigid garage.

[daisynik7]

Pairing: Takuma Ino x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: explicit language, mentions of a popular horror movie, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), nipple play, blow job, mask kink, slight degradation (slut, whore), use of pet names (cutie, sweetie, baby) 

Summary: You and your new boyfriend Ino decide to watch a horror movie together in honor of spooky season. Halfway through, he notices how skittish you are, making him want to play a silly prank on you with his signature ski mask. It’s all fun and games until he realizes that you actually like seeing him in this way more than he anticipated. 

Author’s Note: Happy October y'all! What can I say, I am VERY into Takuma Ino right now and I just had to get this out of my system. This is barely edited or proofread, sorry for any grammar mistakes or typos, I really was just letting my fingers fly through this in a moment of passion LOL. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune. 

You turn off all the lights, the only source of illumination coming from the TV screen, paused at the very start of the movie you decided to watch tonight. With a big bowl of freshly popped kernels in your grasp, you huddle beside your boyfriend, Ino, on the couch, covering both your legs with a fleece blanket. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer, reaching to grab a handful of popcorn to stuff inside his mouth. “Ready?” he muffles, pointing the remote to the screen, finger pressed to the center button. 

Nuzzling your head against him, you answer. “Yup!”

It’s apparently one of those cult classic horror flicks according to Ino, who recommended it when you mentioned how you wanted to watch something scary for October. He’s seen it before, many times in fact, but he insists that you watch it. He has no clue how frightened you get over the silliest things, so tonight will be a treat for the both of you. 

The opening scene plays out: a beautiful blonde picks up the phone and the conversation ends quickly short because it’s the wrong number. Normal so far, good. It rings again, but now the caller seems interested in talking. Do you like scary movies? Do you have a boyfriend? The man’s voice gives you the creeps, and you find yourself shuddering from it, cuddling closer to Ino, who glances at you with a smirk on his face. 

You never told me your name.

Why do you want to know my name?

Because I want to know who I’m looking at.

This line gives you goosebumps and you lift the blankets up to hide behind it. “Ew, creepy!” Ino only laughs, throwing a few more pieces of popcorn into his mouth. 

It escalates from here, getting increasingly chaotic and violent. By the time you’re halfway into the film, the bowl is down to its last kernels and you’re crouched in Ino’s lap, peeking through your fingers. He pauses the movie after one particularly brutal kill. “Snack break! I’m going to make some more popcorn and go pee.”

“You’re leaving?!” you whine, clinging on to him as he tries to get up.

He chuckles. “Babe! It’s just a movie. I’ll be right back, okay?” He kisses you on the forehead, heading into the kitchen, leaving you alone in the living room. 

Of course it’s just a movie, but you can’t help feeling creeped out in the dark like this. You reach for one of the nightstands, turning on the lamp. You hear the drone of the microwave, and after a minute or so, the distinct sound of popping. Eventually, it comes to a stop, and the entire house is eerily quiet. You’re tempted to call out for Ino, wondering where he is, but you remember that he had to use the bathroom. 

Suddenly, a shadowy figure appears right behind on you on the couch, grabbing your shoulders and shouting gibberish at you. You scream bloody murder, ready to punch him and run away when Ino lifts his ski mask up to reveal himself, tears streaming down his face, cracking up at you. 

“Ino!” you yell at him, slapping his hands away from you. “You fucking asshole!”

He doubles over, cackling, wiping his eyes. It takes a good while for him to regain his composure as you glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I just couldn’t resist.” He sits beside you, stretching his arms out for a hug. “You have to admit, that was fucking hilarious.”

You shake your head, refusing. “You’re such a dick.”

“Oh, come on! It was just a little prank. Now you’ll be way more prepared for the rest of the movie!” He pulls the mask over his face again, everything covered except the holes for his eyes. “See? Not so scary anymore, right?”

You inspect him carefully, still pouting, not saying a word.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Truly. I promise not to scare you again.” He scoots towards you, nudging you in the arm. 

You roll your eyes at him, relaxing. “Fine.”

“Can I get a kiss now?” 

He tries to lift his mask up, but you stop him, pulling it back down. “I don’t want to see your face right now. I’m still annoyed, you know.”

“Aw man! Really?”

You hoist it just past his nose, leaning in to give him a soft kiss on the lips. When you break apart, he smirks at you. “You like this, don’t you? Seeing me with my mask on.”

You shrug, a sly grin on your face, neither confirming nor denying his accusation. Sure, you were a bit upset at first, when he scared the shit out of you. But seeing his face covered like that may have sparked a desire in you that you never knew you had, until now. 

“Oh my god! You do, you do!” he exclaims, shaking your arm. “My cutie has a mask kink!”

“Shut up, asshole!” you yell at him, pretending to shove him off, smiling. 

“You’re a fucking freak!” he giggles, pouncing on you. He starts tickling you along your ribcage, causing you to squirm beneath him as he straddles you, trapping you between his legs. His fingers flutter under your arms, stroking your sensitive skin.

“Ino!” you cry out, laughing from the sensation. 

You can feel his cock growing hard in his pants, balls heavy on your stomach. Suddenly, he stops, mask still folded to expose his lips, leaning down to kiss you sloppily. He pins your hands above your head, locking his fingers with yours. He slips inside your mouth, grazing your tongue with his, hungry for your saliva. “Fuck,” he moans into you, nipping at your bottom lip. “You like this freaky shit, don’t you? Nasty slut.” His playful tone is laden with lust now, low and sultry, mouth brushing along your neck, sucking at your pulse points to mark you. 

You whine his name, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding yourself against him. 

“Look at you, getting so fucking dumb all because of my mask,” he purrs. “What else turns you on, cutie? Tell me.”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “Spit. Your spit. I want it.”

“Oh shit,” he swears, licking his mouth. He traces the outline of your lips, beckoning you to open up, dribbling a thick wad of saliva inside you. You gulp it down, sticking your tongue out for more. 

“Oh fuck, you’re nasty,” he says, doing it again. “Makes me so fucking horny seeing you like this. Seeing my cutie act like a fucking whore.” He slips beneath your shirt, fondling your bare breasts, flicking your peaked nipples with his thumbs. 

“Fuck, Ino,” you whisper, pussy throbbing in your panties, arousal leaking through the fabric. 

“You like it when I play with your tits, huh?” Like it when I pinch them hard like this.” He squeezes them between his thumb and index finger, enough pressure to stimulate you, making you moan his name again and again.

He swears under his breath, shoving his pants down his legs, shimmying out of them until he’s only in his underwear now, erection stiff in his boxers. “You gonna suck my cock now or what, slut?” 

You nod, kneeling in front of him, knees on the carpet, spreading his thighs apart. He lifts his ass off the couch to slide out of his boxers, letting them fall around his ankles. You kiss the tip of his dick, smearing his precum around your lips like gloss before swallowing him into your mouth. 

He lets out a drawn out, “Fuck,” watching you with wide eyes as you bob up and down his shaft. Voice shaky, he asks, “Can I put my hands on you?”

Something about him in this ski mask makes you want to be submissive, makes you want to be used. You grab both his hands, guiding them towards the sides of your head, giving him free rein to manhandle you.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, gripping you tighter, gradually thrusting his hips in tandem with you. His cockhead hits the back of your throat, teasing your gag reflex, but you resist, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes, enduring it. 

Noticing you, he pulls out, a string of spit between you. “Baby, baby. Please don’t force yourself. I don’t want to hurt you.” He reaches to his side, grabbing a tissue from the table beside the couch, wiping away the spit around your mouth and the tears in your eyes. “Come here, cutie. I want to make you feel good too.”

You strip out of your bottoms, straddling his lap, pussy wet and aching against him. He moans as you rock back and forth on his shaft, pressing his thumb to your clit, massaging it. “There we go. Now we both can feel good, yeah?”

After a few more strokes, you beg him to fuck you, lifting up to guide his cock inside you slowly, sinking down on him until he bottoms out. You bounce on him, his hands gripped to your waist, guiding you, moaning your name between expletives. 

As you approach your orgasm, you pull up his mask, placing it on his head as he usually wears it. He smiles brightly at you, nuzzling his nose to yours. “There’s my pretty girl. Can you come for me now? Come all over this cock?”

You kiss him passionately, arms wrapped around his neck as he thrusts into you, hands squeezed on your ass now. You reach your climax, moaning into his mouth. He comes with you, shooting his load deep into your womb, filling you up with his cream pie. The two of you continue to kiss slowly, catching your breaths. He caresses your back while you melt into his embrace. 

“We need to establish a safe word,” he suggests, cradling you in his arms. “I want to make sure I’m not hurting you.”

You hum into his skin, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Popcorn."

He chuckles, stroking the back of your neck gently. “Alright. Popcorn it is.” A beat later, he exclaims, “Popcorn! I totally forgot about the popcorn!”

You laugh, giving your boyfriend a wet smooch on the cheek.

[thecurioustale]

I Went into the Caves

I reread nostalgebraist's The Northern Caves (TNC) this weekend for purely selfish reasons, and wanted to share a few thoughts...

I originally read this book when the final installment was published, late in October of 2015. For me, this happened to be during the single sharpest downward gradient of my entire life: I'd just finished up the so-called Year of 32, my most creatively productive period ever, but my life circumstances had changed drastically for the worse, with health and financial and family problems (and more) all at once, and I had found myself thrust into a new chapter of life that I call the (Joshalonian) Troubles. To go from one of the best years of my life to one of the worst was not a fun thing.

I had read TNC while still early in the "fall"; in fact things would go on to get much worse for me from there. But the seed had been planted for this story to be very important to me personally.

For those who aren't familiar, TNC is about a fan forum for the fictional Chesscourt series, by children's fantasy author Leonard Salby. Some members of this forum get the chance to explore Salby's unpublished final work, which, unlike the quaint children's fantasy novels of the Chesscourt series, is a cryptic, 3,000+ page tome of gibberish and horror and surrealism. The monstrous nature of the book gets into the minds of these forum members, and they end up in a drug-fueled, days-long manic state, reading the book together out loud at the house of one of the forum members.

For me, this monstrous book, which also has the title "The Northern Caves," was the draw of Rob's TNC. Even though we only get to see a few fragmentary excerpts of it, I was completely riveted by the premise and by the excerpts. The story of Rob's TNC, about the forum members engaging with this work, wasn't what drew me in. Yet when I was rereading it this weekend, I also read some of the AO3 comments on the chapters, and I found that most people had been almost completely absorbed in that aspect of the story, and didn't seem to be trying to directly comprehend Salby's TNC at all. It just goes to show that different people will get different things out of the same source material.

One of the things I most deeply crave in life is to encounter and experience "the other world," i.e. the mystical, the beyond. This has always been a pursuit of my storytelling, and is indeed how my mind has been structured for my entire life. Even when I was very young, I would map this desire onto things like vacation road trips, where we would drive away from home and into some other, wonderful place, by way of passing through many other, wonderful places, liminal places, to arrive at our destination.

Well, those final months of 2015 and the first several months of 2016 went very badly for me, till in March of 2016 I finally escaped the situation that was the single biggest source of my stress. But harm had been done to me, damage of a kind I had never before sustained. What followed was the mortal demise of the old Josh: Once I was in a safe place again, albeit with many other troubles still among me and ahead of me (not least that I was homeless at the time, and relying on the hospitality of friends), I first felt a great fatigue, which preoccupied me for several days. Then, a few weeks later, I had one of the most interesting experiences of my life: I think the term that would most quickly get the point across is "psychotic episode," even though I wouldn't use that term myself, as I was fully in control of my behavior and speech. But a funny thing happened to me when I would sit down to write, in that sunny office of the home where family friends were hosting me, during a week when they were out of town for Passover and I had the whole place to myself:

I composed a series of short pieces loosely telling a bizarre story. This is where the seed planted in my mind by TNC months earlier finally bore fruit, for my style was very much inspired, directly, by the Salbian style in TNC.

My story consisted of material like this (this is one, continuous excerpt; there are no cuts here):

May I ask you a persona lqoeutns? How do you know ll 26 nbubers? If where more than 26 numbers how would we have mathemathicsmomg? A don’t nw’ ijow gonigo to the bakery o ngo minutes on et imo elovne fnow tmrweio ncoirrect toemperautre.

HUSH NOW MY DARLING THE NUMBER NINE IS

static

Gracious are the houses of the DORAL> Plentiful are the tables he spreads for his esteeme dugest. Even though the splendors of his bounty are bested only by the GREAT SLN.

FLESDGLFGING MY WINGSO THIDID NOW THOGING THNOW NOW EW E FALL FROM THE NEST OTO BA F TAKE FLIGHT AFOR THE FIRSRTR TIMRO BUT THE WUNDERCARRIAGE OF OYUR WINGS IS TNDER AND YOUNG AND WE CANOT GUARATNEE EGHEROGUNA AND THE FLIGHT IS ROUGH EVEN WITHOUT THE TRUBULENCES WTHAT WE KNOW ARE ALL AROGUND US THOU IT LOOKS EASY BY THE ECAMPEL OF THE EPXIERENCED GENERATION YET WE STRUGGLE AIND FLUTTER AND WE ARE TRIRED WHEN WE LAND.

good grief gentle gosling now for the dinner table you are

if we don’t know what the air is ssupposed to be?

IU WANT AND EXPLANTION FROM THE CAOSMOR.

Understandably the selkie preferred to eavesdrop:

“Pray what is the abstractification of fulfillment?”

“Let us go ask Father Christmas.”

And thus a great transversal of geography ensued.

“Father Christmas what is the abstatication of fulfillment?”

“Do not take that tone with me child.”

“Then what of my many toys?”

“They have been destroyed.”

“How is this a reply?”

“It is none other but a reply.”

“So be it Father Christmas I now know the antithesis of what I ask and thus I know what I ask.”

“Yes you do stripling. Now go on to Mount Sghar where F shall await you. and though in fact it be only the month of April may your Christmases ahead be equally merry.”

“It shall be so and merry do.”

What I wrote in that strange week wasn't principally a mimicry or emulation of Salby's writing, although Salby's writing was clearly the inspiration and certain conventions and devices used by Salby were appropriated into my own work at a low layer—such as the deliberate spelling mistakes, a character ("F") known only by a single letter, the direct reuse of certain words that were still in my mind months later such as "vouchsafe," and so forth.

But the work was all original. I didn't copy any of it, either directly or in the manner of rewriting phrases and passages that Rob had written. I wrote all of it myself, and rather effortlessly at that. I did not labor over every last spelling and misspelling; it all just "came to me."

What I would say, then, is that Salby's TNC was "the right inspiration at the right time." It was what my brain seized on to express the inexpressible. What I was actually going through was nothing less than the mortal demise of the Old Josh. My entire life as I had known it, and my sense of self, had perished, and I had escaped just enough of my ongoing emergency to have a few weeks of rest, and that was when I "grieved" or "coped" or whatever word you want to use. Really it wasn't grieving or coping; it was a spasm. A spasm of the psyche, poured into words.

Something that I have struggled with my entire life, although I only developed the language to talk about it very gradually over many years, is the fact that I find it exceedingly difficult to say what I really mean. If you know my writing (fiction and nonfiction) you know that it tends to be overbuilt: formal, in-depth, pretentious, and quite verbose. This is, in great part, a result of me trying to say what I really mean. Pithy, aphoristic speech doesn't usually serve my needs, and although I am at least moderately capable of writing it I don't tend to reach for it often. It's much more typical of me to try to pack as much meaning as possible into my words, resulting in quite a lot of words and rather a slow pace.

But with this week of essays I abandoned all of that, by saying what I really meant without regard to its comprehensibility to the reader. Everything I wrote that week, including the excerpt I shared up above, has a meaning. I can look at it right now and still see the meaning nine years later. It is perfectly clear to me; it makes as much sense to me as a typical piece of writing from me.

The only difference with it is that I'm quite sure it makes very little sense to you. It isn't readable. For that one week, I abandoned the effort to be understood—another lifelong struggle of mine—for the sake of saying what I really mean.

While the individual excerpts are fascinating by themselves (I think), they combine to become something considerably more interesting. Taken as a whole, the story I told isn't a particularly coherent one at a face-value narrative level: Very loosely (and with much oversimplification on my part here), the action of the narrative is about carefully following "indicators" to traverse "atmospheric geometries" and arrive at a place called "Mount Sghar." However, it does this by way of many detours, such as:

A1: CLASIFEDS

WANTED: EVIL LOGICIAN

aAre you prepared fro a fast-apaced career in the exciting world of LGOI>?e Yet you don’t wish to sopend oyour life giving lectures to students who don’t want to be there and engaguing in intraepartmental fueds with other lecturuers.? You think there’s no other way don’t you fiend . findout there’s another way o redound into the WORLD OF WORK!

PUll up your jodhpurs and your justaucorps until rthe sentiment overtakes you that LOGIC shall deliver your remittances frmor the cEntral Authority.

Live in the lap of luctury with swimming pools and bars and wet bars and gymnasia and sitting rooms and drawing rooms and solaria and convenientiously spacious closets with thpower of EVIL LOCI> But don’t fret supplicant! Your candidacy is not ineligible soimply because you have no logica ofl your wn. All you need is THE ONE OAMEWETH. then the appointment shall be yours without ado.

must have own railroad, biogenic weapons program, a trifle really

That's a classified ad. It doesn't literally figure into the story before or after its appearance. It is a standalone statement if you will, a single "sentence" embedded in a larger paragraph. But because so much of the writing for this story comes in incongruous and disjointed forms like this, it isn't really possible to extract a coherent plot per se, nor is there a protagonist or even a point-of-view character most of the time. Those roles are filled by me, personally. It's like a first-person POV story without the first-person POV.

As for what the story is actually about, it's a mixture of two things: The first, though I didn't consciously realize it at the time, is that, like I said, I was dying. It was the end of the old me. But that doesn't actually say anything about the contents of the story. For that, and the true answer to the question of what this story is about, is that this is a story about trying to be understood. Ironic, huh? 😂

I wanted to say what I really mean so that I could be understood. This was what I was expressing, during this death-of-self, because I had never truly achieved it, and I was bitter and frustrated, and I was leaving this world without closure or resolution on those matters.

To "not be understood" is one of the fundamental conditions of aloneness. We are each apart; we cannot truly share our perspectives in full. We can never be understood in totality. And that fact hits a lot harder for someone like me who never had unconditionally loving and emotionally present parents or a ludicrously loyal and always-on-call gaggle of "best" friends as a kid.

In full disclosure, this story is saying a lot more that I can't see myself getting into here, because to explain it in communicable terms would, after all, be a rather tall ask; that's why I wrote it so incomprehensibly in the first place.

Rob's TNC gives us Salby's TNC as something that is deliberately meant to be inscrutable but with profound insights just-on-the-cusp of becoming realized, as a way of engaging the mind of the reader, giving it something to chew on. The story I wrote isn't "deliberately inscrutable"; it's not a toy for readers. It has a clear message—to me perfectly clear in every detail; I'm sure I could account for you nearly every single turn of phrase in the entire thing, even nine years later—but it necessarily isn't clear to you. That's kind of the point. It is a demonstration of my struggle to be understood.

This is the last thing I wrote in my journal before those stories began:

I am so frickin tired of playing by the rules: having to communicate coherently, having to crack my eggs from the right damn end, having to live like a bolt of lightning in a suit and tie and cubicle. It’s not dignified and it’s not true.

That statement about the comprehensible stuff being both not dignified and not true really rings for me even today. The incomprehensible stuff was more honest, in a way, and carried more majesty in its word count.

That one week was a very special time in my life. I have never been able to write like this before or since that one week. I've tried for much of my life; see for instance the words of Sourros in The Great Galavar, from 2014 before any of this happened.

The Troubles would continue for another two years, and in March of 2017, eleven months after I had my crazy storytelling week in California, I wrote the first major contribution to what would become the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel, which in many ways is the direct continuation of my work in this incomprehensible story. I've even found ways to incorporate some of this bizarre text!

Rob's story gave me an "other world" I could sink my teeth into. I find Salby's disturbing philosophy of Mundum very interesting, and am able to comprehend it (I think) without actually subscribing to it. But Salby's unhinged writing in particular is a lasting wellspring, and it shows how "built different" I am that so few other fans of TNC focus on this aspect of it. Like, I just don't really care all that much about the adventures of the Chesscourt forum members as they get together and pop pills. They were merely vehicles for me to get more glimpses of Salby's TNC. Rob's work in creating the coherent-yet-inscrutable ravings of Leonard Salby is extraordinary, but, ultimately, unless I have missed Rob's meaning (which would also be ironic, lol), there is no deeper purpose to it than that. My inscrutable ravings, on the other hand, are "real." They actually contain important messages that I personally endorse.

There is something so compelling about text which is perfectly meaningful but nearly incomprehensible to anyone but the author. What happened to me that week was just an altered state of mind. But of course it felt at the time, and ever after, "magical." Such is the sentimentalism of the human mind.

I don't struggle to be understood any more. I accept that I won't be. And in some ways the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel is me describing how I feel about that. But! While its ultimate messages may remain forever hidden, unlike the gibberish above at least you'll be able to read it.

[msmk11]

James and His Damned Owl

James Potter x gn!muggle!reader

Word count: 1.5k

CW: Mentions of food/eating, mentions of alcohol, ornithophobia

Summary: Having a wizard boyfriend is strange to say the least. While it certainly has its perks, it also has its quirks… In particular, you’re not very much a fan of the magic world’s choice in pets.

Author’s Note: So you know how this type of fanfic is called self-insert, well this is the most self-insert fic I’ve ever written. Reader is me, I am a reader. BIRDS ARE SCARY, okay?! Anyways, this fic is the silliest one I’ve written so far and I had so much fun doing it! I hope you enjoy :)

Having a boyfriend who is a wizard is strange in a number of ways. Truthfully, when James first confessed his secret to you a few weeks ago, you laughed right in his face. It wasn’t until he pulled out his wand and literally started doing magic in front of you that you believed him. It’s safe to say you were in shock, and you’re not quite sure that feeling has faded yet. After James gave you a day or two to process the news, his magic usage around you went from 0 to 100. More times than you’d like to count, your mischievous boyfriend has scared the ever-loving shit out of you by randomly appearing in your home or on the street out of thin air. Now too, instead of walking or driving to your house like a normal person, James will randomly tumble out of your fireplace in a burst of green flames. Not only did you nearly die on the spot the first time it happened, but you’ve since bitched to James many times about how the soot he tracks in is ruining your very nice rug.

The moving pictures he has gives you the creeps, you find it laughable that he prefers using a quill and ink to a pen, and your head swarms every time James mentions some spell, potion, or magical creature whose name sounds like complete and utter gibberish.

But, despite your groans and whining, you do really think that James being a wizard is super cool. Like a child seeing a magician, you’re constantly begging your boyfriend to do different things with his magic so you can ooh and aah over them. When you found out James is an ani- animungal? Anamatronic?- the thing where you can turn into an animal, you were even more ecstatic. Admittedly, you may have once or twice begged James to assume his deer form so that you could ride on his back through the woods like some Disney princess probably would.

Magic has its perks too outside of your own personal entertainment. For example, now, instead of having to do dishes when one of the two of you cook dinner, a flick of James’ wand has them cleaning themselves. Other chores are now taken care of similarly, leaving you with a lot more free time to be with your lovely boyfriend.

This evening is one perfect example. After getting off work, you were surprised to find James waiting outside your office, a bouquet of pretty pink flowers in hand. The evening sun rested lovingly on his peaceful face so that his brown skin seemed to actually glow. It was a wonderful surprise and your trip back to his flat was much more pleasant than usual- defined by clasped hands swinging between you and teasing conversation.

The night only seemed to get better when you arrived at James’ place and were met with the delicious smell of garlic and pasta. The table was set nicely, and your two plates were already prepared, kept warm by the wonders of magic.

Things were perfect. Maybe a little too much so.

******

When you and James finish dinner, he stands and grabs your plates. Usually, you would protest- claiming that whoever didn’t cook has to do dishes- but you know magic will take care of it all. James then kisses you quick before taking a trip to the bathroom.

As you’re sitting at the kitchen table still, reveling in your full belly and nursing your glass of wine, your peace is rudely disrupted. With it being pleasantly warm out this evening, James had left the windows open. This seemed like a great idea until now- when a big brown owl comes swooping into the kitchen.

While anyone would surely be startled by the bird’s random appearance, you are especially so because you’re terrified of birds. The bloodcurdling scream you let out is akin to someone who is dying- but in your mind is appropriate for the situation at hand. A string of curses leave your mouth as you jump up and hesitantly back away from the owl perched on one of the kitchen chairs. You grope for the counter behind you, never taking your eye off the owl as you maneuver around the island to hide behind it.

Of course, your scream has resulted in a panicked James and shouts of your name. He comes barreling into the kitchen in only his shirt and boxers, wand at the ready. He whips his head around, looking for you and the supposed threat that caused you to scream. He calls your name again and your head pops up from behind the counter.

“Lovey? What is it?” He asks anxiously.

You whimper a little and, with a shaky hand, point at the big bird across the room. When James sees what you’re pointing at, he visibly relaxes and lowers his wand.

“Oh, him? That’s just Hootie,” he tells you casually, “Probably should’ve mentioned I have a pet owl.”

You stare at him in complete and utter shock then shrilly squeal, “How’d you forget to mention that you have a pet owl?!!”

James shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and places his wand on the counter, walking towards you, “Well, I guess I didn’t really think too much about it. It’s very common in the magic world to have one, so I didn’t consider that it’d be abnormal. It’s just like having a dog in the muggle world.”

You don’t respond with any English, instead sputtering anxiously.

James crouches beside you, “So are you going to come out now? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You shake your head no aggressively and shrink into his side, “No way, Jamie. Birds are terrifying- with their big beaks and beady eyes. And who knows what diseases they carry- no offense.”

Your boyfriend wraps his arm around you and soothingly rubs your side, “Awe, sweetheart, I didn’t know you’re afraid of birds.”

“Oh yes, very. Have been since I was five and a bird pooped on me at the zoo.”

You don’t miss the chuckle and small smirk on James’ face and huff, pulling away.

“It’s not funny Jamie! It’s a real fear!”

He puts his hands up in surrender, “I know, I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It is a real fear. But it’s an irrational one, you know.”

You huff again and roll your eyes, grumbling under your breath. James then stands and stretches out his hands, “Here, why don’t you come meet Hootie and see birds aren’t all so bad.”

You hesitantly take his hand and stand. You slowly walk out from behind the counter and only make it a few steps before the damned bird shifts, ruffling its feathers.

You squeal again and let go of James’ hand, this time hiding behind his broad frame, “I don’t think I can do this Jamie.”

He turns around and looks at you softly before pulling you into a tight hug. You relax a little against his chest, but your eyes never leave the owl over his shoulder, “I believe in you, lovey. Why don’t you let me go first, to show you that Hootie won’t hurt you, and then we can try together, yeah?”

You hesitantly reply with an okay.

James lets go of you and turns around. He walks over to the brown owl easily and coos a little, petting its back softly as it nuzzles into his touch. The owl then juts its head out, seeming to be waiting for something. James, apparently, knows what this means, and reaches behind him to grab some sort of pellet out of the cabinet and feed it to the bird.

“Okay, sweetheart. Now why don’t you come over and give Hootie a pet.”

He walks over and grabs your hand. Your smaller one fits into his nicely and you grip onto it with a death-grip. The two of you slowly make your way over to the owl and stand beside it. You sort of half stand behind James while still holding his hand. Fingers intertwined, James slowly starts moving your joint arms out, “Ready?

You very slightly shake your head and then your palm makes connection with the soft feathers of Hootie. The bird stares at you with its big eyes and, like it did for James, nuzzles into your touch.

Some of the tension in your shoulders eases a little and you decide that maybe birds aren’t so bad.

As you pull away, James squeezes your hand gently, “See? You did it. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

Just as you’re beginning to feel proud of yourself too, the owl shuffles a little and rotates its head 180, so it’s no longer staring at you. The range of motion it has terrifies you and you scream again, running down the hall away from James and his damned owl.

[orangegremlinn]

Genshin Male Reader Insert Scenarios, pt. 1 [Just an Author Insert tbh but lezz gooo]

I hope your head is impact proof because this will be your Genshin as you crash down onto the world of Teyvat!

Starting off in my favorite nation: Sumeru!

"...ever had the urge to just jump off the ledge of the Akademia and Spiderman yourself around..?" Y/n spoke dryly to Alhaitham whilst they stood at the balcony of the Akademia as the green man looked at him with genuine concern and confusion.

Upon taking off his hood, to revealed the tan lines that had formed below his lips. "Oddly enough, the heat feels nostalgic of my home... Kamusta kaya pusa ko sa bahay.. shet..."

"..I'm just hearing a guitar solo of Pasilyo in my head.. Please marry me!" He declared whilst kneeling down on his knees and holding onto Dehya's hand right after she gave him a smile.

"This is heaven.." *Munching on shawarma whilst playing with a stray cat on the streets of Sumeru city.*

Up next, the home nation: Mondstadt!

"..I would've stopped him from stealing wine if I wasn't also getting some of said wine.." Y/n stated whilst being berated by Diluc alongside Ventil.

There he laid underneath a tree overlooking Windrise, his eyes resting closed as the gentle breeze of the wind glides across his skin and onto the stretching plains.

"So this is Dragonspine.. can't say I'm not impressed though the snow isn't as soft as I imagined... Now! Where's my fucking torch? I'm cold as a penguin's nuts here.."

"This is pleasant.." Y/n muttered whilst he sat on top of the Cathedral, gazing upon the inside of Mondstadt's walls as he hums to the melody of "I Wanna be Yours" in his head. Alongside him stood Rosaria who watched over him cautiously.

Last stop, the Land of Justice: Fontaine!

"Whether or not you like it, Dragon Man. I shall speak french between your legs!.. Though I'd assume it'll definitely sound gibberish to you because I don't know French."

"This shall be my greatest work yet! Furina! I request thou's aid!" Proclaiming loudly, Y/n stood up from his seat whilst flipping through the pages of his book with a proud grin.

The world seemed muffled yet full as Y/n laid afloat underwater within the great lake of Fontaine and despite his unending fear of deep waters, he felt.. at peace...

"What is it with me and dangerous women? This is making me question myself..." He muttered quietly with a small blush on his cheek as he stood off to the side of the Traveler, Furina, and Arlecchino who conversed.. unknown to him that the harbinger heard of his mumbling.

Now please kindly leave my man cave :D

[rebelliousstories]

Fangirl

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 908

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: What do you do when you come across your childhood hero when you’re supposed to be saving the world? No, really, we need to know cause they don’t.

Consider Donating: Here

Being placed in the Void was not fun. The crime; being best friends with one Wade Winston Wilson. And now this was the culmination of their entire relationship. Stuck in a Wasteland, struggling to find a way out. They had been dealing with her friend and the new member, The Wolverine, fighting constantly in one form or another. It was frankly starting to get on their nerves. But watching them fight it out in a Honda Odyssey was quite entertaining, just not when they ended up passing out against a tree because the two mutants were not stopping for anything.

And now, they had woken up in an unfamiliar environment with unfamiliar people. Groaning, they began rubbing the stiffness out of their neck as they rolled over to place their feet on the ground. They say Logan nursing a bottle of alcohol, and Wade also waking up and getting out of bed. Deciding to stay there for a moment more, they were quite shock when things started happening around them.

Deadpool went over to the entrance, and collided with someone else’s weapons. A woman in a deep red suit stepped out from behind the corner. Following close by, a man in an all black suit who grabbed a large knife as soon as he walked in. Lastly, a playing card flew in, right as a familiar man in a leather trench coat caught it. It was him; Gambit.

All other noises and conversation was muffled by the sound of blood rushing through their ears. All they could focus on was that iconic suit. It was not until Deadpool nudged them that their focus was brought back into the present.

“Are you good there, angel cakes? Were you lost in your thoughts because the author didn’t feel like writing the dialogue for this scene?” Their brows furrowed as they looked at him, but he continued as if nothing had happened.

“Never mind, back to the important things.” As their eyes scanned over the group, they would instinctively land on Remy whenever possible. Occasionally, Gambit’s eyes would meet theirs, causing them to blush and drop their gaze. It started happening often enough that they wondered if the mutant was doing it on purpose.

After a while, everyone had found themselves strewn about the temple. They sat near Wade who was trying to befriend Blade, but was failing miserably. It seemed now, especially, their eyes refused to leave the Cajun that was drinking with Elektra in the corner. Weirdly enough, it seemed his eyes sought them out as well.

“Whatcha doing there, my little gender ambiguous chicken nugget?” Wade asked, spooking them. They jumped, but recovered quickly.

“Nothing. Why do you have to call me.” They swatted his hand away as it got closer to ruffling the hair on their head.

“So what’s your deal? Old gibberish mouth with the come over got your eye? ‘Just something about him telling you can’t quite put your finger on’, am I right? He is widely attractive though.” Their look was ridiculous as they looked at their friend in a red mask.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” They deflected.

“Oh I think you do. But I’ll let him get it out of you.” Without another word, Wade left them alone. While their head was turned, someone filled the spot on their other side. Turning back, it was just the wrong person they wanted to see; Remy.

“Ya doin’ alrigh’ pistache?” He asked, relaxing into the seat. It was a stark contrast to how they were sitting rigidly.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. Jus’ noticed ya a lil’ jumpy is all.” Gambit held a small smirk on his face. He knocked both of their shoulders together and watched their face closely.

“Oh no, that’s just. Um… really, it’s nothing to worry about.” They cursed as they felt heat rise to their cheeks. The smirk on Remy’s face became larger at this.

“Woo, ya got a crush on me or somethin’? Gambit’s not gonna blame you if you did. Gonna make tomorrow a little easier on my heart knowing I got such a cute pistasche in my corner.” Now that blush deepened. Before they could fire off another denial, a yawn ripped through them. Stretching, they began looking over the area for a place for them to rest for the evening.

“Come wit’ me.” Gambit muttered, waving them with him.

As they followed him through the room, they took note on how cozy this temple was for being a refuge in the Void. When they stopped, a bed had appeared in front of them. A couple personal items were on the table next to it; Remy could not be seriously considering letting them use his bed? However he allowed no time for protest.

“If ya need more blankets, give a holla. Good night pistasche. Tomorrow, I’ll show you just how cool dem card tricks can get.” With that, Gambit winked and left them standing there.

They were not entirely sure what had happened in just the short amount of time that they had encountered the Gambit in the Void. He was just like they expected him to be. Except, they thought they would be smoother in their comebacks and actions. At any rate, they settled themself into bed, dreaming. Dreaming of seeing him in action tomorrow. And somehow dreaming of him teasing them some more, but this time, they would have their comebacks.

[renegadewangs]

HEAR ME OUT...

I have here some underappreciated excerpts from The Art of Wish:

I tried to highlight the relevant bits, but the quality is a bit iffy, so to repeat what I really want to draw attention to... "The castle was built long before Magnifico was around, but he superimposed himself on it when he took over, which is what rulers have done all throughout history. [...] "Magnifico Style" is on full display in his study. We imagine that Magnifico remodeled when he took power, so this is a newly built and interior-designed space with everything to his taste. [...] Actually, the decision to have an ancient secret lair came very late in production and affected the design of the magic book as well. The lair is an ancient room that Magnifico discovered while doing renovations to his study, so the book had to be ancient too." So despite the movie's implications that Magnifico and Amaya built the castle from the ground up when they settled on the island, this isn't actually the case. Something ancient was already there and they built over it, shaping something new and 'beautiful' out of what I can only assume were ruins, because at this point in time Magnifico wouldn't have had enough power/authority to usurp any previous rulers. I expect the island was abandoned, the previous owner of the castle long gone. He found the lair in the tower with all its creepy contents (apple dripping green poison, cauldrons, skulls, etc.), including the forbidden book, which he then moved upstairs and sealed away in a glass case with a protective enchantment on it. But now we get to the actual reason that I wanted to draw attention to this, because what we have here is potential for COMEDY GOLD. Can you imagine it? Magnifico and Amaya arrive on this island, find an old castle with the most shady stuff imaginable in it, and instead of doing the smart thing and tearing it all down to the ground, Magnifico instead flips this evil villain lair. He grows increasingly persistent that this can work because he's stubborn like that, and refuses to give up on the new home they're building for themselves, while Amaya grows increasingly worried over the many warning signs.

"Honey, I found a prophecy etched into the old kitchen wall, claiming that any kingdom built on this isle is doomed to fall to paranoia." "ANOTHER ONE? Ugh... I'll get the paint."

"Baby, I found old diaries from the previous ruler of this castle, which slowly descend into gibberish as he seems to fall prey to some sort of mad desire for control and overwhelming micro-management." "Oh man, mood." "What?" "What?"

"Mi rey, the howls of the damned are coming up out of the secret lair again." "Hnnn... I'll add another layer of isolation to the floor tomorrow."

[oddballwriter]

🙏 gn/fem reader who has a tattoo of an ahnk on her chest and arm tattoos of astrological symbols or like more egyptian tattoos who visits the museum with a group of friends and steven just drools at her existence lol

Living Art

Summary: Working in the gift shop doesn't really earn you any points in talking to people, that's something that Steven's learned the hard way. But that doesn't mean that there aren't some cases that happen once in a while.

Warnings: It's mentioned that the reader does some of their own tattoos using the stick-and-poke method. Steven is shy but very much into the reader. The reader's gender and pronouns are never mentioned but Steven does refer to the ready is pretty so take that as you will. Mention of alcohol and getting drunk but no consumption actually happens. If I'm missing something don't be afraid to tell me.

Author’s Snip: I'm sorry that this took such a long time. I've been out of motivation to write and also recently started my spring semester. So I hope you will still like it.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 954

Working at the gift shop didn't really make way for meaningful talks with people. Steven has learned that through many one-way conversations with people who come in. But he'd be lying if he said that he ever really stopped wishing for a moment to chat with someone who would listen and talk back. Unfortunately, that person only exists in Steven's daydream it seems.

That is until one day a group of museum-goers come walking in chattering amongst themselves. Steven looks at them for a brief moment just to get a count of them before looking off somewhere else until he hears a voice go "Oh..." in a disappointed cringing manner. Steven glances back and sees you staring at a mug on display. He knows which one it is. It's that one mug that has hieroglyphics on it that are random and translate to literal gibberish. He remembers himself cringing at its existence.

Your friends join in and laugh at your explanation of why this mug has you scrunching your nose in disapproval. "Does it say something dumb?" one of them asks, to which you respond with "No. It doesn't say anything. That's why I hate it.". Your friends laugh some more and move on with their browsing around while one stays with you for a moment to say "You should buy it and put it in your collection of stupid stuff.". You nod but say "I'm thinking about it but in all honestly this thing is kinda ugly.". It is, the graphics look horrible and Steven is so happy that some else can see that.

After a while of walking around, and grabbing a plush that also got a chuckle out of you, you make your way to Steven at the counter. Now that he's getting a closer look at you, you're very pretty. As he looks you over quickly so as to not be caught by you he notices something else.

The shirt you have on gives a sensible show of your chest and arms and along them are various Egyptian and astrological symbols tattooed on your skin. Steven can name practically all of them with his brief scan of your body. He manages to catch you saying something to him.

"How's your day going?" you ask. He blinks off his stun and answers with a shrugged "Alright. Same work day as all the others. You know?". You nod in response. "I bet you get kids in here all the time." you say, "They always want to leave a shop with something." you laugh. Steven gives a small laugh back as he thinks about all the times a kid came in begging for something. "They usually leave with a toy or one of those little books for kids," Steven says before glancing at the little plush you're buying, "This one is actually really popular. They're usually all gone by the end of the day." he mentions as he takes a look at it himself. "They are pretty cute." you reply, "They're also kind of silly. These figures in Egyptian mythos just being little stuffed dolls that you just have around.". Steven laughs at the thought.

Steven starts to scan the items and he can't help but instinctively cringe a little when holding and looking at the mug. You seem to notice and snicker. "Sorry," Steven apologizes, "But as someone who knows hieroglyphics this thing is awful," he explains.

"It doesn't even translate to anything." you both say in unison. You both smile at the commonality in your opinions on the mug, with Steven maybe feeling a little flutter in his stomach.

"The only reason I'm getting it is because I like to collect novelties that are dumb," you explain. "What about the plush?" Steven questions having thought that the plush was quite endearing. "The plush is dumb in a cute way. The mug is just dumb and I feel like it will fit right in with all the other stupid things I have." you explain. "Well, I'd love to see that collection," Steven comments. "It's actually a really nice talking piece. People like hearing about all the stuff in it." you mention.

Steven nods and as he does he takes a look at a few of your tattoos. You catch it this time and smile, "Do you like them?" you ask. "I think they're lovely," Steven confirms, "Where do you get them done?" Steven questions. There's no reason for him to ask, it's not like he has the guts to get a tattoo himself but he's finally getting that conversation that he's been yearning for. "My friend actually does them. She's a tattoo artist and she secretly give me a discount for some favors like getting her food or doing something for her." you mention, "Some of these are by me though. Sometimes I get drunk and bored at home and just grab a needle and pen ink." you add as you point to a few.

"You tattoo yourself?" Steven gasps. "Don't worry. I'm drunk enough to not really feel anything but still sober enough to clean the area and not have it look terrible," you tell him. "If you ever want a tattoo but not the whole commitment, give me a call. I'll give you as much alcohol as you need." you say with a wink. Steven blushes and bites back an ear-to-ear smile.

You both hear the clearing of a throat behind you. When you both take a look you see your friends standing in line right behind you looking on with looks varying between smug and done with overhearing the back and forth. "Just give him your number already so we can buy our shit." one of them speaks up.

Taglist:

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (applications open)

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 49 - The Jellivision (part 1)

"JELE TV"

Hm.

This is the best translation I can give you. Also, that courier's parents must have hated him.

Yeah,,, this explains... everything.

This is my vision of what Kerubim would post if he had twitter. Anyway.

You're welcome.

"BOB DE BONTA", self-explanatory, really.

Aaand of course it's Bontarian supremacy propaganda.

Kerubim owning items like these is pretty interesting, considering he does know Goultard.

The cover says: "Keke"; the back says: "FFJGIJO D DNVODIJ DFIDVOV V".

I don't know what I expected, but I do wonder why the fuck he's reading a book about himself.

....Maybe during one of his many adventures, he became a self-published author? He probably wrote "she breasted boobily down the stairs" type literature. People probably hated it.

Kerubim confirmed to pay Simone. Kerubim confirmed to pay Simone even though she's doing shitfuck right now, because he's kind like that. This explains why she hasn't killed him yet.

Totally not concerning.

Considering homophobia seems to be real in this universe, there is a yet another one problematic thing this shitty Bontarian series is doing — the predatory lesbian trope. I bet this lesbian is not just a dark witch, but also a Brakmarian woman.

We need to cancel Bob from Bonta for this.

As funny as it would be, I am not translating this shit.

If it makes you feel better, I tried reading a few of these, (well, the ones not too obscured by jelly) and it seemed to be gibberish.

I bet the trope of an evil, predatory dark magic-practising huppermage woman who's lies involve love has been a popular way to demonize Brakmarian people in Bonta for like, ten years.

YET ANOTHER instance of Bob from Bonta saying problematic things.

I think that the Quadramental Breeze and Huppermagic are like Buddhism and Kabbalah, to other races of the World of Twelve:

They don't know shit about it, or the culture surrounding it, but it's totally "THE lifestyle". You need to "balance your spiritual energies," and "believe in the light balance path and quadramentalized meditation" for success. Or something.

If Joris were older and understood anything about television he would be so fucking mad I think.

This episode is such an evil and insane look into the World of Twelve. Class-based make up culture, misogyny, and ads...

I need to make more "tumblr if it was in the World of Twelve" posts on my main. I don't know why thinking about WoT's insane society makes me so giddy.

"CASQUE" (HELMET)

This did everything for the Silly Joris economy.

He's never beating the "that second guy who was using a straw to drink tea in the OVA" allegations.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Title: Good Omens

Author: Neil Gaiman

Rating: 1/5 stars

I picked this book up at the library because I remembered seeing a few positive reviews, but then I saw a bunch of negative reviews, and the implication that these books are somehow the shibboleth by which one may judge one's literary taste (or, indeed, that all right-thinking people must like these books) set me against them. (When I was in high school in the early '00s, for instance, I was harassed and threatened because my taste in books and music didn't conform to my peers' ideas of what people like me are supposed to like. I'm still quite sensitive about it.)

After a bit of procrastination I picked up Good Omens, having heard that it was odd in a good way. As it turned out, it was both good and odd, but it wasn't the kind of odd that I like.

What is it like? Well, it reminded me a bit of Turtle Diary -- that is, it has a great deal of odd detail, all used with an eye towards creating a vivid image. But where Turtle Diary managed this with a deft, artful touch, Good Omens is obsessive. In Turtle Diary you get "Four different forms of religious sign and symbol": the cross, the Star of David, a crescent moon, and a life raft. In Good Omens you get plant symbols and animal symbols and religious symbolism and religious symbolism based on every ancient and forgotten pantheon there ever was, and the name of every seraph and cherub and angel and demon to ever be mentioned in the Bible, and everything else. You get a whole list of band names that look like gibberish, because if there's one thing a demon ought to be named after, it's a band. Needless to say, this casts a long shadow, and every single line, and even every single sentence, is supposed to be not only vivid but also full of meaning and with some sort of cultural reference, even if the reference itself is nonsensical. And often, as in this example, it means that the line will be awfully goofy, no matter what the ostensible subject matter is.

I don't mind when the vivid detail is organized and aiming toward a particular effect, but there are a lot of minor quirks in the book's prose, without any discernible pattern. Sometimes it seems to be going for a style of Victorian dialogue, and then it'll go off on some digression about something that's supposed to be modern or some-or-other, or it'll switch to the conventions of head-hopping in modern fiction (the book's two protagonists, angel and demon, each get "perspective chapters" not just about their own thoughts but their own bodies and feelings), and then it'll jump back to a dialogue with no word-order changes and different sentence structure from the rest of the book, or to a form of prose that is clearly supposed to be a pastiche of classic literature, and then back to modern head-hopping, to make sure that you keep track of who's doing what to whom and what they're saying.

I kept waiting for the effect to reveal itself, and it never did. On the one hand, I can see that Gaiman was trying to do something like Anna Karenina, in which a cast of vivid and realistic characters is put through a sort of symbolic dance in a circus ring of the author's devising. A lot of people like Anna Karenina, and I think this is because Tolstoy gives his characters a lot of interiority and their relationships a lot of psychological weight. Gaiman also does this in one regard, but . . . well, what's the opposite of "psychological weight"? I think it would be "unreliable narrator," and Gaiman doesn't quite give that, but a lot of his characters seem unreliable, both in terms of their self-deception and in terms of his self-deception in painting a picture of them and their interactions. Gaiman has some skills as a writer (for instance, creating a sense of humor without playing for laughs), but those skills simply aren't enough to make him a good writer of the kinds of things that people like about his books.

More vexing, in a sense, than Gaiman's creative approach is his creative attitude. He seems to have no interest in coming up with original ideas about anything, except in the most superficial sense -- as a result, the book feels like a literary junkyard, filled with patches from books and myths and musicals and films and whatever else, unconnected to one another except by the fact that all of them come from the same junkyard.

This might be a lot more acceptable if it didn't run into the problem that one of the book's main characters is a woman who runs a bookshop, and this woman -- the owner of the world's single most well-stocked used bookstore, it seems -- talks in a weirdly specialized way about books that she read and enjoyed when she was 11, but, on the off-chance that her audience includes someone in her same age bracket, has to talk in the sort of generic awe- and wonder-pilled, "cool literature" style you might expect from the social media of a 13 year old who has never encountered anyone who doesn't appreciate literature.

There are two things about this that bothered me, one more than the other. The first is obviously an unnatural over-familiarity with these authors and their works, just as would be the case with the 13 year old in the example I gave. The other is the way Gaiman presents a woman as having read in depth and gotten something from a book in her past, even though she only actually mentions a couple of chapters, the plot of the book in question, and a general atmosphere -- which is more or less how I would talk about those books, if I had to talk about them at all. Oh, and I mentioned earlier the way Gaiman uses pop culture terms to refer to things from the past and the present. The strange thing is that he doesn't show any interest in the actual thing -- like, it's hard to imagine that anyone who actually knew anything about them would have said "Oh, you mean she's reading Colette and Poirot! How very stereotypical and appropriate of a woman!" -- which, I can't stress enough, is how Gaiman mentions these books.

I have no idea why this bothers me as much as it does, or why Gaiman seems to be inviting this kind of questioning in the first place.

[toujokaname]

Card shuffle / Episode 15

Author: Akira

Characters: Tatsumi, AkanP, HiMERU, Rinne, Kohaku, Hiiro, Aira, Mayoi, Anzu, Niki

"Quit pickin' fights already... Might as well be chattin' up a brick wall, HiMERU-han."

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[ Read on my site for a better viewing experience using Ois~su ♪ ]

Season: Winter

Location: Café Cinnamon

Tatsumi: Hm. Well, it's certainly crucial to address issues promptly, but what exactly do you mean by "improvements"?

AkanP: Right. Umm, I'd rather have Anzu-chan, who seems to have been entrusted with the improvements by the agency, explain it, but...

Where did she wander off to? She mentioned not having much interaction with Crazy:B or ALKALOID, so maybe she's a bit shy?

HiMERU: Isn't it rather strange that AkanP can just boldly barge into an atmosphere resembling an informal drinking party?

Rinne: Akan-san, you sure dig this kinda upbeat vibe, huh? That's why, even though you're never on-site, you're always at the drinking parties. That's been a thing since way back.

HiMERU: Typical behavior from a useless person. And to think you get paid for it. Being a producer must be an easy gig, hm?

AkanP: Umm, let's see...? Ah, there she is! Anzu-chaaan, over here~♪

HiMERU: Tch... None of this sarcasm is getting through at all. Such convenient ears.

Kohaku: It's gettin' kinda funny now, but ain't it better to just give up? You'll just tire yourself out if ya keep pickin' fights, HiMERU-han.

Hiiro: Hehe. Thank you for working so late, Anzu-san.

Aira: Seriously... It's already bedtime for good kids, yaaawn...♪

Hiiro: You always seem sleepy after a performance, Aira.

Aira: If anything, it's weird how everyone stays so calm even after giving it their all in a performance... Matrix is a big deal, so I'm stressed and tired.

Hiiro: There, there... Do you want to rest on my lap?

Aira: ...Getting pampered by Hiro-kun would feel like admitting defeat, so I'll rest on Mayo-san's lap instead.

Mayoi: ...?! Thank you very much!

Tatsumi: Fufu. More importantly, Anzu-san, regarding your assignment to improve Matrix—could you elaborate on its specifics?

Honestly, even I'm getting fed up with the lack of explanations?

AkanP: Aah, please don't blame Anzu-chan, she's working so hard!

HiMERU: Indeed. Anzu-san is working harder than necessary, despite having no involvement in this affair. HiMERU offers you his condolences.

Hm, you say you're okay with it? Because you like your job? Goodness, how very convenient—

If you are too much of an accommodating good kid, wicked adults will exploit you.

HiMERU doesn't necessarily dislike such foolishness, however.

Tatsumi: Hm, hm... So, for the upcoming round, you plan to change the stage for Matrix?

"The showdown itself might get lackluster or become one-sided, potentially leading viewers to lose interest—"

"So, isn't that something we can add that might interest the viewers?" I see, it is a good improvement, isn't it?

Niki: What specifically are you gonna add, Nee-san? Are we gonna get different delicacies from around the world every time?

HiMERU: Won't that only interest gluttons like you, Shiina?

Kohaku: Ah, I might be interested too. It'd be fun to explore all the different foods from the outside ♪

HiMERU: Hehe. HiMERU also thought it was a wonderful idea ♪

Niki: You're blatantly reacting differently to me and Kohaku-chan?! That's discrimination, discrimination~!

Rinne: ...Actually, who says it matters more than what they say, doesn't it?

Niki: ? What're you talking about all of a sudden, Rinne-kun?

Rinne: Forget it. I haven't used my brain this much in a while, so I'm sleepy and accidentally blurted out gibberish.

Ehehe. I'm tired, so I'm gonna rest on Meru-san's lap~♪

HiMERU: HiMERU will kill you.

Aira: I'll help.

AkanP: Hehe. It's quite heartwarming to see you all getting along so well, but could you please keep it down a tad? Anzu-chan's voice is rather soft.

It'd be troublesome if you say afterwards that you didn't listen to the explanation, right?

HiMERU: Just to clarify, in your case, it wasn't because we didn't listen to the explanation, but rather, you didn't provide one.

Kohaku: Quit pickin' fights already... Might as well be chattin' up a brick wall, HiMERU-han.

Tatsumi: Fufu. Alright, apologies for getting sidetracked with small talk. But where precisely do you propose relocating the stage?

Considering the ease of attracting patrons, I believe the current ES setup is quite optimal—

AkanP: That's true. But, you know, after a whole year, everyone's gotten used to ES, so there's really no novelty anymore, right?

That's why, this time around, we decided to spice things up by choosing "that place" everyone's been curious about. ...Oh well, I guess I ended up explaining it after all.

Tatsumi: "That place" being...?

AkanP: The hometown of Rinne Amagi-kun and his little brother Hiiro-kun.

The colloquially named "Amagi Village" will be the stage for future Matrix matches.

[ ☆ ]

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[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Soul Mates: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: A man is accused of rape and kidnapping in another state, so he moved across the country to get away from those allegations. Now, the same thing is happening but this time, it might very well be true.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

On the way back to the station, you informed your team there of the news that there is a partner. Spencer immediately goes to work on trying to decode the messages on Will's computer. He's using two different colored markers to determine who said what, but to everyone else, it looks like gibberish.

"Spencer, tell me you found something on his partner," you ask when you walk back into the station.

"It's all so cryptic. They wrote a cluster of others right after the first victim, Kim Groves, was killed."

"We need to figure out how they met. There's gotta be something in all this about their courtship," Derek says.

"It all seemed so hopeless, but I finally learned to rise above it," Spencer reads. "It sounds like William confessed he was feeling incomplete."

"He was. He didn't start killing until he met his soulmate."

"Faith should never be broken." That's another line from the journals. "The longer they got away with it, the stronger their relationship got. Sounds like these two aren't just obsessed with rape and murder. They're addicted to one another."

Jeff and Hotch return back from the crime scene you were at. You were eager to get things moving along which is why you got here before they did.

"We could have saved her," Jeff sighs.

"There were no signs of his having a partner until now."

"I guess that's why he's so cocky."

"Well, his arrogance is typical of a dominant personality. He's found a submissive who's willing to kill for him. We found bite marks on Missy. Will didn't do it, the partner did, and he's white."

"They never did that before," Derek says.

"Well, with William out of the picture, he's changed his behavior. Maybe the partner went back to something that's comfortable, something he's done before. I've got Garcia checking dental records against other cases."

Rossi and Derek walk back to the interrogation room, and you quickly follow them to observe their talk with Will.

"The D. A. was ready to charge him when Missy was still alive. How the hell are we supposed to keep him now?"

"I'm surprised you're writing all this stuff to a fella," Rossi says when they walk inside the room. "It sounds like you have a real special thing going on."

"I mean, I'm thinking if the two of you had just got it on, maybe these women would still be alive," Derek shrugs. "So, where'd you meet him? Chat room? Porn sites? Gay bar? Whoever this guy is, he's looking out for you and cleaning up for you. Missy Dewald is dead."

"Has he called yet? Lee Jarvis, the D.A., I mean. I saw his name on the warrant. He's got the best conviction rate in Florida. Do you know why?"

"I wanna know why your pen pal killed her when he could have let her rot," Rossi glares.

"Jarvis doesn't like to lose. He's not gonna ruin his record over this."

Will refuses to talk about his potential partner thinking the D.A. is going to get him out of this one. However, your team is going to do everything they can to lock this bitch up.

"Wow, this friend of yours wants to please you badly, doesn't he? He's protecting you, doing whatever he's gotta do to make sure that you're innocent. He killed Missy so you could be together again. It's only been a few hours, but he misses you."

"And you've gotten what exactly from all this?" Will asks in a bored tone.

"Proof that someone out there is just as sick as you."

Penelope works her magic and gets results from the bite marks left on Missy. The dental records don't match Will but they do match a reported rape in Manatee County earlier this year. The teeth marks belong to the same person, but they've never been arrested so she can't cross-reference. Connie Mayers is the victim of that rape, so if you're going to have any hope in figuring out who this is, then you have to talk to her.

Emily and Hotch went over to her job as soon as they got that information, but she wasn't too happy about it. No one else knew about what happened to her, but your coworkers did their best to keep it discreet. She works at a flower shop, so Emily bought some flowers as she asks her questions.

Connie's attacker knew what he wanted like he was confident in what he was doing. Connie thought he was a control freak. He wore a mask but she could tell he was shite, proving what you saw using Missy's energy. The partner choked her which took a long time for the bruises to go away. It's not as bad as the bite marks which are just scars now.

"Connie described an anger-excitation rapist just like William," Emily says when she and Hotch return. "We're looking at two dominant personalities."

"It makes sense. They have a similar discourse. They're equally well-written," Spencer says. "It's rare in criminal partnerships. If their personalities are the same, their lives probably mirror one another's as well."

"Harris goes to church, he's on the board of the PTA, he coaches his daughter's soccer team, and he rarely drinks."

"He sounds like a saint," Jordan says.

"With a dark side," Hotch adds. "That's what he connected to in his partner. Prentiss and I will go talk to the family and see if they know who it might be."

Emily and Hotch leave but you stay behind to help Spencer.

"Two alpha males won't be easy to break," Derek says. "The partner is definitely following the investigation."

"Let's do the talking for them," Rossi suggests, holding up a newspaper.

"I think a chatroom might be better. It sounds like they do most of their talking on the computer, but I like where your head's at," you say. "Plus, it's quicker."

"Why would he read it? He knows William won't be writing," Jeff says.

"These men are addicted to each other. Right now, he needs a fix, and the words they've shared are all he has to cling to. His partner wrote 'Faith should never be broken'. A betrayal could devastate him."

"All we have to say is that William's cooperating and then hopes he takes the bait."

Derek and Rossi give you and Spencer some time to come up with something you hope will catch the partner's attention. It's not easy, but you have the journal entries they've already sent to each other. All you have to do is work with the words and language they've already used.

"What have we got so far?" Derek asks after an hour of working.

"We were surprised that you injected yourself into the investigation. You risked a lot in order to help William," you read what you have. "Killing Missy tells us how close you really are. It must be devastating to learn that William is here with us."

Spencer doesn't like what you've come up with in fear the partner will retaliate.

"He's not gonna like that. It sounds like William's cooperating."

"That's exactly what we want him to believe so he'll doubt their alliance."

Derek and Rossi use this information on Will, and you follow them so you can pay close attention to Will. You can talk to Derek and Rossi through the comms just in case you notice something off about Will. After they tell him what they've done, Will just smirks in thought.

"What's that smirk for?

"Sharon is posting bail. I'm thinking about where to go for dinner. Maybe we'll go to Salvatore's."

"Rossi, play it off as if the partner is the alpha male. It might set him off," you say.

"You know, maybe we got it wrong. Maybe they're not both alpha males. The partner made the first move. He's the one with the balls."

"Yeah, and it was pretty risky, too. Think about it. What if you did turn in here? Or at least your partner thought you turned in here, hmm? Then he'd have no choice but to turn himself in. Your lives would be ruined," Derek adds. "That's the reason it works. You both have everything to lose."

"He's only cleaning up because he can't afford to get caught either. Am I right?" William doesn't answer. "How is gonna react to the entry we wrote? He knows we're reading your little love letters, so we decided to send one ourselves and let him know you're in here helping us out."

"He's probably feeling pretty betrayed right about now. If he is, what do you think he's doing about it?"

"William, you wrote, 'Thanks for the perfect place to play'. What were you talking about?"

"Golfing."

"Right. What was it like?"

"Perfect," he smirks.

Will is so confident he isn't going to get caught that he's radiating energy that you can feel from outside the room. The energy is allowing you to see images of Will and his partner with a girl they've kidnapped. The girl is one of the girls who was reported missing and found dead. One of the girls was dead before you even arrived in Florida.

"Rossi, I see him and his partner with one of the three girls who were found dead. Keep him talking. The more he thinks he's getting away with it, the more I can use his energy to see more."

Derek sets out pictures of the three dead women since he heard everything you've said to Rossi. All of the women are happy and smiling as if nothing bad could ever happen to them.

"You probably don't recognize them like this, do you, William? Happy and smiling. All these gifts. All these girls."

"This is someone's child. You know, Missy Dewald was supposed to meet her parents for dinner. She was eighteen years old, an only child, and you just took her away."

"I feel sorry for those parents. I really do," Will says without emotion.

"Do you hear yourself? Not an ounce of sincerity. You just proved you were incapable of empathy just like your partner. William, you never would have done any of this without him, but you just weren't complete, right?"

Spencer walks into the room and hands you some papers. The pages are about the love between William and his partner.

"Rossi, we have something."

Rossi leaves the room while Derek stays inside, and you hand him the papers Spencer gave you.

"It's been so long, my heart aches. I need to see that face again soon," Rossi reads the papers when he walks back inside. "I mean, it's pretty obvious there's an emotional connection between you two, huh? You can't deny that, but this doesn't really sound like two buddies to me. Sounds more like two men in love with each other."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

This strikes a nerve in Will, and this is what you need to get more information from him.

"You're right. I have absolutely no idea what it's like to be in love with another man."

"You know, everyone who goes into law enforcement has this air of moral superiority. For you, it seeps out of every single pore. Black cop in the FBI. You got a big chip on your shoulder with a lot to prove."

"Now who's the one who has no idea what he's talking about?"

"Derek, don't let him rile you up. This is just what he wants," you warn your friend.

"We're not so different, you and I. We choose the games we play because they make us feel powerful. So, what do you have, special agent Morgan? Prove beyond a reasonable doubt that I have broken the law, but don't you sit there with that smug look on your face and judge me, boy."

This pisses Derek off.

"First of all, I am not your boy, and this look on my face is a look of contempt because you disgust me. You and I are nothing alike. When we do find this friend of yours, there isn't a jury out there who won't find you guilty."

Derek leaves the room, allowing Rossi to be alone with him.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[drwingdingshitposter]

NOTES ON LANGUAGES: [ ERR_INDECIPHERABLE... MANUAL TRANSCRIPT BELOW CUT ]

Establishing Contact... estimated time: 5 days

LANGUAGE NOTES [t/n: Originally in Wingdings]

FONT [ t/n: Left Column ]

Wingdings/Hands [ t/n: Underlined ]

every1 in void knows this. duh. other fonts like comic sans, arial, papyrus, OpenDyslexic common

LANGUAGE [ t/n: Right Column ]

spoken- common

sign- common

HyperText Markdown +cascading style- [ t/n: Author seems to have run out of space/forgotten to have written it beforehand, so "+cascading style" was written above ]

universal, rarely used. Attached to ones INSPECT. usually gibberish. only used by cryptic bastards

Java Script- written spells [ t/n: I have never heard of this type of written spell... I do bullet calligraphy in my spare time, which is why they chose me as transcriber, but this is completely unknown to me. ]

[ t/n: An arrow is pointing to Java Script ] DANGEROUS dont fuck with it future me!!! [ t/n: An angry... skull? lightbulb? that is frowning is doodled next to the note ]

Cipher- uncommon, big umbrella category

[ t/n: The rest of this is less legible than before. ]

Benign+useful enough 2 not cipher. doubt I'll get killed for these. Been too quiet lately, Though... - S.P. Gaster

[ Transcriber's End Notes: spr_mysteryman's notes are interesting. It alludes to room_save_empty as "the void", and claims that wingdings, a font infamously difficult to understand without prior knowledge, is common, well known, and unremarkable. It signs off with "S.P. Gaster" on this journal page. It will be known as Gaster in analysis documents from now on. ]

[dreamii-yume]

For the 8 months that I was working in and out of that Inumaki sinfic, it led to quite an in-depth research about Inumaki himself and it just solidified that fact that he’s my favorite character in JJK lol

When I was studying how to properly use his language for the Sinfic because I’m a nerd ☠️ I realized how much of a fucking troll Inumaki is lol Like this man could have learned sign language, he could’ve wrote what he wants to say using a simple pen and paper, or just phone alone, but nope—He decided he wants to speak in rice balls 😭 He wanted people to have a Bachelor’s Degree as a requirement to be on level 5 friendship with him 🧎‍♀️

The author confirmed that “Salmon is Yes” and “Bonito Flakes is No” and everything else is gibberish and that’s?? What do you mean half of the time he’s saying rice ball ingredients just to fuck with people?? 😭 He’s so unserious broo

But his silliness aside, I love him because he’s not a powerhouse like Gojo or Nanami—He’s a character meant for defense, because though his technique seems really powerful and cool on paper, it’s incredibly high-maintenance. Using it for attack is too risky and once he damages his throat to the point that he can’t speak, it’s over ☠️ So, I love how Inumaki compensated that by being physically active and resorts to using it only when he needs to protect his juniors 🥺

Also, do you think Inumaki cringes every once in a while whenever he remembers that he used to put his hair up and was rowdy as hell as a first-year 🤔

I mean, the first time I saw his first-year design, I couldn’t even believe that THAT was him lol I liked Inumaki in the current timeline because he’s so big-brother-like and was so responsible with his cursed technique—He didn’t change that much, but in the movie, he almost seemed he liked showing off by saying powerful words that were more than his throat could take haha

Present Inumaki could only DREAM of saying shit like “Get twisted” and “Get crushed” now unless it’s really a dire situation lol Fantastic character development I’d say—He really learned his lesson lol

…I need to remind myself to keep my love for this character lowkey cause you’ll be seeing me in the news if Gege does something to him in the manga or something—Please I don’t want him losing more than an arm ☠️

[pinkpastelcalesti]

0.5 PHOTOS || Todoroki Shouto x Reader

SUMMARY -> You discover the power of .5 photos, and your boyfriend is no longer immune to the absolute atrocity of these pictures. In which, you decide to take photos of your boyfriend for blackmail fun to show your friends on his birthday.

CONTENT/WARNINGS -> Fem reader, clueless Sho, crack fic.

AUTHOR NOTES -> I’m typing this on my phone because I had the greatest idea of all time and I cannot let it go to waste LMFAO, if you don’t know what 0.5 photos look like, feel free to search “.5 selfies” on Google! These are my favorite types of photos and are absolute chaos <3 forgive me if some of the story is gibberish, I just need to get this post out of my system bc I love the idea of heinous .5 selfies that include Shouto and his perpetual “quarter life crisis” face

Shouto really shouldn’t have trusted you for pictures after the first time it happened.

With the new iPhones, Apple had decided to include 0.5, which allowed expandable, wide range photos that looked immaculate when used correctly. The only issue? People quickly found out this lens size made foreheads, noses, and god knows what else within its lens massively disproportionate and warped.

Some people found the photos to be stupid, but anyone with a sense of humor knew these photos were prime meme material, especially in a group of friends and loved ones when you wanted the most outrageous photos of them for future birthday posts.

At least that’s what your mind went to first when you found out the power you held with this new discovery. Especially with your deadpan, coolheaded pro-hero boyfriend that the public had a hard time accepting knew anything beyond sparse vine references. He wasn’t that well versed in current social media trends, but Shouto was far from out of the loop. He was kept up to date with trends mostly by his friends, including you, who would send him a god awful amount of tiktoks through iMessage since he didn’t have a tiktok account himself.

You almost felt bad, taking these photos without him really knowing the absolute power they held. The first time you did it was a time you wish you had on video so you could remember it moment-by-moment forever.

You were both out doing some holiday shopping for Halloween, picking up candies, decorations, and even some costume props when the idea popped in your head after Shouto had decided to try on a pumpkin-themed beret that was on the sale rack. Turning to him, you smiled sweetly, looking as innocent as possible as you reveled in the adorableness of your boyfriend before taking what would be the first of many, and I mean many, .5 photos. “You look so cute in that beret, Sho! Could I get a picture?” You asked him as he was peering into a little compact spider mirror to adjust the hat on his head. “Sure, I don’t mind,” he murmured softly. You positioned the camera as least-suspicious as possible, quickly grabbing two or three .5 photos before taking a normal looking one so that he could look at it. You beamed up at him after you took the photos, kissing his cheek and laughing softly as he made no apparent move to take the beret off just yet.

“May I see?” He glanced over your shoulder, a hand lazily wrapped around your waist as you presented the normal photo to him. “I’m beginning to think my fans were wrong when they said I could ‘slay’ just about anything that I wore,” Shouto remarked with a smirk. You nudged him gently, “You slay absolutely every piece of clothing baby.”

He held a soft gaze towards you as you placed the pumpkin beret in the cart, claiming it was a necessity and making your way around the store, eventually getting all you needed.

The next time it happened, Shouto began to wonder why you cackled after getting so many strange photos of him even though the photos you took seemed normal to him. You were both out enjoying the annual Halloween party that Mina and Kaminari were in charge of every year, always finding a way to have the most chaotic decorations and yet somehow making the parties unforgettable when it came to letting loose and having fun.

You were dressed as watergirl, with a light, silky blue dress on and a pair of white fishnet leggings that had blue crystals on them, paired with your “going out” shoes. Your makeup also matched the light blue/water theme perfectly, and Shouto was dressed as fireboy, dawning a pair of red slacks, black dress shoes, and a silky red button up shirt that perfectly complimented him.

His hair was also fully red, with you having put some temporary hair color gel on his white hair to make the look seamless. You were both standing on one side of a beer pong table, going against Ochako and Izuku as the party lights provided a shitty but doable amount of lighting so that you could see the cups slightly. After Shouto threw in your winning shot, cheers and hollers erupted from the crowd watching you guys as you wrapped your hands around Shouto’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss attack, leaving gloss marks along his face as he laughed slightly at your tipsy state.

Gasping suddenly, you took two of the beer pong cups and placed them in his hands, instructing Shouto to pose for a winner’s picture. Your giggles soon turned to full blown laughter as you couldn’t hide the disproportionate .5 photo you’d gotten, with your boyfriend’s forehead taking up almost half the screen, his eyes slightly looking two different directions with his signature polite-cat smile he did for photos.

You quickly took a normal photo to hide your building treasure trove of photos. Shouto looked at the photo after you took it, chuckling at the way the flash on your camera picked up the slight color difference of red hues in his hair from his natural color on his left side and the temporarily dyed right side.

You continued to snap photos of him over the next couple months, including thanksgiving where Shouto was devouring the fuck out of some American-made pecan pie that you’d had specially ordered for the occasion, crumbs evident on the corners of his mouth making him look like when a dog gets caught eating something they shouldn’t be and then bolting all around the house to get away from you.

Your favorite .5 photos had to be during Christmas when Kirishima had somehow convinced Izuku and Shouto to dress as elves for the annual hero Christmas party, and the photos contained Shouto looking miserable but coping in the janky-looking stockings and t shirt, with the elf hat and ears being hastily placed on his head.

He was glancing up at the camera with a deadpan “what was the reason” look, his hair going in different directions, his eyes borderline bugging out of his head, and his hands coming up by his chest to give a thumbs up. You wanted to scream laugh after taking the photos but managed to pull yourself together. There was a reason for these photos being taken, after all.

Your most recent photo before Shouto discovered your secret stash of .5s was of New Year’s when everyone had gotten together once again to celebrate another year of being alive and doing what they loved.

Kaminari had managed to fuck up the decoration order from Amazon, resulting in misspelled party hats and cheap plastic necklaces reading “happy newer years” with the incorrect year on them, resulting in hilarious group photos with everyone that even included Bakugou grinning as he tilted his party hat towards the camera, making sure the photo caught the misspelled words.

Shouto of course had his fair share of photos taken, especially by you who took them from your height, making your boyfriend look gigantic with his hat, new years glasses, and stack of plastic necklaces on as he threw up a peace sign.

Your journey of .5 photos didn’t exclude everyone else from your chaos, as you had albums dedicated to all your friends with the most breathtakingly awful pictures from parties, galas, and public events.

Eventually, Shouto’s birthday rolled around, and this was when he discovered the hard way why you’d been kicking your feet and laughing at random times during the day when you were scrolling on your phone but not on tiktok since there was no audio coming from your device.

The day was a small celebration, with you and the birthday boy himself having a birthday breakfast in your shared apartment and then going to a small lunch spot to celebrate with his family before dinner rolled around and you would be meeting up with your friends to have a celebratory meal together to celebrate the big 22 for Shouto.

Once the dinner was under way and a few cocktails were had, everyone was lively and was sharing memorable moments during their time at UA and after graduation with the number 3 pro hero. Bakugou could barely get through the retelling of Glamouroki because he kept laughing so hard that it was hard for anybody to get words out without doubling over.

Even Shouto himself couldn’t help but laugh loudly out of embarrassment when the time he’d ripped his pants during an interview discussing citizen search and rescue methods came up, with the interview being broadcast live on television. Twitter had an absolute field day, trending the hashtag “greatglacierasscheeks” as a play on the name of one of his ultimate moves.

During the story recounting, the alcohol was creeping up on you and making you way more loose-lipped than you’d like to admit. After Izuku had mentioned something about unflattering press photos with Shouto at the start of his hero career, Kirishima let out a gasp and popped the question that would expose your little secret.

“Does anyone actually have funny ass blackmail-worthy photos of Shouto? This man is perfect in every single magazine shoot, even when he’s rescuing people he looks flawless!” The redhead exclaimed, pointing a lighthearted accusatory finger towards your side of the long booth.

Everyone then turned their attention towards you, realizing that with you being Shouto’s partner of nearly 3 years, you were bound to have some photos, right? “C’mon (y/n), you’ve gotta have some!” Sero shouted across the table. “Yeah! There’s no way you don’t have a photo or two of icyhot in a Scrooge nightgown or something!” Exclaimed Mina, throwing her arms around your shoulders as you let out a loud laugh. “I would be a terrible excuse if a partner if I didn’t have some blackmail-worthy photos of my dear boyfriend, wouldn’t I?” You soon started laughing uncontrollably with tears springing in your eyes as everyone started chanting for you to share them.

Shouto himself looked perplexed, trying to recall any time he saw you sneaking photos of him during rather ungrateful moments like the time he struggled opening one of those little fruit cups and ended up getting squirted in the face with the syrup. You clumsily grabbed your phone, unlocking it and opening up an album before leaning over the table to lock eyes with everyone. “Listen, Sho never realized but sometimes when I took photos of him being cute or when we were out together, I used the .5 lens,” you giggled, and as soon as those words came out of your mouth, everything turned to chaos.

“No fucking way you got candy cane in one of the shittiest camera modes,” Bakugou barked out, a shit eating grin being evidence that he was far too invested in seeing the endless possibilities of wide angle lens Shouto. Endless shouts of “show us!” filled the private bar room you were in, with the bartender on the other side of the restaurant glancing curiously at the predicament across from him.

You put a finger to your lips as you stood up, with your loving boyfriend putting his hand on your hip to steady you as you clicked on the first of many photos. “I present to you, my stash of wide lens Shouto photos!” Your phone was then subsequently passed around the table as howls of laughter and cackling consumed your friend group.

When the phone finally got back around to Shouto, his eyebrows shot up in surprise and he cringed slightly as the angles were anything but flattering. He scrolled through the photos you had collected and then put the pieces together that you weren’t just getting regular photos all those times before. “Please tell me I’m not the only one who got these types of photos taken,” he remarked with a chuckle as you leaned into him. “Gods no! I’ve got hoards of them for everyone else too!” You exclaimed proudly, causing the group to reach for your phone the nth time as everyone roared in more laughter at everyone else’s photos.

There was even a .5 photo of Kirishima when he was getting his hair dyed by Mina at her place and the angle showed him glancing up at the camera with a toothy smile which made him look like a goofy but hilarious version of the shark from Nemo.

The afternoon after Shouto’s birthday, you asked his permission to include some of the .5 photos in an obligatory social media post, because what kind of partner would you be if you didn’t get every single photo type of your boyfriend imaginable? Soon after your post, Twitter quickly trended “wideshouto” and thus began the shitstorm of memes that refused to die down even months after Shouto’s birthday.

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

GHOSTS AND DEMONS AND EVEN WILDER YET

Opening this weekend:

Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire--This fifth feature in the franchise begins with a nice macabre episode set in 1904, like something from a creepier version of Disney's Haunted Mansion. This is followed by an extended chase through the streets of Manhattan, as the current Ghostbusters pursue, in the "Ectomobile," an eel-like flying dragon spirit up from the sewers.

It's a reasonably diverting start, and the movie goes on to deploy, in addition to Paul Rudd and Carrie Coon and the kids from 2021's Ghostbusters: Afterlife, most of the available stars from the 1984 original. Dan Aykroyd, Ernie Hudson, Annie Potts, Williams Atherton and Bill Murray show up--no Sigourney Weaver or Rick Moranis, alas--and not just in cameos but with fairly substantive screen time. I was disappointed that the all-woman crew from the much-maligned and underrated 2016 version wasn't invited to this party, but apparently fans are still traumatized.

Anyway, the old vets here are good company--Murray with his peerless sardonoic line readings, Akyroyd with his gee-whiz delivery of expository gibberish. A couple of new adds, like Patton Oswalt as an authority on the occult and Kumail Nanjiani as a clod who sells Aykroyd the spherical ancient artifact that serves as the McGuffin, also get into the proper, uhm, spirit of things.

On the whole the movie, directed by Gil Kenan from a script by Kenan and Jason Reitman, is an enjoyable lavish no-brainer. The closest it gets to any emotional weight is an intriguing plot strand in which the teenage heroine (Mckenna Grace) bonds, seemingly romantically, with a teen ghost (Emily Alyn Lind) after she's forbidden to go 'busting until she turns 18; the actors manage a touching rapport even through the special effects prism.

But if Frozen Empire--which concerns a horned demon with freezing superpowers imprisoned inside the McGuffin--doesn't feel like a home run, it may be the result of too much wholesomeness. The teen romance and bickering family dynamic didn't quite feel like Ghostbusters to me, somehow. What made the '84 film seem new was its mix of extravagant, big-budget special effects spectacle with the snarky, irreverent slacker sketch-comedy of Murray and the other stars. Only when Frozen Empire taps into this sensibility does it truly thaw out.

The movie is dedicated to Ivan Reitman, director of the original, and this film, like several of the others, includes a nod to Cannibal Girls, Rietman's 1973 shocker starring the impossibly young and adorable Andrea Martin and Eugene Levy. I hope it makes fans seek out that amusing low-budget creepshow; there's a movie that doesn't suffer from too much wholesomeness.

Late Night With the Devil--Here's another wry paranormal chiller set in New York, although it was conceived by the Australian brothers Cameron Cairnes and Colin Cairnes and filmed in Melbourne. The premise is that we're watching the 1976 Halloween episode of a syndicated talk show, a perennial also-ran in the ratings to Johnny Carson. Desperate for a sweeps win, the recently widowed host (David Dastmalchian) stacks the guest list with a hokey stage psychic (Fayssal Bazzi), an Amazing Randi-type skeptic (Ian Bliss), and a psychiatrist (Laura Gordon) and her patient, an angelically smiling teenage girl (Ingrid Torelli). This girl was rescued from a cult and just might be possessed.

From the set to the music to the "More to Come" break cards, the Cairnes Brothers truly capture the look and feel of anything-goes '70s talk shows to a degree that will be nostalgic to those of us who remember them. The movie also evokes sources of the period from The Exorcist to Network (Michael Ironside provides stentorian narration in the manner of Network's Lee Richardson), and the soundtrack includes the likes of Flo & Eddie's "Keep It Warm."

The "found footage" conceit is quickly strained; the supposed "behind the scenes" sequences are pretty cinematic and helpfully narrative. But after a while you accept it, largely because the acting, especially the haunted yet game showmanship of the excellent Dastmalchian, keeps us involved.

It's a little scary, but mostly Late Night With the Devil is, like Network, a tongue-in-cheek satire of TV business culture, with ripe lines like "Ladies and gentlemen, a live television first, as we attempt to communicate with...the Devil. But not before a word from our sponsors." I also loved the implication that no amount of supernatural power could overtake Carson in the ratings in those days. Apparently even the Devil couldn't do that.

At Harkins Shea...

Remembering Gene Wilder--This documentary, directed by Ron Frank, does indeed fondly remember the late comedy great. Frank makes Wilder himself the narrator, using audiobook excerpts from his noirishly-titled 2005 memoir Kiss Me Like a Stranger.

Born Jerry Silberman in Milwaukee, he grew up trying to make his mother laugh, and later drew inspiration from the mental patients he worked with while serving in the U.S. Army. He wanted, he says, something a bit "wilder" for his stage name when he started acting in New York. Cast in Brecht's Mother Courage and her Children at the Martin Beck Theatre in the early '60s, he met leading lady Anne Bancroft's future husband Mel Brooks, who later cast him in The Producers.

From there, we get a chronicle of some of the highlights of Wilder's movie career--not all of them; Quackser Fortune Has a Cousin in the Bronx and Start the Revolution Without Me, for instance, are passed over. But there's terrific material on Bonnie and Clyde, The Producers, Willy Wonka, Young Frankenstein, his relationship with Richard Pryor, his scenes with the sheep in Woody Allen's Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (he says that Allen told him that he wanted to do a version of Sister Carrie with a sheep instead of Jennifer Jones), and more. My own favorite of Wilder's characters, Jim aka The Waco Kid in Blazing Saddles, is very well represented here.

Talking heads include Brooks, Carol Kane, Mike Medavoy, Alan Alda, Ben Mankiewicz, Rain Pryor, Harry Connick, Jr., Eric McCormack, and Willy Wonka's Charlie Bucket himself, Peter Ostrum, as well as Wilder's widow Karen Wilder, all speaking with unmistakable love. They tell good stories, but the real joy is simply the big dose of Wilder's utterly sui generis blend of innocent sweetness and strangled volatility. If the clips in this movie don't make you smile, you may need to see a doctor.